Happy Guilt Trip!

Which would be more excruciating:

To want what you cannot have?

Or to want what you want, which you can have but know you don't really need and would probably be better off not having (which then makes you want it even more)?

Gaaah! Why oh why did the concept of want ever have to come to being anyway? As if that wasn't enough to give you a minor heartburn, there's freedom of choice waving in your face the proverbial noose with which to hang yourself. Ack. This indecisive war between the id and superego, between desire and responsibility, is killing you. You're positively writhing inside. And it's all your own doing.

***

But it's great, you think, that you're made to come to terms with such things. Through the distress of contemplating battles with the self comes the Trojan Horse of a boon, a welcome respite reminding you of what you have and have had.


You have had the time of your life. Whatever's gone down in the past so far, you know this much remains true. And for this, you will always be grateful.

And yet you sit there nursing your designer coffee, whining about how the past is getting old, and clamoring for más y más.


Maybe that's the beauty of experience. Maybe it's human nature to want more than what you have in your hands. Others are not so lucky. A few will probably never be.

And really, you have to admit that sometimes, you don't even deserve it. At least not all of it. Maybe not all in one big go.

But dammit, you want it. You want it. Heaven help you. You just don't know how bad you got it.

Then again, maybe you shouldn't try to find out...


Happy April Fools', everyone.

I'm Not Hungry.. Not Per Se...

Dammit. I am sooo making an appearance over at Salcedo Market soon for one of these babies.

It's been so long since I dropped by the area. Heck, it's been sooo long since I actually got up and about on a weekend morning. If it weren't for my semioccasional efforts to lifestyle-shift into the Sunday morning racing scene whenever I think I could muster enough strength for it, anyone would have easily taken me for a totally nocturnal little something-something. Of course such things skewed to the contrary I try to document without exception in this blog, if only to commemorate the days when I do get some weekend UV exposure and show that I could be a little less of the lazy ass that I usually am.

Plus, this is to serve as proof against the claim once made in fifth grade by our dear valedictorian that I was a bloodsucking Bram Stoker devotee. Spawn of Dracula, that little Lea Salonga wannabe said. Flippo. I mean, come on. I didn't even know about Bela Lugosi or the nosferatu until the following year. That was when Dad broke in the adult-level Grolier encyclopedia set and I learned of worlds outside the four corners of Zamboanga City. That was also the first time I came across the term "schizophrenia."

Shit, I'm rambling again. Gotta feed.

Oh, no—not these! Please, no!

Photos courtesy of TSOGB.

Salad Days: Going Green, Staying Mean

Finally. For the longest time, the idea of blogging about food has been fermenting at the back of my mind. Chronic wishy-washiness comes to the fore when I try weighing the pros and cons of the deal. My favorite excuse is that I would be undermining my own penny-pinching efforts, as I would be somewhat "forced" to eat out more often at places slightly better than your friendly, neighborhood Kenny Rogers (ain't much of a McDonald's junkie). Now not to diss the great Kenny R, coz he sure knows tasty comfort food-in-a-flash. (Even though his roast chicken gives off that GMO vibe, like you're biting into cloned meat or what-have-you, which is not actually all that comforting...) But some days when feel like you've had one roast chicken too many, you know you gotta have variety. And some days, you just gotta have quality variety.

By quality, I mean healthy. As in salads and greens. Olive oil-based entrees and roast white meat. Soy lattes and sugar-free desserts. Friends know how I can live on tuna au naturel for a whole straight week and not feel like I'm starting to grow fish scales. I get a kick out of eating things that I know won't lead me to a premature bypass. Even though I like digging into rich, hearty treats (lordy, I miss Cyma!), I get a little lightheaded from images of clogged arteries swirling in my head, the special effects punctuated with every bite. (Okay, well, maybe not EVERY bite.. usually just the first one.) Plus, I know I don't look like it, but I admit vanity plays a teeny role in my preferences. Gotta love this society that's being held up by pillars of double standards.

But really, I like what I like mostly because I like my body to function the way it's supposed to when it counts. I like sports. I like being able to move with as little baggage as possible. I like being able to go trekking for hours on end without stopping every 10 seconds or so for a breather, or slipping on jagged rocks and breaking a rib or two in the process. I like not looking like a wuss during training, especially at times when I feel like I'm being one.

So that's my story. Now what about this health food series thing? Well, the dealbreaker is, I have to motivate myself to eat healthy more consistently. Enough with the excuses, enough with the sissiness. Sure, grabbing healthy eats means dishing out more bread. But if you want something, you do what you gotta do to make it happen. If you gotta spend, you might as well spend wisely and with flair. Quality is the shiznit, whereas extravagance is for the uninspired.

And most of all, spend in finger-lickin' good taste. Coz really, if it's so good, who cares about anything?

Pomelo Shrimp Salad: Flamboyant and Delightful

From the Vietnamese kitchens of casual gastronomes comes the first in the series of nerdy good eats: my pseudo-all-time fave greeny treat.

All right, that's a lie and a half. Coz this candy-colored confection of a salad is as un-green as they come. The mussed-up array of reds and pinks is done with such aplomb that it almost looks like sin.

As much as I want to say that this is a health dish, the truth is that it's not. Coz nestled underneath all that shredded kani is really mostly water. Specifically, I believe the biological term would be cucumber. Now I don't usually like cucumber; I don't think they provide enough taste to make you forget how oddly damp to the tongue they feel inside your mouth. But in this dish, sliced thin and stiff, they work.

The dish has a smattering of nuts on it, a bed of shredded carrots sitting just beneath the kani, some onions for that snippy kick, and, as if to validate its salad-ness, some lettuce to balance out all that fusion of corals.

So far, I'm going on and on about color and placement, which might lead one to infer that I'm all about the looks. The truth of the matter is, the visuals matter as much as the taste. Well, okay, just almost. I'm not sure about the Vietnamese, but Asian cuisines such as the Japanese and the Korean are nuts about color, and they have a set of standard colors that determine the construction of a well-made dish. For such cultures, the visuals enhance the sense of anticipation of the meal and ultimately contribute to its appreciation. For the Koreans, it's more than a toast to epicurean living. Deriving from the principles of feng shui, they believe that the harmony of colors in the food they eat brings about good fortune and health. This might very well be true, as many foodies regard Korean cuisine as among the healthiest in the world.

So before I veer off further into the quasi-unrelated unknown, let me get back to the all-important factor that led me to write about this here flamboyant-looking salad: Do I like it? Well. There's nothing to dislike about this dish. Now you ask, so what is it then really? To break it down for you in three words: Sweet. Tart. Succulent. Of course, the last one is coz of the pomelo slices, not the paltry shrimp bits, which is actually my only complaint. But that minor injustice doesn't really matter, coz overall it's A-okay. The flavors meld together ever so prettily, like a tart-flavored cotton candy sky. For me, the secret lies really in the vinaigrette. I think it's what gets the job done. It's just so right. Plus, you never run of of it, seriously!

I'm telling you, this is a dessert masquerading as a main dish. (And I'm not talking about the inclusion of fruits in a supposedly simple meal.) Now you might think I'm mixing up my appetizers with my main courses. But you see, I don't believe in appetizers, which is why I keep referring to salads as main courses, what-have-you. Although, of course, salads can only go so far in the "gas-filling" department. More likely than not, your tank might feel a little like "gas empty" again in a couple of hours (if you're anything like me). So to help counteract that possible effect without having to cancel out the benefits of a painlessly healthy meal, might I suggest that you fill up with loads of water, or a pandan-flavored green tea drink, or a sugar-free iced tea from the nearby Wendy's. Whatever floats your boat, it's all good. Let me tell you, salad days like this have never been so refreshing. Enjoy!

Pomelo Shrimp Salad (Php174)
Pho Hoa Vietnamese Noodle House

Dessert Comes First on Mellow 94.7 FM

Ladies and gents, I am so tuning in on Wednesday night, April 2nd. The landline war is on.

Extra: The Contender Asia

I noticed that over the past few weeks, the spike in daily traffic to this site has been coming mostly from search engines. I'm guessing this is most likely due to the posts on The Contender Asia, the one and only show I religiously follow these days. It's wrapping up next month with the grand finale happening on April 12th in Singapore.

So to help answer what questions may come from inquiring minds, or just to offer a venue for public discourse and engagement, I hereby present the link to the best TCA fansite there is right now. Ta-dah!

Members of Contender Asia Fans gather on the virtual plane to discuss and analyze (and further trivialize, in some cases) the pressing issues and matters of the day. (About all things TCA, of course.) One can also pick up added insight on Muay Thai, the sport of focus in the show. The overall tone of the discourse is experiential, and sometimes it can even get a little emotional, particularly when colorful or dissenting views arise. Plus, a couple or so fighters from TCA do check in every now and then to spice up discussions with their first-hand accounts of the weekly fights and goings-on in the house. If you have kids and are concerned about psychological repercussions, let me assure you, it's a wholesome family affair. For devotees of the show, it's a nifty virtual hangout, especially after downing another heady episode of the ultimate nail-biter that is TCA.


Okay. So yeah, maybe I should have done this a long time ago, way before the quarterfinals were aired. Anyway, if you dig, good for you. If not, sorry, I can't provide an alternative forum coz that's the only one that I visit. If anyone out there has any suggestions, I'm like a duck sitting out in the open. I invite you to hit me with your best shot. *wrinkle nose plus nerdy giggle*

Peace!

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!

Pandora's Box of Old, Musty-Smelling Poems

I was finishing the last chapter of Daniel Keyes’ Flowers For Algernon when I came across the part detailing the protagonist’s out-of-body experience and his brush with the otherworldly. And suddenly, I remembered something that I had written long ago, buried under a mound of musty-smelling clothes that I had never worn since I brought them with me to Kalayaan dorm in 1999 (good golly! just saying this makes me feel so ooolllldddd....). Hurriedly I dug through the impressive heap until I found what I was looking for: my first diary since coming to Manila.

I make this pronouncement with distinction because my time in college and the thereafter is worlds apart from my life in Zamboanga. High school was an angst-ridden, ambivalent period for me, whereas college was a time for self-discovery, for rabid self-analysis. For trying to ask as many questions as one could in the hopes that somehow an answer would get drawn and ensnared in the black hole of uncertainty that kept self-amassing ad infinitum. As documented in my personal journal, it was also a time for writing poetry. And apparently, of things “(threatening) to consume me.”


This is probably the last poem I've written. Somehow I have lost all fire for writing poetry. Which is probably just as well, judging from the above.

Whenever, wherever, whatever. These days, it seems that's the best I can do in times when I feel the end is closing in on me. When poetic inspiration fails, there's always blogging. There's nothing like reverse voyeurism to validate personal experience as you attempt to purge your inner demons and let it all out for the whole world to behold.

I'm Like A Lawyer...

The lyrics below implicitly capture that which I had to let go last year..

I'm Like A Lawyer With The Way I'm Always Trying To Get You Off (Me & You)

Last year's wishes
Are this year's apologies
Every last time I come home
I take my last chance
To burn a bridge or two
I only keep myself this sick in the head
'Cause I know how the words get you {off}

We're the new face of failure
Prettier and younger but not any better off
Bulletproof loneliness
At best, at best

Me and you
Setting in a honeymoon
If I woke up next to you
If I woke up next to you
Me and you
Setting in a honeymoon
If I woke up next to you
If I woke up next to you

Collect the bad habits
That you couldn't bear to keep
Out of the woods but I love
A tree I used to lay beneath
Kissed teeth stained red
From a sour bottle baby girl
With eyes the size of baby worlds

We're the new face of failure
Prettier and younger but not any better off
Bulletproof loneliness
At best, at best

Me and you
Setting in a honeymoon
If I woke up next to you
If I woke up next to you
Me and you
Setting in a honeymoon
If I woke up next to you
If I woke up next to you
Me and you
Setting in a honeymoon
If I woke up next to you
If I woke up next to you
Me and you
Setting in a honeymoon
If I woke up next to you
If I woke up next to you

The best way
To make it through
With hearts and wrists intact
Is to realize
Two out of three ain't bad
Ain't bad

Me and you
Setting in a honeymoon
If I woke up next to you
If I woke up next to you
Me and you
(Honeymoon)
Setting in a honeymoon
Me and you
Setting in a honeymoon
If I wake up next to you
If I woke up next to you
Me and you
Setting in a honeymoon
If I wake up next to you
(Honeymoon)

***

So now I'm a Fall Out Boy fan. And it's this song that did it for me. (Great vid, too.)

Sometimes their player's pretty useless, but you can DL away here.

Marion Cotillard Wins Best Acceptance Speech and Best Backstage Interview in the Oscars.. oh, and Best Actress too..

Marion Cotillard is damn beautiful. Mind you, she may not be the type of beauty that knocks eyes out of their sockets. Her sultry good looks may not inspire a madness that could drive one to slit their wrist in puppy love despair. Rather, the extent of her appeal, albeit not quite ethereal, is beyond worldliness. She doesn't look like Christmas morning, she looks like French spring. She's magnifique. She's divine.

It's cliché, but the star who plays the award-winning role of iconic French songstress Edith Piaf in 'La Vie En Rose' (not to mention the female lead in my fave French movie, 'Jeux D'enfants', as described by moi here) is the picture of all things je ne sais quoi. I mean, will you just look at her.


Plus, she's effortlessly funny too. How can you not love her?

[Backstage at the 80th Academy Awards Press Con] When asked how it felt to win first the César, the French equivalent of the Oscar, then the Oscar itself, she said:

"I'm totally overwhelmed with joy and sparkles and fireworks... Everything which goes like bam, bam, bam... all these things are happening right now. It's just a joy and so unexpected that it's surreal, but I love it. It's huge. I'm so proud of the movie. We had so much more than fun during the shooting and all the adventure."

Cotillard credited her presenter Forest Whitaker--last year's Leading Actor Oscar winner for 'King of Scotland'--with helping her to come back into her body. "I was totally... my brain collapsed," said Cotillard when asked what was going through her head after hearing her name called. "He helped me to find the plug back to my brain."

She said the process of being nominated for the César in France and the Oscar in America is very different. "The confusion is that I spent more than a month talking about myself, which is not what I prefer to do in life," she said, "so it's very long, longer than in France. You don't do this, you don't campaign, so that was kind of weird to answer the same questions about myself because the movie was released everywhere. I mean... the life of the movie is going on... the movie doesn't need us anymore."

(writeup in block-quote by Stacy Jenel Smith and Stephanie DuBois)

Like I said, how can you not love her?

Eureka Moment: Iron Is Actually Good For You

Aha! Now I know why I was so not bringin' it during training last Saturday. I needed some iron-pumping action, and how! And that's not just because I'm sort of anemic. Although now that I think about it, how in the world am I getting by without any ferrous reinforcement?

Needless to say, I totally bombed. Halfway through the second round doing pad work with one of the krus (that's Thai for "teacher"), I found, to my utter mortification, that I was operating at 25% capacity. In cellphone terms, I was low-bat. I immediately saw it even before the new trainer was saying, "Kaya pa ba? (Can you still do it?)" In my mind, I was missile-launching expletives at myself. WTF--I used to be able to do 6-8 rounds, straight up. The least number of rounds a student can do is three, with a two-minute break in between. So this one I totally didn't see coming. Just earlier, I had relatively breezed through a straight five-lap run of the tracks for warm-up. Okay, I know, that's not even half a 5K, but considering that I haven't been running in a couple of months, that's hunky-dory for me. Anyway, doing a 5K right before Muay Thai training is just not the smartest thing in my book. Add to that the realization that it is so not worth going through training when you cannot perform to full capacity. I swear, you'd just feel crappy.

An added caveat: This weekend was the first time I set foot in the gym since New Year's Day. Yep, I was that fanatical. During the countdown to 2008 party that Lejan and I went to (see here post), I was texting with the lone kru who was left to care for the training gym while all the other instructors were enjoying the holidays with their respective families far and away from the city. I was on a roll during the holidays, training for days at a time, and I was so gung-ho on making the most of the slackening preoccupation at work that I went ahead and scheduled a one-on-one for the next day.

So I came, I saw, I kicked butt. Although it wasn't the easiest sesh I've had or anything, I was pretty pleased with myself. Nothing says "I'm getting game" more resonantly than doing it in the first day of the new year. Obviously, I thought it was a sign of things to come. Good things, of course, a year of all things fabulous for the Muay Thai nerd that is me, myself, and I.

But then work came flooding back into the mainstream consciousness like a superlolo blowing up on NY Eve--in the living room. While you're in it. Plus, the fam's painting the town red, and I need to keep them in check lest they be accosted by the cops for possession/abuse of acrylics.

And my own pending homeward bound in the coming days doesn't exactly leave me with boundless energy for other stuff that the cosmos might throw my way.

And so, when I spotted a window in my weekend schedule to finally put in some time again in the gym, I was so intent on going that I didn't bother stopping to ask myself the usual questions before heading off to training:

"Did I get enough sleep (and not just rest) in time for training?"
(Answer: I was thinking 6 hours of sleep should be good enough, just coz I have had way less.)

"Did I eat anything the day before that might contribute to an unnecessarily challenging and uncomfortable performance?"
(Answer: Nothing memorable. Meaning, nothing weird enough to derail me from performing as needed.)

"Did I have a relatively stress-free Friday to buffer the craziness of the week and allow for a smooth transition to training day?"
(Answer: Not exactly. From Sunday to Friday last week, average amount of sleep must have fallen below 5 hours.)

"Did I have my daily banana?"
(Answer: Unfortunately, I was fresh out.)

Maybe I should add in a couple of bullets in this here list, saying:

"Did I take the recommended daily 14.8mg of iron today? What about yesterday? What about the rest of the week?"

"Did I ingest less than 2 units of coffee before Wednesday?"

The number right there is an arbitrary figure; I'm trying to cut down on the once-daily cup of joe, on top of attempting the impossible--doing away with caffeine altogether on the uber-toxic days of Thursday and Friday.

And another good thing to consider, too--getting enough calcium for all that bone-crunching, hard hitting/kicking/kneeing/elbowing action. I know I avoid dairy products like the plague now (unless if it's cheesecake) but this serves as a serious mental note to head on out into a pharmacy on the way home and get a box of Anlene or Calci-Aid or something.

Brrrrrr. I shudder to think of all the crimes of negligence I've committed in the name of whatever. If I were my own mother, I'd be giving myself a spanking right now.

So I have had it--enough with the excuses! Who knew the Muay Thai diet could be so common-sense? Read on, for the equally dispossessed.

Life's A Beach

Hunger hurts but starving works
When it costs too much to love...

- lyrics from "Paper Bag" by Fiona Apple

During a trip to Palawan with a few friends last year, I asked Greg as we were sitting out on the porch of the rustic beach house we were renting about something that my mind just wouldn't lay to rest. Earlier that day, we had toured the myriad of islands in El Nido and by golly, the view that stretched out in front of me was so sublime that my eyes hurt. I was so struck by the blinding beauty of the place that the question I posed only made sense: "What is it that makes places like this a thing of universal beauty?" That is, if there is even such a thing.

Much like moral relativism, I believe in the plurality of aesthetic values, in how something to which one ascribes beauty as a natural truth can be viewed quite differently by another. But certainly, at the key moment of recognition, there was no question in my mind as to whether El Nido was beautiful. No ifs, no buts, no maybes. I'm saying this now because prior to our arrival in Palawan, I had expected the rave reviews of El Nido to be overrated, that maybe the budding tourist trap was not all that it's cracked up to be. Now I know that to cradle thoughts to the negative was a sacrilege. To even acknowledge such a question could exist in the realm of the natural world was unimaginable. And that was what got me wondering, exactly what was it that made imagining so difficult.


To this day, I still have no idea.

And really, all I wanted to do was just post pics of some of the things that got me asking that question again today. But of course, I had to have an opening. =P

Anguilla

Nevis

Tangiers, Morocco

Capri

Amalfi, Italy

St. Barts

This is why people like me work like dogs. Because you never know when it's gonna be the day that the cosmos might decide to go nuts and give you your lucky break. C'est si bon!


Photos courtesy of Wimco Villas. The Conde Nast-winning villa and boutique hotel reservations company has an ongoing essay contest wherein you stand a chance to win a US$1000 credit on your villa vacation. Check out their official site and MySpace profile for more information.

¡Qué Jessica!

I really don't wanna sound like a fangirl but I can't help it--I LOVE YOU, Jessica! And you love Marat Safin!

Before tongues start wagging, let me set the record straight. I love Ms. Zafra, but I'm in love with Marat. Me and him, it just totally makes sense. Like peanut butter and jelly, like yin and yang, like Dolce and Gabbana. Or something to that effect, hehe. Basta, it's Marat all the way and doncha forget it!

courtesy of www.maratsafin.com


But really, who knew the queen of varbarian pursuits would have anything in common with the queen of twisted irony? (Hey, was that a pleonasm? I can't say.)

She, whose books in school I would devour, which offered tremendous hope for the perennially oddball, unpopular types that people thought were never going to get with the fab.

She, whose biting candor and acerbic wit made chronicling of the seemingly mundane into an effortless art worthy of a subject slot in the curriculum for mass communications in peyups. (Deconstructing Pop Culture 101, anyone?)

She, the dominatrix from planet Twisted who looked at me with a withering eye across the room in Powerbooks Megamall one time when I was sheepishly asking the bookstore attendant, "Miss, I can't seem to find the sale section...?"

She, whose language and voice inspired and helped shape my own.

And we like the same things? Granted, maybe only a couple of things. But mind you, that's a hefty couple of somethings.

The other Jessica, of Dogeaters fame.

Epicureans, we are.

Two things already.

Tennis players. And tennis, of course.

"I love Marat, but he’s the great squandered genius of his time."

You said it, JZ.


You can check out more of Jessica Zafra's photos here.

Show Time: Fight Science 2008

Fellow fight nerds out there, heads up!

I know it's a little late in the game, so before I delay further, here's the schedule for the second season of Fight Science, premiering on the National Geographic Channel this weekend. Not sure which episodes get shown when, but at the very least, you can anticipate the time and days they're airing.

Manila/Singapore Time:

Jan27/Sun/1700
Feb07/Thu/1900
Feb08/Fri/0600
Feb14/Thu/1000
Feb15/Fri/0000
Feb15/Fri/0400

After this, my eyes almost popped a capillary or two from the strain of going through each page in the Philippine show sked site. Be my guest in scoping out the entire season run of this headbangin', super kickass series. (Pun entirely intended.)

Check out the National Geographic Channel, one of my favorite TV hangouts ever since I chanced upon JWP's documentary on a Muay Thai prizefighter's life in the 2006 run of the ShowReal Asia series. Yeah, I know, no schedule for this here show. (All I know is that it's showing tonight on NGC at 8pm, Philippine time.) I'm still bracing myself for the long haul sitting in front of the monitor, flipping through page upon page on the lookout for the time sked of said series. Maybe next week, if I get inspired enough to go through the whole ordeal yet again, who knows.

In the meantime, happy weekend, everyone!

The Sweetest Thing

Aren't the pics below the most precious things you've ever seen?

My family loves cats. No, scratch that--they don't just love them. They're crazy-obsessed with them. Not Ripley's Believe It Or Not crazy-obsessed, mind you. Just the normal kind of crazy.

Growing up away from the fam in college, I'd be coming home for vacation to a house that's bursting at the seams with tawny and black-tipped furballs. Each vacation stay is a different family history: a whole generation of cats that replenished the line of the ones that ran away from home wanting to be independent. I mean, who wouldn't, with my family smothering them with TLC like anything you've ever seen. Mom and the kids would adopt pusakals or stray cats by the truckload with willful abandon, not caring where they came from or if they had the playboy bunny gene which predisposes one to make more babies than they can keep track of. Apparently, we’ve become quite popular in the cat community as the good samaritans/suckers of Gov. Ramos Avenue that strange cats would just show up on our doorstop, expectant and waiting to be taken in and fed and bathed. There has never been a more implicit display of effective word-of-mouth marketing than in our extended household.

Them cats are like family that sometimes it’s hard to tell apart my brothers from the short-hairs lolling about the house with a languorous air of entitlement. If the kitties make a boo-boo, Dad would scold them in the same way he would us kids, and even practice his corny jokes on them every chance he could. Ina/Grandma was once in tears, heartbroken, when Faisal, my brother, accidentally ran over the dazzlingly white kitty that was everyone's favorite then because it had the misfortune of playing in the yard when brother dearest was pulling the car up into the driveway one night. If anyone in my family had an allergy to the cat species, even if it killed them, they'd better get over it real quick lest they risk being booted from hearth and home where our furry, feline adoptees are deemed little overlords.

Right below is how Dad would look like in a classic family scenario if we turn feline in our next lives. Except that maybe it should be "7pm" instead of "11pm". Dad's old school like that.

I super love the furry, merry brood of critters in this selection. Looking at them, I hate to say it but I'm going "Awwww..." all over again. Sappy, I know. But what can I do? These pics instantly tug and poke at certain parts of my heart. Damn cute.











Photos courtesy of icanhascheezburger.

The Contender Asia Premiere

All right. Since I think the sudden traffic buildup in this here site must be caused in major part by the timely interest in the debut of The Contender Asia, I figure I should join the bandwagon and provide a sort of review on the first episode of the newest reality show on AXN (aired first last Wednesday and replaying this Saturday at 8am and 6pm).

So what do I think about the premiere? Let me break it down for y'all in bite-sized pieces.


The Lineup

The Contender Asia is White Boy's Land! And about half of them aren't even from Asia! Funny, I know. I checked out the profile of the 16 contenders even before the promotional vids were released and saw that the mix was pretty diverse all right, but it's something else to be seeing them move and speak on the show.

But it's all good, really. I think it makes more business sense to include such a broad scope of geographic representation (there's France, Sweden, and even Croatia!). You have to admit, it makes the case for building Muay Thai up as an uber interesting alternative spectator sport more viable. First off, the fighters could very well be part of the lineup for a United Colors of Benetton ad (for the sportswear collection, if there ever was one). And the more "colorful" the cast of characters in a production, the more engrossing the show could be, hence furthering marketability. As a Muay Thai fan, I sure want to see this happen.

Then there's the language issue. As viewers may have noticed, the powerhouse contenders--them Thais, Yodsaenklai and Naruepol--hardly speak as much English as we offspring of this sprawling, Westernized TV society would prefer. Of course, it's not that they can't speak the language (even if this is so, I don't think it should be the foremost concern of any potential fan of the show); it's just that they don't as much as the others. Which would put them in a slight disadvantage in terms of easy adoption by non-Thai-speaking boob tube cultures. Then again, one could easily point out, "That's what the subtitles are for." Touché.

(By the way, please note that the term "white boy" is not used herein as a derogatory term, or even to suggest a marked demarcation between the races. This is used to describe the irony of the situation. And by irony I don't mean sarcasm. I understand a little, even just a teensy weensy bit, about this thing called globalization and the ongoing melting pot phenomenon, and I don't wish to marginalize in any way any group anywhere, as we are all products of the history of the same world. Bow.)

The Technical

I think the production looks a bit low-budget for something that's from the camp of mega-producer Mark Burnett. By low-budget I mean the feel of the overall quality of the production. (Think getting more bang for your buck.) Although this seems to be the case as well for regional spin-off shows from the US like The Amazing Race, I think the guys behind TCA could have done better.

That being said, I would like to see the cameramen around the ring during the end-of-show fights employ more strategic subterfuge methods to make themselves look scarce. It's a little distracting, really, particularly when the fighters hit the ropes for some clinch action, you tend to go, "Oh the camera guy, he's in the way, he might get thrown off the ring!" And I think the panning of the shots all across the ring could be a little less erratic. Think something along the lines of the UFC or even The Ultimate Fighter. And maybe if they could position the referee to be standing by the side of the fighters in the shots so that you get a sense of only two people fighting in the match, that would also be great. It's not too much to ask, is it? (I know, I notice too much.)

The Sport

Overall, as much as I predict that the show's explosive fights will inspire prospective audiences outside the expected Muay Thai-practicing fanbase to tune in, I think TCA's initial adoption will be borne to a considerable extent by the strong worldwide branding of its parent production. Even though the US show is a boxing competition, its popularity will well enough carry over to TCA, helping the newbie in its bid to make a dent on the Asian entertainment sports market.

As a sport, boxing has left an indelible imprint on the collective consciousness of sports fans all over the world. I can't begin to try guessing how this imprint looks like, and even more so how this was shaped. Suffice it to say that as like-minded enthusiasts become more enamored by the spectacle of combat sports, we shall perceive a more resounding clamor for alternative, derivative forms of boxing, if only to satiate our vicarious lust for variety and the increasingly exotic. Being the "Art of the Eight Limbs", Muay Thai is all that and more. It's not just a sporting phenomenon that's taking rings all around the world by storm; it's something that we can all connect to. It is survival of the fittest to the core, and we are all fighting the same fight. And that is why I think Muay Thai and TCA are here to stay.

Novocaine

I see them
Everywhere, everyone
It hurts to see them
It hurts how much I used to care
"I don't want to lie, I can't tell the truth.."
That I can't be with anyone
Who causes me pain.

Just like a root canal, you don't want it, but you damn sure need it.

"It's a self-preservation thing."


(And no, this isn't a poem.)

Young Love, Sweet Love

You know children are growing up when they start asking questions that have answers. - John J. Plomp

Ta-dah! Below are my super duper fave foreign films of all time (with the appended time of reference being the years I watched them):

Jeux d'enfants (Love Me If You Dare) (2006)

Loosely translated, the French title would mean "child's play". Or "games of children", to be more exact. I got myself a copy of the movie in 2006 and watched it for the first time at home in ole ZC during Christmas break. Of course, inspired by the spirit of giving, I just had to share the gift of discovery to everyone I knew. Coming back to Manila post-holiday, I tried hard-selling the film, lending my DVD copy to anyone who would care to bring it home.

Jeux d'enfants is a cute, modern tale about a couple of childhood best friends who fall in love when they grow older and then hate each other when they grow yet older. And then finally, they entomb themselves together in the end when they realize they could no longer live without each other. Seriously. (Sorry for the spoiler!) It's really sad. But not in a tearjerky kind of way. On the other hand, if you're an endorphin junkie, then good for you. Throughout the movie you can't help but curl your toes at the kilig moments between the two lovers. Even in the midst of all-out war and mayhem, the hero and heroine manage to glower at each other with gut-wrenching love. You can't say the French don't know a thing or two about romance.

What else can I say, the story's beautiful, the cinematography's beautiful, the kids are beautiful. If not for the sort of bittersweet ending, you'd be concluding "life is beautiful." Even more significant, it's not over the top (read: cringey) like other well-loved love stories out there. Its hypnotic storyline alternately teeters on the edge of frustration and salvation, and then, as if coming home from a NY Eve party having had too much champagne to drink, you come dizzily crashing back to earth at the end of it all.

Viva Cuba (2007)

Do not be daunted by the mishmash of French and Spanish words spattered all over the sites I linked to, my friend. Click away on whatever you fancy, just as little children would finger strange things on the ground with wide-eyed adventurism.

Viva Cuba is que adorable! The critically acclaimed film wins you over with its straightforward narrative and whimsical appeal. The kid actors are a joy to watch. They might as well be the real thing. Throughout filming, they chose to work without a script, which helped furnish the film with a natural, relaxed feel that is easily engaging. If I'm not mistaken, it was their first acting job. As far as I'm concerned, them kids rocked it hard and out of the playpen. Plus, I have to admit, it totally helps that Jorgito, the young hero, looks a tad like my youngest brother, Rocky (no kidding!). I guess that's what makes this movie all the more special to me.

The film is a delicate surprise. Despite the seemingly serious, quasi-political tone the title instantly brings to mind, Viva Cuba has captured the essence of friendship and woven it into a delightful tapestry of childish banter and harebrained misadventures that has no other place than on a pedestal for kids of all ages to behold. You're bound to develop six-packs just laughing over the mundane things you wish you had done when you still had societal license.

Of course, the undercurrent theme of juvenile love always hovering over the young protagonists as they hitchhike their way from home to the other end of Cuba makes you go, "Oh no, I hope they don't go all Dawson's Creek on me." But no worries. The ending mirrors a little that of Jeux d'enfants, hanging just a wee bit more obtrusively. Then again that's just my take. Anyone else would probably conclude the obvious. No matter, since it's really the middle and even the beginning that are the cake and food and drink of the whole film. It's the proverbial journey that makes life worth living. And since hope is most abundant in youth, life really is worth living as a child.

Viva Cuba is a truly memorable film that cuts across cultures and ages, whether chronological or emotional. It’s cinematic treasures like this that remind me why I love watching movies. Watching the credits roll up, you feel like sitting back in your cushy seat and letting the good sensations roll over you, like the waves that are shown at the end of the movie. Somehow you feel as if your soul can rest easy with the knowledge that no matter who you are, no matter what you've done, at least the one good thing that has happened to you was that you were once (if not still are) a kid. And that makes all the difference in the world.

Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself. - Kahlil Gibran

Show Time: The Contender Asia

So here it is, folks. The moment I've been waiting for.=P

So I've resigned myself to the perpetuation of my current affliction. I'm letting insomnia claim me whole, body and soul. So much for perennial NY resolution number 2.



Why the reference to sleeplessness, you ask? Because The Contender has several contenders for the plum, exclusive viewership in our household. There's the first few matches of this year's Australian Open airing live and going for reruns just about 24/7 for the latter part of this month. And let me not forget, there's also the premiere of American Idol Season 6 showing on Star World. Now as is quite obvious, Muay Thai ain't at the forefront of mainstream couch potato consciousness. Whereas what do you get when you pit the likes of tennis rockstars Federer, Nadal, and that beautiful rake from Russia, Marat, against a catty Brit music producer-slash-judge and his posse of toothy American Dreamers? Instant ratings.

Okay, I know, too many references. What it all basically means is, the battle for the remote is on.

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!