SONA: Nakahihiya.

Peach for imPEACHment.
Blue for GMA.
Red for me. I'm dark skinned but my best friends have seen the miracle of The Negra blushing.

Nakahihiya. It was an embarrassing moment that made me feel that heat behind my ears, that signals that rare occurence of The Negra blushing.

Nakahihiya. The Gloria did not even have the grace to mention any of Senate President Drilon's accomplishments in the Senate, but she did mention several of Speaker De Venecia's.

Nakahihiya. The way the gallery hooted like hecklers in a basketball game at Staples Center when the President and the Senate President shook hands. It was like a peanut gallery.

Nakahihiya. The Speaker of the House looking like a cartoon character with his ears flapping sending him a few inches off the floor when The Gloria mouthed her approval for charter change.

Nakahihiya. Drilon just sat there grimacing sometimes, stoic and stoned most of the time, as he endured the president's speech.

Nakahihiya. The way the audience clapped and yahooed everytime The Gloria paused in her speech. Even the most inane parts of the speech were applauded.

Nakahihiya. When The Gloria acknowledged the support of local officials and they all stood up and cheered her on. It turns out the gallery was packed with local officials loyal to The Gloria for the meantime, now that she is promising them heaven on earth.

Nakahihiya. I saw a former colleague who covered the Lower House who is now a governor among those standing up and giving The Gloria a standing ovation. What happened to the critical mind I knew he (once) had?

Nakahihiya. The event turned out to be a miting de avance of sorts. A campaign rally. 33 applause interruptions and 3 standing ovations for a 9,000 character speech, the shortest ever. The SONA has always been a time for the public to know what has happened the past year, what the government plans next, and how it will be done.

Nakahihiya. The speech was, save for one sentence, in English. It was meant entirely for the businessmen and the middle class and the diplomatic corps. Nothing for the masa who massed up (on their own volition, I hope) near the Batasan.

Nakahihiya. Nothing in the speech was for women and women's rights.

Nakahihiya. She patted herself on the back with a 6 percent economic growth which no one feels. She claims to have created 4m jobs the past four years but independent analysts place the unemployment rate at over 20 percent. (The palace claims it's 8 percent)

Nakahihiya. She mentioned nothing about how she will address the issue of the Garci tapes. Nothing about the proposed Truth Commission.

Nakahihiya. She just talked about charter change, which she probably hopes will divide the nation further and drive attention away from those improper calls about "dagdag, dagdag " and kidnapping.

Nakahihiya. She asks for legislation to enhance renewable and indigenous energy, a line which has been mouthed time and again since the time of Marcos.

Nakahihiya. She just showed us where we are.

Nowhere.

Closing Time

Closing time - time for you to go out, go out into the world.
Closing time - turn the lights up over every boy and every girl.
Closing time - one last call for alcohol, so finish your whiskey or beer.
Closing time - you don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here.

I know who I want to take me home.
I know who I want to take me home.
I know who I want to take me home.
Take me home...

Closing time - time for you to go back to the places you will be from.
Closing time - this room won’t be open ’til your brothers or you sisters come.
So gather up your jackets, and move it to the exits - I hope you have found a
Friend.
Closing time - every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.

Yeah, I know who I want to take me home.
I know who I want to take me home.
I know who I want to take me home.
Take me home...

Closing time - time for you to go back to the places you will be from...

I know who I want to take me home.
I know who I want to take me home.
I know who I want to take me home.
Take me home...

Closing time - every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end...

Requiem For Cocomangas

My name is still on the wall, along with those who had the gumption to down 15 shooters. The newspaper item which lined me up along with a senatorial son and a famous athlete as proud finishers of the liver-damaging dare is proudly displayed and lit for all the world to see. I still have the shirt and I represent a number on the tally sheet of countries. I still coddle memories of those fun nights at the bar, of beating ten people of various races at the billiard table one lucky night, and of people I've met and kept in touch with over the years.

But Cocomangas is dying, wasting away.

In its heydays, only a handful danced at Cocomangas. You either chilled out with your friends in a selected corner, played pool with whoever fate handed out as your opponent, sat at the bar and made polite conversations with strangers and friends alike, swapped stories about the dives you made and the bike trail you tried out and the island you visited that day. The whole place was about conversations. Of course, being picked up or picking someone up was a given. Flirting was a constant, but it was subtle and in the spirit of fun. And we all left, albeit with tons of hesitation, when the DJ started playing that song called "Closing Time" by Semisonic at 2AM. Even shooing away customers was spiked with a tad of humor and subtlety.

Most of all, I remember the interesting people who congregated there every night, and their stories. The barefoot guy in dirty cut off shirt and shorts who talked about minerals found in Zambales, my hometown, is actually the CEO of a mining firm operating in Indonesia. The Israeli girl who asked where to stay in Boracay is a social worker in Tel Aviv. The young man from New York who wanted to learn a few Tagalog words is a medical student in New York. David who asked me to sit with him as he worked on his 15 shooters is based in Canada but would go back to Israel any minute war breaks out. The guy we met over breakfast turns out to be the owner of one of the resorts. The couple who sat with us during dinner was on the verge of a divorce and almost had one of their fiery fights in front of us. Cocomangas was fun. Even the waiters and waitresses had interesting stories to share.

These days, Cocomangas is writhing with the gyrating movement of the flesh trade. Young girls who were just weaned from their milk bottles compete for the attention of men for money. Gone are the billiard tables. They've been relegated to the unlit portion of the place. A dirty, ugly, wooden platform stands in the middle of the bar for dancing. The dancefloor is occupied by off-duty security guards and construction workers from all over the island and who make a pass at women who are brave enough to share the dance floor with them. A sprinkling of foreign guests walk in and then walk out. The air is stifling as the whole place has been walled in. Gone is the sea breeze that gently drove alcohol out of your system. The manager looks zoned out with whatever was his drug of choice. Cocomangas is moribund..

It's 2AM. Closing time. Goodbye, Cocomangas.

Bambi

She sits at the beachside bar wearing make up and thick lipstick.
She smiles coyly and invites strangers with her eyes.
She goes home with different men every night.
"I'm on vacation," she tells us bravely.
Her pimp glares at us from across the bar.
She has to sell her wares tonight.
Bambi is a doe-eyed girl of nineteen going ninety.
She's full of sad stories.
Some true, many not.

She needs a knight in shining armor.
Armed with newly minted euros or dollars.
And those whose heels are buried in the sand just three weeks a year.
Else she is doomed to walk and drink the nights.
Prowling for a catch.
Till no one cares to throw her another glance.
Till she's a walking beaten spirit, a sagging breast of hopelessness.

And there were hundreds of Bambis in Boracay that night.
Dancing the full moon away.
Imagining the scent of dollars and euros.
In every erotic flick of their still undeveloped hips.
Till someone throws them a smiles, a few minutes of coupling and a hundred bucks.
Hopefully someone falls in love as they spoon feed temporary lovers.
Then the scent becomes a reality.
At least for another night, perhaps a week, under the waning moon.

They play on the lust and needs of men bent and broken.
By fast lives and divorces and alimonies.
Living the lives of kings in a third world country.
Where every dollar is multiplied over fifty.
And lobster dinners can be had for twenty, aplenty.

The extremes of lives in Boracay can be seen in doe-eyed girls like Bambi.

You Are

A product of your time.
Of your parents' inadequacies. And fears. And hopes.

Your virtues...are the daughters of your fears.
Your wisdom...is the daughter of ignorance you slew.
Your courage...is the son of steps you gingerly took amid falling blades.

You are a product of your own creation.
No one can claim you.
But you.

You are a product of your own mistakes.
No one can claim them.
But you.

(I wish the scripts start coming in so I stop inflicting verses like these on me and others)

I'm Not Even Forty Yet

From left to right. Midfield to outfield. Nothing in proper order.
From lonely to ecstatic to euphoric.
Recalling failures and great victories.
Nothing in terms of money.
All in terms of distance.
From nothingness and obscurity.
To confidence and contribution.
Why think of these things.
I'm not even forty yet.

jam jars

white sand. fine sand.
like powder between my toes.
calm sea. long beach. kind sun.
jam jars. fun bars. fun crowd.
zombie. long island iced tea.
margarita. tequila. vodka.
small talk. smart talk. smart men. smart women.
billiard games. bets on the side.
heckling all around.
mosquitoes feasting on my blood.

i hear the waves. i see the trees.
as i write this, i long to flee.

Out on my Pseudo but Real Birthday

I am marooned in an island I last saw six years ago. I had this instinct never to visit the place again to keep the pretty picture intact in my brain.

Unfortunately, friends twisted my arm and used emotional blackmail to get me here to celebrate my birthday which is real but is a farce when government records are concerned. (Blame it on a midwife who gives birth hours after my mom did)

Back to the island...some architects need to be lined up against a wall and shot. They've inflicted their tasteless designs on what was my haven for fooling around. Some buildings are ghastly. On top of my list is The Regency. Waddaheck were you thinking, man? A blue-tiled pseudo waterfall?

Will be here for a week. More tomorrow. Depending on whether I have to check some scripts and indulge in some minutes of blogging. Meantime, the bars and crowds await.

The Four Gs In Winning an (RP) Election

Marcos had his guns, goons and gold.
Arroyo added one to the list:Garci.
Well, that's not so accurate. Marcos had Leonie Perez. (And Enrile, thanks to an admission during EDSA 1)
If they're willing to go this far to win an election for a P50K per month job, it doesn't take an Einstein to know they're not doing it for public service.

######################

Was talking to a veteran newshen the other night. She says yes, there are more tapes. And some parts can really be embarrasing. Like they're talking sex. Eeeeew, fun!

Last Cookie

He shows up on tv wearing a new hairdo. He looked boyish and spit-shined. The hair was parted nicely, gone is the facial oil, he looked like a good-smelling babe with a wide girth (pun intended).

Et tu, Drilon?

The scent of the presidency has apparently addled his brain. He refers to himself in the second person. Drilon this and Drilon that. Legarda does it, albeit with the same absence of good taste. "Si Loren po ay para as kalikasan..."

The presidency they say, is best handled like the last cookie on the plate by those who were never directly elected to it. Why do I see Drilon's fat fingers circling the china?

Tsk. Vultures abound in times of war.

Nanay, Tapat Ka Ba?

A pained Luli is interviewed about recent political events and how it has affected her family. The presidential daughter showed class and restraint under the strain. (Sometimes you wonder why she alone is gifted with that in her family)

She was close to breaking down and had to swallow hard when asked about how she felt about the resignation of cabinet members Deles and Soliman. "Sayang," was all she could muster, recalling how the two have become part of her family.

She says her mother will not resign. She says this will allow those who were behind the wiretapping win. "Ibig sabihin, kahit sino, kaya nilang i-wiretap." She says her family remains strong, and that they knew problems like the ones they are facing now are part of "public sevice" of which her mother is a part.

She should have asked her parents who ordered the wiretapping, and how the tapes came about.

Honesty, like charity, begins at home. Poor Luli.

crab mentality

i am never for the american meaning of it.

i have tasted the american counterpart.

pero...tangnangsyet. sarap ng alimangong pinoy.

hu kers kung ano ang lasa ng kawnterpart nito sa arabia o amerika at iba pang panig ng planetang ito? sarap ng alimango at alimasag pinoy.

at puputulan ko ng sipit ang sinumang kokontra.

hay, alavar's. ang sarap pero ang mahal mo.

Presidential Audio

Methinks it's the brainchild of Lupita Kashiwahara. I'm referring to those two presidential addresses via Radyo ng Bayan lately. Methinks the director has finally realized what is formerly unthinkable to PR people: her client has no iota of charm in her body. Thus, the radio addresses.

I will not pass up an opportunity to be mean, so here goes: one of these days, she will question the authenticity of those Radyo ng Bayan statements, just as the mob is able to tear down the walls of the palace and the "destablizers" are closing in. (That wasn't me on the tape! I cannot be THAT arrogant!)

My infantile brain is further addled by recent events.

Seriously, no crisis PR can handle a bratty, irascible and unreasonable client like the Gloria. Even her PR in the senate, courtesy of Dante Ang, could only pout and roll her eyes when the minute primadonna misbehaved in public. And Dante Ang 's claim to fame is being able to make even the most foul-smelling politician smell like a squeaky-clean creature only heaven can send to earth. Alas, she was Dante's inferno. Consider this: she goes to the senate press office, a signal that she has something important to say. We set up our cameras, take our places, and just when the cameras start rolling, she glares at her aide and screams "Tisssuuueee!!!" at the hapless employee. I think she was more embarrassed at her boss's behaviour, than at being yelled at in public.

When she campaigned for the vice presidency, one of her PR people approached us and said his boss is "mellowing down." I said it has got to be the slowest process of mellowing down in mankind's history. Think from single-celled matters to dinosaurs.

Her PR people were worried that we were unsympathetic to her. That was being kind. I was leery of her. I loathed her and it was difficult to be fair to her, but I did my best. I asked the PR person: "If she behaves that you, a tangible person she interacts with everyday do not deserve respect, how will she treat the intangible multitudes that she promises to serve?"

And so these days she resorts to just sending us her voice. At least the arrogance in her eyes will be unseen. But there's something Kashiwahara failed to consider: the arrogance of her client shines through. It can be felt in the timbre and tone of her voice. The high and mighty being challenged by a puny few. We imagine the video, and we come up with a demonic face gleeful and gloating amid the sober calls for her to step down. It wounds you to see that the person who represents your country has no decency, no humility, no compassion for a people hurting.

At the time the calls for her to resign were being aired yesterday, British Prime Minister Tony Blair faced his countrymen after seven bomb blasts ripped through London. With voice trembling, often close to breaking, he asked for calm, sent his condolences to the families who lost loved ones, and assured them his government will see that justice is done. You get a sense that the hurt is personal to Blair.

I wish one day, we elect a leader who feels the pains, hopes, dreams and struggles of everyone of us, and works for us. Someone who inspires and soothes, in audio and video.

Then there will be no need to spend taxpayers money on a Kashiwahara.

GMA's July 8 Speech

Mga minamahal kong kababayan, This is a democracy that’s held together by the Constitution and the rule of law. The Philippines has fallen into a dangerous pattern where the answer to every crisis is to subvert due process rather than work within the system. This must stop. I was duly elected to uphold the Constitution and ensure that the institutions of the nation were strengthened not weakened.

With all due respect to former President Aquino and others, I say that their actions caused deep and grievous harm to the nation because they undermine our democratic principles and the very foundation of our Constitution. Once again, we’re subverting the rule of law and perpetuating a system that’s broken and will remain broken until fundamental reforms are put in place.

As former president Aquino is well aware, the President is charged by the nation to defend our hard won democracy at all costs. To those who’ve forgotten this, I say, take your grievances to Congress where I’m very willing to submit to due process as called for by our Constitution.

In the meantime, I will continue to focus on the people’s business which is getting our economy moving and creating a better quality of life for our people. I will announce a new Cabinet within the next couple of days. This team will be made up of individuals whose commitment to our nation and to democratic principles will be beyond doubt. This is the team that will work with me to move away from political bickering to doing what the people of the Philippines expect their leaders to do and that is get our economy moving and ensure the delivery of essential services such as health care, education and security to all parts of the country.

Maraming salamat sa inyong lahat.

Lowering the Bar

(A piece for the psychobabbler)

Yes, Da Dad is right. They all cheat. Sometimes, when even with the benefit of cheating they lose, the newspapers bleed with their protests, claiming "We wuz robbed!"

This time, THIS is different. The plot and its execution will put any writer to shame.

First, we have a president who placed a sympathetic (depending on the price) commissioner in the poll body. The commissioner is part of the much-maligned Marcos-era Comelec that did not count the votes, but fixed the figures designed to make the real McCoy stay in the palace till hell freezes over. ( Sources say the poll exec was paid handsomely. I will tell you in person how much the downpayment was)

Second, you have a government agency, the ISAFP, wiretapping the commissioner. Where else could the order have come from? The palace resident did not trust the well-placed cheat enough so her camp taped his conversations, to be sure she gets her money's worth.

Third, the tapes reveal how high up in the Comelec, how widespread, how organized, how syndicated cheating was. (I will tell you in person why the Comelec people we interviewed love the infamous commissioner)

Fourth, the taped conversation dealt mostly with the votes from Mindanao. I have covered elections in various places there, and I am witness to the sacrifice of voters and teachers in remote, tongue-twisting barrios during elections. That votes can be rigged via phone calls renders inutile and useless the efforts of those people to vote and safeguard their choice of leaders.

Fifth, when the scripts came to light, the palace showed how little regard it has for the masa's intellect. They tested the waters by giving us first, a series of lies that didn't sell. Then there was hedging and buckling, then blame-assigning.

Sixth, the use of the DOJ to threaten those who wanted to listen to the tapes smacks of terror tactics only the real McCoy used. A president cowed by an angry people hides behind the Dept. of Justice, and the agency acts accordingly. The act delivered the message which has become the cry of the poor: justice is for the powerful.

Seventh, the apology was more insulting than placating. She was confident a mea culpa would exonerate her, continue to enjoy our trust, and go on her merry way. She obliquely faced the issue, and even in what is supposed to be a moment of humility and sincerity, she was arrogant and insincere.

Eighth, you have a top police official escorting the poll exec to exile down south.

The use of government money, government office and government people to cheat, and later on to cover up the crime, makes past stories of electoral fraud pale in comparison.

At the height of EDSA 1, then Defense Sec. Juan Ponce Enrile announced to all and sundry that he cheated for Marcos in his hometown, Cagayan. Amid the chaos, he was admonished by Marcos, urging him to "stop issuing these press releases."

The current Malacang resident has an PHD in economics. Instead of using her expertise to improve our per capita income, she uses it in fixing election results. She has been hiding the true unemployment rate by changing age-old bases in computing it, ie anyone who works twice a week is not considered unemployed or underemployed.

Now, it seems the use of the military in rigging election results is a skill well studied and apparently applied, by the current president. If only she used it to get a legal mandate, improve our economy, and ensure a good place in our history books.

Yes, they all cheat. But it is up to young people to demand absolute honesty and uprightness from their leaders and elders. We should not lower the bar simply because some cannot reach it.