Tuesday, July 31, 2012

Buhay Baboy Ends


Masarap talagang balikan ang nakaraan. Masarap muling buhayin ang dati. Lalu na kung babalikan mo ang dating buhay baboy.

www.fastmovieblog.blogspot.it


Boys and girls, oo, bumalik ako sa buhay baboy last month. Parang aso na lumakad pabalik sa malagkit niyang suka na ikinalat sa daan. Hong droomoo! Hahaha!

Biruin mo, ang pinaghirapan ko ng 3 months sa gym, sinira ko sa month ng July. Napatigil din ako sa Insanity Workout Program. Bah! All this trouble just to be healthy and sexy. Mah!

Saan ba ako nagpunta?

July is so far the most eventful month this year for me. Sa wakas nakapagbakasyon ako! Isipin mo, for almost three years I’ve been spending my vacation sa pag organize at supervise ng youth conferences (national level! And yes, kalalabas ko lang sa stage ng pagiging youth. I am a young adult na kahit utak 15-year-old kid pa rin, pero hindi ako nag-PBB-Teen Mode. Too smart for that. Hahaha!) at pag punta sa iba pang conferences every summer. Enjoy naman pero kapag taun-taon na lang eh ganun, medyo nasisiraan din ako ng bait. So I decided that this year, I’ll do something different.

I went to Rome, few days in Milan, went to a concert, the beach, and naging personal alalay ng kaibigan kong photographer at pinsan kong pseudo-model (I did it because I love my cousin- gwapo na, kamukha ko pa. O, walang kokontra! Walang basagan ng trip!). Anyway, I’ll feature them and my summer trips in my blog.

And this July, grabe, hindi nagbakasyon ang stomach ko! Todo to the highest power pa ang pagbibilad ko sa ilalim ng summer sun! Akala mo kung sinong mestizo no? Hahaha! I just love my dark brownish-bluish-blackish skin!

Above all, I was able to see again my good old friends. I’m not a very sociable person (weh!), but I try to keep myself in the company of a few people I trust and love, and cultivate my relationship with them. Oo, medyo suplado ako sa personal.

Sige na, it’s 1:43 AM. I still need to get up early tomorrow and start my training again. Bubuhayin muli ang Virgin Charlie Challenge!

Abangan ang susunod na mga kabanata!

Sunday, July 15, 2012

5 Days to GO!!!!


www.alanismorissettedownloads.blogspot.com



I never thought that this is going to happen in my lifetime- BE IN ALANIS MORISETTE’S CONCERT! Hehehe… I know I’m exaggerating but when I was just a kid, imagination ko lang yung makarating sa mga ganitong concert, lalu na sa concert ni Alanis, one of the few music artists who inspired me a lot.

5 days na lang!!!!!

Wednesday, July 11, 2012

Half-Breeds and the Discrimination Against the Cute



The Universal Declaration of Human Rights does not allow me to promote hate towards those despicable filthy half-breeds (God bless their filthy souls).


I simply dislike people who are 50% Filipino + 50% Whatever. Right now, I'm thinking of Lord Voldemort- we both share the same passionate hatred towards half-breeds, but I got a better nose.

So why do I hate half-breeds?




There’s a certain Filipino publication in Rome that features the sexy, the beautiful, and the handsome in their Facebook page. The idea of this publication is genuine and really creative. I actually think that it can make a breakthrough and get ahead of other local Filipino publications here in Italy. Then I saw in their Facebook page the picture of a half-breed. He’s undeniably handsome. And I do not deny that I am jealous. However, the fact that they feature some half-breed is really infuriating. I refuse to believe that there was no other handsome pure-blooded Filipino in that event. I was there. But what can I do? To their eyes, that humanoid is handsome enough to be featured as one of the best-looking guys in the event.

In the past, the word half-breed is a very offensive word in other countries, while in the Philippines, it’s a complement. Everybody aspires to boast of foreign blood in their veins and in their family tree. Here’s a historical fact: Spaniards despised the indios, so there are very few true mestizos in the land. Unless your great great great grandmothers were raped by some Spanish monks or Japanese soldiers, then you are undeniably an indio like me.

Three years ago I did some investigation and research of my family’s background. I come from a pure-blood Filipino family, a family of farmers from Batangas and Laguna; farmers like so many others. Why is it that there are those who claim to have European/Japanese/Spanish blood in them? Because they are the spawns of Doña Victorina.

For so many years, from one trend to another, half-breeds have always dominated the Philippine modern arts and culture (I’m referring to Philippine showbiz industry and other popular trends of the country, the ONLY known art and culture by the people). Their caste is the ultimate exemplary of cute, beautiful and talent. Talent talaga ha?

How many half-breeds in the industry are being showcased to be as talented as those pure-blood Filipinos? How many half-breeds easily made it to the top with the fair color of their skin, the freakin’ stupid accent when they speak Filipino, their over-rated acting and mythical singing talent (yes, their talent is just a myth)?

The concept of “the beautiful and charming half-breed” is deeply rooted in our modern culture and in the Filipino mentality, that it’s not a mere concept anymore. It’s a cancer that must be removed in the most drastic manner (i.e. mutilation of half-breeds, banishment, or massacre, of course, I’m just trying to be comical). Or better, it’s like Starbucks and Magnum Mania in the Philippines- it’s one of Philippines’ major religions (BEFORE Catholicism, Islam and Protestant Christianity).

We cannot deny our Doña Victorina Syndrome. Just say that this guy is half-Australian, gwapo na agad. Half-Brazilian girls are sexy. Half-Japanese guys are cute. Half-Americans are talented. If I were to compete with these humanoids, even if we were equally untalented, I would stand no chance against them.

And you know what’s disturbing? Some of the pure-bloods are trying to be like them. And these half-breeds have the nerve to stand up and say, in the most horrible language-slaughtering foreign accent, “Akoh ahy Pilipinohw”. Parang jejemon lang.

Ganon na ba ka-pangit at kababa ng kalidad ng kagandahan at kakisigan ng mga kapwa kong tunay na Pilipino? Hindi ko naman talaga ninanais siraan ang mga half-breeds. Masasabi na lang din natin na biktima lang sila ng isang sistema, isang maling kaisipang kultural.

May mga half-breed ang sumikat na may tunay na talento. Subalit iilan lang sila. Ang ipinagtataka ko, bakit ang naglipana ang mga malalandi at mga ugok na half-breed na wala talagang talento? Bakit ang daming mga gwapo at magagandang purong lahi sa paligid ko na hindi binibigyan ng pagkakataon na sumikat?

Dahil ba sa higit na maganda o makisig ang mga half-breed na ‘yan? O tayo lang ang may baluktot na pananaw sa konsepto ng kagandahan?

Puede ba? Kung gusto niyo lang ipagmalaki ang pagiging tunay na Pilipino, eh di ipagmalaki niyo na talaga ang purong Pilipino.



Tuesday, July 10, 2012

Norwegian Wood.... AGAIN!

Okay, I know, this is gonna be the last post about Norwegian Wood. Just wanted to share this cool cover of this band featured by Virgin Radio...




Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, the Aaron English Band and their cover of Beatles' "Norwegian Wood"...

Murakami Syndrome



After reading Kafka on the Shore, Hard Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World, and finally Norwegian Wood, I was craving for another surrealistic and suicidal fix. The daily routines and the normality of everything around me were maddening.

crummylittleheart.wordpress.com


I rushed to the nearest bookstore, salivating and breathing heavily, as if a whore in heat ready to pounce on any pulsating phallic object that would cross her way.

“Haruki Murakami!”, the sales lady realized that I wasn’t greeting her in an ancient oriental language and soon understood that it was the name of the one and only Japanese genius writer. She said that his books can be found in the Western wing of the bookstore.

Few seconds later I was standing in front of the shelf where Murakami’s books are located. I grabbed the first Murakami book nearest to me. I went back to the cashier carrying the book, still salivating and sweating; with bloodshot eyes and my hands were trembling.

When I was about to hand out the cash to pay for the book, the lady looked at me sternly.

“Follow me.”, she said.

“What?”, I was puzzled.

“Follow me.”, she repeated in a robotic manner, void of any feelings. I couldn’t figure out if she was a menacing character or if she’s an ominous being.

For a moment I was paralyzed, undecided whether to follow her or not.

“Sir you must follow me. You are in desperate need of help.”

“Help?”

“You have Murakami Syndrome. Come with me and you’ll understand everything.”

She grabbed my right arm, and briskly ushered me towards the eastern wing of the bookstore. It occurred to me in that very moment that it was a huge bookstore, almost like a shopping mall. I looked around at the east wing and noticed the strange stairs. I couldn’t comprehend much how the structure was made or was it even possible. There are only three stairs, each one leading to a storey. There were people scattered around the area- some reading on the staircases, some chatting in the hall, others coming up and down the stairs. But they seemed to be a blur. It was hard to see their faces. Their eyes. You can’t get into them. They were soul-less.

“Where are we going?”, I asked.

“To the Room. It’s a special clinic. You will meet Mr. Cato Manfredi.”

We walked towards a door in a hidden corner of the bookstore. When she opened it, there was a spiral staircase which leads down to, perhaps, the basement. We went down the stairs and it was very dark. I couldn’t see a thing. The confident steps of the lady in front of me suggest that she often goes down this staircase. She had no need of any torch to light her way.
The thick darkness was oppressive, almost claustrophobic, as if it was going to swallow me whole.

When I felt that we reached the bottom of the stairs, I still couldn’t see anything. I couldn’t see the lady.

I heard the clicking of an opening door and there was a light emanating from an opening in front of me. And there was the silhouette of the lady.

“We’re here. This is The Room”. She announced in her usually monotonous way.

I slowly walked towards the blinding light. When I was certain that I was inside The Room, I tried to open my eyes and as soon as they got used to the brightness of the light I saw a man dressed sharply in a black suit. He had deep set of dark eyes, thick brows, delicate lips, and hair like that of an anchorman of a late night news.

“Hi, I’m Cato Manfredi. Please have a sit.”, He gestured me to sit on the red velvet couch in the middle of the room. He sat on a wooden chair opposite the couch while the lady just stood on one corner of the room.

The Roome was ridiculously pristine. The walls, ceiling and the floor was coloured in white and it was brightly lit. It was really perfect and blissful. It was so ridiculous.

“Do you know why you’re here?”, asked Cato.

“They said that this is a special clinic. I’m not really sick.”, I said. I suddenly thought that the first thing insane people usually do is self-denial- deny the existence of their mental illness. Am I really normal?

“You’ve been reading Haruki Murakami’s books right?”, asked Cato.

“No, I’ve been cleaning my arse with them.”

“And apparently you’re a Jessica Zafra minion.”

“I believe Zafra could’ve given you a better answer. And yes, I’m a Zafra minion.”

He paused for a while, studying me. I felt uneasy and vulnerable, as if were naked.

“It is not good for people to be enraptured by the twisted fantasies of this writer. Not in times like these. Our Agency’s goal is to talk some senses to dreamers and drifters like you. All this literary rubbish won’t do you any good.”

“I beg to differ Mr. Big Shot of an asshole. But this man, his books and literature are things that make us different from animals. They make us better human beings.”

“Nothing’s real but God. Nothing’s worth our time but our jobs and building a family, building our communities. In the end my boy, it all boils down to the practical things. We need to have a life. I mean, look at you. You’re nearing your thirties and you still haven0t got a girlfriend or a real job. I know books and literature are fun and fabulous, but that’s all, and they’re not enough to build our society.

People must reproduce offspring, produce goods, consume goods and build a community. Just look out there- there’s the whole world and its tangible reality. What’s so beautiful about Norwegain Wood?  It’s about crazy girls, suicidal people, casual and frustrating sex experiences, raging hormones, and ever increasing numbers of pointless questions about life and love.”

I couldn’t believe what he said. “You will never understand the beauty of this book if you have accepted reality and succumb to its lifeless routines and its machinery of causes and effects and soul-less logic.

You will never be able to appreciate its beauty encapsulated in each word, incubated in each page. Don’t you remember what it was like back then when you were young? The world was so big and monstrous; it fascinates and scares you shitless at the same time. Love and sex were easily differentiated with words and thoughts but quite confusing when they are revealed in flesh and blood.

Don’t you remember the awkward and excruciating moments of youthful stirrings?

Do you remember when music and song writers were the truth-sayers of the time who sang about the dreams and freedom of youth?

And above all, have you ever been in love, a love so beautiful that it overwhelms you? Do you remember being enraptured not only by the beauty but also by the soul of a certain person that when he was gone, his absence rips you apart? It took your life away. Your were breathing but your just an empty organic vessel, void of love and life. And then you contemplate death, not as an escape, but a portal to a different existence, a different reality.”

Cato Manfredi clicked his tongue and shook his head, to show his utter disbelief. He wanted to make me feel stupid.

“If what you’re saying is true, if what you said about literature making humans better, then why are you where you are now?”

Then the bitter grasp of reality came; the cold bite of adulthood. Life is what happens to you when you get older. I was at a loss for words. I couldn’t answer back. And it was one of my greatest fears- that life would not turn out like in literature.

They say when you know the truth, it will set you free. I know the truth and have seen it. Why am I being detained here?

The lady came to me and handed me a small plastic pouch containing some pills.

“These will help you cope up with reality and save you from this madness. It’s time to grow up and be part of this world.”, Cato Manfredi said, announcing that the session was over, and that the sentence was already handed down.

He stood up from his chair and shook my hand and bid me farewell.

“Have a nice day and I hope not to see you again here.”

The lady lead me to a wall. It opened apart. When I stepped out I found myself standing outside the bookstore.

I looked around me. “So this is real.”

I dropped the bag of pills. My eyes gazed once more in the hustle and bustle of the narrow streets of Florence. I still longed for the sublime world of Haruki Murakami.

I went back to existence and dived into chaos in search of Death, to ask her to take me to a different trip away from here.




Another book review on "Norwegian Wood"


http://iamtripster.blogspot.it/2011/11/love-life-lost-in-perdition-in.html

Tuesday, July 03, 2012

Virgin Charlie Challenge Week #16 Recap- Hate Week


I just hate it when you lay out your workout program plan for the week and it’s sabotaged by work and other unexplainable phenomena and cosmological forces that lead dim-witted individuals to cross your path and obstruct your goal for the week.



I just hate it when you go inside the sauna and you hear two douchebags talk about their latest sexual conquest. Sleeping with women like they were mindless Barbie dolls? And this is why they go to the gym?

I just hate it when you are apparently achieving something and then somebody would ask, “Did you just gained weight, AGAIN?”.

I just hate it when certain people f*ck with my brain. I mean, get lost. Don’t come near me again when I’m in the sauna. Do you want me to switch to Ted Bundy/Jeffrey Dahmer mode right now?

I just hate seeing half-breeds. And I hate to admit that fact that I am actually a certified state of the art discriminator.

I just hate seeing that freakin’ personal trainer again.

I just hate this week. 

Sunday, July 01, 2012

Thirteen Down!


A-   Auster, Paul- Oracle Night
B-    Barnes, Julian- Sense of an Ending
C-    Cornwell, Patricia- The Last Precinct
D-   Dennis, Patrick- Auntie Mame
E-    Eugenides, Jeffrey- The Middlesex
F-    Follett, Ken- The Pillars of the Earth
G-   Grisham, John- The Runaway Jury
H-   Huxley, Aldous- Brave New World
I-     Isherwood, Christopher- A Single Man
J-     Jin, Ha- In the Pond
K-   Kelman, Stephen- Pigeon English
L-    Lewis, C.S.- The Screwtape Letters
M- Murakami, Haruki- South of the Border, West of the Sun
N-   Nin, Anais- Henry and June
O-   Okakura, Kakuzo- The Book of Tea
P-    Patchett, Ann- Bel Canto
Q-   Quinn, Jay- The Beloved Son
R-   Rounding, Virginia- Catherine the Great: Love, Sex, and Power
S-    Simoni, Marcello- Il Mercante dei Libri Maledetti
T-   Tolkien, J.R.R.- The Hobbit
U-   Updike, John- The Centaur
V-   Vonnegut, Kurt- The Cat’s Cradle
W- Waugh, Evelyn- The Brideshead Revisited
X-   Xiaolong, Qiu- Death of a Red Heroine
Y-   Yates, Alexander- Moondogs
Z- Zola, Emile- The Belly of Paris


Currently Reading: Henry and June by Anais Nin