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Archive for May, 2010

Rivalry

May 31st, 2010 No comments

The 80s rivalry is back and alive and starts Friday. I have been a Celtics fan since the 70s’ Dave Cowens and Jojo White era watching it on replay over at RPN Iriga in a B&W television. But the big Q now is can the big 3 win their second ring in three years and repeat their 2008 championship run?  A question in doubt but history tells that they managed an upset that year against Kobe Bryant and his reliable bunch (LA now has Ron Artest) but the 4th seeded Celtics remain underdog in the finals despite beating the two best teams in the league during their playoff run.  Boston’s 24-year old spark plug Rajon Rondo’s emergence as the Celtics future will have to be the big difference if they want to win the series, he’s backed-up by the aging trio of Pierce, Garnett and Allen who still got game though at times erratic.  Can they beat LA?  They need to steal road games; it’s difficult but not impossible.  Celtics in 7.


Filed under: Ginisa Mix Tagged: Hoop
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When in Rome

May 31st, 2010 No comments
There's not much you can complain about when you download a movie for free over torrents, even if you have decided it is going to turn out to be a rom-com formulaic cliche on romance.

Above sentence sums up the way I feel about When in Rome, the latest feature from Kristin Bell (Heroes, Forgetting Sarah Marshall) and Josh Duhamel (Transformers, Fergie's hubby) about a young disillusioned art curator who finds love and doubts its sincerity. Bell goes to Rome to attend a sister's wedding, meets Duhamel. Next scene she decides to give love a chance, sees Duhamel flirting with another girl, gets disappointed, takes off her shoes, goes to the fountain of love and picks up five coins from the fountain (saving them from their misery) and in process puts on a spell on the five men who placed the coins int he fountain. The last one she assumes to be duhamel being a poker fanatic, with the last coin being a poker chip.

From there, you don't even need the details. It is a washed up plot that is desperate to be saved by witty lines and freash characters, what we get is a dull cliche of a love story. Boy meets girl. Boy chases girl. Girl succumbs then relents then succumbs and relents and they kiss and the lived happily ever after. It is a Star Cinema chick flick turned foreign. Quick get John Lloyd and Bea, a new song on the radio is apt for their upcoming movie, titled from the same song, "How did you Know there's One More Chance in my life."

Well as I have said, you can never complain when you downloded it for free and even watched it. The only thing you can do is share it to the officemates and hope they too waste two hours of their life.
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When in Rome

May 31st, 2010 No comments
There's not much you can complain about when you download a movie for free over torrents, even if you have decided it is going to turn out to be a rom-com formulaic cliche on romance.Above sentence sums up the way I feel about When in Rome, the latest feature from Kristin Bell (Heroes, Forgetting Sarah Marshall) and Josh Duhamel (Transformers, Fergie's hubby) about a young disillusioned art curator who finds love and doubts its sincerity. Bell goes to Rome to attend a sister's wedding, meets Duhamel. Next scene she decides to give love a chance, sees Duhamel flirting with another girl, gets disappointed, takes off her shoes, goes to the fountain of love and picks up five coins from the fountain (saving them from their misery) and in process puts on a spell on the five men who placed the coins int he fountain. The last one she assumes to be duhamel being a poker fanatic, with the last coin being a poker chip.From there, you don't even need the details. It is a washed up plot that is desperate to be saved by witty lines and freash characters, what we get is a dull cliche of a love story. Boy meets girl. Boy chases girl. Girl succumbs then relents then succumbs and relents and they kiss and the lived happily ever after. It is a Star Cinema chick flick turned foreign. Quick get John Lloyd and Bea, a new song on the radio is apt for their upcoming movie, titled from the same song, "How did you Know there's One More Chance in my life."Well as I have said, you can never complain when you downloded it for free and even watched it. The only thing you can do is share it to the officemates and hope they too waste two hours of their life.
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That I can relate to

May 31st, 2010 No comments
I am the type of person who always yearns to have someone relate to things I like. A good song on the radio finds my ears, I call attention to a fellow music lover of the new sound. A quality movie gushes my eyes, I immediately write all about it. A new found restaurant impresses my taste buds, I even foot the bill to treat a friend. Call me an attention whore but it is more of heightening the experience by sharing it with a buddy.

With my rather early fatherhood, my peers could not constantly cope with my experiences. I understand that the first time you share to your friends what joy fatherhood can bring and its blissful pains, you can come off as rather blessed. The second time around it can still be tolerable, but the third and fourth and the nth time is tethering on the annoying, much worse, makes me come off as a know it all.

With most friends still single or categorically, still, impotent (LOL), I still could not resist on insisting how much joy fatherhood and married life can bring. I jut want them to relate to the lfie I have been in for the past 3 and so years. So, the last week's news of friends unexpectedly expecting is wondrous news. Not only that they will no longer get the butt of infertility jokes, I can look forward to playmates for my kids.

And finally, here's hoping they can finally understand that parenthood is really a blessing that we want to shout out to the whole world. And at times, an excuse to duck out on night outs.
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That I can relate to

May 31st, 2010 No comments
I am the type of person who always yearns to have someone relate to things I like. A good song on the radio finds my ears, I call attention to a fellow music lover of the new sound. A quality movie gushes my eyes, I immediately write all about it. A new found restaurant impresses my taste buds, I even foot the bill to treat a friend. Call me an attention whore but it is more of heightening the experience by sharing it with a buddy.With my rather early fatherhood, my peers could not constantly cope with my experiences. I understand that the first time you share to your friends what joy fatherhood can bring and its blissful pains, you can come off as rather blessed. The second time around it can still be tolerable, but the third and fourth and the nth time is tethering on the annoying, much worse, makes me come off as a know it all.With most friends still single or categorically, still, impotent (LOL), I still could not resist on insisting how much joy fatherhood and married life can bring. I jut want them to relate to the lfie I have been in for the past 3 and so years. So, the last week's news of friends unexpectedly expecting is wondrous news. Not only that they will no longer get the butt of infertility jokes, I can look forward to playmates for my kids.And finally, here's hoping they can finally understand that parenthood is really a blessing that we want to shout out to the whole world. And at times, an excuse to duck out on night outs.
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Fall Guys

May 28th, 2010 No comments
The fall guys usually free fall all over the place.

Harvey Lee Oswald was allegedly the patsy in the JFK assassination. There's Former US Attorney General John Mitchell who claimed he was being set up as a "fall guy" during the Watergate scandal. And in the Philippines we have our own Galman to take the fall for the infamous Aquino assassination.

Heck, even the Kinse Martires are rumored to be fall guys. Abella was apparently a barber, Liboton a bystander, and Barlin was the one being given the haircut fresh from a sabong victory.

The recent brouhaha in our beloved cooperative is taking the route of the blame game. Blame it on El Niño. Blame it on the Economy. Blame the rate increase on In2Power. Blame it on DOE's lack of vision to put up more plants. Blame it on Corplan. Hell, even blame it on Comelec. Nobody will ever stand up, absorb the cudgels, and take it like a man.

As a part of the Corplan Department, I am not here to wash hands but just to put in the missing pieces of the jigsaw. On that fateful day of January 23 when the Board of Casureco II awarded the contract, we were scheduled to present a comparative analysis of both offers from TLI and In2Power. The day before, the board and management requested for an advanced print out of the said comparative study.

Come January 23, our department was all set to present the comparative analysis of both offers only to be delayed by a closed door meeting. Sitting ducks for like two hours, my office mates, the IN2Power and TLI reps were staring at the clock.

The door opens. Armed like neophytes going to war with our projector and usb and laptops, we were all ready to set up only to be interrupted by the eternal lines, "There is no need. We have already awarded the contract to In2Power."

Those two sentences summed up a week of preparation, analysis and careful scrutiny of provisions. We did not even get to say a word. All struck by the power of a majority vote.

And now, we all ask who is to blame? Better yet, what happened? Let's just call it a series of unfortunate events, shall we?
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Lumoy can Pagcamoot

May 27th, 2010 No comments
garo kalamay na malapot-lapot
sa kamot mo mawot magdukot,
sinapna na nagsusurulay
sa labot nagsusurumpay
nin mga imahe can pangiturugan
na ika logod masumpungan, maabutan
ta saro man sana an satong dalan
digdi sa nagkakalakagang kinaban.

arog ako caini calumoy
puon can macaputan
an saimong camot,
puon can maparungan
an saimong hamot.
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Lumoy can Pagcamoot


garo kalamay na malapot-lapot
sa kamot mo mawot magdukot,
sinapna na nagsusurulay
sa labot nagsusurumpay
nin mga imahe can pangiturugan
na ika logod masumpungan, maabutan
ta saro man sana an satong dalan
digdi sa nagkakalakagang kinaban.

arog ako caini calumoy
puon can macaputan
an saimong camot,
puon can maparungan
an saimong hamot.
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On the job


DepEd Assistant Secretay Jonathan Malaya and incoming City Mayor John Bongat at work during the Brigada Eskwela.
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Brigada Eskwela


DepEd Assistant Secretary Jonathan Malaya in conversation with incoming City Mayor John Bongat before kicking off with the Brigada Eskwela at Naga Central School 1.
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Sore Losers

May 24th, 2010 No comments

People who lose in a fair competition, and thus seek out less than graceful means of expressing their disatisfaction with and inability to handle losing like an adult — Urban Dictionary


With winners already proclaimed expect more protest from all sides, a smoke that should last until 2013, their attempt to disenfranchise of the not so well-planned but feels credible first automated general elections while media gives them enough mileage in the recent house hearing (to me) they all look like sore losers!  They, who cannot just accept defeat, have to resort to noise, now in short leash with their spin doctors while she’s still in throne, after the PCOS machines and CF cards, now it’s the digital signatures, surely more will come out of the box.  My shortlist of sore losers:  Lito Atienza, Mike Defensor, Monico Puentevella, Annie Susano, and whoever is behind the marsupial koala as Teddy Locsin would have put it – you SOBs!


Filed under: Ginisa Mix Tagged: Politics
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Sounds of tastes

May 24th, 2010 No comments





LIKE SCENTS, tastes bring us to places, remind us of events and affairs, and conjure within us old feelings. More often, these feelings are heightened because some are of our deepest intimacies while some are of our greatest melancholies and fears. This simple psychology of flavor was, is, and will always be a big part of how we are formed as individual persons.

We squirm at the slightest redolent of our childhood food and we feast in jubilation and we linger on it upon the taste of a delicacy we consumed at the height of let’s say victory or experience of love. Nevertheless, as grownups, we do not just resent dishes that are reminiscent of our pains like breakups or deaths, we avoid places where we have experienced those tastes. Moreover, we use our taste to remember something, someone or someplace to keep particular thing, person, experience or place alive at least in our memory.

There is also the option to remember tastes and make them channels as if they are television sets always at hand to flash moving images of certain portions of our lives.

I feel comforted at the memory of the taste of hulog-hulog—rice balls in sweet ginger and coco milk soup—which I last tasted years ago when I was a still a kid whose concerns would range from toy trains to magic slates to taking a quick dip in the river with fellow children without Mother knowing it. Perhaps, it is the soothing warmth of the ginger soup that reminds me how rustic and pastoral was my old hometown and how beautiful and comforting it was to live there. Or maybe the rice balls provide lucid recollections of my wandering in the woods with friends in search for something supernatural. How I would childishly chomp on the rice balls, too sticky inside my mouth that sometimes they got stuck in my upper palate, could be my portal to that Good Friday when with other itinerant kids I braved the deserted Sulóng river only to find out if true was the olden belief that the river would turn into a single solid slab of crystal at noon time when Jesus died on the cross. The water remained water; we small kids almost lost our sanity when we saw a snake crossing the river heading to our direction.

Mother cooked hulog-hulog in afternoons because the rice balls needed prior sun drying. The excitement waiting for it to finally reach the dining table was often accompanied by the occasional blares of transistor radios from neighboring houses quietly listening to radio dramas and advices from nicely-voiced radiomen. Then comes the faint rhythm of the rice mill grinding palay into polished rice.

In the chorus of these sounds, one of my uncles would join with allegro cadence of manual grating of coconut flesh. Then Mother, like a magician, would whistle the charcoal stove to fire using talayóp, a small bamboo pipe through which one may blow wind to burn embers in stoves. The cooking begins.

The saucepan was filled almost to the brim with water, coconut milk, with a right amount of chopped ginger and a few tablespoon of sugar. The rice balls, now plump and dry, were on a flat tray waiting somewhere. By this time, I would be facilitating the hauling of a derailed toy train somewhere in between the switch and the curve of my toy railroad tracks. Such is how a pre-school only son spends an ordinary afternoon—solitary because older friends would only come after school, or maybe because they, being preschoolers too, were not allowed to go out because the sun was still up and outside was too hot for kids.

The announcement that merienda was ready was a kind of fan fare. Consuming those sticky, slimy, savory rice balls and slurping the thick, sweet ginger soup were always done in a tempo that goes between fast and not so fast. Or perhaps, a child’s emotions gradually rising like the hairpin of crescendo. The memory of the taste of the whole thing reminds me that soon Mother would be sending me out to bring to some dear neighbors bowls of hulog-hulog. Soon would be playtime, and playtime was until six o’clock when church bells tolled oracion.

Some time soon, the taste of hulog-hulog would wear out from my taste buds. A few hours into it and the ginger would lose its spirit. The stomach then would do then its job. Maybe to give way to other dishes, like fried fish or eggplant salad or the thick sauce of Bikol-style igado. Their respective tastes in the future may become passwords to portals of imagined past—perhaps, a portion of one’s own psyche. They may too come as answers to the whys and hows of our lives—either permanent or temporary answers to own frequent philosophizing.

Let our tongues then do the remembering sometimes.
Categories: Blogs, Personal Tags:

Sounds of tastes

May 24th, 2010 No comments
LIKE SCENTS, tastes bring us to places, remind us of events and affairs, and conjure within us old feelings. More often, these feelings are heightened because some are of our deepest intimacies while some are of our greatest melancholies and fears. This simple psychology of flavor was, is, and will always be a big part of how we are formed as individual persons.We squirm at the slightest redolent of our childhood food and we feast in jubilation and we linger on it upon the taste of a delicacy we consumed at the height of let’s say victory or experience of love. Nevertheless, as grownups, we do not just resent dishes that are reminiscent of our pains like breakups or deaths, we avoid places where we have experienced those tastes. Moreover, we use our taste to remember something, someone or someplace to keep particular thing, person, experience or place alive at least in our memory.There is also the option to remember tastes and make them channels as if they are television sets always at hand to flash moving images of certain portions of our lives.I feel comforted at the memory of the taste of hulog-hulog—rice balls in sweet ginger and coco milk soup—which I last tasted years ago when I was a still a kid whose concerns would range from toy trains to magic slates to taking a quick dip in the river with fellow children without Mother knowing it. Perhaps, it is the soothing warmth of the ginger soup that reminds me how rustic and pastoral was my old hometown and how beautiful and comforting it was to live there. Or maybe the rice balls provide lucid recollections of my wandering in the woods with friends in search for something supernatural. How I would childishly chomp on the rice balls, too sticky inside my mouth that sometimes they got stuck in my upper palate, could be my portal to that Good Friday when with other itinerant kids I braved the deserted Sulóng river only to find out if true was the olden belief that the river would turn into a single solid slab of crystal at noon time when Jesus died on the cross. The water remained water; we small kids almost lost our sanity when we saw a snake crossing the river heading to our direction.Mother cooked hulog-hulog in afternoons because the rice balls needed prior sun drying. The excitement waiting for it to finally reach the dining table was often accompanied by the occasional blares of transistor radios from neighboring houses quietly listening to radio dramas and advices from nicely-voiced radiomen. Then comes the faint rhythm of the rice mill grinding palay into polished rice.In the chorus of these sounds, one of my uncles would join with allegro cadence of manual grating of coconut flesh. Then Mother, like a magician, would whistle the charcoal stove to fire using talayóp, a small bamboo pipe through which one may blow wind to burn embers in stoves. The cooking begins.The saucepan was filled almost to the brim with water, coconut milk, with a right amount of chopped ginger and a few tablespoon of sugar. The rice balls, now plump and dry, were on a flat tray waiting somewhere. By this time, I would be facilitating the hauling of a derailed toy train somewhere in between the switch and the curve of my toy railroad tracks. Such is how a pre-school only son spends an ordinary afternoon—solitary because older friends would only come after school, or maybe because they, being preschoolers too, were not allowed to go out because the sun was still up and outside was too hot for kids.The announcement that merienda was ready was a kind of fan fare. Consuming those sticky, slimy, savory rice balls and slurping the thick, sweet ginger soup were always done in a tempo that goes between fast and not so fast. Or perhaps, a child’s emotions gradually rising like the hairpin of crescendo. The memory of the taste of the whole thing reminds me that soon Mother would be sending me out to bring to some dear neighbors bowls of hulog-hulog. Soon would be playtime, and playtime was until six o’clock when church bells tolled oracion.Some time soon, the taste of hulog-hulog would wear out from my taste buds. A few hours into it and the ginger would lose its spirit. The stomach then would do then its job. Maybe to give way to other dishes, like fried fish or eggplant salad or the thick sauce of Bikol-style igado. Their respective tastes in the future may become passwords to portals of imagined past—perhaps, a portion of one’s own psyche. They may too come as answers to the whys and hows of our lives—either permanent or temporary answers to own frequent philosophizing.Let our tongues then do the remembering sometimes.
Categories: Blogs, Personal Tags:

Early mid-mid life crisis

May 22nd, 2010 No comments

I usually feel down a few days after New Year because of the things I haven't accomplished the past year. In 2010 the moment came late., masyadong late, how late? I realized I've messed up another year of opportunities in 2009 on May 22, 2010 4:30am.
While drinking with the guys - an event I don't do that often, dai ako parainom -I realized just how left out I was. Granted that their stories might involve some grandstanding on their part (booze + stories + wasted people = legends; ung parang pataasan ng ihi na kahit anong gawin ni Superman di ata kayang tapatan) it was a bit disheartening to realize na I haven't done as much.
It got me thinking.Have I spent the better part of my early 20's in Naga as best as I could? If I worked in Manila or somewhere else would I feel the same? Kelan kaya ako makakabili ng Ducati? Makakataas ba ako sa bagong gawang Naga City Market gamit yun ng di naheheatstroke sa sobrang kapal na jacket na kailangan kong suotin?
Maybe it's time to change gears (okay enough with the Ducati reference)... maybe it's time to move out of Naga. Hmmn.,maybe it's time to seriously think about that.
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I Got To Meet The Person Who Solved This!

May 22nd, 2010 No comments

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