Fete De La Musique 2008!

Waaaahhhh! This just in c/o Alliance Francaise. To think I narrowly missed this! It's a good thing I still manage to check my other yahoomail, the one that's heaving under the weight of some 15,000 subscription emails.


Tara troops, we're storming MOA tomorrow before dark. For some reason that escapes me to this day, I haven't had the chance to attend the Fete since 2005... Boy, that one was really something. That was probably the best concert (multiple pa!) that I've ever gone to. I need more moments like that.

Take a peek at how other countries are rocking it out this weekend. Coolness, they even have it as far as Kathmandu!

A demain!

Extravagance, Madness and Poetry in Modern Ballet

It was (or is to be) a good run while it lasted, even though I hardly made good on my promise to live and breathe the essence of eau de French Spring in Manila this year.

So before the curtain closes, Alliance Francaise and the Embassy of France leave us with one last hurrah... which I'm sure will leave us with oohs and aahs.. (Hehe, I just had to make it rhyme).

Je vous presente...

La Bossa Fataka
by Cie Hervieu-Montalvo
June 22, 2008 (Sunday) at 8:00 pm
Main Theater, Nicanor Abelardo Hall
Cultural Center of the Philippines, Pasay City


Last chance, folks. As of an hour ago, only a few balcony seats are still available. Get your tickets before they get sold out!

*Bises*
La Varbaridad

French Spring in Manila 2008

Ooh la la! It's French Spring once again!

(Yep, this post is so long overdue.)

The two words (French and Spring) that can make me break out into song with matching spring-chicken dance moves:

Vive le temp
Vive le temp
Vive le temp de primavera!

(the above rephrased lyrics are originally sung to the tune of "Jingle Bells"--seriously!)

All right, so that may not be the most French thing to do. What can I say, I'm just the teensiest bit obsessed. I'm thinking instead of catching the show below so I might learn a few tricks to help me along this long-drawn-out process of acculturization to the French Aesthetic. (That is, if learning through osmosis actually works.)


Seriously, I think this is the shiznit. I really wanna go. I wanna see all the films they're showing at Shangri-La Plaza next month. I don't wanna catch them on bootleg DVD. I wanna see how the French get jiggy with it. I understand now that I shouldn't have missed out on last year's Pockemon Crew hiphop extravaganza. How I could have been totally ignorant prior to this time of the photography and culinary art exhibits that have been taking place all over the metro throughout the past couple of months is beyond me.

Indeed it is a terrible shame. Much as I hate being paradoxical all within the span of the same post, it saddens me to no end. How I used to take so many things, such as time and love, for granted. How I could have ever let a potentially beautiful moment slip through my now-rheumatic fingers. How I could never be, instead of letting be. So I'd like to make up for all the transgressions against who else but myself, for the sake of art, for the sake of self-liberation. For the sake of life... For the sake of love. (Naka naman!)
.
.
.
.
.
(Oops, I just remembered--I might just be on hiatus on June 7th. Meaning, no Afro-French dance showdown for me. Maybe I'll go see this instead...)

Pinay In Action Run '08

I know, this is so last week.

Whatev, I'm still posting it. It is still March, after all, and all this is in celebration of International Women's Month.

Below are pics taken from the 2008 Pinay In Action Expo that was held in NBC Tent in Bonifacio Global City last Sunday. As an annual event that is spearheaded by Senator Pia Cayetano, this included a multi-distance all-women run and indoor exhibit showcasing bits and pieces that highlighted the sporty senator's advocacy for women empowerment in the country. (Plus, let me not forget, sassy environmentalism too!)

oh, happy day...

just a little shout out to our sponsors

assembly line

running in global city

inside the expo

it's like that, all right

Sorry, gotta run (figuratively now, that is). Details to follow in yet another week.

Happy Women's Month, y'all!

Happy Happy!

Ah, yes. I'm at it again. Still here, still.. well, here. Picked up right where I left off, overtime overdrive. Where has all the never-ending self-bashing gone?

***

So I spent last New Year's Eve hobnobbing with fellow Makati-lites at the Countdown to 2008 Bash over at Ayala. Sweet. It felt like college all over again, except that we were rocking to the likes of the Bloomfields and the Itchyworms alongside the likes of Victor Basa and Teddy Boy Locsin. Yep, you read right. Mr. Congressman with his cute lil grandboy perched on top of his shoulders, à la Woodstock '69. That scene reminded me of all the reasons that I absolutely love the New Year celebration. Never mind the summertime; NY Eve is the ultimate time and place to be.

So I have to say, it was the first time I spent the holidays away from home, far, far away from the city that sleeps a little too early but parties hard on NY Eve. I thought I could take it. But it was damn hard. Good thing there was raucous music and the eye-blistering burst of fireworks c/o the city government of Makati to distract me from thoughts of home, of dad and the kids lighting up illegal firework-like thingies all over the backyard and just generally trying to outdo and out-obnoxify the neighbors. It was hard, but I managed to have a scream of a good time. How could I not, with Lej clutching at my arm, leading our twosome in an impromptu jumping jacks in place showdown. "You never know if our growth spurt might still come," she proclaimed amid the fantastic popping of lights and stars in the sky. I thought people our age stopped subscribing to such things. Apparently, Lej is an even bigger optimist than I credit her for. Which is exactly why we're buddies to the end.

Apart from the celebrity eyeballing, we bumped into a couple of equally suave-looking orgmates from MSA (Aldean and Assad), exchanged working profile details and calling cards with them (as opposed to numbers, coz I couldn't get my cellphone to behave appropriately at the time), and ate ourselves into a morning-after tummyache (oh right, that's just me again). We also ruminated on a great many things, not the least of which was our perennially blissful state of you-know-what. Yep, we give new meaning to the term "sistahs in da 'Hood". Yes, that 'hood, all right.

The night ended not really with a bang but on a crackling, "I miss it already" note. We stayed out and chewed the fat until 3am to try to hold on to the wispy remains of the year we both started really living.

***

Happy Blistering New Year, folks! Another year to live fast and party hard like it's 1999!

Mina, Milenyo, and Mogadishu in My Mind

So I just found out. Like right this moment... Happy 100 Posts to me! I hope I get in at least a couple more hundred posts before ol' Que Varbs gives up on me.

Now that we got the pleasantries out of the way, allow me to give a little reality check, coz heck knows I haven't been all that in touch with the cold hard truth of life and things for the longest time.

Typhoon Mina (international codename: Mitag) is not just the latest nuisance in the local scene vying with our cruddy "politickians" for our national attention. She's a veritable PMS-ing biatch, wreaking havoc and making a hell of a scene in the backyard of our poor, displaced neighbors in Bicol. If my blasted memory of all things numerical doesn't fail me, an estimated 200,000 people are being forced out of home and hearth and evacuating to safer ground. And apparently, it was just practice; Mina's just getting her freak on. All I can say is, "Dude! Not another Milenyo!"

Last year's superstar typhoon ("super typhoon" in real world terms) Milenyo (international codename: Xangsane) made such an impression, my then housemates (Prima and Jal) and I have since referred to the time as our "Mogadishu" days. Not because we loved Josh Hartnett in Black Hawk Down, the last released big-ass flick depicting the conflict in the Somali capital; neither was it because we were channeling Brangelina and suddenly felt like going the Peace Corps way (although once upon a time, Jal and I had curiously harbored short-lived dreams of doing volunteer work in even poorer places than the PH, like for real--sorry, reality check bitch-slapped us back to wakefulness). It was coz for a few days in our otherwise very ordinary lives, we felt like we were in the movies. Like inside the movies, as opposed to being in the movies like Josh and posse.

Them Mogadishu days were something all right. I remember the uber-extended public holidays, if you can even call them that. The three of us were stuck at home with no lights, no TV, no electric fan, no nothing. Our other housemate was shacking up at one of them motel-like hotels with her paramour for the AC. (Hey, just so we're clear, I'm not saying this in any way. It's true, if you ask her yourself, she'll admit it to you straight away.) Meanwhile, Prima, Jal and I were staging our own Amazing Race all over the neighborhood in a pathetic attempt to find some candles coz Lord knows how the supermalls ran out of them so fast that you'd pay top dollar for any kind of wax you could get your hands on. We finally found a mom-and-pop store that sold some few last ones. Good Lord, it sure was a damn good fight, worthy of a Hollywood adaptation. We couldn't see in the muggy darkness and kept stumbling on fallen tree branches and stepping on puddles of mud everywhere that it was a wonder we got anywhere at all. And the water, my goulash. Ickily we were waiting in vain for the water department guys to work their magic. While we waited, we played cards, stuffed ourselves on desserts we hoarded in preparation for the ordeal, and gossiped about the people we knew. There's never a more fun time to have such simple, low-key pleasures like all that than during blackouts, I always say.

In the morning, when things were supposed to look better (as the saying goes), we lay witness to Mogadishu being played out in our own street. Everything was brown. Like, you know, the color of, you know...soil. (You were thinking maybe something else?) The streets were brown, the sky was brown, the air (normally a light shade of smogged-up black) was brown. Hell, even us brown people never looked more brown. The power lines looked like Tarzan came to town and thought it was all right to be swinging around on those black, stringy thingies as a mode of transportation. It was a friggin' warzone, I tell you. And we were living (still are) in beautiful, dependable Makati City already. I had never been so excited to be going back to the office.

And now this. Maybe that's why, for the past couple of nights, when the cab taking me home turned the corner into my neighborhood, I knew something was "off". The streets leading to my place were freakishly dark. Then came the sudden reruns of "V for Vendetta" in my mind and I felt a little spooked. I mean, this is Makati City. City lights don't go MIA whenever they feel like it. The streets in my neighborhood were so cloaked in darkness, as if someone put the lights out in an attempt to cause widespread panic, usurp power by force, and in the resulting mayhem, destabilize the status quo. Oh, wait--that's what Mina's trying to do, actually. So now I have the answer, I understand. Life makes sense again.

***

Oh, Mina Mina Mina. Coz of you, we're not doing Animo anymore. I know, I know. Manila is a long way from Bicol, and even from Mindoro, your presumed exit strategy. But I won't go running around this big, bad town soaking wet. I only got Nike dri-fits; they ain't no waterproof threads, you know. Anyway, Bry, one of the running buddies, is stuck somewhere between Naga City (yes, that's in Bicol) and Manila. The other guy, Jer, is of the same mind as moi and not feeling it. Besides, it's quite likely the whole thing will be called off due to the forecast of strong rains.

Anyhoo, there's always Yakult on December 9th. And the AFP Invitational the weekend after. Seriously, I have GOT to get my A-game on. Need to keep running in the meantime. And put in time again in the training gym in Pasig. I'm getting so weak and everything. Not to mention them damn zits are once again making their bulbous presence felt. It's the usual suspects: work, work, and--let me not forget--work.

Well, now I gotta go. Or else I might be tempted to stay and check out some cool (not!) PowerPoint slides I got a hold of today. Tomorrow is the start of what could be a really soggy weekend. But I'm sure it's gonna be much better than the debilitating agony of the last few weekends. Save for the Ateneo Run, that is.

Update (November 26th):

So. There were no Milenyo-esque apparitions in the city last weekend. Maybe later this week, although of course, I'm not crossing my fingers. So yesterday the Animo Run would have pushed through. Too bad. Oh well.

Remains of The Day (Yesterday)

So the end of the calvary is near. I'm ecstatic at getting my life back, and there's no other way to do it but with a vengeance.

Yesterday, the trifecta of running junkies from the consulting office--that's me, Bry, and Jer--got a little nostalgic running around the Ateneo de Manila campus with a bunch of teeners. We were there to support Jer's nephew, whose grade 7 class was having its family day, the highlight of which was the "Crossover Run for Gawad Kalinga", a charity fundraiser that was supposed to kick off at 6am but actually sputtered to life at 9am! Anyhow, it was fun, I actually got 5th place in the women's open run, for which I got a prize of two boxes of Enervon Prime (yes--that's milk for "old timers"!) Hah. Ateneans sure know how to take care of their constituents. What a riot, that place.

Now this Maroon has never gone the blue way, but I had a ball walking about and discovering the nooks and crannies of the grade school area (although I only got as far as the sort-of dorm, I think, lest I actually be trespassing on sacred ground). I got there a little early and decided to fix myself up a bit as it looked like the party was gonna take some time to get started (and hell, was I right). Snatches of flashback deluged this sleep-deprived head as I strolled past the buildings in search of the elusive ladies' room (hey, I just realized it's an all-boys school). Along with the rain that greeted the wee hours of the morning, the smell of the damp grounds and soggy grass was surprisingly invigorating. The gentle slope of the paved road, the brownness of tree trunks lining the street, the vague familiarity of glassed-in student message boards, everything brought on soothing reminiscence of an era long gone.

Fast-forwarding a bit, I was also thrown back to the time when the Buencamino Kid and I went jogging in these parts in between our midnight oil sessions. I remember during a rest period, we were lounging on the steps of some church or other similar-looking edifice, and somehow the usual light banter turned serious, and I was trying to avoid being argumentative and not give in to the sudden barb. I should have seen it coming; we were too much alike, and at the same time so very different. Eventually BK and I sort of withered away, but not until a few years later. It's a little sad, actually. Good thing there's running then.

Yes, I just had to turn unnecessarily maudlin. Never mind that then. To end, I have to say Ateneo was really pretty, as always, and being marooned in the place for a longer period than I signed up for, it felt like a communal haven that cosseted you from the ills of modern society. Never mind the socio-cultural implications of what I just expressed. I say this with fondness, and even with a little whimsy. Sometimes I do wish I went to an all-boys school. (As a boy, that is, you.) I'm sure it would have been a blast, even more so than going to an all-girls school. I dunno. I just feel there's a freedom to boyhood that's more all-encompassing and evocative of the spirit of youth. Either that or Soms, my McLovin-loving buddyboo, just had way too much fun in his heyday.

Love. Peace. Run.

This is possibly the most excruciating week of the year thus far. Like Murphy said, anything wrong that can happen will happen. He's got some pretty solid skills of postulation, that guy. But I'm not expounding on the things that managed to disturb (no, that should actually be in the present tense--"still manage to disturb") my sangfroid.

To be fair, the week opened with one of the best Sundays I had this year, which I would like to think is a sign of better things to come. Of course, my Sundays are pretty laidback and open for whatever. I try valiantly each single time to get an early start so I could hit the gym for a mind-and-body morning rush, unfortunately usually to no avail. But at the very least I could count on regular detours to the mall for some extensive power walking. I totally swear by this activity. If it weren't for this fallback, I'd have ballooned beyond redemption on account of my manic love for food, which would cross out any effects that I more or less gain from a spasmodic exercise schedule. I mean, imagine walking around for hours on end to window-shop and people-watch and nothing more, stopping to rest only for dinner or the occasional movie with Soms, my Thai cuisine-craving partner-in-crime du jour. It's practically fail-safe for couch potato butts like me. Although it can get quite tiring having to stay upright for a few hours straight, at least you don't feel the sting of focused physical exertion that is typical of gym workouts.

Last Sunday, Soms was a no-show, mainly coz I failed to inform him ahead of time that I couldn't make it to our loosely planned dinner. It's usually touch and go with him anyway, so it's all well and good. Upon arriving home from exercising my rights to vagrancy at Glorietta and Greenbelt (was literally bumming around all over the place), I had planned a short siesta until around 5pm but found the opportunity to snuggle further into sleepiness too tempting to pass up. After all, I'm not your daily corporate zombie for nothing. While some folks dream of Jeannie, I for the most part dream of sleep.

So last Sunday, I was wiped out, I was history. It was a day for the books. I had completed my second 5K that morning at the Fil-Mus Foundation Run for Peace at Roxas Boulevard. And to think I had almost missed it! I didn't hear the damn alarm go off, maybe coz I had only 4 hours of sleep the night before. Thankfully, by some mysterious process I managed to be jolted out of my sleeping stupor at 5:15am (starting time was 6am). I have never showered so fast in my entire life, the very memory amazes me to this time. After downing Lipovitan (the store was fresh out of Red Bull at the time), I was so pumped up, I was running the short distance from my apartment to the main road to hail a taxi. The sun was way up already and all that vitamin D got me in panic mode that I was cussing at myself for jeopardizing what I had been looking forward to for weeks. Luckily, the heavens must be conspiring in my favor coz I got a cab right away to take me to Malate. Sitting through the ride and trying to keep my wavering hopes up, it became all the more self-evident that Roxas Boulevard is quite a distance from my core universe in Makati, even sans the usual traffic. I implored the cabbie to go as fast as legally possible while mouthing a silent prayer to up my chances of making it to the starting line. I really wanted to run in this race.

When I got to the place, I jumped out of the cab and sprinted to the baggage counter area (a couple of mini-minivans) only to find out that I actually wasn't late. Practically, no, but only coz the celebrity guest runner who was there to kick off the show, Robin Padilla, the quintessential bad boy of Pinoy showbiz, arrived at the starting area a good 10-15 minutes later than I did (which would make the official starting time around 6:15 instead of 6am). Being a newbie runner, I would think that by racing standards, that's an eternity. Whatever. As evidenced by the reception of the racing crowd that caught a glimpse of him as he swept into the scene with a gathering entourage in tow (which included his very pretty daughter, who jogged with him wearing a full hijab), I realize star power is raw power. Can't really argue with the power of charisma. You'd think it would be easy for the multitude of runners to get a little pissed off by the delay. Apparently, you couldn't get guys like these (starstruck or otherwise) that chug on happy hormones for racing fuel in a sour mood then.

The starter pistol was fired immediately upon his arrival, and off the throng went. Some 1,000 boys and girls of all ages and from all walks of Manila life thundered down the paved path that extended from Rajah Sulayman Plaza, turning the corner at TM Kalaw and further past the plaza to the stoplight at the end of the pedestrian stretch, and back to complete a lap. The 5K event covered one round of the straightforward route which, even with the lack of the slopes and curves that characterized the UP run, was still a tough one for me as I was ready to drop by the side of the road at 4K. But I soldiered on, stopping for a second only when my shoelace came undone and breaking my pace by about 20% to aim in the general direction of my trap water from the plastic cups that the nice water people at the opposite ends of the road stretch were handing out to the runners.

When you're not racing, 5K sounds like an easy number. But as I was reminded again, it was a long, arduous journey of the mind as halfway through the run, I was mighty ecstatic to see the looming visage of the plaza that would signify the end of my happy ordeal. My endorphin levels dipped considerably, however, upon being reminded that the route from TM Kalaw required another turn before hitting the finish line at the plaza area. Daayymm, suddenly it felt like a chore that I couldn't reconcile getting up so early and working my ass out that hard for. Somewhere in the fogged-up crevices of my sleep-deprived mind, I heard the question, "Why am I doing this again?" And then I got the answer a short while later in the end, my utter amazement apparent at seeing the LCD timer staring down at me suspended from its place above the finish line, as if to say, "Yes, you really did finish at 33:37."

I swear, that moment right there was really cool. It was tops. Later this week when I relayed the news to Bry, my co-running junkie at the UP run, he was floored. He said his last PR (he runs at UP with Jer every Sunday now) was around 34 minutes. For the Fil-Mus race, I figured I must be finishing within the neighborhood of 36 minutes. If I were to be technical about it, my first ever time of 41:07 at the Great UP Run should be slashed some 5 minutes in order for me to get a better picture of how my average running rate goes. But man, 33:37 is quite something, on a personal level. I'm happy with it, especially since I haven't even been kicking it in training. The only aerobic activity I got after the run at Diliman was at Muay Thai class the day before (see previous post).

Which provides the segue into the second part of this report, to be concluded as soon as I can snatch up some free time from my workload from hell.


Post-Run Pose with the Muay Thai National Team

Ooh La La!

It's only six days into June and already I'm feeling French. Just this afternoon when I was reminded of this month's French fest, I immediately rounded up some fellow cinema art farts at the office and established a viewing schedule with them for this Wednesday. I'll still have to drag someone to come with me to the Fete on June 18 at El Pueblo, though. If anyone out there is planning to do some serious head-bangin' to Frenchy (as well as NoyPi) beats, just holler.



Fête de la Musique

El Pueblo - Ortigas Center
and Metro Manila
June 18, 2005 - 5:00 PM onwards


Introduced in France in 1982 by then Minister for Culture Jack Lang, the Fête de la Musique is an all-day, all-night celebration of music to welcome summer. Musicians, amateurs and professionals perform freely in public places, from parks to street corners, metro stations, trains, not necessarily in concert halls or stages.

It became a very popular event, and through the network of French Embassies and French cultural centers and Alliances Françaises, it easily spread to many countries worldwide. It is now celebrated in simultaneously in more than 120 countries every 21st of June.

In Manila, the Fête has been celebrated since 1994, from Malate to Fort Bonifacio, to El Pueblo and Eastwood, gathering some 10,000 music-lovers in a street party that appropriately closes the cultural season, the French Spring in Manila, and where more than a hundred bands perform in ten stages simultaneously, offering the full spectrum of musical genre from World Music to Rock, Alternative, Reggae, Jazz, Blues, Electronica, Acousitic, Hip Hop and R&B.

In 2005, while the center stage in El Pueblo - Ortigas Center will showcase a selection of musicians of these musical categories, several poles of the city night life join us, like Greenbelt 3, Shangri-La Plaza, Eastwood, The Podium, SM Megamall. Thus, the Fête de la Musique reaches all corners of the capital.

.......................................

10th French Film Festival
Panorama of the French Contemporary Cinema
June 03 to June 26, 2005
3-15 Greenbelt 1, Ayala Center, Makati City
Entrance Fee : Php50

Please check out the link above for the movie titles.

Be seeing you, guys!