The McVie Show Season 3

Bagong Taon Ay Mag Bagong Buhay…

2006-01-07T15:50:00.000+08:00

Fly!

2005-12-27T15:57:00.000+08:00

Tomorrow I fly off to Bohol for my yearly visit to our beautiful province. Last time I was there I had limited access to an internet cafe. But a lot can happen in one year. I hope there will be an internet cafe in our town by this time.

ADVANCED HAPPY NEW YEAR, FOLKS!

Christmas Greeting

2005-12-25T18:15:00.000+08:00

Although it’s been said many times, many ways—
Merry Christmas to one and all!

Christmas is really the time to be with the ones you love. That’s why for the first time I’m spending Christmas here in Baguio with the McVie family! Right now I’m in some internet café down Session Road; the rest are in SM Baguio, doing their thing. We’ll be meeting at Gerry’s Grill later for dinner.

The weather is super-cool, but I seem to have adjusted to it well. The house where we’re staying is owned by Mr. and Mrs. Jim Paredes (yes, he of the APO Hiking fame). It has a fireplace, so we’ve been warming ourselves by a roaring fire every night.

We’re going down on the 26th, then some of us are going to Bohol on the 28th. Again for three years in a row now I’ll be spending New Year away from the noise, smoke and black boogers in Manila. Wheee!

So pardon me if The McVie Show will have regular interruptions from now until Jan. 08, 2006.

Merry Christmas and have a blast in the coming New Year!

Supersize Me

2005-12-21T18:27:00.000+08:00

I finally saw King Kong last night. The bad thing about me is that when something’s been hyped up to the heavens and is praised by pundits, my knee-jerk reaction is to go the other way. So when I entered the movie house, I had this “Ok Peter, impress me” attitude.

The movie is the cinematic equivalent of a supersized Big Mac meal using quarter pounder patties. It’s great but too much can make you sick. Sure, “Kong” is a non-stop fun romp that masks its three-plus hours fairly well. Yes, it works both as just a straight-forward action-adventure-inter-species-love-story and as a witty (if a bit obscure for the regular viewer) allegory for the movie business. And yes, Peter Jackson is now the new Steven Spielberg since the latter has irrevocably grown up and seems incapable of charmingly innocent escapist movies anymore.

But did he really need all those hours to tell the tale? It took him an hour before showing even a glimpse of Kong. The island adventure was a blast with its non-stop escalation of action, suspense and jaw-dropping effects. He even topped Spielberg in terms of dinosaurs and insects—three t-rexes instead of just two (versus “Jurassic Park 2”), and bigger, nastier insects (versus the Indiana Jones movies). After watching the island sequences you’re left out of breath. Then there’s still the concrete jungle, New York.

The reason why I didn’t mind sitting through about four hours each (!) of Peter Jackson’s extended versions of “The Fellowship of the Ring,” “Two Towers” and “The Return of the King” on DVD is because Jackson needed the time to fully flesh out and make real for us the world of Middle Earth. I didn’t mind the length because I was so lost in the story and the world of Frodo and company.

For me the problem with “Kong” is that despite the fact that I believed in the big ape (congrats to Andy Serkis and the CGI team behind Kong), there were still moments in the film that made me go, “Hmmm.” Naomi Watts, unlucky in love? Hmmm. Three t-rexes in the same area, when they’re highly territorial creatures? Hmmm. Jaime Bell killing off the insects swarming all over Adrien Brody with a machine gun, when he’s never held a gun before? Hmmm. Kong ice skating with Naomi in a frozen pond? Sweet, but still hmmm. Maybe I am being unfair to Jackson and company; that’s what happens when I’m turned off by the movie’s mega-hype. In contrast I had an easier time suspending my disbelief while watching “Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang” a movie that had only a poster to promote it.

Sorry Mr. Jackson, I should give your very looong movie another chance. It will be nice to see two of my favorite actors again, Jamie Bell and Kyle Chandler. I fell in love with Bell in “Billy Elliot” (yes I know he was so young then, but he’s grown up now) while I always watched “The Early Edition” just to see Chandler’s droopy yet dreamy eyes.

* * * * *

Gosh, The McVie Show is slowly morphing into a review corner. Argh. I’m not sure why this is so. It’s not that I don’t have a life. Maybe I just think it’s boring or ordinary. I still have a lot of sex, but I’ve decided not to talk about it too much here unless it’s really something new or out of the ordinary or really hilarious.

Perhaps it is time to change seasons. Hmmm.

Cris Pablo Comments

2005-12-20T18:29:00.000+08:00

I was taken aback to find out that Cris Pablo left a comment in The McVie Show regarding my critique of his movie Bilog:

hi i was browsing thru the net to search for comments on the movie bilog and i found your blog! thanks for the critique, i loved your critique (ironic no?)... well, regarding the technical (visual and sound quality) i was just as surprised when i saw how our movie was projected on screen and how it sounded on dolby... digital movies like in my case where we only use digital lcd projectors to project our movies, depend so much on the lumens or brightness and contrast of the equipment... we could only afford a 3,000 lumens because it costs P15,000 per day to use a 5,000 lumens projector (this should be the minimum for good quality picture). plus we complained that the light bulb used for the projector seemed quite old and so very dark and when its bright, the image is lost na... pero sa source naman the image quality is good... we had to rent a more expensive projector with 4,000 lumens on the friday screening which costed P6,000 per day (imagine how many tickets we have to sell on a day just to meet that amount. since we are shouldering the rental of projector and robinsons has no responsibility over it, plus the fact that out of P110 ticket we only get around P25 of that... means we have to sell at least 240 tickets!!! hahaha) Anyway, so that's how it went with the video image projection, its really highly dependent on the quality and capability of the digital video projector... to approximate film projectors, they will need a 10,000 lumens projector with dlp sana and not lcd according mismo sa nirentahan namin ng projector. Hope cinemas will buy projectors na ganun kalakas ang lumens. The sound naman, i was disappointed too because several voiceovers that i already deleted resurfaced in what was shown in cinemas... Kasi actually, the reason for this could be: well, palaging nabuburahan ng files, very important video files, sa computer kaya ako what i did was to copy our edited versions to a mini-dv tape para whatever happens to the pc, we will at least have what we call as hardcopy. kaso, hindi napansin ng mastering editor na ang nakuha niyang audio eh yung dating audio where i tried to use a lot of voice overs... regarding the actors, it really was a graduation thesis eh, a recital... something like the design exhibits ng fine arts students... where they hold their exhibits sa malls... ganun din kami, while we were about to be done with our workshop, we discussed with the students and decided na gawing seryosong digital movie at wag magmadali sa paggawa nito... Actually, honestly, laging take 30 ang performance nila pero nang wala na kaming perang pangpakain sa kanila kapag natatagalan ang shooting dahil sa kakailang takes, eh sumuko na din kami at dinaan sa editing...

Parang ang dami kong rason ano? Sorry ha... Hindi ako offended sa comments mo, actually mas gusto ko nga siya kesa sa ibang comments na basta na lang, hindi man lang nag-qualify kung ano yung hindi nila nagustuhan, kaya imbes nakatulong ay tila nakaapak pa sila... Ang critique mo ay maganda dahil inilalahad mo nang maayos ang points mo... Sa akin naman kasi pagdating diyan sa puntong yan ay nasa beholder na yan... Di ko naman masasabing stupid yung mga taong nagustuhan nila ang movie (atin-atin lang ha, actually tinatanong ko sila kung may kaibigan sila sa staff o sa artista para may hint ako kung nagustuhan lang nila kasi kasama ang friend nila hehe).

I hope you will not be mad at me for the kind of movies I made... Wala pa naman kasi akong intensyong gawin silang excellent or art movies or anything other than, may kuwento ako gagawin kong movie tapos susubukan ko ang mga artistang hindi pa umaarte... Ganun ako lagi tumingin sa gawa ko. Ang problem ko lang, sabi ko nga sa friends ko sa Pagdadalaga ni Maximo at sa Masahista, buti pa sila mostly film professionals ang grupo nila composed of at least 5, moneyed, film professionals... Ako madalas dalawa lang kaming talagang professionals kaya madalas ang plano sa preproduction, hindi na-achieve sa actual shoot. Then (I hope you wont say sobra na akong defensive here) pag umabot sa point na wala na kaming magawa kasi, medyo sobra pag kinapos kami during shoots, sa funds (like for food or transpo) hindi na kami makakilos kungdi make do with what we have or what we shot. May mga artista din kaming nakukuhang papayag sa shooting schedule at hindi darating pag naroon na kayo lahat (madalas ito) kaya nakakabaliw!

I will try to make a matinong movie this year, pag nakaipon na ako ng panggawa ng matinong movie hahaha...

If you want, I can lend you copies of my previous movies which were the ones that critiques really liked (slowmotion, etc.) Para hindi mo naman ako isumpa hahaha sa pinaggagagawa ko.

Thanks. merry christmas!

Cris pablo

* * * * *

McVie’s response:

Cris, I am glad that you're quite open-minded regarding critiques about your movies. From your behind-the-scenes explanation, I understand better why the final product I saw on the Galleria screen is what I described. Believe me, I understand; I work in a network and am familiar with production woes. Clearly a deeper purse can help solve many of the technical difficulties and inadequacies encountered, including the movie projector used. (I read in the papers that SM Cinemas are acquiring new digital projectors. I’m not sure though if their PG policy will accept the kinds of movies you make.)

But what I found more interesting is what you stated: Wala pa naman kasi akong intensyong gawin silang excellent or art movies or anything other than, may kuwento ako gagawin kong movie tapos susubukan ko ang mga artistang hindi pa umaarte... Ganun ako lagi tumingin sa gawa ko.

First, I applaud your desire to give opportunities to fresh new talents. I do believe that encouraging more of them will be better in the long-run for the industry. Second, I take my hat off to you for having the courage and the determination to just grab a camera and put onscreen a story you want to tell. We need more determined storytellers, especially about the lives of Filipino gay men and women. That’s the reason why I’ve seen all three of your movies that had a commercial run. It’s my way of supporting Pinoy pink cinema.

What puzzled me is this: Wala pa naman kasi akong intensyong gawin silang excellent or art movies or anything other. Maybe you just want to downplay your efforts or perhaps you don’t want to sound like some haughty auteur with a touchy ego. But if you view your digital films as just some casually-produced home movies, this particular viewer doesn’t see them as such—especially if your films go on a commercial theater run and people pay to watch them.

Why not set your sights higher? If you’re going out of your way to produce a movie (not the easiest, most casual task to do), why not make an excellent one? They don’t have to be “art” movies. They just have to be well-crafted ones. There are Hollywood movies that are examples of well-crafted productions—writing, acting, editing, etc. And it’s about doing things better, if not best; why not aim for something that’s Oscar-caliber?

What you need is a lot more funds before even shooting a single frame. You also need a producer and production manager who will relieve you of the coordination work so you can concentrate more on the creative aspects of filmmaking. The concept of Bilog had so much potential it pained me to see how so much of it was lost in its execution, due to circumstances both within and outside of your control.

In the end it is insisting on coming up with the best—script, cast, crew, materials, equipment—in every effort you make. Maybe you can ask your Maximo Olivero and Masahista colleagues how they were able to come up with the funds. Maybe you can look for a co-producer who can help come up with the money.

As I’ve said there are few Filipino film makers who tackle gay themes upfront and fearlessly. I support your efforts in coming out with your stories. I just hope they are better told next time.

Thanks for taking time out to respond to a closet cinema critic.

Good Good, Movie Movie

2005-12-19T22:45:00.000+08:00

While everyone else was going ape over King Kong I decided to go counter-popular and trooped to Glorietta to watch Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang, the movie starring Robert Downey, Jr, Val Kilmer and Michelle Monaghan, written and directed by Shane Black, the creator of the “Lethal Weapon” series.

Both lead actors have had their share of fairly rough times in their careers. This movie has proven that they are two of the more engaging—if not quirky—actors around; heaven forbid the two would do a movie with Johnny Depp. The whip-smart repartee between the two is one of the best reasons to watch the movie.

Robert Downey, Jr just before they fry his balls.

Val Kilmer in a real gay role, unlike his role in Batman.

The other is Ms. Monaghan. She not only manages to hold her own against these two veterans, she manages to steal several scenes from under their noses. I’ve never seen her in her previous work, so her performance here was a pleasant surprise. She gave a funny and touching performance that never felt forced.

Michelle steals another scene at gunpoint.

Downey plays a petty thief who stumbles into an audition and is hired as lead in a cop movie. Kilmer is the private detective hired to “train” Downey for his role. Monaghan is the childhood crush of Downey who finds herself in the middle of a murder case.

Mistaken identity, corpses left and right, a dismembered finger, electrocuted gonads and mouth-to-mouth action between Downey and Kilmer—the twists keep coming. Yet it is the sizzle and spark between the leads that fuel this movie. I’m sure that the three are no match for the king-sized gorilla stomping its way across almost all the cinemas in Metro Manila. But if you want an alternative from Peter Jackson’s hard-to-miss monster of a movie, then get moving or else kiss kiss this movie goodbye goodbye.

Sacred Feces!

2005-12-16T18:44:00.000+08:00

Your EQ is

153
50 or less: Thanks for answering honestly. Now get yourself a shrink, quick!
51-70: When it comes to understanding human emotions, you'd have better luck understanding Chinese.
71-90: You've got more emotional intelligence than the average frat boy. Barely.
91-110: You're average. It's easy to predict how you'll react to things. But anyone could have guessed that.
111-130: You usually have it going on emotionally, but roadblocks tend to land you on your butt.
131-150: You are remarkable when it comes to relating with others. Only the biggest losers get under your skin.
150+: Two possibilities - you've either out "Dr. Phil-ed" Dr. Phil... or you're a dirty liar.

What's Your EQ (Emotional Intelligence Quotient)?

Well, I guess I’m a damn great liar, mwhek-hek-hek!

Seriously, there were questions wherein my answers were neither of the choices given. So I just chose the one which I knew would be the right answer, even if it’s something that’s not my third or fourth choice for a course of action. Oh well, it’s just an online quiz, anyway.

Justify My Lines, Part 2

2005-12-16T14:17:00.000+08:00

I also realized that lines on the face are good if you’re an actor. Sometimes lines can add character where there is none. A squint can be elevated from a mere actorly gesture into an acting choice.

Take Clint Eastwood for example. In Million Dollar Baby he and Morgan Freeman just had to stand there, look impassively and say nothing to earn an Oscar nomination; meanwhile poor Hillary Swank had to spend months in strenuous training and preparation to earn accolades for her acting. They just relied on their lines; she had to memorize hers.

Sometimes a few lines on the face may convey more meaning than a dozen on page. So I should just stop right now and frown. Or smile. Or squint.

You may raise your eyebrows now.

Botox Talks

2005-12-15T21:51:00.000+08:00

Last weekend I found out my friend had his face Botox-ed. His forehead now looks smooth and worry-free, and his eye-bags are now less puffy than before. I always had an impression that Botox will make you look younger. My friend doesn’t look like he discovered the fountain of youth; rather, he looks like he took half a year off to rest. I like how Leigh greeted him: “You look well-rested!”

He pointed out the lines just above my nose, in between my eyebrows. “They can make those disappear!” he gleefully told me. That was the second time he noted those lines between my eyebrows.

Looking at the mirror I’d scrunch my face, make different facial expressions, then relax. The lines across my forehead are already permanently etched; even when I’m relaxed, they’re visible. The lines below my eye-bags are deeper now; so are my laugh lines near my mouth. And when I smile or laugh, my crow’s feet are highly visible.

But even if I can afford Botox treatment, I don’t think I will take them. I like my lines; somehow they add more character to my face. If Botox will just make me look well-rested, then I might as well just take the time off to rest. If it is youthful looks I want, I’d rather just develop a youthful attitude towards life: a zest for discovery, a thirst for knowledge and the grace to not take anything—including myself—too seriously. Plus maintain a trendy hairstyle. And always be in touch with the youth.

Yeah, I rather like my age lines. But then again, I may be saying that simply because people still think I look younger than my actual age. Maybe one day if more and more guess my age right, I just might consider treatment. Maybe.

Age is in the mind, and so far I don’t mind my age.

Let’s Hear It For The Boys!

2005-12-15T17:33:00.000+08:00

No wonder for the past few days whenever I try to access The Mischievious Boys website, all I get is a “Site Unavailable” sign (or something like that). They’ve pumped it up! The Mischievious Boys Version 2.0 now have a blog (wheee!) and they’ve added more information about each Boy. It’s oh-so-slum-bookish, with info on height, weight, occupation, and favorites (books, movies, food, actor, etc). I noticed all four have the same height (5’8”). “Age” was noticeable absent—how prudent. However, inquiring minds wanna know: how come everyone is shirtless in their solo pictures except for Edward? Hmmm?

They also now have a website hit counter. The top countries that visit their site are the US (not surprising), the UK, and Canada. The Philippines is somewhere within the top 10. I find that totally unacceptable. Pinoys, please visit http://mischieviousboys.com now, as in, NOW NA! Stop reading this silly episode of mine. You have enough time to go back to this later. After all, we became over-all champions in the recently-concluded Southeast Asia Games, dah-bah? Time to put the Philippines on top again!

(In case you’re wondering, this is not a paid advertisement. A-hihihi!)

McTidbits

2005-12-14T15:37:00.000+08:00

Near, Far, Wherever You Are

This morning as I passed by the 70’s Bistro along Anonas, I saw their banner announcing that from Dec. 24 to 26 the venue will be “CLOSE.” Suddenly I had this image of the bistro coming nearer to us on Christmas day.

Mischievious Male, er, Mail

I got an email from Edward re. my post about his lipsynching:

I just read your comment on your blog regarding my solo debut. Thanks for letting me know, and I will surely work on my lipsynching. (However, I am in a disadvantage since I got a small mouth. Hahaha). Thanks for all your support, we appreciate the publicity you have provided us. We are trying to reach out to our native countries.

Love,
Edward

Okay, okay, so there really was no “Love” in his email—I just couldn’t resist, hahaha! Meanwhile, I am doing my part in promoting the Boys. MLQ3 says they should be making porn. While I would love to see that, the thought of having sex with one another may be icky to the Boys. Then again, may be not. (Yeah right, wishful thinking.)

Strawberry Christmas

It’s confirmed. The McVies are spending Christmas in Baguio. This is the first time we will spend Christmas in the city of strawberries and pines. Kewl! I will get to hone my logs-on-the-fire-making skills further.

Pirates Of Creativity

2005-12-12T20:54:00.000+08:00

Yesterday my sister-in-law was telling me how her kids (my nephew and niece) would embarrass their uncle (her brother) whenever they see him with pirated DVDs. “Tito, do you realize that’s a crime?” they would chide him. Their mom says they got that attitude from me; they never fail to mention that I only buy original DVDs. “You set such a very high standard for them,” she said.

Honestly that wasn’t my intention when I first started buying CDs and DVDs. I shunned the early pirated stuff because their quality was poor back then. Music and movies are my passion, and as a collector of CDs and DVDs, I obviously prefer to own an original copy versus a fake one. Eventually the quality of pirated materials improved dramatically, and now the line between real and fake has blurred even more. So why am I still not buying fake?

I’d like to quote Stephen King in his column “The Pop of King” in Entertainment Weekly (#853, Dec. 09), when he talks about songs he downloaded: “Most were downloaded… and through perfectly legitimate pay-then-play sources, I hasten to add. Copyright is my bread and butter, and I do not cockadoodie where I eat.”

Often the arguments of pro-piracy people concentrate on the benefits the consumers/listeners/viewers (a.k.a., them) get from having cheap access to movies and music. But what about the creators of those movies and music? Who’s looking out for their interests? For every unit of CD or DVD sold the artists get royalties while the producers (the record or movie companies) receive part of the earnings to pay for the production costs. If you buy pirated materials, none of what you pay goes to the producers and artists.

Some people, including columnist Jessica Zafra (I’m a fan of hers), have justified their pro-piracy stance by standing up for the consumer. Some pro-piracy people have argued that the consumer pays for so much when the actual costs for producing a CD is not that high; in other words, the record companies bloat the prices. Why should the consumer pay so much for so little?

They also add to their argument the accusation that the artists do not actually receive a fair share of the profits; supposedly the record companies pocket most of the money. By buying pirated CDs, the pro-pirates are saying, “Stick it up to the Man!”

Interesting points they raise. However, assuming for the moment that the issues were true then the problem lies in the current system of remuneration. Therefore the solution would be to fix the system. Piracy does not address the problem; in fact it compounds the problem. Sure, perhaps the artist only gets a measly 5% of the profits; with piracy the artist gets 0%.

So what is the root of the problem regarding piracy? Why do people buy pirated stuff when they know that they’re stolen goods? Is it human nature to want to do something illegal? My theory is simple: if they can, people will try to get more for less. It’s a similar concept behind bargaining; however, this isn’t an above-the-table negotiation. Instead this is the isahan mentality—getting one over the other.

A change of attitude is needed. MasterCard got it right: the best things in life are free (love, the beauty of nature, the warm sun on our backs, and the sight of the Mischievious Boys shirtless); for everything else, there’s a price. Creativity costs, you know; a movie or an album doesn’t materialize out of nowhere. It takes a lot of creativity, manpower, materials and electrical energy to come up with a “Boom, Boom, Boom (Let’s Go Back To My Room)”. Patronizing original material means that we support the creators. Because if we don’t, then one day these creators will stop making the music and movies we love because they cannot afford to make them anymore. (That’s why I found it ironic that a writer like Ms. Zafra would condone piracy. I wonder how she’d feel if someone were to shoplift her books, photocopy then sell them.)

What about those too poor to afford to buy original? Will we condemn them to a life of want? Well duh, we all have our crosses to bear. Just because I want to own a Jaguar doesn’t justify my stealing one, or knowingly buy a stolen Jaguar. Pro-piracy people are like kids with low emotional quotient (EQ) in the TV commercial. Remember the ones who ate the marshmallow because they couldn’t wait?

And what about those poor Muslims who depend on selling the pirated tapes? It is all about choice. If they choose to sell stolen goods then they should be ready to face raids, maybe even arrests and convictions. Or they can choose to sell knock-off Uma headbands instead. A life of crime may mean more money, but it also means greater dangers. Everything has a price.

Do I sound so high-and-mighty, holier-than-thou? To be honest I have bought two pirated DVDs already. They were Y Tu Mama Tambien and the Korean TV series Oh Pil Yeung. How come, you ask? Well, it is a sad fact that the pirates have access to many titles not available in our shores. (Because they need not worry about copyright laws and remittances, they can pretty much release any and every title that they feel will sell briskly.) So I resort to buying pirated if the official release is unlikely to be made available locally. But if I do get to find an official copy of Tambien I will buy it because my pirated copy doesn’t play all the features listed in the menu.

Next time you’re in front of pirated material, stop and think. Give our singers, composers, writers, directors, cinematographers, editors and others too numerous to mention the recognition and support they deserve. Stop thinking of yourself only.

More Mischieviousness

2005-12-12T15:58:00.000+08:00

Edward Goes Solo!
Nah, the Boys didn’t break up to go on solo careers. Joseph and Tommy have done several solo videos, so I guess it’s now Edward’s turn. Unfortunately his solo effort further highlights his biggest weakness—of the four Boys he is the one whose lips synch the least. Joseph is the most consistent, followed by Tommy; David is more hit-and-miss. C’mon Edward dear, just work your mouth some more (I know of several who’d want to help you with that)!

Joseph Discovers Chroma!
Notice Edward’s background? Nope, they didn’t shoot this outside during a full moon. That’s chroma for you, folks. Have you noticed in those making-of documentaries, especially with special effects-heavy movies (for example, The Matrix or Star Wars: The Revenge of the Sith) wherein the actors are shot with a green (or blue) screen behind them? With chroma, you can “key out” (it’s like erasing) the green color during post production and “replace” it with whatever existing footage you have and make it the new background. The first time I noticed the Boys’ use of chroma was with Joseph’s “Love The One You’re With” solo video.

It looks like the Boys are becoming more and more elaborate with their video production. Check out the following below.

The Boys Go On Location!

Okay so they’re indoors, but at least they’ve moved on from having just a plain background. Who knows one day they’ll have a video of them lipsynching in some exotic location like, oh, East Timor, Trinidad-and-Tobago or Riverbanks Mall, Marikina. Who knows, they might already be shooting there right now!

(Thanks to Green Space Singapore for the images. For some reason the Boys’ website is unavailable today. Hmmm… did the Backdorm Boys a.k.a. Two Chinese Boys sabotage their site?!)

Going In Circles

2005-12-09T22:40:00.000+08:00

To the best of my knowledge, three of Crisaldo Pablo’s digital films have had their commercial run in Manila’s movie theaters (often at Robinson’s Movie World only), namely Duda, Bathhouse, and currently showing, Bilog. I have seen all three of his films during their regular run, and in all three times I’ve caught myself wondering, “Why do I subject myself to this?”

One answer I tell myself (with much consternation though) is that there are few Filipino film makers who tackle gay themes upfront and fearlessly. By supporting Pablo’s efforts I hope that this will encourage his tribe to increase—but with a certain caveat. We need fearless film makers, yes, but we need better ones too.

To be fair Pablo has become more daring in every film he’s made. Duda (“Doubt”) looks at the life of several men in the metro, their doubts about their sexuality and their partners’ fidelity. Bathhouse examines the meet-and-meat market of a gay bathhouse, touching on the lives of those who converge there. Bilog, while exploring more gay lives, is much more ambitious in form and content.

The first sign of Pablo’s ambition is in the clever title: bilog or “circle” refers to the Quezon Monument Circle, the setting where most of the action takes place. It also refers to how the characters are just aimlessly going around in circles with their lives (mind you, this movie is not just about the rent-boys roaming around the Circle; it is also populated with vendors, government workers and the other kind of “call-boy,” the call-center variety). It refers to how Chris, the central character, is clever at manipulating others (“pinapaikot lang sila”) and at making money (“nagpapaikot ng pera”). It refers to the saying “Bilog ang mundo” (“The world is round”); what comes up must come down, what seems good turns out bad, and change is inevitable. And bilog is also a word-play for libog or “lust”—often the very reason why worlds are turned upside down.

Structurally Pablo also makes the film go around in circles; he starts with one incident—a robbery involving Chris inside a jeepney—and repeatedly goes back to it throughout the movie. In between he explores the lives of each character. This Tarentino-esque, multi-story structure also worked for Go and Amelie. In fact, Pablo goes French on us by employing a third-person omnipresent narrator doing voice-overs throughout the movie. Another conceit is the way Pablo reveals, by repeating scenes all over again ala Amores Perros, how the stories of each character—at first seemingly detached from one another—actually intersect in surprising, not too obvious ways. He also plays with the medium itself; he fast-forwards the video or runs it in reverse.

Tarentino, Go, Amelie and Amores Perros—such heady company, right? Unfortunately aiming for the best isn’t the same as reaching it. While Pablo gets an “A” for “A”-ffort, his latest film shows that he still hasn’t learned his filmmaking lessons well. I think Bilog looked better on the page than onscreen.

First and most glaring are the technical deficiencies which this movie sadly shares with his two previous ones. Many evening scenes are too dark (and a lot of the action happens in shadows), and even daylight scenes are unevenly shot. The live sound, if not garbled or muffled, suffers from a cacophony of incidental sounds. It’s a chore to sit through the whole movie. How can a viewer get lost in the story when he’s at a loss as to what’s happening onscreen?

The characters are also poorly fleshed-out. With the exception of Chris, most of the other characters are flimsily written, one-note stereotypes. A multi-character movie often needs better-skilled actors to bring to life via action what the words in the script have no time to convey. Unfortunately Pablo employed newbies in this film, participants of an acting workshop whose culminating project was to act in this film. Most of them are earnest in their roles, but skill is needed more than just enthusiasm. I could also say the same for Pablo’s direction.

The use of a narrator is a tricky act to pull off properly. While Jean-Pierre Jeunet’s narration helped his film reach heights of poetry, Pablo’s voice-overs have the over-all effect of washing instructions being read. Am I too harsh? Well, his narrator asks a lot of existentialist questions and at times tells us the “lessons” gleaned from the scenes instead of allowing us viewers to figure things out for ourselves; I’m reminded of a bad Philosophy teacher.

Pablo’s attempts are as admirable as his failures are frustrating. Is it a lack of resources or of skill? I’ve seen other Filipino independent digital films and a lot of them achieved a level of technical competence. Maybe one day Pablo’s skills will match his enthusiasm; until then he’ll just be a filmmaker going around in circles.

And for now we can only sit quietly in the dark and endure a couple of hours in silent support of independent Pinoy pink cinema. If you’re going to watch Bilog, bring lots of patience.

More Mischieffy

2005-12-09T15:29:00.000+08:00

All ye Mischievious Boys fans, genuflect and give thanks to Random Good Stuff for this interview with the Boys:

http://www.random-good-stuff.com/random_good_stuff/2005/12/mischievious_bo.html

And all ye drooling for Edward, he’s single but, to directly quote him (from the abovementioned interview): “I am currently have someone in mind.” I oh so dearly hope it’s just a typo error.

Buddha Was A Shopaholic

2005-12-08T16:21:00.000+08:00

A lot of things have been bugging my mind lately, so to relax I decided to do a tried-and-tested McVie stress release last night: going through grocery or supermarket aisles.

I don’t know why, but I just find it so relaxing to look at all the stuff being sold on-shelves. I don’t necessarily have to buy anything, though I often end up purchasing an item or two, however small, just to justify my staying in the supermarket for an hour or so. Maybe I just find it comforting to know that certain items exist (“Oh my, bottled dried oysters!” “Wow, there’s already an ampalaya-scented variant of that shampoo?!”) Or I delight in finding certain items that can be of use. Or maybe there’s that inner capitalist-consumer in me that sees the abundance of products on-shelf and thinks, “I covet therefore I acquire.” One day.

First stop, Tiendesitas along C-5. Okay, so that place doesn’t qualify as a grocery, but what the heck; it’s open until late. Besides, I was interested in checking out a particular Christmas light décor which my mom expressed interest in a few weeks ago. Unfortunately the shop which sold that particular item was already closed when I got there. (What a perfect excuse to go back again tonight!) So I decided to look around at the food section. I ended up buying two bottles of crushed toasted garlic and a half-roll of sugar-free braso de Mercedes. Too bad most of the other shops were already closed or about to close, so I left for my next destination.

Near the intersection of C-5 and Ortigas is the Cost-U-Less warehouse. For the longest time I’ve been intrigued by that place since it announced it was open 24 hours. Oh really, eh? But I suppose it made business sense, because Libis is now the unofficial call center capital of the Philippines. I guess all those call boys and call girls need to shop during ungodly hours. But last night was the first time I set foot on the place.

Outside it’s unremarkable; with very few cars in the spacious parking lot (this was already close to midnight) it seemed like I would be disappointed. But the moment I stepped in—whoa! This was a huge warehouse, and it was well-stocked. What they lack in variety they make up for in bulk—and I do mean bulk. Stacks and stacks of Garlic SPAM (my favorite variant!), boxes and boxes of Dial Soap, bottles of White Rain shampoo… you know they won’t run out of stocks even after a nuclear attack. A lot of imported brands are available (especially toothbrushes—there’s this French brand that’s the prominent brand on-shelf), which would guarantee that the Filipino colonial mentality won’t be cured for several more generations. That also explained why I saw several expats and rich Chinese families (from nearby exclusive villages) shopping there even at a very late hour.

Going from aisle to aisle, I delighted in just looking at all the merchandise. I started at the appliances aisle, moved on to the meat, poultry and fish sections (with those huge mega-industrial size freezers big enough to hold an igloo), then on to the wine and spirits, candies and chocolates, canned goods, kiddie and adult diapers, pasta and noodles, hair care, oral care, spices, etc. Whew! Even before I reached the last aisle I was already very calm, very much at peace, not a care in the world. I ended up with no purchases but that was okay.

I achieved shopping nirvana: a sense of peace without loss of money.

Meet The Boys

2005-12-07T18:57:00.000+08:00

Pramis! I can’t get enough of the Mischievious Boys. Yes, you read that right, it’s “mischievious” not “mischievous” and it’s pronounced as “mis-chee-vee-uhs” with four syllables. (Thank you, Lucid Intervals, for introducing me to them.)

Okay, so it’s sooo five minutes ago to lipsynch and post the video on the web. But if the video of two Chinese-Americans lipsynching to Backstreet Boys’ “I Want It That Way” can gain enough popularity (or notoriety, take your pick) to be featured in the local evening news (!), then why can’t four hot, hunky Asian Americans have their turn in the spotlight?

David (Thai) is billed as “the bad boy,” Edward (Filipino) is “the heartthrob,” Joseph (Filipino) is “the dancer” and Tommy (Vietnamese) is “the funny one.” My favorite Mischievious Boy is Edward (I can’t take my eyes off of him!) followed by Tommy, who really lives up to his moniker—he is so makulit oncam.

The videos made by David, Edward, Joseph and Tommy are neither groundbreaking nor bar-raising, although they’re better produced than most “webcam” videos available on the net. They’re just waaay fun and gay. Why should straights have the monopoly of making fools of them on the internet? Besides there’s a wink, wink, nudge, nudge quality to their performance—they know they’re having fun with the whole thing. Anyone who takes these videos—whether from the Mischievious Boys or anyone else—too seriously is someone sadly lacking a sense of humor.

What if The McVie Show were to evolve into a video show? Hmmm… stay tuned!

Most Cheesy Feature

2005-12-06T19:31:00.000+08:00

If you’re a politician and you want your propaganda machinery to make sure that the people have you at their top-of-mind, what’s the first thing you’d have them do? Popularize your initials. You can call it your Initial Propaganda Salvo, or IPS.

I’ve seen done by Ferdinand Marcos during the 70s. All over the place were signs like “a project of FM” or “Vote FM”, and his initials regularly graced newspaper headlines. Because of Marcos’ success with his initials, other politicians followed suit. Quezon City’s Sonny Belmonte had signs all over the city promoting his “SB” initials. When Bayani Fernando was mayor of Marikina, there were signs all over saying, “BF works!” (He should work his ass off, he is mayor of course!) When his wife Marides succeeded as mayor of Marikina, she wasted no time in placing her initials all over the city. But instead of just having “MCF” signs, she decided to use her initials for different acronyms.

For example, on her first year as mayor she named the city-wide Christmas celebration as “Marikina Christmas Festival”. I thought it was a bit tacky, but compared to her next project, the festival name was sublime in its subtlety. For her follow-up project, she had horse-drawn carriages (called calesas) go around Marikina as part of the city tours offered to tourists. What did she call these horse-driven rides? Marikina Calesa Frolic.

Copywriters should have a field day offering name studies to her other projects. How about setting up an organization of Marikina’s pa-mhintas and call them Marikina’s Closet Faggots? Or create a special wing in the Shoe Museum featuring the tackiest shoes and call it Marikina Cheesy Footwear? Or her political foes from the last elections converge and form Marides’ Campaign Foes?

Have fun coming up with your own acronyms.

Ang Pagdadalaga ni Emily Rose

2005-12-05T23:11:00.000+08:00

Watch Ang Pagdadalaga ni Maximo Olivero. It’s rare to have a movie that earns its audience’s reactions and sympathies the old-fashioned way—with an excellent script, earnest acting and sensitive direction. It is not a perfect movie, and technically it can stand a lot of improvement (especially on sound and cinematography). But the way the audience was reacting to the film was gratifying. It showed that the regular Pinoy audience is not an unthinking herd of viewers.

Another movie I saw last Sunday was The Exorcism of Emily Rose. First of all, unlike Linda Blair’s green-puking classic, The Exorcist, this new movie is more a courtroom drama than a horror movie. There’s more spinning of facts than spinning of heads here, more shouting their mouths off than spewing green bile. Now this movie is actually quite predictable, even right down to the verdict. But what elevates this from the usual movie-of-the-week is the excellent acting of the three leads. Laura Linney is a fantastic actress; she’s good-looking enough to be cast as lead but not too stunning enough to land her in the front pages of magazines and tabloids. Her acting is also never flashy, so it’s not surprising why she’s often overlooked and underappreciated. Tom Wilkinson playing the priest is as competent as always, while Campbell Scott gives a well-measured performance as the prosecutor of the case.

What was unnerving though was the detail about 3 a.m. being the witching hour. Apparently 3 a.m. is the antithesis of 3 p.m., the hour of Christ’s death. So it is believed that the devil—or other malevolent forces—often make their presence felt at that ungodly hour. Unfortunately I’m often still awake at 3 in the morning, so this morning I was unnerved when, looking up from the book I was reading (Umberto Eco’s “Name of the Rose” this time), I glanced at the clock and it was already 2:50 a.m. Ah-woooooooh! I resolutely went back to reading, and after a few minutes I glanced up and it was already 3:20 a.m. and still there was no smell of anything burning. Whew! I finished a chapter then went straight to sleep.

And The Show Goes On

2005-12-05T22:02:00.000+08:00

Ah, it’s good to be back on The McVie Show.

Last Wednesday I wasn’t feeling well, so I decided to take the day off. The day before I had entered Orlando in the casa to have his aircon fixed. So I had the whole day to myself—trapped inside the house. Instead of watching TV or cable or the supplementary documentaries in the Star Wars: Revenge Of The Sith DVD, I decided to reread “Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire”. My one-day sick leave however turned into three days (the flu strains these days are becoming more and more virulent) so after finishing “Goblet” on Friday I plowed through “Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix” over the weekend.

It was good for me to reread the two (they’re the longest among the current six Potter books, if I’m not mistaken) because there were many details that surfaced again, details that I either glazed over the first time I read the books (yup, I was trying to finish the books as quickly as I could that at times my eyes would glaze over the words), or I have forgotten already.

For instance: who among you who’ve read the books would remember that Albus Dumbledor has a brother? Yup! Aberforth Dumbledor is also with the Order of the Phoenix. J.K. Rowling was very circumspect about the sibling; Moody described him as somewhat a strange fellow and that was it. I suspect he’ll figure prominently in the last book, but that’s just me.

Also, I’m even more convinced that Snape is really one of the good guys. His role in Dumbledor’s “death” (I shall put it in quotation marks first, because I’m not totally convinced that Dumbledor won’t return in one form or another) is, I believe, a staged one, designed to fool Voldemort and his Death Eaters.

Before I had this idea that maybe Harry and Voldemort would both die in the end. After reading “Phoenix” I think that J.K. won’t have the heart to kill Harry. Darn.

* * * * *

Friday I was able to get Orlando back, thanks to my brother who picked up my car from the casa. However, since I still wasn’t feeling very well I decided not to go to work. But after two days inside the house I was dying for a change of pace, so in the evening I went out to watch a play in Katipunan. The play is “Nasaan si Kaliwete?” which is a didactic piece of agit-prop theatre that doesn’t just pound its message on the viewers’ heads, it hammers it scene after scene after painful scene. It didn’t help that some of the students are of the “intense equals loud” school of acting, so they were shouting their lines the whole time. The whole play sounded like a rally instead of a theatrical piece, which I guess is exactly what the production is all about. But after hearing the third anti-rich line uttered (I mean, yelled) in the play, my ears decided to shut off.

Someone should really write a play about rich folks complaining about the poor, just for a change of pace. I bet it’ll be a lot quieter, the dialogue bitchier with double entendres, but just as cruelly biting.

* * * * *

When you’re stuck at home with no option of just grabbing your car keys and going off somewhere, it’s amazing how the small details that you often take for granted suddenly figure prominently in your consciousness.

For example: toothbrushes. For the longest time I’ve not changed my toothbrush at home. I think it’s already with me for more than a year, but I’m not sure now that I forget when I actually bought them. Well, since I now had the time to notice how old it was, I decided to buy a new one. I couldn’t believe the range of options for toothbrushes one has: soft, medium or hard, slanted, multi-level, multi-layered bristles, angled brush, easy-grip handle; etc. There were so many that I decided to buy two, Colgate and Oral-B. The former I’ll use at home, the other is for the office. It’s an amazing feeling using a brand-new brush for the first time—it felt like oral raspa. (Not that I know how raspa feels like, of course.) For the first time in months I felt like my teeth were actually being cleaned. Of course most of it is psychological, I’m sure.

I also realized just how important it is to actually rest, as in mental, emotional and—most importantly—physical rest. Before whenever I had vacation, I’d end up driving off to somewhere. Now, driving relaxes me mentally and emotionally. (I’ve learned to be patient and understanding to stupid drivers—it’s more than defensive driving, it’s zen driving!) But I often forget how physically tiring it is—until we reach our destination. Then the fatigue sets in.

But last week I was able to experience the utter bliss of being physically still. Well, not exactly very still but I was lying in bed most of the time reading a book, my only movement limited to shifting my weight often to keep the blood circulating. It was a very welcome break.

I really should get sick more often.

* * * * *

P.S. – More Baguio pictures—actually bigger and clearer, I should say—in The McView Point, my phlog. Visit http://www.phlog.net/user/joelmcvie

Baguio Episodes

2005-11-29T23:01:00.000+08:00

We left Manila at around 11:30pm on a Saturday evening. By 5:30am on Sunday we arrived at the house where we were staying. We got lost a couple of times; we didn’t have the exact address of the house, and there were few people awake whom we can ask for directions. But we finally found it.

The House

It’s an old wooden house, I guess first constructed in the 60s but with subsequent additions to it. but the bulk of the structure is like a wooden cabin.

One enters through the dining and kitchen area; it looks like it’s either been renovated or added to the old structure. Further inside is a huge den. What’s breathtaking is the window stretching across the whole length of the den—it allows a breathtaking view of the mountains.

The whole house feels quite cozy and homey. However, the problem with a wooden house is that there are so many sounds one hears at night, especially when most of the sounds die down. Doors creak even when they stay shut, footsteps are heard outside the bedroom when there’s suppose to be no one there, switches click even when the lights stay off. One of us swears she heard voices whispering in the bathroom hallway and assumed it was us; when she looked up from the bed, she saw us fast asleep in our own mattresses. Luckily I was super-dedma to any creaking or shuffling of feet I personally heard; I was too tired to be bothered, since I was driving on the way up and the whole time we were there.

McPyro

In the den is a fireplace. We bought two bundles of firewood, but the wood in one of them was damp. I had a crash course in Making Fire 101. I figured out how to position the wood so that the fire can go up really high. Soon we have a huge fire going—at one point it became too hot for toasting marshmallows, so we had to wait until the fire died down a bit.

Driving Me Baguio

The last time I was up in Baguio was for the Advertising Congress two years ago. Still, when we got there it was so easy for me to remember the different routes around the city. My god, I think I was a taxi driver in Baguio in my previous life!

Eats Ruined!

Café By The Ruins is one of my all-time favorite restaurants. It’s a little pricey and the choices are limited, but it’s like comfort food—it can’t do wrong. So imagine my disappointment when I found out they weren’t serving strawberry soda anymore (it’s not even in the menu). Argh! But the strawberries and cream was heavenly.

We Got It All For You!

SM Baguio is my favorite SM I’ve seen so far (I’ve only been to most SMs in Metro Manila, and I’ve seen SM Cebu from the outside). What I love about the building is that they made use of the environment and made it open-air, so there’s no need for centralized airconditioning. Plus because it’s nestled on top of the mountain, they constructed verandas all over so that one can enjoy the view of the whole of Baguio. Of course most people would use the view as backdrop for their photo ops.

While I was framing one of my shots, I noticed someone was within the frame. I was thinking of moving him off-frame when my phone started ringing. I took the shot, picked up my phone and noticed the missed call.

Oh my—it’s __________, a regular viewer of The McVie Show! For so many months we kept promising each other, “Let’s meet over coffee” but we couldn’t get our schedules to match. So imagine our surprise that instead of in Manila we ended up meeting in the flesh for the first time in Baguio.

I managed to catch him on camera, but he requested that I keep his identity a secret. So… secret!

Bag Me, Bag You, Baguio

2005-11-25T23:17:00.000+08:00

Strawberries, honey, vegetables and cool air: this weekend I’m going up to Baguio with a couple of friends. We just want a road trip, a food trip, lots of photo ops and a chance to get away from it all.

Girls just wanna have fun, wheee!

Unfortunately this is the time when Orlando’s air conditioner decided to break down. I brought him to the casa but they said it’ll take two to three working days. So we’re going up with the windows down. Happily we’ve timed our trip so that most of the time we’re on the road will be at night, when the air is still cool. By the time we get to Baguio, the mountain air will render the use of the air conditioner irrelevant. I just hope it’s not too rainy there.

Happy, happy, joy, joy! My wanderlust is acting up again, and the trip this long weekend will scratch that itch.

A Snigglet for Pinoy Big Brother Viewers

2005-11-25T17:06:00.001+08:00

Umamin (v): when Uma admits that he is pa-mhin

Hair-splitting

2005-11-25T17:06:00.000+08:00

When I started having my hair done by Ipe, one of the first things he taught me was, “Learn to accept your curls.” I tried—oh how I tried—and I believe I’ve reached a certain level of peace with how my locks look. Still there are times when I look at the mane in the mirror and ask myself, “Can I change its waves?”

The option of hair straightening is out; as a wise gay once told me, “Umamin ka na bakla ka, ‘wag ka lang umamin na nagpa-straight ka,” which can also pertain to sexual behavior as well. I can go semi-kal once again; I wore my hair short for more than five years before. Coloring my hair or even have it streaked is out of the question—I’m fine with my ever-increasing white hair. Gosh what else can I do to my hair?

Disorder in the Court

2005-11-24T21:16:00.000+08:00

(When nothing much is happening in your life, post something that’s been passed around via email.)

These are from a book called Disorder in the Court. They are things people actually said in court, word for word, taken down and now published by court reporters that had the torment of staying calm while these exchanges were actually taking place. Some of these are excellent—don’t miss the last one.

*****

Q: What is your date of birth?
A: July fifteenth.
Q: What year?
A: Every year.

*****

Q: What gear were you in at the moment of the impact?
A: Gucci sweats and Reeboks.

*****

Q: This myasthenia gravis, does it affect your memory at all?
A: Yes.
Q: And in what ways does it affect your memory?
A: I forget.
Q: You forget. Can you give us an example of something that you've forgotten?

*****

Q: How old is your son, the one living with you?
A: Thirty-eight or thirty-five, I can't remember which.
Q: How long has he lived with you?
A: Forty-five years.

*****

Q: What was the first thing your husband said to you when he woke up that morning?
A: He said, “Where am I, Cathy?”
Q: And why did that upset you?
A: My name is Susan.

*****

Q: Now doctor, isn't it true that when a person dies in his sleep, he doesn't know about it until the next morning?

*****

Q: Were you present when your picture was taken?

*****

Q: She had three children, right?
A: Yes.
Q: How many were boys?
A: None.
Q: Were there any girls?

*****

Q: All your responses must be oral, OK? What school did you go to?
A: Oral.

*****

Q: Doctor, how many autopsies have you performed on dead people?
A: All my autopsies are performed on dead people.

*****

Q: Doctor, before you performed the autopsy, did you check for a pulse?
A: No.
Q: Did you check for blood pressure?
A: No.
Q: Did you check for breathing?
A: No.
Q: So, then it is possible that the patient was alive when you began the autopsy?
A: No.
Q: How can you be so sure, Doctor?
A: Because his brain was sitting on my desk in a jar.
Q: But could the patient have still been alive, never the less?
A: Yes, it is possible that he could have been alive and practicing law somewhere.

Achtung Baby (Blue)!

2005-11-23T12:53:00.000+08:00

Walking in our building lobby this morning I was floored by this astounding sight: Kuya German Moreno in a baby-blue (!) suit, pale-yellow shirt and multi-colored necktie. He’s a lot whiter in person (not pale but white, as in powder white!), and his hair is lighter than it looks on TV. And he’s actually shorter than me!

After he passed by me I was singing in my head, “That’s entertainment…,” followed by the OMC song: “How bizarre! How bizarre, how bizarre.”

Brand Name

2005-11-22T20:10:00.000+08:00

If you’ve watched the latest Harry Potter movie, chances are you’d have seen the highly intriguing trailer for the movie, Lady In The Water. It stars critically acclaimed actor Paul Giamatti, but that’s not why it’s intriguing.

The trailer opens with idyllic scenes from an apartment building in some seemingly quiet district in some U.S. city—butterflies on the wire gates, children swimming in the pool, tenants going about their business. Among them is the superintendent (Giamatti) who goes about his daily chores—fixing the plumbing, cleaning the windows, taking out the trash. The score is a classical song, very lyrical; the images are shown mostly in slow-motion. We follow the superintendent as he finishes his daily chores, and by evening he goes home to his run-down shack behind the pool. There you see him in his solitary existence, whiling the time away by writing in his notebook.

Then you see text on black. (The font is reminiscent of the title logo of The Polar Express, the Tom Hanks/Rob Reiner Christmas CGI movie which spectacularly tanked last year.) The lines appear one after the other:

“Once upon a time…”

“There was a man named Cleveland Heep”

“whose life would change forever.”

In the score, the instrumental intro gives way to the singer who sounds like Josh Groban. Onscreen you see the superintendent wake up with a start; he had fallen asleep on his chair. He stands up; behind him is a window, and outside you see the pool—there is splashing in the water. Next shot is outdoors: you see the superintendent step out of his shack, flashlight in hand; in the foreground, you see a wave ripple across the water.

Then the title comes in; the music soars magically, clueing you in that the movie is neither horror nor suspense. And in the final shot, the camera’s point of view is underwater; you see the superintendent’s refracted image peering into the pool as he sweeps it with his flashlight. As the light hits the center of the screen, the image is replaced by the following words:

“A Bedtime Story”

And—here’s the clincher—a second later the following words appear below:

“Written and directed by
(the following are in big, bold letters)
M. NIGHT SHYAMALAN”

When his name was revealed, there was a palpable gasp in the audience, and the whole theater was abuzz with anticipation and excitement.

After Steven Spielberg, no other living film director could generate that kind of instant identification, anticipation and excitement from an audience just by flashing his name onscreen. I guess perhaps Alfred Hitchcock’s name onscreen had that kind of effect before, but as I said I’m just guessing. Peter Jackson may be revered by film geeks, but he still has to put “director of Lord of the Rings” under his name so that ordinary folks can recognize his name. Martin Scorsese is revered, but his name doesn’t generate excitement anymore. Even Tim Burton’s name has lost its glitter. Michael Bay’s name, on the other hand, generates a different kind of feeling, something akin to nausea (then again, that must be because his shots are vertigo-inducing).

Shyamalan’s name has become, literally, a brand name. Ironically most people have a problem pronouncing his name, so most refer to him as “M. Night”. My brothers and I call him “M. Night Shawarma” for short.

I expect that this movie may have that twist-in-the-end which he is already known for, but who knows? The synopsis—which I read in the official website—is intriguing enough: Giamatti discovers that the lady in the water (played by Bryce Dallas Howard, his star in The Village) is a narf, a fictional character from a bedtime story. He and the other tenants try to help her get back from this world to hers. As he falls in love with the lady, he begins to realize that he and the others are also characters in this bedtime story. Twisted, isn’t it?

Maybe the twist in this movie is that there’s no twist. But twist or none, this is one movie I really want to watch.

The Cup Overfloweth

2005-11-21T18:10:00.000+08:00

I saw Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire twice this weekend: Saturday with my older brother, his wife and kids, plus my younger brother and sisters; then on Sunday with my mom, brother and sister. I will not bother reviewing the movie, but I will say the following things:

[1] I wished there was more of the Quidditch World Cup—that sequence was wicked! Plus I thought that the stadium was amazing. I’m not really a fan of the Quidditch in both books and movies, but that World Cup sequence made me want to see more of the game for the first time.

[2] Frankly I was disappointed with Lord Voldemort’s appearance. Ralph Fiennes is a great actor, and I’m sure he had devilish fun doing the role (he said in an interview that it was impossible not to go over-the-top with Voldemort), but his appearance was underwhelming. I like the idea of making him snake-like, but I was hoping he’d be more frightening, maybe more skeletal-looking. Well, that’s the problem when one brings to the screen a character that’s basically created in the readers’ imagination—the actual often pales in comparison to the imagined.

[3] Cedric Diggory has that awkward, I’m-not-a-boy-not-yet-a-man good looks—at certain angles he’s not cute at all, but at other angles he can charm your pants off. But I find his sleepy eyes attractive. Viktor Krum is hulky, but I think he lacks the brooding intensity of the book’s character; still, no matter. My brother did observe that if Goblet were cast with Filipino actors, then Viktor would be played by Ramon “Monching” Christopher and Cedric would be played by Jojo Alejar.

[4] SPOILER ALERT! Anyone who hasn’t read the book nor watched the movie is probably an illiterate hermit and may skip this paragraph. Otherwise, read on. After watching the movie, it occurred to me that Barty Crouch, Jr’s plan was too convoluted, too elaborate and too risky to actually be believable. He disguises himself as Mad-Eye Moody so that he can transform the Triwizard Cup into a portkey. Then as Moody he had to make sure of the following: [a] that Harry’s name be included in the Triwizard Championship; [b] that Harry will survive the three tasks; [c] that he’ll be the first to get to touch the Cup. Why the elaborate plan? Why not just transform, say, Harry’s Firebolt into a portkey and be done with? Heck, why not turn Harry’s glasses or blanket or books or spoon and fork for that matter? I’m just amazed at myself that I never realized that woozy of a plot device after reading the book. It took several years and the movie to come out before it occurred to me. I guess that’s a testament to J.K. Rowling’s engaging writing that I forgot all about the main plot and focused instead on the death of Cedric. What a magical sleight-of-hand trick, Ms. J.K.!

Speaking of Ms. Rowling’s writing, haven’t you noticed that she’s not particularly good at describing the setting—particularly the spatial surroundings—of a particularly busy fight scene? In Order of the Phoenix I had a hard time figuring out the action within the Ministry’s walls: where was it happening, how big were the rooms, who was where at what time, etc. And it was the same in the final fight scene within Hogwarts in The Half-Blood Prince. She needs to improve her writing of fight scenes. Heck, she’s so rich maybe she should let another writer take a look at her fight scenes.

Don’t Cha Wish…?

2005-11-18T23:24:00.000+08:00

So I bought the CD of The Pussycat Dolls because I like their song “Don’t Cha” and what do I get? Enclosed in plastic along with the CD is a black thong panty with the logo of the group. Oh! Since that was the first time I’ve ever had a close encounter with a thong, I decided to try it on, knowing it’s built for a woman’s contour.

Yes, the joke is true—like a cheap hotel, that panty has no ballroom. It felt weird to have my family jewels straining to get out of such tight confines. But what’s interesting is the feel of a strip of clothing between my butt cheeks. It’s awkward and kinky at the same time. People suffering from hemorrhoids should stay clear of thoingy-thoinga thongs. So aside from ballet dancers, what kind of guy would want to wear a thong? If a guy doesn’t like brief lines, he can always wear boxers or go sans underwear and just, uh, hang loose. I see no reason to rub your deeper nether region with cloth—doesn’t it get embarrassing come laundry time? The only other reason I can think of wearing a thong is if one delights in the feel of the rubbing sensation between cheeks (which I must admit has a certain kinky allure).

So now I don’t know anyone who’d appreciate that thong. (Of course, I had it washed surreptitiously after that one trial!) The only female friend I know who would dare wear a thong might not want to wear one anymore due to her change in status. But I’ll ask her anyway.

Otherwise, here’s a question for all you girls out there: Don’t cha want a Pussycat Dolls thong? Just holler.

Confusions On A Dance Floor

2005-11-16T16:51:00.000+08:00

The title alone clues you in on what to expect in Madonna’s latest album, Confessions on a Dance Floor.

The album is aurally cohesive, literally—it is a non-stop dance album, with each song seamlessly flowing to the next. The songs are all relentlessly dance tunes; a lazy club DJ can place this disc on the turntable, press play, and for the next 56+ minutes can have dinner, grab a few drinks and flirt with the other patrons.

Sounds like one big ball, doesn’t it? Well, hold on. It seems that age and kabbalah are the party-poopers here.

Apparently Madonna took the album title seriously. From a simple admission of attraction (“Hung Up”) she moves on to more weighty confessions: “How high are the stakes? / How much fortune can you make? / Does this get any better? Should I carry on? / Will it matter when I’m gone? / Will any of this matter?” (“How High”). It is one thing to sound like a dance tune but it’s another to dance to someone singing, “Wrestle with your darkness / angels call your name.” Her musings on fame and fortune are nothing new; ever since her album Ray Of Light she’s been wondering if her climb to the top was all worth it. But the appeal of a dance tune is its deceptive simplicity—just like with classic pop songs, it’s not easy to come up with a well-crafted dance tune like Kylie’s “Can’t Get You Out of My Head”. Part of the fun is in its simplicity in notes and words.

Madonna does stack some silliness in the first part of the album. “Do you believe in love at first sight? / It’s an illusion / I don’t care,” she sings in “Get Together,” a straightforward love tune. And she channels her “I like to singy-singy-singy / like a bird on a wingy-wingy-wingy” nonsense (from Music’s “Impressive Instant”) in the cut “I Love New York”: “I don’t like cities / But I like New York / Other places / Make me feel like a dork.”

But towards the latter part of the album she turns more serious. If this were an electronica album, I can imagine the songs to sound reflective, moody. But the music remains steadfast dance, and here’s where the juxtaposition falters at times. The dance floor is not a venue for repentance and reflection; it is a place to let loose and have fun. And ironically it’s when one loses oneself in the dance that one finds salvation. Unfortunately Madonna is determined to be taken seriously as an artist; instead of just letting us go, she forces us to pause and ponder. But in the middle of the dance floor? Where’s the fun in that? C’mon Maddie, relax; we only question your acting choices.

So here’s my advice: groove to Confessions on a Dance Floor but don’t worry if you block off some of her lyrics. Anyway, the Material Mom doesn’t care—in the last cut (“Like It Or Not”) she sings: “Cleopatra had her way / Matahari too. / Whether they were good or bad / Is strictly up to you. / This is who I am / You can like it or not, / You can love me or leave me / Cuz I’m never gonna stop / No, no.”

Even on the dance floor, Madonna has the last word.

“You don’t look 39!”

2005-11-16T13:29:00.000+08:00

Yeah, I know. I hear it all the time it’s practically a mantra. But before Nikolai can roll his eyes and say, “There he goes again with his age angst,” let me assure you all that this won’t be about me dealing with my advanced years. Oh no, no, no, I’m aiming for something higher and nobler. Ahem.

“You don’t look 39!” Listen to it. Doesn’t it sound so commercial-ready? Why, it’s practically begging for the follow-up question: “What’s your secret, McVie?”

So, in the interest of those inquiring minds who wanna know, I will attempt to answer that question. (And maybe someone can make a commercial out of this, who knows?) Besides whenever somebody utters that statement, our conversation rarely goes into examining the reasons why I look younger than my age. It always gets stuck in the “Well, you don’t look your age too!” bull and the mandatory “Age is in the mind” shit.

So here I go. The short and truthful answer? I really don’t know why I look younger than my age. But I will posit some theories:

It’s the genes. Okay, that was a no-brainer. I remember my mom telling us that when my dad was still single, his officemates called him “Babyface.” And my mom’s no slouch in that department either. She’s already 60+ but she looks like she’s just in her late 40s to early 50s.

It’s the disposition. I’m not a happy-go-lucky guy, nor am I Mr. Bright-Side-of-Life. I don’t go around singing, “I’m walking on sunshine, wooo-hooo!” What I do have is a coping mechanism rooted in humor. While others cry, get mad or get even, I laugh at things. I laugh at myself. I don’t take most things seriously, especially me. Oh yes, I get sad or depressed or mad. But I just need to blow off steam, and then I see the humorous or ironic or incongruous side of things. Then the waters become placid again. Besides laugh lines look better on a guy’s face versus frown lines. So whip out your old copy of Desiderata and read it again.

It’s the oily skin. I know that oiliness is next to ugliness—that’s what my friend says whenever he whips out his handy Gatsby Oil Facial Strips—but I think that in my case the oiliness helps keep my facial skin soft. Mind you my skin’s not smooth; I had my share of bad-skin days, and I have the small pockmarks to remind me. But at least my skin’s not dry and craggy-looking.

It’s the company I keep. Er, no, I’m not encouraging you to go all Michael Jackson on kids, okay? My decision to stay in touch with 17-19 year old kids year after year (thanks to TA) has resulted in my staying in touch with my inner teen. What’s more I’ve seen trends come and go with them, and the changes in pop cultural tastes. But some things never change, especially on how they view love and relationships. One generally hopeful trend: the kids today are less homophobic and more open-minded when it comes to gays. Sure we still have a long, long way to go but at least that’s a bright spot on the horizon.

It’s the dancing. No one contests that physical exercise is good for aging gracefully and in good health. But I think dance is unique because if you strip it down to its bare essentials, it’s actually a joyful celebration for both body and spirit; there’s actually something close to spiritual when you lose yourself in the dance. (Dancing can also be used as bait for hooking up, especially in Bed, but let’s not get into that.) Dancing uplifts my spirits and burns calories to boot.

What, no sex? You see, it depends. If it’s great, then it’s like dancing. But it’s the hunt leading up to the sex that can dampen the spirits (not to mention lower one’s self-image).

Oh dear. I don’t think Myra-300 E or Enervon would like what I just listed down. Only the publishers of Desiderata and dance clubs would want me as an endorser. But none of them are advertising, so there goes my commercial career.

Da Code Decoded

2005-11-15T22:27:00.000+08:00

At last I gave in and decided to read the book The Da Vinci Code. I had no plans of reading it, especially since everyone seemed to have read it already, but the upcoming movie made it a required read.

Frankly it’s really just mostly smoke and mirrors, a crafty piece of mystery that’s actually simpler than it appears to be. Thanks largely to Dan Brown’s extensive research into the Templars and the Holy Grail, the book entices the reader with a potentially humongous mystery spanning several continents and centuries. Only when the whole plot is revealed that the reader realizes he was taken for a ride—what seemed controversial in the book are in fact just effective smokescreens. So for me while the pay-off is generally satisfying, it comes off feeling a lot smaller. In the end the novel deflates like a balloon, releasing what turns out to be just a lot of hot air.

I Confess

2005-11-15T20:07:00.000+08:00

I’m currently listening to Madonna’s Confessions on a Dance Floor. I just got my copy from Tower Records about an hour ago and now the whole album is in my iPod—all the better to listen to it while driving. Right now I’m enjoying the fact that all of the cuts I’ve heard so far are dance tunes. Her last album, American Life is the Madonna album I’ve listened to the least number of times (once), a tie with the soundtrack to Who’s That Girl?

I really miss the fun Madonna. She’s huffing and puffing to be taken seriously, and I guess for an artist that’s her prerogative. I suppose there are those who’d like her not as the Material Girl but as the Material Mom. Whatever—so long as she doesn’t kabbalah herself to become an immaterial artist.

So far there’s an aural cohesiveness in the songs, but I need to hear the album several times. Aside from the first single “Hung Up” the other songs—while generally danceable—do not leap out and grab me by the ears. Only my feet are reacting, and they’re just gently tapping along. Oh no. In the iPod and MP3 era it’s already quite a feat to craft an album that’s meant to be appreciated as a whole piece and not as a collection of hit singles. I think my ears are getting more and more singles-oriented.

Oh well. I will reserve judgment of her album until a few more listens.

Soda Me (say the title fast several times)

2005-11-14T20:06:00.000+08:00

I grew up drinking Pepsi Cola. I don’t know why that was the favored soft drink at home, but Pepsi was what my parents bought every time we had a party or a special occasion. I remember tasting Coca Cola and found it too bitter compared to Pepsi’s sweet taste. And even though I don’t remember any Pepsi commercial but the “I’d like to teach the world to sing” Coke campaign is etched in my mind, I remained loyal to Pepsi.

When I grew older I discovered that it was Coke not Pepsi that was the world-wide market leader in the cola war. Suddenly I was reminded of my tomato-vs.-banana ketchup predicament: as a kid I thoroughly loved banana ketchup until I found out that ketchup was actually tomato. But by that time I was old enough and my taste buds could appreciate not-so-sweet ketchup, so my switch to tomato was painless. (At home we often have both tomato and banana ketchup because my sister prefers the latter.) So I switched to Coke.

I moved on to Diet Coke when I started working out. “Diet” became “Light,” and for the longest time that was my poison of choice. Despite employing Michael Jackson (and burning up his hair), Madonna (channeling her controversial “Like A Prayer” to sell soda) and Michael J. Fox in several humorous TV clips, I remained a die-hard Coke addict.

But lately a change has happened. I noticed it the first time a few months ago when I was in front of the freezer at a convenience store and I was staring at my choices. Looking at the Coke Light cans I suddenly felt like skipping those silver-with-red-stripe cans and reaching instead for a Diet Pepsi. The Coke Light can design hasn’t changed for several years and now it looks so old, so tired. Though the taste remains the same, the packaging now turns me off. So for the first time I tried a Diet Pepsi. It tasted almost the same; as far as I was concerned, Diet Pepsi was a viable substitute for Coke Light. Good gosh, was I getting soft on my drinks?

Then Pepsi Max came along, and now I’m a fan. Okay, let me clarify things before you brand me a “turn-coke.” I still like Coke Light, but given a choice between that in can and Diet Pepsi in can, these days I’m more inclined to pick the latter. (Sometimes I’d chose the former for loyalty’s sake, but that really depends on my mood.) And if I’m in the mood for something sweeter I’d choose Pepsi Max. My only problem with it? I don’t like the very dark color of the packaging—it’s too much like Pepsi X, which was a flop. To me a lighter color fits better with a diet or “light” drink. Plus, I don’t like the font used for the word “Max”—it’s too Mad Max-ish.

Oh dear, it’s the packaging. My taste buds are now being led by my eyes. I must remind myself: Beauty is only packaging-deep. Real taste is inside the can.

Chedeng!

2005-11-10T18:30:00.000+08:00

I attended a wedding last Sunday and what caught my attention for most of the mass? It’s this beauty parked just outside the church.

It’s my inner butch again. It manifests in my fascination with vehicles (I love cars, boats, airplanes and spaceships), hardware supplies (I find browsing through hardware stores strangely relaxing) and weapons (I like playing with swords and guns, but only for make-believe; I’d hate to own the real things).

When my gay friend saw I was taking lots of pictures of the car, he asked me why I was interested in it. I explained to him my inner butch. He looked momentarily puzzled then said, “You know, I don’t think I have an inner butch.”

“Are you fascinated with cars?” I asked.

“No.”

“Airplanes? Boats? Other kinds of transportation? Spaceships?”

“No, no, no, no.”

“I actually like going to the hardware store.”

“Ugh.”

“How about sports? Do you play any?”

“Just volleyball.”

“Jeez, that’s the default gay sport, along with bowling.”

He sighed. “See? I really don’t have an inner butch.”

“But you look more like a butch than I do,” I told him. True enough he’s bigger and bulkier than me. Plus his semi-kal hairdo and rough facial hair make him look like a goon.

Surprise! The goon is a faggot. Goes to show how looks can be deceiving.

You’ll Tide Over This Season

2005-11-09T22:07:00.000+08:00

In a few weeks it’ll be Christmas.

My feeling towards Christmas was never ambivalent: I love the season. Oh sure it’s much too commercialized, traffic is extra heavy, and people expect you to be generous to them even if they don’t deserve it. Still if you focus on what’s really essential in Christmas, it’s really all about love. And unlike Valentine’s wherein romantic love takes precedent, Christmas is all-encompassing: love for family and friends, God’s love (if you have the faith), love of mankind. Yes, Christmas and the miss-universal prayer for world peace are made for one another. My relationship with my family has been peachy-keen so far. I have tried-and-tested friends who’ve known me for years. I have no reason to doubt God’s love. And I have no stupid ex-boyfriends to ruin my Decembers.

Before I was the one who’d put up the Christmas tree and the lights; my mom and sister would decorate the tree. My dad would install the parol and the lights around the house, while my mom made a career out of putting up the belen. This year will be the second Christmas we’ll have without my dad. I’ve taken over his duties; I’m planning to buy a new parol because our old one is too dilapidated already.

My saddest Christmas happened when I was still in high school. I remember waking up before everyone very early that Christmas morning and checking out the gifts under the tree. I started counting the gifts for me and then those for my older brother. He had two gifts more than me. When we were growing up we always had the same of everything—clothes, shoes, toys. Now for the first time there was inequality, and it hit me hard. I felt a heavy sadness descend on me, and I found myself crying alone under the tree. I went back to bed; later that morning during the distribution of the gifts no one in the family had any idea of how bad I felt earlier.

My happiest Christmas was also my dad’s last Christmas. We spent it in Bohol; it was just family and close relatives. I remember my dad telling us how he’s at peace and that he was ready to die anytime. Of course none of us wanted to take him seriously and so we just made a joke about it. But I remember feeling we were one family, how close we were, just us inside the ancestral house of my mom’s parents. Just as the Visa ad says: priceless.

This year we’ll be spending Christmas in Manila, but we’ll be flying back to Bohol for New Year. It’s our annual getaway from the hectic metropolis.

This year I wish that all of you find your special place in this season of love and peace.

The Men In My Past

2005-11-08T21:56:00.000+08:00

Chatting with someone online got me reminiscing about my childhood crushes, specifically on TV. So in the tradition of my favorite magazine Entertainment Weekly, I will list them down. I’ll try to make it as chronological as possible.

Robert Conrad in Wild, Wild West and Black Sheep Squadron
In the TV series he played the Will Smith part, although with a more Caucasian-type cowboy bravado (Will’s was more of a street-smart punk from Harlem). I was attracted to his piercing eyes which crinkled whenever he laughed or squinted. Plus he wore this ridiculously tight pair of black pants which made me imagine what kind of a gun that cowboy was packing. He surfaced several years later as the leader of the Black Sheep Squadron in this WWII series. By that time I was more enamored with the Corsair fighter planes featured prominently in the series, but his smiling eyes were still just as piercing, just as crinkly.
* * * * *

David McCallum in Man from U.N.C.L.E.
I don’t remember much of the series, simply because it was my mom who was the fan, not us kids. Still, I knew enough that the two leads were spies or secret agents with cool gadgets. David was the blonde one (the other a brunette). As usual, the blonde one was also the younger, more impulsive one (talk about typecasting according to hair color!) who often got into trouble. (Yuck, he looks like a mongoloid in the picture!)
* * * * *

James Darren in Time Tunnel
This sci-fi series of the 60s was produced by Irwin Allen, who also produced a couple of blockbuster, all-star cast disaster movies in the 70s (Poseidon Adventure and The Towering Inferno). But enough about Irwin. James was one of the two scientists who got bounced around from time to time due to the malfunctioning time machine. And though the tunnel was able to bring them back safely several times, they would always, for one reason or another, end up lost in time again. James was the more impulsive of the two, and he had this slick black hair that was shiny with pomade. I was actually more attracted to the visual spectacle of the tunnel, for it literally set off explosions while sending or bringing back an object through time.
* * * * *

Bob (McGrath) of Sesame Street
Bob was the guy with the straight hair and the prominent nose who sang, “Who are the people in your neighborhood?” He had a great singing voice and a very kind face. He looked like he smiled 24-7. He was also the only Caucasian male adult of “crushable” age (the late Mr. Hooper doesn’t count). The rest were African-American or Latino. Luis was younger than Bob, but I remember Luis coming in a little later in the series. By the time he arrived I thought I’d be betraying Bob if I shifted my gaze to Luis. I should have just chosen a Muppet, like Guy Smiley.
* * * * *

Nick Tate (as Alan Carter) in Space: 1999
Nick continues my fascination with blonde guys who are young and impulsive and often get into trouble but are also the emotionally passionate ones. Alan Carter was their fly-boy pilot in Moonbase Alpha who would often jump straight into battle without much deliberation. He was also one of the youngest in the cast of oldies.
* * * * *

Paul Michael Glaser (as Starsky) in Starsky & Hutch
Here come the policemen/detectives. First off is curly-haired Paul. Strangely, I didn’t like the blonde one in this due (Hutch, played by David Soul) because he was so damn dull. This cop show flipped stereotype by making the dark haired one the younger, more impulsive guy. Plus he was the owner of one of the coolest, most distinct cars in TV series history (K.I.T.T of Knight Rider excluded for obvious reasons).
* * * * *

Eric Estrada in CHiPs
Another dark, curly haired hunk. His toothy grin was enough to make me swoon. But bless the production designer who made his police uniform one size too small—his thighs and butt were practically bursting at the seams. So whenever he mounted or dismounted his bike—whew! Pant, pant!
* * * * *

Lance Kerwin (as James) in James at 15
This is funny—I never actually saw any episode of the TV series! But Lance was always featured in the local magazine TV Times, and his cute smile enamored me. He appeared in the movie “Salem’s Lot” based on Stephen King’s horror novel, and I braved watching it alone in the movie house just to see Lance.
* * * * *

Patrick Duffy as The Man From Atlantis
Haaaaaaaayyy!!! First of all, his character was more often than not shirtless, because he’s from Atlantis. Next, he swam in this undulating, erotic manner. Third, Patrick was this very handsome actor with these sad eyes; looking into them made me want to bring him home and curl up beside him in bed. But the series didn’t last long. After several years Patrick reappeared in “Dallas” but by that time he was older and out of shape.
* * * * *

Jan Michael Vincent in Airwolf
Another blonde looker, though this time he’s not a young man. But I liked this man-in-uniform because he was this loner who spoke little but was a man of action. And having a cool hi-tech helicopter certainly boosted his pogi points!
* * * * *

Bruce Willis in Moonlighting
His David Addison was a witty, infuriating, dashing debonair who swept Maddie Hayes off her feet. He also had this cutest dimple whenever he smiled or smirked. And at that time he still had a bit more hair. He was for me the epitome of a “bad boy” who actually had a good heart.

Whew. Noticed how I’m also enamored by machines (time tunnel, airplane, cars, helicopters)? That’s my butch side showing, hahaha! But more of that next time.

Can You Say, “OA na ‘to!”?

2005-11-08T12:30:00.000+08:00

My officemate got this off the web. “The first reality-based food store in town,” says the sign. This is getting really silly.

I’m Just Not That Into It

2005-11-07T20:11:00.000+08:00

“It” is the book He’s Just Not That Into You. After all the hullabaloo I heard about it, I decided to read Greg Behrendt and Liz Tuccillo’s bestseller and see what the fuss was all about. It’s a very easy read; at 165 pages long, one can breeze through it in less than a day.

The book is subtitled The No-Excuses Truth to Understanding Guys, and three-fourths of the book mostly Greg clueing girls on the different kinds of excuses guys make when they’re not really into her. Greg, an admitted former bad boy, mines his past to slap women silly when they waste precious time with their girlfriends trying to “figure out” the guys they are seeing (Liz provides the skeptical female perspective and asks Greg questions for further clarification). One just has to read the chapter titles to know the excuses: He’s not that into you if he’s not asking you out; …if he’s not dating you; …if he’s having sex with someone else (duh!); …if he’s breaking up with you (double-duh!); and so on.

But you don’t need to reach halfway into the book for you to figure out that while majority of the book talks about “he”, the real focus of the book is in “you”. Greg’s basic premise is simple: women should be into themselves so that they won’t settle for guys who aren’t into them. Get it?

The book’s simple objective is to help single women—like the girls in Sex and the City where Liz is a writer of the show—try and understand the men they are dating. Greg insists that men aren’t all that complicated; if a woman needs to “figure him out” then most probably he’s not that into her. What happens after you meet the man who’s into you, how to sustain a long-term relationship, well, that’s for other books to tackle.

The book’s all well and good—if you’re a straight woman. A gay man however has to sift through the book to be able to get stuff that’ll be relevant to homosexuals. For example: Greg’s philosophy presupposes that women have to be optimistic a right guy will come along. This is all well and good because women have 90% of the men to choose from. But what about us gays in the 10% zone? We have fewer guys to choose from (this gives me a convenient explanation why I’m still single).

Also, Greg is so optimistic that he believes it’s better to be lonely or alone than to be with someone who “makes you feel shitty or doesn’t honor the person you are.” So how does one cope with loneliness? The book isn’t much help.

In the end we can look at the hetero world for lessons, but I believe we still need to make our own rules and define our own standards. All in all He’s Just Not That Into You is a good read for all of our smart, single women friends. Meanwhile, we need our own Greg and Liz to write our pink version.

The Write Stuff

2005-11-03T21:12:00.000+08:00

Some of my high school batch mates, especially those who’ve not been in touch with me for quite some time, were surprised at my essay-writing skills. You see, I was asked to write a personal essay about our batch, and I emailed my first draft to some of them for their comments and reactions. I was quite taken aback when one of them wondered why they were unaware of this writing talent of mine in high school. That got me thinking.

In high school I never really saw myself as either a writer or a comic, much less a comic writer. Back then the funny man of the family was my older brother. The funniest thing I ever wrote, and this my first-year teacher can attest to, was a sentence for a grammar quiz: During Holy Week, meat turns to ashes. My teacher (who was also my brother’s teacher), upon returning my quiz paper, looked at me and said, “I see there’s another comic in the family.” But I never did take his words to heart.

However I was already a big fan of Erma Bombeck, the funny essayist whose works often appeared in Reader’s Digest. Her humor and human interest writings had me in stitches.

In college I discovered I can be funny onstage. But my writing did not progress beyond the usual reports, papers and of course our thesis.

After college I discovered the magazine Entertainment Weekly and Jessica Zafra’s columns. I especially liked how the former would often use puns in the titles of their articles. Working as a copywriter in advertising must have also prodded my love for the funny phrase. My favorite print ad headline is also, I think, my wittiest: to announce that Lucky Me! Pancit Canton had a new package, we had a visual of the new pack placed on a hanger and a simple headline: New damit, same pancit. (Now that I think about it, the headline might not actually be mine, but my creative director’s. Oh shit.)

Then I discovered blogging and things were never the same again.

I know I’m not the wittiest or the funniest writer online. But perhaps one day I could parlay this writing skill of mine into something more lucrative. My only problem is, the moment writing becomes work it’s not fun anymore. Argh!

Mmm-agnifico!

2005-11-02T22:51:00.000+08:00

After a strenuous Saturday in Bed, Sunday found me in bed the whole day. Monday morning my mom came to me and said, “Your brother wants to have lunch in Amici.” I was out of bed immediately and soon I was on my way to Makati with my mom, sister and brother.

My brother had told us of Amici di Don Bosco, a restaurant found near Don Bosco in Makati that serves heavenly pizza, pasta and a whole lot more at friendly prices. I think their canteen-like set-up helps keep food costs down—no need to pay extra for ambience and service charge.

We immediately ordered two kinds of pizza and two kinds of pasta. I loved the pizza with lots of anchovies and garlic; as for the pasta, I preferred the one with lots and lots of garlic and bits of anchovies. (And I wonder why I’m still single—plus since garlic is supposed to be good for the heart, I’ll be single for a very long time.)

The only downside to a visit at Amichi is the parking—one has to park either at the nearby Makati Cinema Square or at Walter Mart and walk. I suggest you park at the latter; there’s a Bibliarch. After filling our stomachs we ended up buying books to fill up our minds: Neil Gaiman’s “Anansi Boys”, Lemony Snicket’s “A Series of Unfortunate Events book 12: The Penultimate Peril” and (for me) Greg Behrendt and Liz Tuccillo’s “He’s Just Not That Into You.”

A Queen-size Bed

2005-11-02T22:50:00.000+08:00

Thank god for all the saints and thank Allah for Ramadan! Last weekend was a four-day vacation thanks to All Saints Day, and this next weekend will be a three-day respite thanks to the end of Ramadan.

Saturday was another fun night out thanks to different Halloween events in the city. I was particularly interested in seeing the newly-renovated Bed. True enough, when I entered the place, I was taken aback. This wasn’t the oh-so-crowded, this-feels-like-Divisoria-during-Christmas-rush, dancing-equals-bobbing-one’s-head kind of Bed that I knew. Oh no, this was a Queen-size Bed—it now boasts of a huge dance floor and several ledges where gyrating go-go boys can strut their stuff and be ogled at the whole night through. Truly, it’s a Bed fit for and can fit all queens of Metro Manila.

After saying hello to several usual suspects, I waited by the bar for two students from TA. They had been in Bed once before with me as their tour guide; now wanted to see the new Bed and I agreed to meet them there. After a few minutes they arrived and we moved to the dance floor. I thought that they can take care of themselves, so I left them alone. Besides, I thought that they’d have better chances of hooking up for the night if they weren’t seen with a senior citizen.

I immediately planted myself at a ledge near the main dance floor. Heck, I was determined to just dance the night away. This was Bed, this was home, this was fun!

When I checked on the students after a while, one of them whispered to me, “I met these two cute guys!” and when I looked, sure enough there were these two gorgeous twinks who looked just a little over twenty years old. Ah, the advantage of youth! I think the only ones that can trump the Youth card are the Cute Afam card and the Filthy Rich card. Feeling out of my league but happy for them, I moved back to the ledge.

After several minutes of boogying, I decided to get a drink. With the widened space, there were more walls and corners where couples could link up for the night. Sure enough there were already several in locked-tongue positions. I was just looking for a place to rest my back; I leaned against the wall near the fire exit. I was contented watching the people partying away on the dance floor when I happened to glance at my left. A couple was busy making out, but one of them was staring at me! He gave me a smile, and maneuvered so that he could grab my hand and fondle my fingers. Hey, who am I to ruin someone’s kicks, right? So I just let him. Pretty soon he whispered to his partner-for-the-night, who first glanced first at our locked hands, then up to my face. He smiled. Hmmm, I told myself, is this the makings of a threesome? They both pulled me into their embrace. Okay, okay, so it was.

While we were busy entertaining ourselves someone was also entertaining himself by watching us. Soon he moved even closer to where we were standing. He was around six feet tall, medium built, a fair dancer, Chinese-looking. PK* in other words. My companions also thought so; one of them dragged Mr. PK into the fold. Uh-oh, this is getting a wee bit complicated, I thought to myself, not to mention a little too busy. Still, it’s nothing that I can’t handle.

Soon one of them was saying, “We should find a place!” Unfortunately no one had a ready place available. The suggestion of getting a motel was quickly shot down—will they allow four guys in a room? Getting a hotel room got an even colder reception. Soon the initial thrill and excitement gave way to a dawning realization that we were in over our heads and budget. Mr. PK was the first to go. The other two were willing to proceed with a threesome, but I wasn’t too hot on it already. After the initial thrill, I put the whole situation through my mental processor, and I came to the conclusion that I’d be a lot happier if I extricate myself from the situation. So goodbye threesome, goodbye TA kids, and goodbye Bedizens. See you all next week.

*PK – It is generally acknowledged that PK stands for Pang-alis Kati, but we prefer Puwede Kna (with a silent “k”).

House About It, Mate?

2005-10-29T00:25:00.000+08:00

Ahem. Can you say, ‘Wa ka na, Sey!?

The Company Of Caucasians

2005-10-27T18:38:00.000+08:00

While reading an online article featuring an interview with Rear Admiral Tirso Danga, deputy chief of staff for intelligence, regarding an alleged plot to bomb Malate (similar to the recent Bali bombings), I came across this line: “And he was planning to put it in one of the clubs in Malate were Caucasians conglomerate for their happy times,” Danga told DZMM.

Hoy tanga, este, Danga! It’s “where” not “were”. And I think you mean congregate, not conglomerate.

(Then again, it may be the fault of the writer of the article, not Danga’s.)

Grave Memories

2005-10-27T17:47:00.000+08:00

As a family we never had any reason to go to the cemetery during Nov. 1 because most of our dead relatives were buried in the province or abroad. So I grew up not having to make those annual visits.

I was in first year high school when Death visited our family with a vengeance—my grandmother died on Dec. 26, followed by my younger brother on Dec. 27. My grandma was 96; my brother was only 4 years old. My grandma lived a very full life; my younger brother never got to play with the toys he received for Christmas. Pity my poor dad; he lost a mother and a child in a span of two days. The old folks whispered behind our parents’ back that maybe our Lola Charing wanted someone to accompany her to the grave and chose her grandson. The upside to having their deaths one day apart is lower costs: one chapel for two wakes, lower refreshment costs, and we were able to arrange that they be buried in the same grave, one coffin on top of another (they just had to dig a deeper hole).

Every November when we’d visit their graves, we’d park our cars at the Loyola House of Studies in Ateneo and walk down the hill to the side entrance of the Loyola Memorial Park in Marikina. We learned the ins and outs of the cemetery. And we established certain traditions to make the annual trip more fun: we’d go early morning while the day was not yet that hot, stay there ‘til just before lunch, then eat out somewhere in Katipunan (Shakey’s was a favorite for several years).

When I was in first year college, my closest friend died in a hit-and-could-have-run-but-chose-to-bring-the-victim-to-the-hospital accident in front of the Sto. Domingo church. He was going to church to pray; he ended up in church being prayed upon. His grave is several blocks away from my brother-and-grandma’s grave, so after the first year I decided not to go out of my way to pass by his grave during Nov. 1.

Two years ago my dad was buried just a block away from my friend’s grave. Last year I tried looking for my friend’s grave but couldn’t remember where.

Every year I notice the crowds getting thinner and thinner. People still visit their dearly departed but I think more and more choose not to stay for the whole two days. Meanwhile I see every year an increase in fast food stands mushrooming in and near the entrances of the memorial park. Happily the atmosphere in Loyola Memorial Park in Marikina has not degenerated into a fiesta or circus mood. Most people still try to keep that solemn mood while visiting.

That’s why I really would prefer cremation; you get to stay home during Nov. 1. You don’t have to go on a grave visit that will just leave you dead tired.

Barney Streisand

2005-10-25T22:10:00.000+08:00

So I’m at my desk playing Broadway musical tunes with the volume up because it’s already late and most have gone home, when a gay officemate passed by. He’s around 21 years old, fresh out of college. Upon hearing Barang belt out “Somewhere” from West Side Story, he turned to me and with a smirk said: “Hindi naman baklang-bakla yang kantang yan, noh?”

I retorted: “Naku, hinding-hindi. Lalakeng-lalake nga ang kantang ‘to, eh. Narinig ko nga ang mga siga sa kanto kinakanta ‘to!”

“Hahaha! Naku, ka-level ni Streisand yang sina Cher at ang mga sinauna pa.” Then he paused, as if contemplating whether he should continue or stop right there and then. He decided to put his foot in his mouth: “Sila ang mga dinosaurs ng sangkabaklaan.”

My eyebrow was up even before you could sing people who need people are the luckiest people in the world. “Hoy! Walang hiya ka. Magbigay pugay ka sa ating mga lola! Ang hindi marunong lumingon sa pinanggalingan…”

“Hahahaha, ano?”

“…may stiff neck!” I finished. “Gaga ka.”

What’s with the young ‘uns these days? No respect!

Say Cheese!

2005-10-25T21:32:00.000+08:00

You know something’s a pop culture phenomenon when, after the prerequisite fake t-shirts and caps, they start making cheese curl snacks in its name. Oh good lord.

Missed Saigon (aka McMusicals)

2005-10-24T18:40:00.000+08:00

Imagine life as one big musical. When a person starts singing a song, everyone within a 15-feet radius will be compelled to dance and sing along even if it’s against their will. I was thinking of that over the weekend.

The whole McFamily was in Tagaytay for my brother’s wedding Saturday at 2pm. Most of the family went up Friday evening. My sister and I followed the next morning because I finished work very early Saturday morning. Determined to make the drive very relaxing and stress-free, I loaded up my iPod with songs from musicals.

It has been months since I last listened to those songs and I never realized how much I missed them. So I found myself relaxing to the familiar tunes of Barbra Streisand’s “I Have a Dream/We Kiss In The Shadows” (from The Broadway Album) and Jonathan Pryce as the Engineer in “The American Dream” (from Miss Saigon) while driving along South Superhighway.

When we reached Sta. Rosa, the Saigon song “This Is The Hour” started playing. I found myself getting lost in the song, wherein Kim reveals her son to Thuy—who is betrothed to Kim—and he demands that the child be killed. Okay, I really think that the lyrics are quite awkward in several places (the Engineer berates Kim: “Did you not get what he said? / There’s a big screw loose inside you / I will rip it out of your head!” and when Kim brings out the gun, Thuy sings: “Of course you have a gun! / ...and it’s a U.S. gun / a gun that lost the war!”). But towards the end of the song, after Kim shoots Thuy (with matching gunshot “Bang!”) and the chorus starts singing “This is the hour / this is our land…,” the hairs on my arms started to rise, and tears welled up. What was happening? Suddenly the song had a whole new impact on me. It is the power a piece of music can have, how it collects and wraps up memories around it. And when you hear the song again after a long time, those memories are released and they come crashing back, violent and unbidden. I had to look away and wipe my tears surreptitiously so that my sister won’t notice.

Then Barbra’s rendition of Send In The Clowns came on, and I was instantly transported to Baguio circa late 80s. We were in a bar at the old Baguio Country Club, and a lounge singer was belting out that song. So far so good until she got to the line: “Making my entrance again with my usual flair.” With full confidence and panache of someone oblivious, the singer sang: “Making my entrance again with my usually flared….” I guess she always wore bell-bottom pants to her singing engagements.

Ah, those were the days. To quote Cats: “Memories… I can smile at the old days. I was beautiful then.”

All throughout our stay in Tagaytay and even on our way home, I played songs from musicals over and over. This morning on my way to work, I was singing along to Streisand, Salonga and other stage superstars. I think I’ll be in musical mode for the next few days.

I don’t expect my love affairs to last for long,
Never fool myself that my dreams will come true,
Being used to trouble I anticipate it,
But all the same I hate it. Wouldn’t you?

Make Some Noise!

2005-10-22T01:49:00.000+08:00

I always get a kick out of positive feedback during sex. As in the noisy, moaning, groaning and swearing kind of feedback. It’s when pleasure and pain collide; it’s that tug-of-war between wanting more and can’t take it anymore. It’s a bigger turn on for me to see a partner almost dying of pleasure, his head ping-ponging this way and that, his hands almost clawing my back. And afterwards, the sound of him panting and catching his breath is the equivalent of a standing ovation to my ears. I remember this 18-year old (or so he said) who told me in between gasps, “Wow, you almost killed me there.” I had to stop myself from diving on him again just to finish the, ah, job.

Practice makes perfect.

Weekend Thoughts

2005-10-19T20:03:00.000+08:00

Last Friday evening after work I went to Government, the default hang-out since Bed is closed for major Botox action. There they played Madonna’s first single, “Hung Up” taken from her latest album. For the fans of ABBA and Madonna (yours truly), hearing the sampled riff from “Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! (A Man After Midnight)” followed by Maddie’s distinct voice (okay, I didn’t hear a British accent in her singing, thank bloody goodness!) will give one quite an aural kick. But here’s the thing: it’s a great dance track, but I don’t know if it’ll translate well to massive radio airplay.

* * * * *

More and more I believe in the following axiom: When you really, really want something, Fate conspires against you. And when you don’t want it anymore, that’s when Fate gives it to you on a silver platter. But Fate is one sneaky, tricky dude. He can sniff a poseur a mile away. So even if you publicly declare, “I will not smoke anymore” but deep inside you actually long for nicotine, Fate will make sure that no cigarette comes your way. But the moment you resign yourself to a nicotine-free existence, Fate in the form of your favorite uncle stationed in Saudi will step in and come home with a full ream of imported Marlboro Reds as pasalubong for you. Either way, you’re the butt of Fate’s joke.

* * * * *

During our beach trip I discovered that I can fry pretty well. Yes I know it’s not nuclear science, but I’m someone who often steers clear from the kitchen (unless to grab a piece of newly-fried chicken or a stick of barbeque) and only knows how to boil egg. But on the beach trip we all had to pitch in for kitchen duties and that included cooking and cleaning of dishes. I prepared garlic fried rice. Later on I helped out another group prepare banana-Q. While someone rubbed brown sugar on peeled bananas, I did the frying. The first batch of bananas was a blackened disaster—too much sugar and too many bananas in the pan. But I learned very fast; the rest of the batches were perfect.

Hmmm, maybe I just might take on cooking. I find the preparation part (like the chopping of garlic) a very relaxing task. Then there’s the challenge in the cooking part of getting it just right. Then there’s also something zen-like with dishwashing. I think I’ll like being in the kitchen if I don’t do everything; otherwise, I’ll quickly get tired of cooking.

Then again maybe last weekend’s excursion into the kitchen was just a fluke, a welcome break from the usual McRoutine of my life.

From City To Province

2005-10-19T15:42:00.000+08:00

The McVie has been out since Saturday evening because he’s been with the TA kids in Infanta, Quezon! Yup, it’s sembreak for them, and so they headed out to the beach. And since I’m such a kaladkarin, I decided to tag along. We left Quezon City at 8:30pm Saturday and arrived at Quezon province by Sunday early morning. And we left the beach at around 9:30pm Monday evening and got back Tuesday early morning.

When we hit Real, Quezon we noticed the beach was to our right. Then while passing through Infanta town proper we made a few turns then suddenly the beach was now to our left. Did we double back? Were we located in a promontory? Turns out we were.

That was also the first time I was able to experience the Pacific Ocean. The sea was rough with huge waves, befitting the time of year.

But what saddened me was the sight of all those tree trunks littering the beachfront. Last year massive landslides caused by careless logging killed thousands in Quezon. The beaches were lines with bodies and felled trees. A year after that disaster, the trees continue to haunt the beaches of Quezon; some of the locals insist ghosts also wander along the seashore, crying out the whole night.

Some of us swam in the ocean, sticking pretty close to the shore for fear of the powerful undertow. Others decided to just enjoy the sea breeze. By the evening we got drunk on beer, gin, rum coke, and homemade Bailey’s. As the picture below illustrates, one shouldn’t drink with lazsones as pulutan. It’s a priceless photo opportunity the moment one falls asleep drunk.

Time To Read

2005-10-13T18:04:00.000+08:00

Time Magazine’s Oct. 10 issue has for its cover story “The Battle Over Gay Teens”. It is a very interesting—if somewhat difficult—read (the writer goes all over the place). What I took from the article is how the gay teens are trying to find their way into the adult world. Also, the current gay lifestyle doesn’t offer many alternatives to the growing gay teen population. Thus teens are as easily swayed to check out the conservative groups who offer to “cure” them of their homosexuality as they are willing to embrace pro-gay groups. Other interesting points raised by the article include: [1] how the current gay lifestyle was formed mostly by adults, with very adult concerns and interests; [2] gay teens do not necessarily label themselves as “gay” even if they are practicing homosexuals; [3] more and more straight teens are more accepting of their gay and lesbian peers; also, they are more open to the idea that sexual preference is more malleable. Gone are the days when “the purpose of a man is to love a woman, and the purpose of a woman is to love a man”.

Check out the article here.

“Para mama, ito po aking URL!”

2005-10-13T14:12:00.000+08:00

I saw something startling this morning on the road. In front of the Ateneo campus I saw a jeepney plying the UP-Katipunan route; on its mudguard was a sign saying: Blog Ang Mundo (translation: “the world is a blog”). Nakanampucha! Does this mean that blogging, LJ-ing and the like have now seeped into the general public’s consciousness? Is the Pinoy masa ready for the online cacophony of rants, raves, reviews and ramblings? (Sorry, couldn’t resist alliterating.) Whatever. All I can say is, in terms of advertising, ibang klase ang media placement ha!

More Photos

2005-10-12T17:51:00.000+08:00

Kindly indulge us one last time, please.

Thank you.

Presenting

2005-10-11T17:15:00.000+08:00

The next batch of housemates for Season 2 of Pinoy Big Brother:

I’m kidding, of course. The cast and crew of “Bayan-Bayanan” got together for a photo party. For around four hours we had fun posing for the camera. TA alumnus Dave Fabros took the photos.

We wanted a spread ala-Vanity Fair, but some of the kids had to leave early (it’s exams week now for them) while some others were still on their way. So we ended up with several group photos.

Saucy Sausage Talk

2005-10-10T20:24:00.000+08:00

At last, I met Sky in the flesh. Of course his flesh was decently covered, thank you very much. We met up Saturday afternoon in Gateway, Cubao. He was very generous, giving me a chance to taste the longganisa he had. To think that came all the way from Laoag—must be salty, from all that travel. Hehehe. Okay, enough of that.

Thanks Sky for the longganisa. Unfortunately my mom decided not to cook them yesterday for breakfast because she wanted to finish the last batch of chorizo she bought last week from the parish livelihood center. So for now I can only imagine what your longganisa tastes like.

D’ Original “D’ Punks”

2005-10-10T16:38:00.000+08:00

Forgive me if I dwell on The Cascades yet again.

When we were growing up my dad would often play their long-playing vinyl album every Sunday morning (if not that he’d play the soundtrack of The Sound Of Music or any of our Ray Conniff albums). So yesterday in a fit of nostalgia I decided to play their CD while we were having lunch. My younger brother and I were discussing the album when I suddenly had a surprising realization. Surprising because I’ve been singing along to the songs for more than four (!) decades and it was only yesterday that the following realization dawned on me:

McVie: “My god! Do you realize that all of the Cascade songs are sawi sa pag-ibig songs? They’re always about a lost love or wanting a girl but not getting her?”

McBro (incredulous): “Owwws.”

So we looked at the track listing, and as we ran down each and every song we kept cracking up. My gosh, those Cascade dudes were big-time losers! To wit:

“Angel On My Shoulder” – He already has an angel on his shoulder, a lucky penny in his pocket and a four-leaf clover in his wallet. Furthermore, he has wished upon all the stars above him (there are a million of them), caught the nearest rainbow, tossed a lot of nickels in a wishing well, saved all the fortunes from fortune cookies. But despite all of those, what he really needs is “a warm and tender love”, something he still hasn’t found yet. What a loser. Oh, and he also has a mustard seed. Wow, big f**kin’ deal.

“I Wanna Be You Lover” – It’s the classic “let’s just be friends” dilemma, and we all know how they often end.

“Dreamin’” and “Was I Dreamin’” – Two songs about the girl of his dreams who may actually be just a dream. What a pathetic loser.

“Let Me Be” – Despite the clap-happy tune, this song is about a guy who can’t shake his ex off. “You cheated and you lied, I hope you’re satisfied. Oh why won’t you let me be?” Hey boy, why won’t you let her be and take charge of your life? Loser.

“Lucky Guy” – It’s a song about a guy who loses his girl to another guy. Enough said.

“My First Day Alone” – The day after the break-up. Loser.

“Punch And Judy” – “Judy makes a fool of me…. Even though I know the score, I keep coming back for more.” Pathetic—an emotional punching bag. He should charge her with emotional violence, but he’s too much of a loser to fight back.

“Rhythm Of The Rain” – This is the cousin of the song “Crying In The Rain,” an ode to tears of loss and the heavens pouring in sympathy. Well, they get no sympathy from me.

“Shy Girl” – At first you think the problematic person in this song is the girl, not the guy. But no: “If only you knew I’m shy like you, you might not run away. Oh please don’t shy away. I’ve got so much to say.” What a loooser!

“There’s A Reason” – The girl leaves him and he’s looking for a reason why she said goodbye. Loser.

“The Last Leaf” – For me this is the most pathetic song of the bunch. The girl promised to come back to him “before the leaves of autumn touch the ground.” But then “one by one the leaves began to fall” and still no girl. So now he’s clinging on to “the last leaf that clings to the bough.” Now isn’t that pathetic or what?

Then my brother had another stunning realization: “Wow, I think The Cascades created the first punk album way before punk was created!”

Now it was my turn: “Owwws?!”

McBro: “Think about it—songs about love and loss, all under three minutes, all sounding alike. The Cascades are sooo punk!”

My god, he’s right. Rey “PJ” Avellana should re-visit his famous line from the movie D’ Punks: “Ma, hindi n’yo kami naiintindihan eh. Kami’y D’ Cascades!”

Which got me to thinking: why do most Pinoys love Cascades songs? Are we a nation of losers, mga sawi sa pag-ibig at buhay? Are we a nation of feeling-underdogs? Do we gravitate towards sad songs because they give us an outlet to vent out our frustrations in a civilized manner?

But if we are a society of underdogs, then how do we explain the popularity of Frank Sinatra’s “My Way” in karaoke and videoke bars all over the country? Perhaps “My Way” is really the true antithesis of the sawi songs, because how else do we explain the numerous violent drunken episodes attached to the song? Does the deadly combination of “My Way” and alcohol transform us from passive losers into violent aggressors?

Do we really attach any sociological implication to all these musings?!

But really, why are the Cascades so popular here? There must be a reason; I’d like to know why, oh why, oh, I’d like to know. For now I hope that one day we can drop this La Aunoric ako-ay-api mentality and be a more pro-active and take-charge society. But until then, I’ll just keep on dreamin’, keep right on dreamin’.

Book Watch

2005-10-07T19:13:00.000+08:00

Oh my god, the twelfth (and supposedly last) book in A Series of Unfortunate Events is coming out October 18! Interestingly, they’ve not yet revealed the title or the cover of the book in the official website (http://www.lemonysnicket.com); they just call it “The Nameless Novel.” But there’s an online game wherein registered participants (no joining fee), upon answering the questions correctly, will be rewarded with a piece of a puzzle. Completing the puzzle will reveal the cover of book 12. All of this is very much in line with the nature of the books, so what a creative and synergistic way to generate interest among the series’ fans.

Last Monday I also bought the DVD of the movie A Series of Unfortunate Events starring Jim Carrey. I know many people were put off by his portrayal of the villain Count Olaf, but I think the greater weakness of the film is that the creators were unable to translate into filmic language the wicked wit and smart (sometimes smarmy) sensibilities of the books.

I’m still hoping that the movie version of another popular children’s literature, the Artemis Fowl series, will eventually be produced. The dissolution of Miramax has placed that project on turnaround, but hopefully someone will pick up that possible franchise in the near future.

Single. Simple.

2005-10-07T17:36:00.000+08:00

Before I never really gave it much thought, but lately I’ve been slowly wrapping my mind around the idea that I’m destined to be single all my life. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, really. But unlike before when I was still open to the idea of hooking up, now I think I’ll just refuse anything and anyone that comes my way. It’s simpler that way.

Nope, I’m not afraid of commitment. I’m a committed bachelor, that’s all.

Creating A New Retreat

2005-10-07T15:43:00.000+08:00

Last night Marisse told me about this 12-day silent retreat she’s attending sometime end of October. The idea behind this completely silent retreat is simple—it’ll force you to learn to really be quiet physically and, more importantly, mentally. Why be mentally still? Silencing your mind means being able to really be in the present, in the now. (Has that ever happened to you, when your mind is just blank and you’re suddenly so aware of everything around you, like your senses are heightened? It happened several times to me already, albeit quite by accident. I’ve always wanted to repeat that experience.) The retreat is designed to teach people to silence their minds at will. Needless to say, I’m intrigued and interested. However, in my workplace 12 days is a long time to go on leave. It’s not impossible but it just takes a bit more explaining and groveling in front of your boss. Unfortunately my stint as an actor used up most of my goodwill points, so I need to behave a bit and fill up my goodwill bank once again before I can ask for such a lengthy leave. I might go to the next retreat scheduled either March or May of 2006.

Meanwhile, last night we had a fun time inventing a new kind of retreat, taking off from that “absolute silence” idea. We came up with a “no seeing” retreat. The philosophy is simple: blindness forced Daredevil’s other senses to be heightened. In the same token, eliminating their sense of sight will force the participants to rely more on their other senses and maximize their usage. The 15-day retreat schedule will look something like this:

DAY 1
4:00 am – gouging of the eyes of each participant
4:30 to 6:30 am –rest and recovery
6:30 to 7:30 am – breakfast
7:30 to 11:00 am – healing and recuperation
11:00 to 12 noon – distribution of walking sticks
12 noon to 1:00 pm – lunch
1:00 to 2:00 pm – siesta
2:00 to 4:00 pm – orientation of the whole retreat venue and hands-on exploration
4:00 to 5:00 pm – sharing
5:00 to 7:00 pm – group exercise: running around the oval while tied to the other participants
7:00 to 8:00 pm – dinner
8:00 to 10:00 pm – 1st talk: Learning to live without sight
10:00 pm – lights out (after this, the lights will never be switched on ever again for the duration of the retreat, so they conserve on electricity)

DAY 2 & 3
Morning and afternoon: Maximize your sense of hearing
Evening: meditation

DAY 4 & 5
Morning and afternoon: Maximize your sense of touch
Evening: meditation

DAY 6 & 7
Morning and afternoon: Maximize your sense of smell
Evening: meditation

DAY 8 & 9
Morning and afternoon: Maximize your sense of taste
Evening: meditation

DAY 10 to 14
Using the rest of your senses: Combat training
Daily evening meditation

DAY 15
Culminating activity: NINJA WAR GAMES (participant vs. participant)

Psychologists will be always on hand to counsel those who will need guidance. Doctors will also be on hand anytime a participant gets an infection in his eye wounds.

Our retreat’s tagline will be simple: Walang atrasan! (No retreating!) Plus we’ll use this copy point: We guarantee you’ll never see the world in the same way again.

Gym Nasty

2005-10-06T19:39:00.000+08:00

For the first time in over a month I started going to the gym every morning again. I had to stop during the Bayan-Bayanan rehearsals and run because we often ended so late at night I needed the extra time in the morning to catch up on sleep. Memorizing, repeating the blocks, dying on stage again and again—playing Pol was really tiring. I also tried to watch what I ate during the whole run. Still the lack of exercise took a toll on me. I was huffing and puffing more during my 20-min cardio routine on the treadmill, and my muscles were complaining when I lifted weights.

I’m not really a vain person but I do have my insecurities, and poor body image is one. Well, I have been working on having a better self-image; however, changes don’t happen overnight. So in the meantime I also work out to look good and feel good. Besides, I always tell myself that keeping a healthy body will be better as I grow older.

Going back to the gym after a long spell, I was hoping that the morning crowd had improved in my absence. Before, there was absolutely zero eye candy in the morning crowd. The instructors? Bleah. My fellow gym bunnies? Ngyek. Well, one or two have gorgeous bodies that are ruined by a not-so-pleasing face. We call them hipon (shrimp): tapon ulo (toss the head aside). As for the instructors, no one is handsome, none have a to-die-for body, and they all have the personality of a fire hydrant. (I’m beginning to ask myself: What the hell am I doing in that gym?!)

What’s even more irritating is that there’s this group of about 5-6 bodyguards of our company chairman who often work out in the mornings too. They look like ex-military men, all swarthy-looking, brusque in demeanor, and (suspiciously) sound like they all come from the same province—they all speak with the same accent or punto. I’ve nothing against men from the barracks—in fact they’re one of my kinkier fantasies. But when they work out as a group they turn the gym into one big boot camp—and we’re the outsiders. They pause in between sets to chat; meanwhile the rest of us are waiting for them to finish so we can use the machines. At times I interrupt them with, “Can we alternate on that machine?” but that hasn’t reduced their morning chika-fest. My subtle hints can’t seem to penetrate their heads. Blame it on their thick, sun-burnt skins and small brains. They’re not gym bunnies, they’re gym hippos.

Oh well. The gym is one big zoo, and I’m the monkey spitting at the guests and looking for bananas to eat.

The Cascades Completed

2005-10-05T18:59:00.000+08:00

Yesterday I bought The Essential Cascades, released by Warner Music Philippines. I bought it for two previously unreleased tracks, “Dreamin’” and “Was I Dreaming?” When I bought the album Rhythm of the Rain on CD several years ago, I was disappointed that the two songs were conspicuously absent. Maybe they couldn’t be digitally transferred from the original analog tapes, or maybe the suits in Warner then didn’t like songs about dreaming—whatever. At last all the Cascades songs I grew up with are now in my iPod.

Now I feel complete. Ahhh!

A Different Bed Experience

2005-10-03T22:36:00.000+08:00

Over the weekend Katski and I repeated something we did about a year ago—stay overnight at Sonia’s Bed and Breakfast in Tagaytay. Nestled away from the highway, Sonia’s is a blissful oasis, a retreat from the hectic city life. It’s not inexpensive, but luxury like this is sometimes worth spending for, at least once in a while.

The road leading to the cottages, lit up for the coming twilight. Our cottage is the one on the right—our room is the one on the ground floor. Upstairs is another cottage, occupied by a foreign couple over the weekend.

I love their bathrooms—pebbles instead of tiles on the floor, huge windows. Very Zen.

The cottage we occupied had two huge beds. Katski occupied the bigger one; I preferred the smaller one in the corner.

There was also an alcove with a day bed and a lounge chair. That’s where Katski and I stayed to brainstorm on a photo party for TA. We drank Mudslide (vodka and cappuccino, vodka and chocolate) during our brainstorming.

There was also a small bedroom to the right of the alcove, complete with its own bathroom. Cool.

Sonia’s has great accommodations. The food is also great, but unfortunately they don’t change their menu. So what we had for dinner and breakfast was exactly the same as a year ago (salad and pasta for dinner; adobo, fish, mushroom-and-cheese omelet, fried rice for breakfast). It’s no surprise that guests have stepped out to eat lunch and dinner somewhere else. So a weekend at Sonia’s is best spaced far and in between.

All in all it was a most relaxing weekend for me. I got to go on a long drive (I find long drives relaxing), stayed at a very cozy cottage, got around 8 hours of sleep (with an afternoon nap to boot, something I rarely do these days) and indulged in a food trip (we had lunch at Antonio’s on Saturday, then at Josephine’s on Sunday). I thought it was a great way to put a close to my Bayan-Bayanan experience. Now it’s time to take off my actor’s hat, put it back in the shelf and close the cabinet. Maybe one day I’ll dust it off the shelf and wear it again; meantime, it’s back to the daily regular grind.

Of Commercials and Numbers

2005-09-30T17:41:00.000+08:00

Last night we watched the last full show of The Constant Gardener at Greenbelt. Before the trailers they showed the commercial of Sentricon, the anti-termite company. The print was obviously years old, for there were major scratches on the film; the soundtrack was scratchy as well. “Get their home before they get yours!” admonished the voice over of the commercial. Seeing that commercial I was reminded of the La Germania gas range commercials they showed for the longest time in moviehouses years ago. Specifically I remembered the one featuring an Italian chef. I’ve seen it so many times through the years that I’ve memorized the monologue:

As a chef I wear two hats, one at work where I deal with gourmets, and one at mi casa mia where I cook for my loved ones. In both places I have to do my best. (Then his son comes in and says, “Papa!” wherein he replies: “Si, I know.”) In both places I use La Germania. Because in both places, I have to be the best. And for you, Mama Mia, the best! (His wife teases him, “Salvatore!”) With my La Germania, no problema!

Gosh! Another advertiser who had their commercials shown in moviehouses for the longest time was Technogas, another gas range brand. A runner-up is McJim leather products.

* * * * *

On my way home after the movie I glanced at my speedometer and I noticed the total number of kilometers traveled so far by Orlando:
That’s 66,666 kms in 5 years. I thought, “Wow, I need to take a picture of this!” So I parked on the side of the road, whipped out my phonecam and took a shot. Then I noticed the time:
Double wow!

Can You Say “King Kong”?

2005-09-29T16:26:00.000+08:00

You Are A: Monkey!

Monkeys are intelligent and agile, well-adapted for jungle life as they swing happily from tree to tree. As a monkey, you are a social animal who is quick to learn new things, loves to climb and is known to show off. A monkey's tiny primate features are irresistable, as is his gregarious personality!

You were almost a: Squirrel or a Frog
You are least like a: Puppy or a Turtle Discover What Cute Animal You Are!

No wonder I love eating bananas (and going bananas too)!

The 5 Ps of Washing

2005-09-29T11:43:00.000+08:00

The sign on a laundry shop near Sikatuna Village reads “Bullseye Laundry” and just beneath it in a smaller font, “a division of Bullseye Marketing.”

Wow. Now that’s what I call a spin-off company.

Water Therapy

2005-09-28T19:46:00.000+08:00

I never liked getting a cold. It’s such a nuisance, an in-between sickness. You’re not sick enough to be bedridden—so you can still report for work—but you don’t feeling well either. Ugh. I’d rather be down for the count.

I’ve been nursing a bad cold since Sunday, the kind that refuses to bubble to the surface but insists on lurking somewhere down my throat. It’s really irritating—my throat is itchy and I could feel phlegm clinging and making me cough every so often.

What I usually do is not pop a cold pill—they only relieve the symptoms but they don’t cure the disease—but drink lots of water instead. I could finish two 1500ml bottled water in a day. Drown that fucker, I say! I don’t really know if it is effective—I just imagine my phlegm becoming more watery, thus less irritating. What I’m sure of is that I go to the bathroom a lot. Getting a cold really pisses me off, literally.

Monday

2005-09-26T20:49:00.000+08:00

Gosh, I’m having withdrawal symptoms.

I caught a bad cold thanks to one of our cast members, so I stayed home today. After lunch I decided to watch Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, but didn’t have the patience to finish the movie. Switched to Y Tu Mama Tambien but ended up just watching the sex parts. (Yeah, I know, same director.) Was going to watch Apocalypse Now Redux but my head was aching by then. So what did I do? Started rereading Umberto Eco’s “Foucault’s Pendulum” which I last read in 1989, I think.

After dinner my feet were itching to step out of the house, so I drove over to Blue Wave and check out my long-untouched and un-updated Friendster account. Now I have this craving for KFC.

Wonder what my next play will be?

Final Bow

2005-09-25T21:54:00.000+08:00

Thus ended the run of Bayan-Bayanan.

There were two special performances today (Sunday), 10am and 2pm. My alternate took the morning slot, while I closed in the afternoon. After taking our final bow, the whole cast and crew whooped and cheered.

Some tears were shed. Not me; I’ve been in too many plays to really be affected that way. Still, there was sadness in the end. Some days we hit it right, other days we were off our mark; still I could safely say that we all gave our best.

After the show most of us trooped to Shakey’s, each one hoping to stretch the time we have with one another. But one by one goodbyes were said, and we all headed home.

Right now I’m in an internet café; I just finished giving Orlando a much-needed foam bath after weeks of neglect. Starting tomorrow I’m back to my daily morning ritual at the gym, a ritual I put on hold for the past month now. Starting tomorrow I don’t have any reason to leave the office early.

Starting tomorrow it’ll be back to regular programming.

Funny how this play took a big chunk off my life, and yet I’m treating it as if it happened alongside what I consider as my “regular life.” Ha.

No, it shouldn’t be. In fact, some of us alumni in the cast were saying to one another, “We need something like this at least once a year, or else we’d go nuts in our jobs.” Gosh, how sad. Why can’t we make this our day jobs instead? That way, we don’t need to go nuts.

Anyway, that’s fodder for further mulling. For now, it’s curtains for Bayan-Bayanan. I promised myself I’ll write a “thank you” episode, addressed to the cast and crew. Maybe it’ll be shown here in The McVie Show, maybe I’ll just limit it to our egroup mailing list.

To those who watched, my heartfelt thanks.

Bow.

“I’m Dedma, And This Is My Sigil”

2005-09-23T20:02:00.000+08:00

From The Personification of the Eighth of the Endless

Please don’t feel bad if at times I refuse to be tagged. Sometimes that which you tagged me with is interesting enough; sometimes it isn’t. Sometimes I have time to do the list; sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I have nothing better to post; sometimes I do. I can be very dedma, even with text messages that are religious sayings or inane jokes. It’s your choice, it’s your load, and it’s your loss. I just choose to ignore them.

It’s really not you, it’s me.

Ha.

Neuro Sis

2005-09-23T18:33:00.000+08:00

Now I know why actors are considered a neurotic lot.

This is the last weekend of Bayan-Bayanan, and while the audience feedback has mostly been favorable, I’m still not sure just how I’m doing, acting-wise. Consider this: most people I know (mostly TA alumni who’ve bothered to take time out and watch the play) who’ve seen the play would go backstage and congratulate the cast. When they reach me, they’d either say “You really looked sick onstage” (my character falls ill by the second act) or say nothing at all. What gives? I’ve had two friends—fellow cast members—who’ve seen my performance during the run and told me that I “nailed it.” Okay. I guess that should be enough, but really it’s not. They say acting is all about reacting. I say acting is really 60% reaction and 40% insecure paranoia.

Still it has been one hell of a journey, a journey I wouldn’t mind getting paranoid all over again. Will I consider doing it as a living? Hmmm, tempting, tempting.

A Marvelous Read

2005-09-20T20:33:00.000+08:00

Just finished reading Neil Gaiman’s Marvel 1602, the graphic novel wherein he re-envisions several major Marvel characters and situates them in England, 1602. It’s a fascinating piece of entwining both the fictional Marvel universe and the real universe—or at least real figures from our history. To really appreciate what Gaiman did one needs a bit of familiarity with the Marvel characters. That is both the strength and the weakness of the book. Without extensive knowledge of Marvel lore, the juxtaposition may come off as but a curious exercise. But those in the know can have the satisfaction of being “in on the joke,” so to speak. And what interesting juxtapositions Gaiman created! Capt. America as an American Indian, Dr. Strange as Queen Elizabeth’s court magician, Magneto as the Grand Inquisitor: there is giddy joy in discovering their re-imagined characters. Marvel 1602 will not gain new Gaiman fans, but will certainly cement his reputation with the faithful as an inventive writer who can infuse new life into modern legends. Truly, to paraphrase The Watcher, this book is indeed full of heroes and marvels.

The Bitch Is Back

2005-09-20T18:15:00.000+08:00

And the waiting of her faithful nears its end.

It is said that the first single from the album is entitled “Hung Up” which contains a sample of “Gimme, Gimme, Gimme (A Man After Midnight)” by ABBA. I am giddy with anticipation.

Big Brother Is Watching

2005-09-19T20:35:00.000+08:00

Nope, not the one where the new housemate is the male lead talent in the current Close-Up TV commercial, the one where housemate Chx French-kissed for a looong time while sitting on his lap, the one where two girls had a torrid kiss while in the pool.

No, I’m talking about our office IT.

First they blocked out Friendster. Next they blocked all the known proxy sites available. Now they’ve also blocked Connexion. Hmmm, methinks there are too many gays in the company that’s been logging on to that site, enough for our IT guard dogs to take notice.

Jeez.

So far Downelink is still standing, but I don’t know for how long. Funny, the only one that’s left is the one I use the least.

Still, I should be thankful I’m using super-fast broadband connection freakin’ free of charge. It was a cinch to download the “I support Cedric Diggory” wallpaper from the Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire website. Cedric is cute, but I believe Viktor Krum will give him a run for the, er, Snitch. And don’t forget the delectable Daniel Radcliff—Harry’s all grown up. Between the three? Why not! I swear those kids will make Michael Jacksons of us all.

In Showbiz News

2005-09-19T14:39:00.000+08:00

While I was in Galleria on my way to the cinemas, I saw people in the restaurants craning their heads. In my years of experience in showbiz, I knew it meant one thing: a celebrity was in our midst. Sure enough, I saw not one but two of them. They were walking arm in arm, trying to look inconspicuous yet obviously aware that they were being watched by all.

Mo Twister and Donita Rose.

Wow, how oh so very 90s.

They passed within inches from me. I bit down the urge to say, “Has beens.” In fairness to Donita she’s been able to reinvent herself into an Asian VJ. But after getting married, she obviously prefers a more sedate private life than a very showbiz one. But Mo Twister? After stealing Janet McBride away from local showbiz and hiding in the States, he’s back in the country after a very public split—thanks to The Buzz—and it looks like he’s trying to revive his stalled career. What career? The previous night he was on television, in a song number within the Search for the Next Close-Up Couple Grand Finals. He was rapping alongside several female singers (the likes of Bituwin Escalante). You know, the kind of rapping Carlos Agassi does so badly his career is practically defined by it. Mo even had the chutzpa to dance and groove when he obviously has no rhythm. It was excruciating to watch.

Donita, I would rather see you arm in arm with Mike Casem, heck, even Casey Kasem. But that’s just moi.

* * * * *

For the upcoming Advertising Congress this year, I hereby nominate the TVC for Best Foods Spread with Vhong Navarro singing as the Most Embarrassing Use of a Celebrity Endorser Ever. What is puzzling is why Vhong accepted the gig. He obviously doesn’t need the money—he has several projects on-going. The TVC succeeds in making the product memorable, but in a really bad way. Talk about an assault on the senses: the jingle grates the ears, the art direction hurts the eyes, and the whole TVC is an excellent example of bad taste.

* * * * *

Uma of Big Brother is becoming quite popular among both gays and girls alike. His popularity is interesting in the light of the fact that he’s never declared himself to be straight, gay or bisexual. That makes him “available” to girls and gays. Hmmm… methinks bisexuality is out. Make way for ambiguousexuality.

Post-Gala Night

2005-09-19T12:52:00.000+08:00

(singing ala-La Aunor) Tonight, I gave the greatest performance of my life… (stops)

And out of all those I personally invited, only three came to witness it. To them I say, Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Two cancelled on the day itself. One didn’t even bother to send regrets; I only found out after the play. I should have just invited my family—at least I’m so sure they would watch.

Oh well.

At first it was easy for me to be understanding and just let it go. But during the cocktails after the gala night performance, when I saw how the other cast members were surrounded by their guests, that’s when the disappointment hit me—not hard, mind you, but nagging just the same. All that effort and none of you got to see it. Then again, every audience member who watches any of my performances deserves that kind of effort, so I suppose none of it is wasted really. It’s just that I never really mentioned here how much of an effort and how important this role was for me because I was planning to talk about it only after the play’s run (it didn’t seem appropriate to discuss it at length while the process was still on-going). Then again, I suppose what’s important for me isn’t really important to others. I guess I should just appreciate the stuff that I do and not expect the same appreciation from others.

There I’ve said it! Got that fucker out of the way.

Anyway, to blunt the disappointment I decided to have dinner first with some alumni then drink and dance the night away. Dinner was a sedate affair at Katips. After that some of us trouped to Centro in Libis to join the rest of the cast and crew to celebrate the birthday of one of the cast members. Centro is located on the second floor with a private area on the third floor which we had all to ourselves. There we danced and drank and boy did I drink. Our lighting designer ordered a whole bottle of Jim Beam and between the two of us we finished almost four-fifths of the bottle (I don’t know where the rest went). Pretty soon we were dancing on top of the unused bar on the third floor. There were two cages positioned on the third floor overlooking the dance area on the second floor and soon some of the girls were gyrating wildly in them. However, when I and another guy took over the cages, a staff member politely asked us to leave. “Only women are allowed in the cages,” they explained. Because they were polite we complied, but afterwards we were all fuming: “How discriminatory! How pa-straight naman itong lugar na ‘to! Pakshet!” So we contented ourselves with dancing on the bar.

After dancing almost non-stop for close to an hour, I sat down and assessed the damage. My right middle finger was swollen; I think I clapped just a little too hard and too carelessly to Will Smith’s “Switch”. And my neck was tired from giving all that head—banging and bobbing, that is. Still, it was surprising how much I was able to last long that night. I had two shows that Saturday (2 and 7pm), and by dinner my eyes were drooping. I guess music and whiskey can equal the effects of several bottles of Red Bull.

Driving home was a blur, but tipsy as I was I was still very much aware of driving carefully and within safe speed limits. My mind is like that—when all else fails, my mind takes over.

Sunday found me with a slight hang-over (which immediately disappeared after eating lunch) and a nagging neck ache that was just painfully short of a full-blown stiff neck. That made driving after lunch a bit of a chore because it was painful to look to the right when turning. I decided to spend quality time with my most reliable companion, myself, and catch up on movies (I put movie-going on hold during the whole rehearsal period). I first watched this French film in Galleria, Wild Side. It was billed in the poster as “a wickedly seductive gay love story”. After watching it I felt like tearing down all the posters around the area; it was neither wicked nor seductive. Well, I must admit I got a hard-on twice while watching two very explicit sex scenes, but that’s only because I’ve placed my sex life on hold too during rehearsals. Disappointed, I went into The Brothers Grimm expecting to be disappointed further (after reading all the lukewarm reviews). Surprisingly, I allowed myself to be amused by this film—I could see that the critics were right in saying the film takes on too much for its own good, making it a scattershot mess, but knowing that coming in I was ready to enjoy the little joys that director Terry Gilliam managed to pull off.

Sigh. I guess that’s the way life goes, eh? One must always expect disappointment so one can enjoy the little joys life throws one’s way.

* * * * *

By the way, TA Marketing was able to book more shows for “Bayan-Bayanan” for the third week, so the cast had to rework the performance assignments given the additional shows. So the schedule I posted before doesn’t hold true now.

Brokeback (And A Look Back)

2005-09-14T10:59:00.000+08:00

I just saw the trailer of Ang Lee’s latest movie, Brokeback Mountain. It’s about two cowboys, played by eye-candies Jake Gyllenhaal and Heath Ledger, who meet and fall in love while working at a Wyoming ranch.

Oh. My. God.

Okay, never mind that the two actors are so gorgeous to look at, you can be forgiven for not noticing the breathtaking Wyoming landscape in the background. What got me was how manly Ang Lee treated the love between two men. It looked and felt like a love between two men, not between two girly men (the un-PC term would be “faggots”—hwek, hwek, hwek). But seriously, it brought back memories of my early fantasies back when I was barely into my teens.

At first I fantasized falling for all these hunky men (usually TV characters). Then we met our neighbor, Nes. He was several years older than me and my brother, and it showed in his body—his chest was full of hair, he was muscular in a natural way (as opposed to a gym-toned body), and he smelled all-man. He also preferred to go around their house shirtless. I remember getting jealous because Nes clicked more with my older brother than with me. They bonded on basketball, toy soldiers and the guitar; I contented myself with playing third wheel. When Nes entered high school I saw less and less of him and focused on my classmates instead. Whenever we’d finish intramurals and we’d all be dressing up in the classroom, I reveled in the sights and smells of sweaty straights stripping down. I fantasized about making the ones I fancied fall for me.

Jeez. No wonder for the longest time I was a straight-chaser.

Nowadays I know better than to fall for straight guys. Sure, I can love them as friends. But no way will I make any effort to turn one to “the dark side of the Force” (that’s what my straight friends call “turning gay”). Still a movie like Brokeback Mountain may just make me want to revisit my childhood fantasies one more time.

Must! Watch! Movie!

Gala Night This Saturday

2005-09-14T09:29:00.000+08:00

Good news! For those who want to watch the play “Bayan-Bayanan” but don’t want to pay 150 pesos for the ticket, you now have a chance to watch it for free. The Saturday, Sept. 17, 7pm show is our gala night. No tickets will be sold for that show; it will be by invitation only. Well, I’m inviting all of you who want to watch. You’ll be my guests.

BUT, BUT, BUT. I will require you to please tell me in advance if you are watching. Best if you tell me on or before Friday. That way we can gauge the number of guests for that night.

After The First Weekend Run

2005-09-13T15:35:00.000+08:00

So how was our first weekend run? Great! Except for the late entrance by an actor in our opening night, there was no major faux pas in the succeeding shows. I only had two shows, Thursday evening and Saturday evening, so I had ample rest time in between the shows. This week will be more physically demanding because I have two shows back-to-back on Saturday. Still, I have several hours of rest in between shows, so I hope that’ll be enough.

Saturday evening after the show I decided to join the kids in their version of their gimmick—dinner at Fazoli’s in Libis. There we the alumni had fun teasing two of the kids. You see, a week ago one of them finally admitted to the group that he was bisexual; furthermore, he also admitted he had a crush on one of the guys in the cast. So when they were seated beside each other during dinner, we had a ball asking them questions like “So what do you like about each other?” and “Will you give each other a chance?” Very college kids level type of past time, matchmaking via public humiliation.

Afterwards we left the kids and attended a birthday party in Tia Maria’s in Tomas Morato. The birthday celebrant was the former boyfriend of one of our cast members (she didn’t attend the party) who was still smarting over the break-up. He obviously wasn’t over her, and it was very clear to all of us there that night that he still has a long way to go before he can let go of her. We stayed with him until around past two, when he was already too drunk to keep his head up. After we helped him home, I decided to go home and rest.

I had planned to go to either F or Club Bath after the Saturday evening performance because I’ve put my sex life on hold the whole time we were in rehearsals. But that Saturday evening turned out to be one great weekender for me. A good onstage performance followed by teenage matchmaking and ended up with helping someone let go.

Sunday was a very domestic one. Most of the day was spent playing with my niece Naya, who’s getting more and more used to me. And in the evening I attended a small birthday celebration for our director at his house in Cainta, 10 minutes from our house. There we played with his two kids (one 6, the other one-and-a-half years old) and discussed future plays. Gosh, I really missed the stage.

But I also realized that theater is very demanding—one needs to devote a lot of time and discipline. Theater is a jealous lover. I was lucky my boss allowed me to join this play; next time I might not be so fortunate. Still, I’m very thankful for this opportunity. Years ago I left advertising because I wanted to “scratch my theater itch” and devoted almost a year doing nothing but theater. I experienced the best provincial tour of my life (bringing “Ang Kambal” to Iloilo and Roxas City) and helped in the music and sound design for “Makbet”, but I also ended up with close to four thousand pesos in debt. Ugh. Some of my happiest memories are the ones made during that time, but what a cost. I was so foolish then. One day I’ll find a happy balance doing what I like most and yet still earn enough to live in relative comfort. Until then, this will do.

Heck. I still have The McVie Show after “Bayan-Bayanan.”

Opening Night

2005-09-09T15:57:00.000+08:00

At last we opened! By all accounts I should have been a nervous wreck last night. After all, my last opening night was more than two years ago. Plus the last time I did a play that required naturalistic acting (as opposed to, say, stylized or affected acting) was in 1987. Added to that was the god-awful rehearsal we had last Friday, when our director stopped the play and gave us all a tongue-lashing. But maybe it was the berating we got that made me determined to prove my director wrong. Maybe it was the acting challenge that got me fired up. Maybe it was the special Bayan-Bayanan mix in my iPod (I gathered all these somber mood music) which strangely made me relaxed instead of hyper. Whatever it was it worked. My performance last night wasn’t the best—I had a great run a few rehearsals earlier, when I felt that I nailed it close to perfect—but it wasn’t bad either. At the very least my performance impressed the non-discerning viewers in the audience.

Better yet, the reaction of the jam-packed audience was rapturous, despite some glitches. The worst that happened last night was one of the actors forgot he was needed in the next scene, so he was backstage changing pants when the cue for his entrance came on. In less than 10 seconds he was able to get into his pants, put on his shoes, slip on his jacket and enter stage right. But those were the longest few seconds for all of us, especially for the stage manager.

After our curtain call, all of us in the cast and crew simultaneously burst into hugging and screaming in the dressing room. It was quite a euphoric feeling, to be able to get through the whole play with everyone pulling off a generally good job.

The play, if done well, is a very moving piece despite its somber tone. It is something one rarely sees nowadays—no major histrionics, no big emotional outbursts or scenes. Thank god we were able to pull off the delicate balancing act needed by this play. Of course I’m just repeating the feedback given by our crew who saw the whole performance; I have yet to see the play in full. Today I’ll watch my alternate so I can also have an idea what the play’s impact is on the audience.

Funny thing is after opening night, I felt that my happy Bayan-Bayanan days are slowly drawing to a close. Given the situation in my workplace, it may be quite some time before I step onstage again. I might as well make the most and enjoy the rest of the ride.

Broke a leg* last night and it felt good.

* Break a leg – The superstitious belief is that telling an actor “good luck” actually tempts Fate to do the opposite. So in the theatrical equivalent of reverse psychology, actors would wish one another to “break a leg” to ensure that nothing bad happens to their performance.

McPromo

2005-09-09T14:50:00.000+08:00

Want a Jericho Rosales screensaver? Email me and I’ll send you the file. Photo courtesy of David Fabros, the guy who took my stylish (stylish daw o!) pics.

Wha-pak!

2005-09-07T13:51:00.000+08:00

They said they wanted to know the truth but done through peaceful, democratic and legal means. So they went through peaceful, democratic and legal means. But using her political wiles, PGMA and her supporters were able to block the impeachment—in a democratic, legal way.

Now the truth is out: they just want PGMA out. They don’t want the truth about jueteng or the Garci tapes—they have already judged her guilty. Their reasons for wanting her out are as varied as the composition of their coalition. But whether their reasons are noble, selfish, or vindictive, one thing is obvious. We don’t really respect the institutions we have. People only call upon them when they know that these institutions will support their causes. The moment the ruling of a court of justice or Congress doesn’t favor them, they disrespect the process by going to the streets, crying that our institutions are weak and flawed.

The strength or weakness of our institutions depends on us. Are we that kind of people, incapable of upholding our institutions?

Gosh, that wasn’t funny or entertaining at all.

I did get a kick out of the headline of People’s Journal, though. I never thought I would see that word used as a headline, in a tabloid at that. That word ranks way up there, along with “panache,” “pizzazz,” and “razzmatazz.”

Commercial Break

2005-09-06T12:00:00.000+08:00

Wait, is that a not-to-be-missed blog? Yes folks, this is highly civilized hilarity if you’re a fan of both Martha Stewart and the Bel Ami boys.

Click on the link and enjoy.

A Big (Wind) Blow

2005-09-05T12:14:00.000+08:00

On the one hand I feel it inappropriate. On the other hand I feel a certain sense of reverse superiority upon hearing the difficulties that the U.S. government and the people in Katrina-stricken states are experiencing. Hearing them Americans whine made me realize how spoiled these people are—they’re so used to living in first-world comfort, they’ve become paralyzed when the hurricane struck. Unlike us Filipinos in our ratty third-world country, we’ve become so resilient in the face of typhoons, earthquakes, Pinatubo eruptions, and a progression of presidential pull-me-downs via people power.

It’s weird to feel proud that we Filipinos are masters at making do and bouncing back from hell. Can’t we experience heaven—or at least a decently working government—for once?

P.S. – Predictably al Qaeda released a statement saying Hurricane Katrina is the “wrath of God”. Yeah right, and the Asian tsunami was Allah’s first-strike against predominantly Muslim Asian countries.

Announcement

2005-09-04T21:50:00.000+08:00

For those interested in watching, here are the details:

Tanghalang Ateneo presents

BAYAN-BAYANAN
Written by Bienvenido Noriega, Jr.
Directed by Ronan Capinding

Venue is at the Rizal Mini-Theater
Ateneo de Manila College of Arts & Sciences
Katipunan, QC

Tickets are at Php150. Please support Philippine theater.

I will be performing in the following play dates:
Thursday, Sept. 8, 7pm
Saturday, Sept. 10, 7pm
Thursday, Sept. 15, 7pm
Saturday, Sept. 17, 2pm & 7pm
Thursday, Sept. 22, 7pm
Saturday, Sept. 24, 2pm
(My alternate will perform on the Wednesday and Friday shows.)

Because it’s free-seating, I suggest you come early, as in 30 minutes early. Please advise me in advance when you’ll be watching so that I can inform the front of house that I have guests. They will let you in first, so you have a better choice of seats. The theater isn’t the most ideal of venues (chalk it up to the Jesuits scrimping on the budget during construction), so if you come in late you’ll end up watching from the back, and the acoustics and sightlines aren’t that good. You have been warned.

Enjoy the show.

Signs

2005-09-02T12:01:00.000+08:00

While driving to work yesterday morning, I saw the message on the mudguard of the truck in front of me: Walang matinong kumpare sa alembong na kumare. On my way to rehearsals later in the afternoon, I spotted this new photocopying shop in UP Village: Pakopya Ni Edgar.

Ah, the Pinoy humor! I remember back when I was still working in an advertising agency, two of our female officemates decided to put up a tailoring business, and they asked us copywriters to come up with name studies for their shop. My favorite was I Sew Design because it came with a built-in jingle, thanks to Ace Of Base.

Times like these we need all the laughter and joy we can get.

With Apologies to John Mellencamp

2005-08-31T22:26:00.000+08:00

A little ditty about Jack and Azon,
an American kid and a Boholana lass
growing up in Chocolate Hills land.

My aunt met her future husband, an American GI named Jack, while he was on a tour of duty here in the Philippines. Jack fell in love not just with the woman but also with her home town. Upon the end of his military stint, he packed his bags and went back to Bohol to court her. They married 27 years ago. He decided to stay in Bilar, Bohol for good so he can live a simple country life like the one he had growing up in Iowa (although he kept his American citizenship).

For the past 18 years of their marriage, Tita Azon was aware of Jack having mistresses in succession. They forged an uneasy truce regarding his side projects—so long as he came home to her and that those girls didn’t set foot in their house, Tita Azon was willing to turn a blind eye to his indiscretions. After all, she was running for public office and needed his US pension dollars to fund her campaign (she held the position of mayor of Bilar for two terms; after that she ran for a spot on the provincial board and is now in her second term).

Jack’s latest mistress is a 23-yr old with a child from another man. Like Jack, she’s a high school graduate who grew up in the country; he found in her a kinship he increasingly couldn’t find in Tita Azon. After all, my aunt was a teacher when she married him; with her flourishing political career, people have been egging her to run for vice-governor. Her personal growth didn’t match his; she grew by leaps and bounds, while Jack was happy being a simple country boy who’d love it if “his old lady” would wait on him during meal times. He grew increasingly insecure as her political clout got bigger. Sadly the only clout he has is his booming voice (complete with country drawl) and several hand guns.

Last month both Jack and Azon went to the U.S. to attend two weddings. His mistress kept calling him on the phone every day, crying. She was worried she’d lose him while he was with Azon in the States. My aunt chided him about having a crybaby for a mistress. He decided to cut their trip short so he can fly back to his mistress. She threatened to leave him. He chose to pursue a life with his mistress because he felt he can give her a better life. She let him fly home earlier. He took his stuff out of their house and got an apartment in Tagbilaran for him and his mistress. Both got their own lawyers.

I’m actually not surprised with the turn of events. Jack had slipped in past conversations about his indiscretions; I was just surprised my aunt lasted this long. They actually made a great tandem, she with her political savvy and clean public record, he with his pension dollars and his numerous civic projects. I never really liked Jack’s boorish manners (he’s a die-hard Bush supporter and thinks American democracy is best for everyone), but I could see that he genuinely cares for the “little people” in society.

What’s also sad is that my aunt now fears Jack might harm her (he has guns, remember?) to get her properties. That’s why she consulted her lawyers to make sure if anything happens to her, her properties won’t go to him. After 27 years, trust has been replaced by fear and suspicion.

Then again, 27 years was a good run.

Ooh yeah, life goes on,
long after the thrill of marriage is gone.

In The Company Of

2005-08-30T13:06:00.000+08:00

At first I was amazed at how many people younger than me still have that romanticized notion that the company they’re working for: [1] will love them back the way they love the company; [2] will give them a secure future. What naiveté. A commercial company exists to profit; without profit, its existence is in peril. A company will value an employee so long as that employee is of use to it. And the company rewards its employees’ time, effort and devotion with his salary.

So I find it frustrating that some people think that just because they poured their hearts out into their work, the company owes them fair treatment for their devotion. Hello. Fair treatment means they got paid and got the benefits as befitting their job description. Beyond that, the company doesn’t owe them sh*t.

Gone are the days of our parents when their life plan consists of finding a stable company, devoting their whole lives to it, and growing old and retiring. Gone are the days when a successful career means staying in one company for life. With changes occurring at breakneck speed these days, gone are the old ways of looking at what a career should be.

But I really shouldn’t be too harsh on the young ones. They’re young and inexperienced; some are still trying to figure out what they’re really capable of doing. Being forced out of a comfort zone is unnerving and scary.

At the end of the day, it’s a choice between charting one’s career path within a company set-up and forging one’s own path outside of the confines of a company. It’s an exciting, scary world out there. How one adapts to it will determine one’s true grit.

Weekend Report

2005-08-29T19:03:00.000+08:00

Before the weekend, the news of the murder of a gay writer in his QC home shocked our office, because he was working for one of our shows in our network. People are postulating that this latest murder may be linked to the spate of gay killings in QC several months before. The “gay serial killing” scare caused the reduction of the pick-up trade along QC Circle for a few months, but now business is back again. Of course, this latest murder may turn out to be unrelated, but for the meantime gays are being advised to be extra careful and not resort to picking up strangers especially in the QC area.

* * * * *

Last Friday I played tour guide to some of the TA kids who wanted to go to Bed for the first time. There were four of them, three gay guys and their fag hag. We entered the place at around 1am, and I immediately brought them to the second floor where it was still not so crowded. There I briefed them on the whos, whats and wheres of the dance club. After everyone got gin tonics for their first drink for the night, I left them upstairs and mingled with the crowd. Soon I saw them going downstairs, and I stayed with them on the dance floor. After a while they decided to step out for a while and grab a bite to eat.

While waiting for the food, one of them—let’s call him Face—bemoaned how the other guy, the tallest of the three—let’s call him Height—was getting almost all of the attention from the guys inside Bed. Actually Face is the better looking of the three, but Height’s advantage means that he often gets noticed first. I reassured Face, “You know, you guys have something I cannot ever get, no matter how hard I try.” What’s that, they asked. “Youth, freshness!” I replied.

We went back to dance the rest of the night away. But then Face decided to approach this semi-cute guy he spied across the room. Pretty soon we saw the two of them locking lips. After several minutes, Face went back to us and said, “I’ve been invited to his place.” Because the others had hitched with him going to Malate, I rescued him from his dilemma by offering to give the others a ride home. “Promise me you’ll play safe,” I sternly warned him before he left.

The following day when I dropped by the theater, the others were talking about how Face scored the night before. One of them asked out loud, “But doesn’t Face have a boyfriend right now?”

“Really?” I asked. I mentally kicked myself in the ass for not asking out about it that night in Bed. With the kids of today it’s next to impossible to hide such indiscretions. His boyfriend will find out soon enough. If Face and his boyfriend get into a fight because of that, it’s their problem. Still, I would have preferred to have been able to remind Face of the consequences of his actions.

Feeling Big Brother ako bigla.

* * * * *

Sunday the family had lunch at Sonya’s Garden in Tagaytay. My younger brother wants their wedding reception at that place, so we decided to try out their food and at the same time celebrate the birthdays of my mom and my aunt. He brought along his 4-month old daughter Naya. My niece is the type who’s nangingilala; she cries whenever a stranger picks her up. But surprisingly I’ve been able to connect with her and she allows me to carry her. So last Sunday I played babysitter to Naya while her parents met with the staff in Sonya’s for the reception arrangements.

Strange. For so many years I’ve always maintained that I don’t like kids in general; I find the responsibility of taking care of them too daunting. Yet I find myself having the patience and the instincts of an effective baby sitter. My niece Naya and my godson Luc seem to enjoy having me around them. And Ipe’s nephew and niece seem to find me an agreeable playmate. Yuck, I actually connect well with kids! Still, being a good babysitter does not a good father make. Nope, I still don’t feel the need to have a child of my own. Let the straights take care of the “Go forth and multiply” commandment. I’m more into coveting thy neighbor’s husband. Thank god He didn’t include that in his 10 Commandments.

(P.S.—For those who may be thinking of getting me as a babysitter, forget it!)

Act One

2005-08-26T13:34:00.000+08:00

Less than two weeks before opening night, and I’m excited and anxious at the same time. On the one hand, I have a better fix on my character plus my lines and cues are more or less memorized (a couple of more run-throughs and I’ll have the words and cues down pat). On the other hand, I still stumble on certain lines and I still have to work on delineating my longer character arch (the transformation of my character from my first scene to my last). What’s making me anxious is that I’m pushing myself as an actor. You see, I’ve never really viewed myself as a “serious” actor; I’m more of a comedian or a company party host. I banter well, and I’m quick with the quips. But give me drama and I get all jittery.

I can trace back my dramallergy to my very first lead role in a drama. It was back in my third year in college, and we were lucky to get Junix Innocian, a well-respected actor from Repertory Philippines (this was before he auditioned and got into the first run of Miss Saigon), to direct the play Gabun by Tony Perez for TA. The play’s a great acting piece for two actors: it’s about two half-brothers meeting for the very first time, set a few weeks after their father died. I played the older and poorer of the two brothers, the one whom the father chose to leave behind (along with my mother, his first wife). Junix decided to cast alternates for both roles, so that he can work with more actors. My alternate was Noni Buencamino—yes, the Noni whom you see everywhere on TV and in the movies, usually playing a strong support role (if not for the lack of matinee looks, he could easily have made it as a premiere lead actor). I was also to perform against RJ Leyran, another talented thespian (unfortunately he died unexpectedly last year). With such great co-actors and a well-written script, Gabun promised to be a great theater experience for me. Unfortunately, Mr. Perez’s script also specified that my character breaks down into tears towards the end of the play.

At this point you have to understand something about me: growing up, I learned to keep my emotions in check. I learned to use my mind over my heart, and humor was my prime tool. So when Direk Junix asked me to let go of my emotions and just let it all out, my gut instinct was to go, “Ngyek.” My mind rebelled against the playwright and the director; not a good sign for an actor. (Worse than an actor who’s difficult is an actor who’s incapable; the worst is an incapable actor who’s also difficult, but usually they end up being theater critics.)

During rehearsals, Junix was very patient and encouraging. “Don’t cry if you don’t feel like it,” he told me. Thing was I never felt like crying ever. On the other hand, Noni tore through his character with gusto and bawled for real in the crying scene. I felt like crawling under the stage every time I watched him perform with RJ. And when I’m onstage, all I could think of was, “Oh my god, my crying scene’s coming up, my crying scene’s coming up.” It was one of my worst moments on stage ever.

(My ultimate worst moment was in Subic, when we were touring Twelfth Night. I completely blanked out onstage and forgot my next line. I spent the next 30 excruciating seconds stammering and groping for the words. I retraced my steps, hoping that my body would remember what my mind couldn’t—fortunately that did the trick. But that was the longest 30 seconds of my life.)

After Gabun ended its run, I swore off drama onstage and off.

A few years and several comedies later, I decided to act in Macbeth, but only because my role was a small supporting one and did not involve any major histrionics or gnashing of the teeth. And the first ever full-length play I chose to direct was Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream, a comedy. (Riiight, I’m afraid of crying onstage but I’m not afraid to tackle the Bard head-on. Hahaha.)

Now I’m in a play that requires me to play it straight in more ways than one (my character is married with child). But thanks to advanced age and experience I’m more comfortable now in tackling a straight drama again. I remember reading an interview of William Hurt, who said that to be an actor, one needs to be 40 years old. Now I understand what he meant. I needed to be comfortable with myself before I could really take on another persona.

Of course, knowing how to do it onstage and actually doing it are two different things altogether. I hope I can pull it off; come opening night, we’ll see.

Isn’t He The Cutest?

2005-08-23T17:43:00.000+08:00

The enemy of blogging is… CHUZZLE! Yes folks, I will admit that whenever I have free time in the office, instead of writing new episodes for The McVie Show to entertain you guys, I’ve instead been entertaining myself with this cutesy-wootsy video game that’s so totally addicting. Almost everyone in the office is also doing it, so our boss isn’t exactly worried or bothered. A year ago I was hooked on another video game, Zuma. But I’ve grown tired of it. Don’t worry, I’ll also tire of this temporary time-filler.

In the meantime, please cut me some slacks, cuz you don’t know what I have to put up.

National Albums

2005-08-23T14:35:00.000+08:00

Listen to the rhythm of the falling rain, telling me just what a fool I’ve been. I wanna be your lover, I don’t wanna be your friend. So I’ve tossed a lot of nickels in the wishing well, and saved the fortunes that the fortune cookies tell. Still, you cheated and you lied; I hope you’re satisfied. Oh, why won’t you let me be? Today, I’m on my own; it’s my first day alone. There must be a reason. I’d like to know why, oh why? Oh, I’d like to know.

Recognize the words, dear viewers? I’m sure you do. Don’t deny it, you know those songs.

I think even before ABBA, Kalapana and The Eraserheads, The Cascades are one of those hidden national treasures, the Philippines’ most popular overlooked group. I suspect each and every household in the 7100-plus islands has a copy of The Cascade’s Rhythm of the Rain in some kind of format: cassette, long-playing album, open-reel tape, 8-track, or CD. I know I already have mine on MP3.

Last Friday I was pleasantly surprised when I found out that several of my cast mates, all of them around 25-27 years old, were familiar with The Cascades’ songs. I was amazed that a generation that’s a decade or so younger than me would know the songs “Rhythm of the Rain,” “Lucky Guy”, and “Angel on My Shoulder”. When I asked them why they knew the group, they all had the same answer: their parents played the album Rhythm of the Rain to death when they were growing up. I know my dad kept playing it every Sunday morning (he also played to death the soundtrack of The Sound of Music and a lot of Ray Coniff albums). It seemed to me that The Cascades only had one album and after that they never released another one. Like most, I believed in the story that The Cascades died in a plane crash.

So in between rehearsals we had a mamaraz blast singing their other songs: “I Wanna Be Your Lover”, “Let Me Be”, “My First Day Alone”, “There’s A Reason”, etc.

I have a theory: every generation has one album that almost everyone knows or owns. For our parents that album is Rhythm of the Rain. Another album that I’d nominate as the Pambansang Album is Ray Conniff’s We Wish You A Merry Christmas album. Who knows, maybe the next generation’s Pambansang Album is Eraserhead’s Ultraelectromagneticpop or, heaven forbid, a Michael Learns to Rock album.

What’s Up, McVie?

2005-08-23T01:25:00.000+08:00

I received an email and a text message today from two regular viewers of The McVie Show, asking how I was. It seems my silence on-line had the two worried.

Actually I’m fine. In fact, I’m having a great time with the play. For the past couple of weeks our rehearsals have been daily, MWF at 5:30-8:30pm, TTH at 7:30-10:30pm. We have an alternate cast, so we need the daily rehearsals to make sure that both casts will be ready by opening night on Sept. 8. I’m still a bit worried about my memory when it comes to my lines and my cues. But the more I get a grip on my character, the more I find the rehearsals exciting and exhilarating.

Now my weekday schedule looks like this: workout in the morning, work until late afternoon, rehearse the play at night, bond with the student cast and crew during after-rehearsal dinners, then drive back to the office to preview plugs and finish pending work. Yes, I’ve been super-busy but I’ve never felt happier. Perhaps I’m just so busy, there’s no time to worry about insignificant stuff like the lack of a love life. My life is more focused, priorities are much clearer.

It’s amazing how a person can achieve a certain sense of contentment and happiness if he keeps himself busy and productive.

* * * * *

Thanks to Quezon City Day last Friday, I had a long weekend. Though we had rehearsals Friday afternoon, I had visions of going out of town or catching up with the movies I haven’t watched yet. Unfortunately Fate didn’t want me to go out of town.

Friday afternoon a huge boulder hit Orlando’s underbelly, causing oil to leak and damaging a pipe. That scratched my Friday evening plan of going to Bed. Saturday morning I brought Orlando to the shop for repairs. I took public transportation to meet Phillip in Libis so we can watch Ang Pagdadalaga ni Maximo Oliveros at UP Film Center in the afternoon. Good thing the mechanic finished the repairs by 5pm—but it set me back by 6,000+ pesos! Argh! So instead of going to Bed Saturday evening, I decided to save money and just stay home. But Sunday afternoon I got antsy so I watched Charlie and the Chocolate Factory in Blue Wave Mall.

Still, it was a relaxing change of pace, staying home instead of going out.

* * * * *

Going back to the play, I’m inviting you guys to watch Tanghalang Ateneo’s production of BAYAN-BAYANAN Pinoy sa Diaspora at the Rizal Mini-Theater, Ateneo de Manila College of Arts and Sciences.

Production Design by Salvador Bernal (National Artist for Theater Design)
Lights Design by Donato Karingal
Direction by Ronan Capinding.

Playdates:
September 8, 9, 10, 14, 15, 21, 22, 23, 24 | 7 pm
September 10, 17, 24 | 2 pm

There are two casts, but I’m sure you’d want to watch me perform instead of my alternate, right? So far the assignments have not been determined yet, so just wait for my update.

Maddie Birthday

2005-08-16T19:04:00.000+08:00

Thanks to Nelz for reminding us all that it’s Lola Madonna’s birthday, and in honor of Her Royal Re-inventor, here’s a song from her:

Your heart is not open so I must go
The spell has been broken; I loved you so
Freedom comes when you learn to let go
Creation comes when you learn to say no

You were my lesson I had to learn
I was your fortress you had to burn
Pain is a warning that something’s wrong
I pray to God that it won’t be long

There’s nothing left to try
There’s no place left to hide
There’s no greater power
Than the power of goodbye

Your heart is not open so I must go
The spell has been broken; I loved you so
You were my lesson I had to learn
I was your fortress

There’s nothing left to try
There’s no place left to hide
There’s no greater power
Than the power of goodbye
There’s nothing left to lose
There’s no more heart to bruise
There’s no greater power
Than the power of goodbye

Learn to say goodbye
I yearn to say goodbye.

“The Power of Goodbye” (Madonna)

Reversal Of Fortune

2005-08-16T15:02:00.000+08:00

The recent spate of stealing in our office has taken a twisted turn.

Last Friday morning a laptop was stolen in the general area where most of the previous losses occurred. Apparently the owner of the laptop forgot to bring it home Thursday evening. People started asking our very own “I see dead people” psychic to ask her ghostly friends who the thief was.

Here’s where things get twisted: the owner of the laptop (let’s call her Miss Laptop) strongly suspects Miss Psychic of stealing her laptop. Furthermore, Miss Laptop confronted Miss Psychic last Friday, and now there’s tension between the team members. Miss Psychic has already asked our boss that she be allowed to take a leave of absence because she feels she cannot work in an environment wherein her former friends are now accusing her of theft. (That the accuser is now the accused is neither surprising nor unprecedented. When I was still working in CCP, the resident theater company experienced a rash of losses during rehearsals—a total of six victims, one after the other, sometimes just a couple of weeks apart. It turned out that the second “victim” was actually the kleptomaniac; she faked her loss to throw off suspicion against her.)

To make things worse, Miss X—our initial suspect in the loss of cellphones—found out about that fact last Friday. So now she’s fuming mad, and she demands that her name be cleared and that an apology be given to her.

Our boss is already talking to HR so that an investigation (preferably from an outside agency) can commence soonest. Furthermore, he didn’t allow Miss Psychic to take a leave.

I agree that Miss Psychic should not be allowed to go on leave. Also, I think no one, not even Miss X, deserves an apology while there’s an investigation. Until the investigation is done, no one’s name can be cleared yet. I think everyone in the office should be considered a suspect, me included. I’m willing to be subjected to a lie detector test. Everyone should also be tested.

What is fascinating to study is how people perceive things, how memory can be very selective. Before the latest twist, most people wanted to believe Miss Psychic’s statement. They gave several examples of how Miss X could have had both the opportunity and the motivation to steal. When Miss Psychic was accused, people started to remember things, of how Miss Psychic also had the opportunity and the motivation too.

Truth to tell, I am inclined to consider the possibility that the phone thief and the laptop thief may not be one and the same person. I’m looking at a copycat thief.

Mister DJ

2005-08-15T13:49:00.000+08:00

I don’t remember the first time I was asked to provide music for a TA party. I think it was back in the early 90s, I already graduated from college, and people knew I had a more extensive CD collection than most. The party was held in this mansion in QC which is often used as a haunted house location by local showbiz. I started with bringing just one Case Logic (I think it holds about 24 CDs). The party organizers often provide the player—often it’s just one simple boombox, and I’m forced to eject the previous CD and slip the next one in and fast-forward to the next song all in less than 30 seconds. If I take too long the partygoers start complaining: “Ano ba yan, ang tagal ng music!” Several years and several batches passed until someone eventually came up with the brilliant idea of providing two CD players. Of course it was a crude set-up, and the only cross-fading I could do was to manually fade the songs in and out. But then again the TA people are really easy to please—they don’t need seamless segues and masterful mixing, they just want to dance to their favorite songs. So more than learning how to mix music, I focused instead on knowing what songs are big hits among the kids of today.

Of course, my CD collection has also grown considerably over the years. Nowadays I lug along the same Case Logic container. But I also bring along a traveling bag (the ones you see at the airport, with the wheels and the folding handle) full of CDs, and one or two (depending on the composition of the party guests) boxes of “just in case” CDs (that’s where I place my 80s and other eclectic discs). And I’m proud to say all of my CDs are original copies.

Last Saturday I was the DJ again for another TA party. Since there were a sizeable number of alumni guests belonging to the 90s era, I prepared a lot of early Britney, Spice Girls, late Madonna (meaning, songs from her GHV2 album), and the “greatest TA hits”, or songs that even until now are still big hits in TA parties: “Love Shack” by the B-52s, “Sweet Soul Revue” by Pizzicato Five and “Macarena” by Los Del Rio.

For the kids of today, I brought along a lot of current Kylie (I’m sure if I play “Locomotion” or “I Should Be So Lucky” I’d draw blank stares from them), Destiny’s Child (and Beyonce’s album), Usher, current Britney, Gwen Stefani and Ciara. I noticed that today’s pop music is actually hip-hop and R&B. But because these kids also grew up with the music of the 90s, they were singing and dancing along to the Backstreet Boys, N’Sync and Christina Aguilera.

Nowadays they have decent equipment: at least two CD players (with matching speed and pitch control) and a console. But I still don’t really “mix” songs; instead, it’s all about the playlist—what songs I should play, and playing them in the right order. It means the previous song should segue easily into the next, and that I determine the pace of the party.

For me one of the greatest sounds in the world is when I start playing a song while the previous track is fading out, and the kids squeal in recognition and excitement. Last Saturday evening (actually Sunday morning already) I heard that heavenly sound not once, not twice, but more than thrice! Priceless.

It was worth missing the Madonna night in Bed last Saturday.

(Of course, I always end up “working” during TA parties while everyone else is having fun. My next goal: I upload my playlist in my iPod, and let it play. That way, I can also dirty-dance with the kids. Hehehe.)

Extra Rice, Please!

2005-08-15T11:28:00.000+08:00

I’m really a rice eater at heart. I mean, sure I’d fantasize about doing it with Brad Pitt or Josh Hartnet, but at the end of the day it’s my fellow Asians who really take my breath away. Got the following off Fridae.com, where they had an article listing down their top 10 handsomest Asian men. Some of them I’m not familiar with but the ones below are really delicious:

Edison Chen is an actor/singer from Hong Kong. I’ve only seen a picture or two of his in Star World before we switched to Destiny Cable and now I really miss all those Chinese movies!

VJ Utt… ahhh, just uttering his name makes me wanna utt him! He’s utterly gorgeous. Never mind that his upper body’s not exactly hunkalicious—fez pa lang niya, ulam na!

I’ve seen Takeshi Kaneshiro play an angel in this movie which unfortunately did not have any English subtitles when it was shone on cable. Still I watched it just for him. Then he starred in The House of the Flying Daggers. He’s not the most talented of actors, but I watch him not for the acting.

Before reading the Fridae.com article I had no idea that there was this Japanese football player named Hidetoshi Nakata. But the idea of him crushing me between his thighs is, oooh, taking my breath away, literally. And his chinky eyes are just sooo cute.

Another “Whoa, who’s he?!” moment. Despite him having to share the cover with another model, I had no problem zooming in on his muscular shoulder and arm, side laterals and oooh, that butt! Ay shet, may mujer pala sa cover? Hindi ko napansin. He goes by the name of Joe L, “L” meaning nakaka-L siya!

Oh my. I really cannot go on an Atkins or South Beach diet. I cannot live without my rice!

Theater Tales

2005-08-12T15:07:00.000+08:00

Working in theater after all these years feels like coming home. I remember all these stories we’ve passed on from generation to generation, stories of backstage and onstage boo-boos, faux pas and blunders. We should really start collecting them into several volumes, just like Pinoy Ghost Stories. Here are four such tales:

A. “They both squint!”

In the play “Beckett”, there was one scene wherein a monk is seen seated on a bench, and the one of the lead characters would refer to him, saying, “See the monk? He squints!”

During one performance as the actors were preparing for that scene, they realized that the actor playing the monk was missing. Frantically, they asked another actor to substitute for the missing actor. When the lights went on, the substitute actor was shocked to find someone seated beside him—the original monk! Apparently he was just waiting all the time at the wings, with the curtains hiding him. That’s why no one was able to spot him earlier.

So when the lead actor turned to refer to the monk, he paused for a second then said, “See the monks? They both squint!”

B. The Stench of the Dead

In another play, a guy playing a corpse farted during a performance. Luckily, the scene involved a noisy crowd so the audience didn’t hear the passing of gas. But the actors nearest to him—they were playing his grieving family—didn’t escape the deadly stench. They ended up gasping in between giggling and mourning.

C. The Wayward Panel

Back in the early 80s, TA would stage plays in a converted classroom, G-306. Because of its small stage space, most set changes were done manually. One time a stage crew brought in a panel for the next scene. Unfortunately, he took too long in setting up the panel; the lights went on before he could leave the stage. He spent the next several minutes behind the panel while the scene played out. What made it worse was that the rest of the cast and crew were in the wings, laughing and pointing at him helplessly trapped onstage.

D. Nun Of The Above

In one performance of “Therese ng Lisieux” one of the extras playing a nun entered the stage during the blackout in-between scenes. When the lights went on, she discovered to her horror that it wasn’t her scene yet; worse, the current scene was an intimate conversation between Therese and her father in her hospital bed. The extra nun pretended to just pray the rosary while slowly inching away from the bed so as to give the father and daughter some space.

ADVISORY

2005-08-11T18:33:00.000+08:00

All work and one play makes The McVie Show a dull show.

I’m sorry but with the play and all, my daily free time has been drastically reduced. I’m forced to focus on my work and my rehearsals. But don’t worry—I’m not happy with the situation either. I’ll incorporate The McVie Show into my new daily routine as soon as possible.

In the meantime, enjoy the following which I got from an email.

* * * * *

Jolography:

1. The more the many-er.
2. It’s a no-win-win situation.
3. Burn the bridge when you get there.
4. Anulled and void.
5. Mute and academic.
6. C’mon let’s join to us!
7. If worse comes to shove.
8. Are you joking my leg?
9. It’s not my problem anymore, it’s your problem anymore.
10. What are friends are for?
11. You can never can tell.
12. Well, well, well. Look do we have here!
13. Let’s give them a big hand of applause.
14. Been there, been that.
15. Give him the benefit of the daw.
16. It’s a blessing in the sky.
17. Right there and right then.
18. You’re barking at the wrong dog.
19. Now and there.
20. I’m only human nature.
21. So far, so good… so far.
22. In the wink of an eye.
23. The feeling is actual.
24. For all intense and purposes.
25. I ran into some errands.
26. Base-to-base casis.
27. It’s as brand as new.
28. I can’t take it anymore of this!
29. Can’t you just cut me some slacks?
30. How dare you are!

Feeling Elvis, Only Alive

2005-08-10T18:18:00.000+08:00

Last night after rehearsals, we had dinner at McDonald’s Katipunan. While I was talking to a fellow cast member outside, I heard someone ask, “Are you McVie the blogger?” He was in shorts and a cap, and was holding a drink. He looked like a typical student or dormer living near the school campus. He shook my hand and said he reads my blog.

Oh my! Because this is just my second time to be identified in public as McVie the blogger (the first one was in Bed with Jom), I was too taken aback that I forgot my manners; I failed to ask for his name or to introduce him to my companion. But I told him, “Go comment in my blog. I like audience participation.” And I’m glad he did.

Memo to me: I should start practicing my showbiz smile, shake and wave. Mwhahahaha!