Worlds Apart

My head’s still dazed from my trip to Taiwan, which has already ended for 5 days. I guess this happens because seeing the differences of the culture here (in the Philippines) and there can be a bit of a sensory overload.

I guess I never wrote this part about myself in any of my blog posts, but I’m a Taiwan citizen who has lived here in the Philippines for more than 20 years. Though most of my friends here are Filipinos or part-Filipinos, my parents are Taiwanese immigrants born and raised in Taiwan. Growing up this way, I’ve often been confused by the clash of ideals stemming from Filipino and Taiwanese culture, and by the not knowing of which one I prefer. As a result, I’m chronically laden with crises of identity, and somehow I’m a bit resigned to believing that I’ll never really belong to either, so I get my inner peace by observing their cultures’ strengths and weaknesses.

My father and his siblings (along with their spouses, so that includes my mom) have for long lived apart, but few days ago they returned to their hometown in Shuangshi, Taiwan. Some of their children - me included - also went to that place, but I only saw all (my father side’s) cousins on the day of my grandfather’s funeral. The last time I saw all of them together was also the first time I ever saw all of them together, and that was 3 years ago when it was my grandmother’s funeral.

It is funny how in all of my 25 years, I’ve only seen some of my cousins twice, even if the youngest among them are already on the fifth grade. I couldn’t even recognize some of them (as an aside, I actually have a friend who was on a similar situation, and it led him to having this awkward monologue: “Hey, [he/she] is cute! Wait, WHAT?! That’s my cousin?!?!?”). I was already 22 when I was first called 哥哥 (“ke-ke”, the Chinese word for “big brother”) by anyone related to me by blood. As of now, I’ve only been called that twice, despite having 5 younger cousins (and 4 older ones). It’s kinda obvious how much of a stranger I am to them.

Every time my older cousins open their mouth, they talk about work, such as how they get paid enough to own secondhand cars and apartments in the suburbs. What was really disheartening was their reluctance to connect with me on a personal level; instead the vibes I get from them is more like that of two job applicants haughtily comparing resumes - whatever happened to kinship? And maybe this is just my foible, but I could not bear watching them being so workaholic when the situation wasn’t calling for it: my cousins left our hometown - if they’ve even visited - immediately after the funeral was over. The same thing happened after my grandmother’s funeral, and some of them never came to visit in the interlude between the passing of grandma and grandpa. For goodness sake, my grandparents took care of them back in the days, and this is the homage they receive?

Yet this is the microcosm of what typically happens in Taiwan’s households. I see parents working the extra mile to secure brighter futures for their children, and I see children become ungrateful youths who can’t even be bothered to go out with their parents. Outside of Chinese New Year (that’s today, by the way) you won’t see Taiwan youths together with their parents. In some cases, it is already considered an achievement if they visit their parents a day a year. I once heard from my uncle that in the past 10 years, he saw my father, who lives in a different country, more often than his own daughter, who lives an hour of train ride away.

Whenever I’m in Taiwan, I’m happy to see that even people of lower-income ranges can enjoy much of the privileges that their elites enjoy, yet I grieve for the disconnect of the old and the young. In the Philippines, I’m glad that most people keep their families close, but I’m disgusted by seeing our elites living the “first-world” life while the proletariats become homeless. That gap between Taiwanese generations is the same gap between Filipino social classes. I do not know which one I prefer; hence, I just watch behind fences.

Black Star

I was glued to the internet all morning watching the live updates of the tallies. It was a Wednesday morning here in the Philippines, and at around 9:30 AM I was dead-certain that Obama will be the next U.S. president.

Being the only person in the office who followed the campaigns, I announced the result forcefully, “Obama is gonna win!”

My coworker gave a curious reply, “Really? America will take a turn for the worse then.”

I paused uneasily, and then wondered aloud what he meant. He said, “That country can now be governed by a black man. It means Negroes will be freer to roam the streets to do their thugs stuff.”

I was not in the mood to debate with anyone, so without challenging him I let him had his hateful speculations. Even if I couldn’t blame him for being ignorant, those comments did not sit well with me. My brother, also living in the Philippines, had been in a similar position few months ago when he and his coworkers watched the trailers of Resident Evil 5. While my brother found the images of a white hero shooting black zombies in Africa distasteful, his coworker commented, “Well there are many black terrorists anyway.”

Here’s a background of how black people are regarded here in the Philippines, a country that worships America and will follow it to the ends of the earth. Our country cannot be blamed for being a big fan of America because when Americans ruled our land many years ago, they gave us, among other things, industrial and economic developments. Above all, they earned favorable opinions from us because on July 4, 1946, they allowed us to be an independent nation.

The year is 1946. This was before Americans had the civil rights act. Racial divide was rampant at their side. From this, we can conclude that Americans did not educate Filipinos properly about what black people were like, because even Americans themselves couldn’t see black people for who they were individually. Although blacks, Negritos specifically, were the first to populate our country hundreds of years ago, they had long become a minority here, being settled in our most isolated and undeveloped regions. The average Filipinos did not congregate with blacks too much, so we did not know them too well.

To this day it is not very common for us to see blacks. Most of our immigrants are Chinese, Hispanics, Caucasians, and Koreans. Most of us only see black people through movies, or if live then only through local basketball leagues where they play as imports. Many of us don’t even know who Martin Luther King, Jr. is.

Until now, the media have never been known to represent blacks favorably. Often in Hollywood movies, black people were paid to play the throwaway loud and comic roles, while the whites are the heroes saving the world (see: Transformers). Meanwhile, in hiphop music videos, we don’t see black men conduct themselves in the cleanest ways because we see them glorifying life of hookers, blingblings, and gangbangings. It doesn’t help that the contents of their lyrics are on the explicit side.

To be sure, the media are to be faulted for their propensity to portray blacks in negative lights. Do they sing praises to civil rights activists as much as they would criticize gangster rappers? Do they commend Toni Morrison’s literary achievements as often as they would condemn OJ Simpson’s crimes? Even the black people’s songs they play are selective: instead of choosing the heaps of intelligent raps, soul and rnb music that dominate the underground scenes, it’s the Souljah Boyz’s who get all the airtime, ululating “ho” so that holier-than-thou soccer moms can slam Biblical wisdoms onto them. There’s something to be said about music industries being too obsessed with images of badness and cockiness, yet how often does anyone condemn the white race when a band of white guys acts like punks?

Indeed certain blacks, just like certain people of other ethnic groups, are up to no good. Indeed the ghetto life can be gruesome. Yet, rarely has any efforts to understand what made those happen ever reached public awareness. Furthermore, there has yet to be enough proof, 68 years later, that what happened Richard Wright’s Native Son does not happen anymore on modern times: when its black protagonist Bigger Thomas faced charges of murdering a white woman, white people treated the trial as the prosecution of the entire black community. And this is exactly what’s happening here: my coworker is unable to perceive black personalities as individuals, and instead judges the whole black race through media’s oblique expositions.

There still are long ways to go if racism is to be driven permanently out of existence, but electing Obama as president is the start for Americans. They showed the world that they are ready to make an African-American become the world’s most powerful man. If indeed change is gonna come is anyone’s guess, but just as it behooves Obama to make America more peaceful by cultivating it as a land that treats diverse groups fairly, it behooves us all – including the rest of the world - to remove our ignorance.

This Side Isn’t Paradise

In Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World, people live for Henry Ford’s assembly-lines mass production. They are classified by castes, and each caste serves different functions to society. And, so that they can manufacture with greatest efficiency, they are conditioned to be happy. This happiness is gained by gratifying human’s want for pleasure. Everyone just works, and then have sex and Soma - a drug that makes them rapturous, and makes them forget all problems.

It may sound like a good idea to live in that world, so do you want to try it? Since the system is bent on happiness for the sake of a stable society, you’re not allowed to feel anything contrary to that externally stimulated joy: no sadness, no pensiveness, and no pity; all your miseries are flushed by a gramme of Soma. When you mull on art, religion, and science, you are ostracized. You cannot be bothered with any emotional bond to anyone, since you’re only allowed to be happy, and emotional bond does not always make you happy. Parenthood are shunned, fidelity laughed at, and unconditional love despised. Once again, all your miseries are flushed by a gramme of Soma.

*

I’ve been outside of Philippines and I see that, generally, our people are happier than anywhere else’s. I’m just unsure of if our kind of happiness is still conducive to progress. See, I don’t believe that Pinoys are as incapable of independent thought as those Brave New World’s zombified people are, but what exactly have we done with our woes? Filipino novels published 50 years ago, such as those by F Sionil Jose, have presented problems that still prevail today. Have we even tried to deal with them? Have we bridged the separation of classes? Have we indicted our corrupt leaders, who have been corrupting us in the same way as they have been since we’ve become an independent country? Have our working class gained more privilege, and did we fight to ensure that this is so? Have our rags-to-riches brothers bothered to help lift those who are left behind? Have the rich among us done anything but squander in an aristocrat’s hedonistic world?

Even the bums in our streets can enumerate our errors. However, we try so hard to live while ignoring our errors. Instead of rebuilding our society, we turn to escapism. We direct our attention to whatever the media give us, be it the blitz of Pacquiao boxing matches, or the frivolity of the latest showbiz scandals (which we never seem to run out of). We waste away our lives by jumping from one hopelessly-Americanized fad to another. We call ourselves liberal by only adapting its unrestricted promiscuity, as though liberalism were merely standing for freewheeling sex and drugs. All these make us cheer. All these make us suppress our discontent with our system. All these make us happy. All these become our blissful ignorance; our Soma. We do nothing that compels us to understand our sufferings, and to take a more active role in righting our society.

*

Aldous Huxley wrote Brave New World as a response to America’s hedonism during the Roaring Twenties. Roaring Twenties, by the way, has nothing to do with your age; it’s about the years from 1920-1929 when America’s economy had an unprecedented boom. During then, Americans were too confident (quoting 20’s president Herbert Hoover, “We in America today are nearer to the final triumph over poverty than ever before in the history of any land.”), thinking that nothing bad can ever happen to them. They mass consumed, just for the sake of pleasure. They didn’t know that, as a result of their recklessness, what was to come was The Great Depression.

Right now, Philippines are depressing. Our stocks are crashing, and prices of all our necessities are inflating very steeply. Sadly, we have yet to wake up from our Soma. Despite all our government’s PR talks, we’re at our most destructive age. If we don’t do anything soon, our place will be as bleak as that dystopia from Brave New World.

Jade Visions

“Pull over!” signaled the cop. 

“What the hell?” my brother said, looking perplexed. 

“Sir, you sped past a red light. Gimme your license.” 

“What red light?” 

“Don’t you see it? It’s there, on that pole.” 

The red light wasn’t there on days before today, and since it was camouflaged by the pole’s shape and color, it wasn’t very visible. 

Defending my brother, I said “He couldn’t have seen it. That’s not a very visible signal light now, is it?”

Voice trailing off , the police said, “Sir, there’s a sign indicating that a new signal light is installed there.”

I turned my head around and looked, but couldn’t find any sign, “Sign? Where’s this sign?”

The police fell silent.

I continued, “Also, what were you doing just loitering on the roadside when you knew that there’s a new signal light? Shouldn’t you be pointing it to all drivers instead of just hiding, and only appearing when the opportunity to confiscate our licenses comes?”

Again, the police fell silent, but he took away my brother’s license anyway and wouldn’t return it unless we pay him a hundred.

My brother unintentionally violated traffic laws. He’s honest about his oversights, yet his license got confiscated.

The police told lies yet he stayed as a police.

This is how our country’s justice works.

Empty Barrels

This happens whenever I take the bus home: The TV is on and is tuned to a local TV station (more often GMA than ABS). I’m not a fan of whatever show the TV plays, but whenever it takes its break, I squirm. I have to suffer through another batch of advertisements. Why is this bad? Because I will, without a doubt, get to see barrages of pointless government propagandas.

Take the recent “Spread the Charity”. It is by a “charity” organization and it shows montage-styled slideshow demonstrating all of President Gloria Macapagal Arroyo’s charity. Ha! Tagging PGMA with “charity”? That’s like tagging Fox News with “afrocentricity”! Of course, there’s a token Lion King knockoff percussion song or a token Pachelbel’s Canon knockoff violin song playing, as if inspirational music and images alone are enough to convince Filipinos that they live in a progressive nation, and that they have the best president EVAR. 

And this isn’t an isolated case. Our government does self-promotional advertising all the time! When they’re not doing it on tv, they’re doing it on newspapers. And if not, they’re plastering their faces all over egocentric posters while some ridiculously big texts detail out that this project is their courtesy. Heck, sometimes it doesn’t even have to be projects. Sometimes it’s just Christmas greetings, because all it takes is a greeting for us to know that the governments care for us. Isn’t that right? 

I despise that. It’s the most useless thing. What other countries do that kind of stupidity? Not Taiwan. Not China. Not America. Not Thailand. Not Singapore. Not Australia. Ok, Burma does it. That strengthens my belief that our government is emulating theirs. 

But let’s put aside the nitpicking, and talk about why our government does these propagandas. 

So, why? It is because this is their way of fending off our hatred. See, whenever they assault you with their brand-spanking-new - yet ugly - propagandas, they try to tell you that they care for the people. In reality, though, you should take that as cue to start watching the news, where you can see them facing scandal allegations (in other words, don’t be fooled by their very classic diversion tactic). This “Spread the Whority” ad, for example, came out between the NBN-ZTE Investigation and the Rice Crisis, both of which are unresolved issues, much thanks to our system’s incompetence. And were you ever at an LRT station when the rice shortage outcries were loudest? There were Department of Agriculture ads – which, predictably, had PGMA’s face – saying “Pagkain sa bawat mesa” (translation: foods on every table). 

I’ve been to many different provinces, and, regardless of what province, every time I ask their dwellers if they think our government is doing enough for our country, I get a unanimous and resounding “no”. That’s just how much everyone distrusts our government. The posters and the ads are the government’s easiest way to hammer home the point that “Hey guys, credit me for this achievement at least”. The problem is, those achievements are, more often than not, so minuscule, that without mentioning them you wouldn’t even notice any difference.

“Oh, there are now street lights all over Caloocan City? That’s supposed to be done decades ago, but since Mayor Recom Echiverri wants us to know now that he’s finally gone and done just that, and then emphasizing on his posters that ‘this is where your tax money go’, three cheers to him!” 

The way things are going, we’ll never come to rely on our governments to let us feel progress while they do their jobs silently. Funny that they should insist that we quietly focus on our “economy”, when they can’t shut up about what they’re doing. 

And I’m going to question this “this is where your tax money go” hoopla. I ask, uh, to where? The lights, or the posters? You want to know how much it costs to get advertised? Expect to pay at least 5-digits - and this is a very generous estimate – and it’s not out of the ordinary to pay 6-7 digits. And it’s even more expensive when you advertise yourself on newspapers and TV’s. You’ll have to pay millions for that. 

Have you ever entertained the thought that those propagandas may be from your tax money? This isn’t very implausible, eh? But even if they weren’t from our money, I can’t help but enumerate the too many ways the expenses could be spent better. Every time I see another L.I.M. poster I wonder about the schools that could’ve been renovated. Every time I see Sonny Belmonte’s posters, complete with his douchebag grinning, as if smug about the way he never leaves his seat, I wonder about the homeless. Every time I see another Bayani Fernando’s very manly and pink Gwapo crap, I wonder about the many roads that could’ve been paved. Let’s repeat this ad infinitum, while thinking of the oil, the disabled, the rice, the facilities, the railways, the classrooms, the education, the drainage, the electricity, the advocate groups, and the hungry, that the funds could’ve supported. 

By the way, the ads they make are lame and dishonest. It’s too bad I don’t have the pictures, but you can always use your imagination. First, let’s recall Dept. of Agriculture’s “pagkain sa bawat mesa”. It’s more like “pagkain sa aking mesa” (translation: food on my table). There’s also an ad by Recom Echiverri, saying “Welcome to the historical city of Caloocan”. Hah! Welcome to the hysterical city of Caloocan! I’ve never heard of anyone saying “Yo, this Sunday is really quiet. What say you we head to Caloocan and get cozy?” And there’s also a “Boxing sa QC” poster, which is an event promoted by a councilor. I wish I could show you how stupid it looks, what with it showing a councilor - who only visits the ghetto when election time comes - in topless and fully flabby glory. I could go on and on. 

Sadly, though we can call things out on our blogs, what’s to stop our government from continuing the whoring? There’s too little we can do but lament. But if you have a spraycan lying around and you want to practice your graffiti skills, you can tag those self-promotional posters. And don’t you go feeling any compunction now for vandalizing government-funded properties; after all, they have, for the longest time, been vandalizing our sensibilities.

EDIT: I submitted this to Filipino Voices.

Open Letter to Malu Fernandez

(I swear this is the last time I’m going to talk about Malu) 

To Malu Fernandez, 

I have a story to tell you.

On October 2005, I met a cute photographer. She’s a journalism student of New York University. I asked her what it’s like to take journalism. She said it’s amazing, as it’s the course for those who are always curious and for those who want to impart thought-provoking insights to the world. I was very swayed by her passionate descriptions of the field, and I wanted to become a journalist myself. Yeah, you know, I was easily swayed by cute girls. It was from this brief moment of awe that I started setting aside time to improve my writing skills. I often visited the editorial section of Philippine Daily Inquirer and finished their articles feeling sated (and learned new words). 

When I read your OFW article I was shocked. How could you write something so ignorant? I never could’ve imagined that someone of your profession would write so insensitively. Then you gave your dissidents your “acerbic wit” repartee, and I felt even more deflated. It wasn’t enough that you lacked tact; you also had to insult your haters’s intelligence. So thank you, Malu. I applaud halfheartedly to your continual bastardization of the craft. Thank you for changing my perception of journalist from rose-tinted to jaundiced. Heh, that rhymed. 

Incidentally, and rather ironically, my Nightdreamer blog kicked off when everyone was all over your asinine charades. I didn’t pay much attention to other bloggers then, but after more than six months, I now have several blogger friends. I respect most of them as much as I respect journalists. I suggest you click on any from the Dope Blog list sidebar and see for yourself, but I think we can agree that they’re better than Perez Hilton, noh? They also have a few things to say about you. 

About this article you just wrote, I don’t like it. No bloggers seems to like it. I suspect that you also won’t like it when you have matured and have increased verbal aptitude. 

Oh, I can see why you hate people who comment on blogs under anonymity. In fact, last week, I mocked one of them. If I read you correctly, your reason for hating them is because they don’t have the balls to, straight-up, confront their enemies. Roight. I wonder about you, Malu. You disparaged a Spanish-descent blogger without mentioning his/her name. How are you an exception to who you disdain? Isn’t that hypocrisy? 

Your accusations to bloggers are baseless, you sounded like you’re just getting acquainted with the internet. Seriously, have you ever gone out to meet any of us? Have you rounded us up like what Beijing do to their cats, and done psychological experiments? I bet you’re making baseless generalizations because it’s something from your comfort zone. I could just as well floss insults to journalists based on reading your toilet paper, but I’m more sensible than that and I still maintain that most journalists are worthy of reverence. Anyway, since you’re this clueless about bloggers, let me teach you a few words we use. 

First, ROFL. It means roll on the floor laughing. We say, “We ROFL at your lousy metaphors” and frankly, we do. We feel sorry for you thinking mass/volume is a clever way to make your point. Now all inebriated bloggers will start teasing each other with “mass over volume” jokes. It’s going to be as overused as the Brokeback jokes. See what you’ve done, you tiddlytwit? Next time, write with more mass*acceleration or force (in case you’re not reviewing your physics)!!!!1111111

Another word is pWnd. It’s another way of saying “owned” or “ruled”. It means being outclassed. You don’t need to dig deep to see how many bloggers pWnd you in verbal proficiency. Do you remember insulting your haters as people who don’t read anything thicker than a magazine? You sounded exactly like someone who doesn’t read anything thicker than a magazine. I suggest you go buy Elements of Style so you can incessantly pound your head with it. You can also try Grapes of Wrath - although it’s as fat as you, it can make you sympathize with proletariats. 

LOL is Laugh Out Loud. The forum regulars from The Man Blog are calling you MaLOL Fernandez, and that’s because they’re laughing at you. They’re laughing at your pathetic green Hermes bag analogy. Really, you don’t have to return it; it will, in utter embarrassment of its owner, dash back to the store. Can you also stop being such an arriviste? Your speech reminds me of the pretend-rich posers from Starbucks. If by chance you’re interested in history, you’ll learn that it’s not usually the elites, but the proletariats, who brought progressive changes. Maybe you can read on Civil Rights Movement and learn about how the equal rights among races were developed? Or you can read about India’s bloodless revolution? Better not underestimate the power of the working class. 

It’s true that most of us bloggers are everyday people who have school, work, family and finances to worry about, but we are writing anyway because we love it. You might also want to remember that before you’ve become privileged, the one who made you so was also a common person. You may find it a good idea not to step on the toes of the everyday people. You should respect them and do what musicians call the grassroots approach, otherwise you will learn that we bloggers are relentless when you’ve incited their wrath, and we’ll use whatever freedom given to us to direct their anger to you. If you’re going to counter this current, then at least back it up with some credentials. Bloody hell, go get some exercise, both physically and verbally! Otherwise, although you may feel smug for being a journalist, there’s nothing for you to gloat: not your writing skills, not your journalistic prowess, and not your reasoning skills. Bloggers and journalists are on equal grounds, and I’d like to think that neither of them are fostering an “us against them” mentality. Whatever the case, as a journalist you have nothing, and, although I know you are enormous, you should get over yourself!

Regards,

Kris a.k.a. Nightdreamer 

PWN GLORIA LOLLERZ

I’m not the type of person who does what everyone else does (go ask anyone who’s been with me in real life), but today’s an exception.

It’s Jen’s idea to blogswarm (what the heck, another bloggy pseudo-word?! How many of them will they make? They all sound silly, for sure!). She proposes that bloggers who are opposed to Gloria should post their choice "OUST GLORIA" pic on their own blog, just to be heard (The pen is mightier than the sword, jen quotes Rizal. But jen, we’re using teh keyboardz! Is ASLKJ$&(*#UWE&%@(#!LOLLER@#%^^57soaaw23AA$#BBQ!!(ONE)! mighty? And does Wacom’s stylus count?). We’re supposed to do that on Friday, but I don’t think I’ll blog that day, so, I’m posting that pic prematurely.

Anyway, I’m sure these bloggers will go to images.google.com (or maybe gettyimages) to scrounge for their "unique" Gloria pics.

Kind of lame, if you ask me.

LEARN FROM THE GURU!

20XX Lozada Odyssey

Lozada used to be just a name, just like yours and mine. Months ago, you had to ask who he is were you to see him, perhaps for a business proposal or a game of golf. Then, ZTE, and Lozada became a thesis paper, a blockbuster movie, and a psychological test - like a Rorschach inkblot analysis that reveals your political beliefs. To some, he’s just a scum, a waste of time. To others, he’s the panacea. And, of course, some fall within the gray areas.

I’m not interested in blogging about Lozada as a person. I want to talk about what happens if the ZTE investigation succeeds and it unseats GMA. These are speculations, and you decide whether or not my theories are sound. That’s what my comment box is for, right?

To begin, Noli de Castro may replace GMA. We will be skeptic of him because he is why we hesitate in shooing GMA. After all, he has a dubious integrity. He will need to prove that he’s better than GMA, and that he isn’t involved in GMA’s diabolical schemes (insert nwuahaha sound clip). It will not matter if he remains in the GMA camp or turns to Estrada’s camp; either way, he will be grilled by supporters of where he doesn’t belong. He might end up singing “Hard Times, No One Knows Better than I”, perhaps to the tune of the TV Patrol Overture? 

So, if even Noli de Castro will get the boots, then someone from the opposition will rule the country. Will they be better, everyone will wonder. The opposition will try to prove that they are. They will set lofty goals that will please many. Will they work towards such goals, or will they do corrupt deeds while we aren’t looking? This will initially concern us much, and that’s why we pay them undivided attention: our standards will be high, that we upbraid even the smallest hint of theft.

I’m just worried about recidivism. We’re not known to have long attention spans after all. Notice how many of passing fancies we have already forgotten? Notice how fast our passing fancies pass? That should be proof. We may eventually tire of being all eyes on our government, and by then, everything will devolve to mediocrity, idealism reduced to defeatism. Such is our nation’s vicious cycle. We will go back to pursuing our pointless selfish pursuits while sipping frappes and talking about all kinds of obnoxious misogynistic hot topics FHM so love to churn. Maybe listen to the new RnB crooner and party with plinky-plonky techno music? Hey, toss in there the new Kris Aquino scandal, the new American Idol knockoff, the new telefantasiya, the new “kilig movie” and the new movie star running for public office (who’s betting for Gretchen Barretto?)! Yes, that works! Pass the cocaine! Politics? Ikaw talaga you can’t sit back and ENJOY LIFE! Tara na sa Embassy!

So far, the previous 3 paragraphs is the result if GMA gets ousted, whatever the cause. So what of ZTE-specific predictions then?

Lozada will become a superstar. His “humble homey” posterior will metamorph to “complacent conyo”, kind of like how hydrocephalic Manny Pacquiao has become. Perhaps, like Pacquiao, he’ll even run for mayor or congressman, by the persuasion and with the support of the token sycophant-of-the-palace.

And how about Joey, for taking the preemptive strikes on GMA and everything ZTE-related? Histories of his family’s unscrupulousness will be ignored. Heck, people might even make a movie of him starring, who, Richard Gomez? Cesar Montano? Actors who do want to run for office too? And he’ll be paired with the latest number 1 hot babe ng bayan (and even number 2! It always comes in more than one! Love triangle’s the shiznit, yo!) I swear! He’ll be portrayed as a kind of person who’s found God, bought a guitar, and played folk songs about his rebirth, Bob Dylan style! It will be as if his involvement with the ZTE has been benevolent at all. His big-eared dad will be redeemed and will become congressman again. Another day, another return of the Trapos. Jooooyyyy!

I’m sure that after you’ve read my inane predictions, you’ll be wondering what side I’m on. But of course, I do think that we have to stop tolerating corruptions. I do think that change has to come, and yes, GMA has to go. I don’t believe that she has to stay because the vice president isn’t better. If she’s not convicted for her crimes, it would make it okay for others to commit them.

So how about you and me? Are we free of blame? In our apathy, we are just conniving at our government when they steal, kill and lie. I don’t think it is by chance that the state of our nation (yes, despite all the PR talks) keeps declining even as we change those who are in power. We look for quick fixes, just like what the governments do to our roads, but we never follow through when we promise ourselves new eras, and we’re like those who leave their work half-done. Even when new faces rule, we just go back to where we used to be, and that’s a downward spiral. We’ve been there for too long, but are we doing anything to get us out of there? What, by sitting and doing nothing? By social-climbing, ride-pimping, coke-sniffing and gansta-frontin?

If we are going to ensure that this time, it will be different, shouldn’t we now reflect on what’s fundamentally wrong with our attitude? Let’s try to be more informed of our current events, ruminate on what they imply, and react when tyranny surfaces. Anyway, here’s a song for you. Listen to its words carefully, okay? We out!

Robbin Hood Theory by Gang Starr

The B-Word and the BB Blues

Hey, do you recall a time when Friendster's bulletin boards were filled to the brim with funny, sensible and insightful people? Feels like an era past, doesn't it? Nowadays all I ever see are people selling bags, surveys from people with the IQ of Paris Hilton (not you, Chester. Hahaha), ANNOYING RED-HERRING CHAIN MAILS ABOUT GETTING MARRIED, dalagas complaining about how awful their yearbooks are, or whiners who post multiple messages whining about people spamming the bulletin board (see the irony there?).

But a particularly retch-worthy one, sadly, came from one of my closer real-life friends. Her bulletin post's title read "My Personalized Licensed Plate Number Says 'BITCH'". 

Why are so many girls tagging themselves with that word lately? I suspect that they don't know what bitch means and that they're just using it because Tata Young (with her song "Sexy Naughty Bitchy Me") and her contemporaries - i.e. pop icons with no brains or sensibilities whatsoever - made it trendy. It just reminds me of Sean Krapston trivializing the word "suicide" (don't get me started on this!). Upon reading my friend's bulletin post, my reaction was, "Great, just another in the long line of girls who think bitch is a word of female-empowerment."

If she actually bothered to read the dictionary (and try etymology) before using that word indiscriminately, this is what she'll find:

Bitch

–noun

1.	a female dog.

2.	a female of canines generally.

3.	Slang. a. a malicious, unpleasant, selfish person, esp. a woman. b. a lewd woman.

4.	Slang. a. a complaint. b. anything difficult or unpleasant: The test was a bitch. c. anything memorable, esp. something exceptionally good: That last big party he threw was a real bitch.

–verb (used without object)

5.	Slang. to complain; gripe: They bitched about the service, then about the bill.

–verb (used with object)

6.	Slang. to spoil; bungle (sometimes fol. by up): He bitched the job completely. You really bitched up this math problem.

I know that bitch has recently become a slang denoting a woman who, according to Urban Dictionary, don't give a flying f*ck anymore and that can and will be cruel to man. And hey, it's cool if a woman wants to verbally slam the male sex - even if males are conceived and parented by females (see the irony again?) - and instead of bad parenting she blames males' shortcomings to hiphop videos and Sly Stallone movies. What do I know, right? That still does not justify using of the b-word. She can use "dominator" or "dominatrix" or "menefreghista" or "misandrist" or "bad girl" for all I care. Why does she have call herself bitch - a word so thoroughly reviled, that people may interpret it as whores? Would she also want to be called puta? Or should we, like always, favor the anglicized (harrrrr)?

Girls, if you advocate equal rights, you owe your gender more dignity than to call yourselves bitches. Otherwise, please do not react when you hear Isiah Thomas's moronic remarks.

In case you didn't know, he said "It's acceptable for a black man to call a black woman a bitch."

Life's a bitch, innit? 

Driving

Okay, so today's topic is about driving in Metro Manila (MM). 

I don't pretend to be clever, but normally I try to start a post with a snappy first paragraph. Today I am indecisive. I could say driving in MM is more fearsome than exploring the underground city of Edinburgh (then title it "The Long Halloween". Ooh, the horrors!). Or I could say our traffic is our own Iraq War. Or I could say the state of our road is the reflection of our society. Or I could say there's a deeply disturbing psychology about the boorishness of those bloody drivers. Or I could say there are more accidents on our roads than there are questionable Mattel toys (now that's really stretching it). Or I could say there are more Stephon Marbury's here than any NBA columnists could shake their thesauri at. Or I could simply say I hate driving in Manila. Right, the last one's the simplest. I'm sticking to that then.

I hate driving in MM (not because I hate driving, but) because…

(Gee, I hate spelling these out because I risk sounding like I'm insulting your intelligence - which isn't my intention - but pardon me because I'm just doing this in case any foreigners are reading)

…traveling in Metro Manila is more chaotic than reading a Chuck Palahniuk's book. Why? It's because of bad vehicles, poor traffic engineering and the patchy pavements – the lunar module was invented by a Pinoy; bet he didn't have a hard time experimenting.

And then there are the travelers, who are arguably the greatest malefactors.

Jeepney drivers: They're anarchy, personified. They accelerate as they please, swerve as they please and unload passengers as they please. They ignore traffic regulations, and the cops just ignore them. There’s even a belief that they pay monthly fees so they could act above the law.

They don't even care about other people. When you toot your horn they won't recognize you. On the other hand they can't get their hands off their horns. They also play loud and awful music on some subpar superwoofers they got from Raon.

They also don’t use their headlights.

Bus drivers: They're like jeepney drivers, except they use their headlights. So they're not as boorish, but that's like saying North Koreans are freer than Burmese.

They're more insufferable because they act like the big guys on the road. Buses are larger than most cars, and since the drivers know full well that they won't be quite as damaged if they collide with most cars, cue the super indiscriminate swerving.

Bikers: They should be called "Crevice Hunters", although the sexual innuendo should be, um, stripped.

In their utter disregard of their own safety, bikers are the most irritatingly opportunistic: where there's passage, there are bikers. Bikers are very troublesome because even when car drivers look at their side mirrors they won't be able to anticipate bikers who zig and zag between other lanes and vehicles (as though impersonating the chess horse). But by far the bikers' most annoying habit is their tendency to pass behind a car that's backing. Would it kill them to wait, huh?

Just how stupid is that?

Cyclists/Horse Carriage Drivers: In most cases, they exist only because their customers are too walk-phobic.

The unanimous criticisms are that they don't only slow down those vehicles behind them, they also travel in directions opposite of the road. The horse of the carriage pees and poos anywhere.

Rich and spoiled drivers: They worship speed. Their favorite trilogy is not the thought-provoking Godfather or the fantastical Lord of the Rings; it's the one with cars. What do the call it, The Dumb and the Dubious? They think that just because they got fast cars and hot babes (who are only in it for the blingblings), they could do as they please and treat the road like their private race circuit. So cue the Pimp My Ride rhetoric, the obnoxious driftin', the pulled-down shades, the "Mad Skillz" tautin', the dust-bitin', the slurs-throwin', the faux street-cred forkin' and the crunks-blastin'! And try not to get on their bad side lest you risk being cussed at.

Bloody obnoxious, these posers! If they’re so interested in gangsta-frontin' then why not just live in Tondo?

Cops: Your Philo 101 should teach this:

Who is more loathsome: the clueless driver who unintentionally violates vague traffic laws, or the slacking cop who comes out of hiding when the opportunity to fine the said driver arises?

Pedestrians: who pop out of nowhere and can't read signal lights. 'Nuff said.

Leniency

The Ghetto (Donny Hathaway)

Yesterday's word-of-the-day from dictionary.reference.com made me pause and think, because not only was it a word that I've been searching for days, but also because it's an eerily keen commentary of the present society.

recidivism \rih-SID-uh-viz-uhm\, noun:
A tendency to lapse into a previous condition or pattern of behavior; especially, a falling back or relapse into prior criminal habits.

I am aware that absolute safety is fictional and that in every second a new risk is born. I also know that not everyone can defend against criminals, and that's why there are people trained, hired and paid to protect the public. Unfortunately, one of the many conditions that comes to mind when I think of the word "recidivism" is our country's security guards.

Whether or not the Glorietta explosion was caused by an accident or a bomb does not matter for security guards. In the next few days they will definitely be more uptight. They should, as while I'm not castigating their negligence as the root of this tragedy, I can't say they did their jobs well either.

What's funny about them is how quickly they devolve back to leniency. October 19, 2007 wasn't the first time Glorietta exploded; bombs detonated here few years ago. Whenever this happens, guards start getting very on edge, they'd thoroughly inspect everyone's packages and they'd bring along bomb-sniffing dogs. Give it a couple of months and they're back to lax - dipping drumsticks, chatting while "inspecting", touching the outside of pockets (or sometimes touching dubiously close to your privates), or flat-out ignoring you. Honestly, a preschooler could teach a bomber how to bypass these morons.

As an example, I'm not saying the condominium where I live is as important as Glorietta, but just last Sunday (and this was just two days after the Glorietta) I came home only to find that the building guards have all fallen asleep. With all the media disseminating reports of Glorietta, you would think that they'd be less lazy for a few days. But they aren't, which is sad, because if this is any indication of the state Makati security guards will fall back to, then all the casualties (such as this) will be in vain.

Please don't let this tragedy repeat.

Office Variables

Step In The Arena - Gang Starr

Sometimes, the status messages of your friends from Yahoo Messenger can be very insightful. I should know, because people commend my status messages like that.

I don't think they're joking either.

Kidding and (mock) bragging aside, today's insightful message came from one of the brilliant minds from my batch. Dan Dizon, in particular. He was a very influential student and has been elected the student council president for the College of Engineer. He is now taking his masters degree at Berkeley. Needless to say, his status message often contains sharp observations and is laced with dark humor. (Note to Dan: please send me money for being your endorser. You're rich anyway.)

His status message read, "If the company pays you x, you are worth 10x. That's business."

I'm very sorry to tell you, Dan, but I disagree. Although I am not honored with farce and flabulous fierce and fabulous writer Malu Fernandez's "acerbic tit wit", my observations is better than your observations!

Behold, my Phoenix Bites Tiger Ass kung fu technique!

• if a company pays you x, you're actually worth y. Not the same, but you bet y > x.
• When in conference room, however, your boss is worth Z. Meaning, nakakaantok (translation: yawn-worthy).
• During overtimes when only a boy and a girl remains in the company, the office is worth X to the power of 3.

[Dan interrupts: Brilliant, Jou!]

Nah. More like, ass-like.

Resuming…

• When you're absent, you're worth 1/x where x is an integer. The rest of the company will spend their watercooler/lunch breaks speaking ill of every absent colleagues.
• Your contract is worth 0 (zero) if you work in a country whose legal system is as efficient as my country's.
• A Starbucks coffee most likely costs more than X. So save money, dammit!
• That's business!
• "That's business" is worth infinite. Above the law. Barbie toys have leads? That's business. Tim Yap condones hedonism? That's business. Recto certificates? That's business. Tasaday? ZTE? Iraq War? Paris Hilton? That's… well, you do the math.

The Field Guide to the Customers of Starbucks

Beatiful Love (Take 2) - Bill Evans

(Note: This is a rewriting of one of my very old blog posts)

Quick, answer me. Can you recommend a place for social gathering? 

Starbucks? Ha, I thought so. 

Indeed, having conversations in a coffee shop is a great way to spend time with your friends, but have you ever gone there alone? Try it, it's fun! As long as there are many other customers, you can observe them until you forget the passing of time. 

At first, you'll find that classifying Starbucks's customers can be difficult. All of them (okay, most of them) talk loudly, act like an idiot and dress as though they're either going to a red carpet or going commando. Fear not, because with experience, you can discern their varieties. Based on my unscientific but entirely self-sufficient, sexy, and insulting-but-accurate findings, I have written this guide hoping to assist you in seeing the differences among the species (multiplying) in the land of Starbucks. 

The Techie

Identification. The Techie thinks Starbucks is an expo. You can spot one with a smart phone, iPhone, PSP, MacBook, Cybershot, iPod, and car-key-for-an-SUV scattered on the table. The Techie will not only display personal belongings, but also, with excellent voice modulation, announce them. You have to give The Techie credits though; at least The Techie is doing favors for the customers in case they go blind. I mean, hearing The Techie advertise personal belongings as if writing checklists, that is IMPORTANT! Do you agree (Y/N)?

Sample speech. “Look, my iPhone is slick!”, “My Cybershot is slick!”, “My iPod is slick!”, “My SUV is slick!”… 

The Yuppie 

Identification. With optimistic plans, The Yuppie (different to lowercased yuppie, who is simply a peripatetic person wearing impractical [and smelly] attires) believes in living the multimillionaire life by, first, APPEARING like it. And what better place to “live the dream” by going to Starbucks and pretending it’s an office? The Yuppie often have their head (heads?) huddled at the laptop, with spreadsheets or Powerpoints open, to give a heady impression of being a busy and ambitious “career person”. EDIT: Curiously, The Yuppies are more of the be-seen-working types than the hardworking types.

Sample speech. “I’d like to direct your attention to my impactful presentation for cost-benefit plan that will reimburse your invested finances due to incentivized research conducted by opportune income of…” 

The Writer

Identification. Don’t shoot me I am NOT a writer! And I don’t bring laptops to Starbucks. The Writer (again, different to the lowercased one, who is simply a Bohemian who hugs a tattered dictionary when sleeping), on the other hand, does not only have a laptop handy, but also “writes” in the Starbucks just to impress a crowd, hoping a few attractive patrons will notice, as though writing is a performance arts. Do not classify those who scribble in their notepads as The Writer. In the word of The Writer “extraordinaire” Tim Yap, notepads are passé! 

Sample speech work. Waspy McWasp, the ruggedly handsome, world renowned Harvard professor of Oceanography is summoned to Europe to analyze the mysterious murder of a famous computer programmer. While there, he discovers evidence of the unimaginable - the definitive and substantial proof of cold fusion. He must work with Lara, the extremely beautiful and intelligent police detective, in order to beat the clock and unlock the mystery. (source) 

The Traveler 

Identification. I’ve never seen this myself, but my friend spotted The Traveler numerous times. The Traveler will go on an expedition, with the approximate distance of Zulu to Maguindanao, just for a sip at Starbucks. In my friend’s case, she saw a Traveler dash out of St. Paul QC to Tomas Morato’s Starbucks during an hour of lunch break. 

Apparently a species that are either extinct, or have “exported” to other groups from this guide, since Starbucks are now everywhere. 

Sample speech. None, as I’ve never been around them. 

Frapsters

Identification. Ever drank plain, no-cream, no-sugar and no-cocoa coffee? Yes? So do you think they’re too dark and bitter? Yes again? I have news for you then: that, which we call the blended coffee, is what coffee is really meant to taste like, same way as real tea is not served with sugar. 

Starbucks has a predominantly frappucino-sipping crowd, as though the coffee shop is instead a halo-halo salon. Granted, blended coffee is an acquired taste, and I’m not suggesting that you must try it. But you know who cracks me up? Frapsters. Frapsters are different in that they say they LOVE coffee but only choose to drink Frappucino, i.e. coffee with added milk, crushed ice and too-much calories. They’re annoying in the same way as *those people who say they listen to classical music because they like Maksim* are. 

The following can replace the asterisked statement. Self-proclaimed jazz fans who only listen to Kenny G. Batman haters who only saw the Adam West shows. Miles Davis name-dropper who has never heard of the Kind of Blue album. Holier-than-thou Bible-thumpers who actually live in avarice. 

Frap-touters

Identification. Could anything be more irritating than that Frapster-whippersnapper who can’t shut up about ordering frappes? Frap-touter is the frapster-demigod who treats Frappucino like it’s a trophy, such that frap-touter will take pictures holding or drinking frappes. Said person would even bring home empty frappe cups (along with Starbucks amenities and flyers) like it’s a trophy. 

Sample speech. “Picture tayo! Picture tayo! Smile!” (spoken to the frappucino cup)

The Beauty Pageant

Identification. Don’t trouble yourself wondering whether The Beauty Pageant (TBP) has won or not. What matters is that TBP NEEDS to go to Starbucks all-dressed up and to take pictures there to frame the occasion. I hear some TBP’s say coffee tastes better with gowns and tuxedos. Maybe that’s what they call “coffee dressings”.

Sample speech. Oy, priorities! You should be looking at them instead of listening to them, because whatever they mutter are unintelligible white noises.

Coffeetariats

Identification. Most likely nurses. Or call center workers. Or underpaid programmers (yeouch!). Like the no-frills proletariats, Coffeetariats are those who sell labors to survive. Unlike the no-frills proletariats, Coffeetariats spends more of their daily wages in Starbucks than in their lunch, and they do it (semi-)regularly as though they’re under rituals.

Sample speech. “Once minutes, my frappe are coming!” and so and so. If you hear anyone trying to talk Yankee but ends up sounding bucolic, you’re hearing a Coffeetariat. 

The Linguist

Identification. A coffetariat’s “worse enemy”, The Linguist is the schoolmarm “elitist” who nitpicks the grammar of every Starbucks conversation. The Linguist is a self-proclaimed “renowned grammarian” who likes to insert “French du jour”, but mostly speak in an amalgam of English and Tagalog, preferably with the English word overstressed.

Sample speech. (Google “Tim Yap” or “Malu Fernandez”).

The Ladykillaz!

Identification. Oh yay, TEH CONV3N14NC3, I can finally use pronouns LOLZ! As you may have surmised, The Ladykillaz is a guy who writes for a men’s magazine (or a guy under the pretense of it). He tries to attract attractive crowds by engaging in “intelligent” conversations about erogenous areas, posing as a stimulant of intellect when he’s in reality stimulating something else. And if he manages to impress, expect the girls he is with, and promptly dumped the next morning, to be “samples” for his new write-up at FHM or UNO or a blog. Thank you girls for being credulous, for the Ladykillaz’s thrive! Viva sophistication, viva progress!

Sample speech. (Err, I’m trying to make my blog not-NSFW.)

Dudes

Identification. This is the inevitable and over-modulated dudespare guys who wear the “jacket without a cause” (can someone please tell me what practical reasons are there for wearing jackets in this country?). It’s not like Starbucks has frigid ventilations (quite the opposite) yet these dudes come with jacket + sunglasses + hiphop DJ gesticulations in an attempt to look cool. Meanwhile they try upping their “street cred” by shout-bragging their blingblings, cribs, rides and girls and their updated FHM knowledges to sound urban (read: gangsta). He’d also try to appear intelligent by engaging in some “controversial” Dan Brown discussion, quoting Paolo Coelho for added touch and citing (just citing) Pablo Neruda for the “deathblow”. The good thing about dudes is that he’ll update you about car shows. The bad thing is that, well, good luck finding peace and quiet when he’s around. Diba, Vandolph?

My speech to them. Yo homey, watchoo doin hollerin LOUD? We be seeking quiet in dis ere coffee shops, punks, coz we ain’t got chillax, and warz in da streets, nawmean? Dis why you gotta pacify, dawg, coz we ain’t gone flyt with no posers, y’hear! Peace out, bro, riprizent!