Lining Up for Tickets

"Please go out with me. You'd make even lining up for tickets fun," he said.
"I hope you won't be there to spoil it," I said.
He laughs out loud. I leave.
That how was we normally dealt with each other. I wasn't fond of him, but I didn't dislike him, either. I just stayed out of his way because he would flirt with a coyote if it as much as feigns the slightest interest in him.

Then he left the newsroom to be with his parents abroad.

"I believe you owe me a date, Miss. I believe I see us lining up for a movie. And I want there to be a very long line."
I turn around. It's Billy.
"It's been seven years, but I still believe you'd spoil the fun," I said.

We laugh and decide to have coffee.

He's about to get married. I let out a whoop. The skirt chaser picks one and decides to commit.

I look at his face. Something's wrong. "You make a wedding look painful," I said.

Long story. He dates girl. Girl falls in love. He moves on to the next conquest. Girl goes after him. His parents decide to make him like the girl. Or something.

"You're over 30. You're not a kid. This isn't about liking the school your parents enroled you in. It's not a four-year course. This is the rest of your life. (Fine, I'm a romantic. Shoot me. Iideally, that's how it's supposed to be, anyway)

Parents old. Want grandkids soon. Girl pregnant. Strict ang parents niya. Throw in religion, image, reputation.

"What do you think I should do?" he said.
I decide to make light of it. "Repent, for the end is nigh! " I said.
"Kahit kailan, patawa ka. Seryoso ako," he said, a pained look in his eyes.
"You'll make each other miserable, if you're not doing that already," I said.
"We are, but she loves me and promises to make it work."
"Then meet her halfway and pray, really pray, that the marriage works."

Silence.

"Why didn't you want to go out with me back then?" he asked.
"Because you'd spoil the fun in lining up for tickets," I said.
"No, I'm serious."
"You were playing the field and it wasn't something I could handle. Not then, not now, not ever," I said.
"How did you know I was...busy?" he asked.
"You forget, we shared a local. There was a day I counted five different names.

Silence.

"Would you see a movie with me?"
"No, but let's line up for one," I said.
"Then?"
"We'll talk, have fun."
"Why not see the movie?"
"Because that wasn't part of your dream."

We found the longest line, queued up, talked, joked, and laughed a lot.
Then I steered him away from the window when it was our turn.

"That was fun," he said.
"I'm glad it was."
"Now what?"
"Now we shake hands, and go our separate ways."

We did. I didn't look back. And I wish him the best.

NB: THIS STORY IS FICTIONAL. Do you think it's good?

Seven Songs

Been tagged again. Anyway, here are some songs I am currently listening to.

1. Now Comes the Night - Rob Thomas
2. Goodbye, My Lover - James Blunt
3. Best Deception - Dashboard Confessional Unplugged
4. We Didn't Start the Fire - Billy Joel, The Very Best
5. Whenever I Say Your Name - Sting, Sacred Love Album
6. Send Your Love - Sting, Sacred Love Album
7. Never Saw Blue Like That - Shawn Colvin, Songs from Dawson's Creek Vol. 2

NB1. If the singer didn't write it, I won't buy it
NB2. P****inang mga lalaki talaga iyan. O, ha? May konek? Grand plan ka riyan!

The Talia Chronicles

She's three now. Before she started going to school, her eight-year old brother, James, gave her a few tips on how to survive nursery.
James: Talia, if someone takes your toy, say 'Give it back, please.'
Talia: Nah, I'm just gonna smack 'em.

She plays with her mom's lipstick. Mom takes it from her and puts it in her purse.

Talia: Mom, look at me!!!

Meldy: Why, honey?

Talia: (looks her in the eyes) GIVE........IT........BACK!!!

My poor friend gives the lipstick back.

Then she emails me: No one on earth scares me like my daughter.

Kids Are Always Good Subjects

Meet my new godson. His name is Azriel. You know, the top honcho among them angels.
Dopey, expressive eyes.

The thing with kids as subjects is, you can never go wrong with them. They may be crying or cranky or totally messed up and smeared with that ugly tasting carrot food, but they will always look cute.

Dissed Divas

I've been wanting to blog about this 10 days ago but I wanted to spare myself from ear-splitting protests some girls will subject me to. They're busy with a wedding so I'll sneak this past them.
The September 4 edition of Time carried this article by Josh Tyrangiel about Christina, Paris, Beyonce and Jessica, entitled "Welcome to My Bubble." It's about the albums the four came out with lately. Excerpts:

"With her previous album, Aquilera arrived on the set of her video....direct from an intergalactic hooker convention....Aguilera doesn't know much about history, but she has a voice with the blasting power of a fire hose and the gumption to treat every song like a five-alarm blaze."

"Simpson's voice is blandly likeable, but she overemotes so much...Her narcissism might have been leavened by good songs, but most are content to rip off tunes from older, better hits. A Public Affair is a titillating glimpse of Simpson, but it provides no evidence that she knows or cares about anyone else."

He was kinder to Beyonce: "Beyonce, whose voice really is a wonder, cuts through all of it with crystalline joy.... B'day holds up because the bulk of the song aren't about her or you or anything at all."

But not so kind to Paris: "When word got out that Paris Hilton was planning to sing, people reacted as if killer bees were headed north from Mexico...Hilton can't sing in any traditional sense of the word, but 'I Want You' and 'Stars Are Blind'...are credible pieces of late-summer pop, on which she not only banishes her persona and exhales in tune but also understands that a crush is not the end of the world...Not speaking for herself is achievement enough."

Before Miranda, There Was Ann

She died today. Cancer. 73. Ann Richards, former Texas governor. She dished out barbs like Jack the Ripper enjoying each cut.

Referring to Bush, the current president: "Poor george. He can't help it. He was born with a silver foot in his mouth."

She cracked a half-century male grip on the governor's mansion and celebrated by holding up a T-shirt that showed the state Capitol and read: "A woman's place is in the dome."

She championed causes for women and minorities, which were often ignored in male-dominated Texas establishment.

At the 1988 Democratic National Convention when she was the Texas state treasurer, Richards won cheers from delegates when she reminded them that Ginger Rogers did everything Fred Astaire did, "only backwards and in high heels."

She took time out to celebrate her 60th birthday by earning her motorcycle driver's license.

Asked once what she might have done differently had she known she was going to be a one-term governor, Richards grinned.

"Oh, I would probably have raised more hell."

"I did not want my tombstone to read, 'She kept a really clean house.' I think I'd like them to remember me by saying, 'She opened government to everyone,'" Richards said shortly before leaving office in January 1995.

(This post quoted heavily from Yahoo News)

Columbia is a University, Not a Source of Good Coffee or Drugs

Sheila left for New York two weekends ago. I was saddened when I heard of her plan early this year, but after 16 years as executive director of PCIJ, I understand her need for change.

She taught me a lot, and it was she who convinced me commit to Imbestigador when it was first offered to me. In times of doubt, I sought, and got, her advice on important editorial decisions. She shared information, and was never short on tips on what could be good stories for Imbestigador. Thus, when I quit as EP, I informed her of my decision.

It's less than four months before the year ends. People are starting to make decisions for 2007.

I see changes and more challenges ahead. It will be fun.

Here's Sheila's statement:

Not quite good-bye Posted by: Sheila Coronel on 11 September 2006 at 8:57 am

THIS is a valedictory of sorts. After 16 years as executive director of the Philippine Center for Investigative Journalism, I am bowing out. Beginning this month, I will be a professor at the Graduate School of Journalism at Columbia University in New York, where I will also be the inaugural director of the Toni Stabile Center for Investigative Journalism.

I leave PCIJ with sadness. After all, some of my best, most productive and most exciting years as a journalist were spent at the Center. In 1989, the PCIJ started out with second-hand equipment and a borrowed office. In its first year, none of its staff was paid, except for a secretary. Since then, the PCIJ has grown to be, modesty aside, the premier investigative reporting institution in Asia. Its work is widely recognized and its reporting has made an impact on politics and public policy in the Philippines. It is also a model investigative reporting center that has inspired similar initiatives in places like Nepal and Indonesia.

I leave the PCIJ in the hands of a talented, committed and hardworking staff and a board whose members include some of the best journalists in the country. My departure comes at a time when the PCIJ is making what I believe is a monumental shift to new media. For the most part, despite occasional forays into television, the PCIJ has done mainly reports for newspapers. Starting this year, we are making the shift to multimedia journalism, doing reports not just in text format, but also using audio and video. I am confident that the Center will continue producing the trailblazing journalism for which it is known, but this time on multimedia platforms.

I will, however, remain on the board as a trustee of the Center and will continue to help in whatever way I can, including posting reports on the PCIJ blog. The PCIJ board is still searching for a new executive director and a deputy and will make an announcement when these appointments are filled.

I will be bringing to my new job a lot of what I have learned at the PCIJ. The Stabile Center at Columbia is dedicated to training students interested in pursuing careers in investigative journalism. This year we have 15 students, including several from overseas, who will work on investigative projects with my guidance and support. At the same time, I hope that the Stabile Center will help promote investigative reporting worldwide and collaborate with existing journalists’ networks to spread the techniques and ethos of watchdog journalism to countries that need it the most.

I am excited by my new job as it gives me an opportunity to start something again, but in a different place and under different circumstances. I feel privileged: it is not often one gets a second chance to start from scratch — and this time, in one of the world’s greatest cities.
I have been in New York a week now. I still think of the Philippines often. It will always be my home and I hope to return and to bring back with me what I have learned here, just as I am bringing to New York what I have learned back home. Meanwhile, the day-to-day affairs of the PCIJ will be managed by its board whose members include:

David Celdran, news anchor, ANC
Dominick Danao, assistant vice president, value-added services, Sun Cellular
Ceres P. Doyo, columnist and senior writer, Philippine Daily Inquirer
Malou Mangahas, vice president for research and content development, GMA Network, and editor in chief, gmanews.tv
Howie Severino, writer and producer, I-Witness
Luis Teodoro, journalism professor and former dean, University of the Philippines College of Mass Communication
Marites Danguilan Vitug, editor in chief, Newsbreak

I have had a good run as PCIJ executive director. The Center has given me the chance to work with the most gifted and promising journalists in the Philippines and to embark on long-term journalistic projects, including books and documentaries, that would have been difficult to do had I stayed in a newspaper or a magazine.

I am confident that the PCIJ will continue to provide a home for journalists who want to wander off the beaten track and to embark on challenging reporting projects that the mainstream media will not support. Its efforts to help build a grand reportorial tradition for the Philippine media has already earned the Center a secure place in Philippine journalism. The PCIJ will build on these strengths as it navigates new waters. And while I will no longer be there to steer it, I leave knowing that the PCIJ is a sturdy ship with a first-class crew that knows where it wants to go.

Wherever I am, the PCIJ will always be a part of me.

Things I Learned Today

I forgot the plug at home, despite warnings from SNUGLY that I should take it with me to the hardware store. I forgot what's it called. So the conversation went like this:

"I need that thing which will allow me to plug this thing to that thing on the wall when I have to recharge something."

"Go to aisle three."

There I talk to the guy and describe what I need. "You know, the plug is like, lock kneed? Not the usual straight feet kind of thing?"

He figured it out in seconds. Voila! It's called an adaptor or somesuch. Never mind. My Canon camera's battery is being charged as we speak.

Today, I also learned how to check and you know, sort of load up with air, Jiminy da Cricket's tires on my own. Wait for the right ding-ding sound. Inflate or something. I'm sure there's an engineer-friendly way of saying it, but inflating seems appropriate right now. Naintindihan niyo naman ako, di ba?

"You can always ask those gasoline boys to do it for you," Angel says.
"I know, but if it's something I don't know, I should learn it," I say.

Next, I'll try to figure out what those things in that plastic box are called, and memorize their names. Um, you know, the tool box?

Then I'll try to learn how to change tires.

Next would be world domination.

Of Lawyers and Bubblegum Girls

It's the second Sunday of the bar exams. I pray those deserving pass the tests, and when they do, I further pray they remember some words and phrases when they begin their practice: justice, ethics, pro bono, serve the poor.

To me, the law is the final refuge of the oppressed but penniless. We do have antiquated laws that seem to have been written in the era of Kalantiaw, but the spirit of righting wrongs is there.

I find it amusing that families of those taking the exams manage to shut off the rest of the population from Taft Avenue for four Sundays. They are there when the examinees enter the test area until the would-be and wannabe lawyers emerge, exhausted and unsure if they will make the cut. (I wonder what miracles this practice can do to a high school algebra, chemistry and physics finals)

A friend took the test years ago.

For months, he would appear late in the beat, having spent the morning reading his law books, reviewing on his own. I'd give him copies of my stories, give him quotes, update him on the issues so he's not left behind. Most of the reporters did that for him at one time or another. We knew his wife, and like all good friends, we believed in the dream, shared it with them. The whole beat pitched in, one way or the other, to ease life for him as he hit the books. Some of us even nagged him when we felt he wasn't spending enough time for his review.

A year later, he let out a yell, sprawled out on the driveway of the UP College of Law building when he saw his name on the list of those who made it. That same night he drove his beat up owner type jeep to Pangasinan to thank the church and the god he prayed to to pass.

He arrived at the beat dishevelled, knees trembling, eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep. He saw the white board empty of committee hearings. Instead, it contained happy messages and reminders from everyone. Fight for justice. Serve the poor. Pro bono. Ethics, ha?

That day, we ditched the routine in the beat. We worked just enough to submit a story to keep our respective editors at bay. We celebrated.

In three months he ditched the beat up owner type jeep and bought a Civic.

In six months he was dating what I call a "bubblegum girl." Sweet and nice, but there's really no nutrient there. Poor wife sought solace in the arms of another man.

In just over a year, he built a swimming pool at the back of his house, "because I have the money for it."

He began wearing garish jewelry.

He left the beat, practiced full time, went out with some other bubblegum girls.

These days, he'd rather not talk about the past.

I wish he still remembers the writings on the board before they become The Writings on the Wall.

I believe he's not lost, he's just on a detour, and will be back soon.

Boys and Gentlemen....

JJ's guide to domestic peace:

Never assume there will come a time you will fully understand us, and never assume we'll understand you either. Men and women were not wired to be in sync at all times. Repeat after me: it's not gonna happen. Never at all, else this planet will be a very boring place. But for the sake of domestic peace, here are my (unsolicited) pieces of advice that may yet earn you brownie points with women.

Date one, one at a time.

Say I love you only when you mean it.

Marry one, one at a time.

When we're yakking our mouth off over something that you did, just smile. Caution: don't grin. Then give us a hug. Don't say a word. That ought to stop some of us from yakking. Because by that time, we'll be thinking.

Tell us the following day, in a very nice, tender way, how silly we were the previous day.

Don't tell us we're getting fat. Lead the way by joining a gym and cutting down on your calorie intake at night. Believe me, we are bound to follow.

Try very, very hard, to appear interested in what we do for a living. Figure out what SOTs and MOTS and dissolve and libel check mean by asking us questions. Then we will try to appear mildly interested in what's under the car's hood, even if it sounds like quantum electrodynamics 101 meant for the Einsteins and Feynmans of this world.

Try to pick us up from work every now and then. We may not say yes all the time, but you do earn brownie points for future use.

Offer to take us to work every now and then. Who knows, we might offer to pick up your laundry.

Even if our adobo is meant for the toxic dump, try to eat slowly and appear like you're enjoying what could probably be your last meal on earth. Then (if you survive) teach us how to do it correctly the next time around. Remember: the life you save may be your own. (Geesh, I am having fun writing this!)

Sometimes, in bed, believe us: we just want a hug.

Be aware of our period and PMS dates. These are the days you ought to arm yourself with tons of humor and patience and determination to keep the world together, because we simply can't during these days. We are sore and in constant pain.

We know you're lousy at remembering anniversaries and birthdays. Mankind invented those items known as pen and paper eons ago. Don't be left behind. Honor the wise prehistoric men by using their inventions in keeping the human race sane. Write those smarmy dates down and remember what they mean. (It can sometimes be your sanity and well-being) Don't be an idiot. Avoid the couch by using the resources available to you. Kailangan pa bang masaktan ka?

Hold our hand when we cross the street. Believe me, it's not a sign of weakness but a display of caring and tenderness. And it's not gonna kill you, dammit.

Hug us when we least expect it. Even in public. But never in front of our bosses. (They are sometimes of the belief we have no social life. Let's keep it that way)

Lift the lid, dammit.

See those cheap flowers in front of those churches? Try to buy us some every now and then, for no reason at all. We will love you for it.

Try to say "I just want us to spend some time alone" and then take us out for a long walk, hold our hand and be there, be really in the moment.

Did you notice that telling us "I just want to hug you" and being sweet sometimes lead you to where you really want to cap the night - in bed with us?

There. I think that's more than enough for the week. I hope I was of help. Any comments? Violent reactions?

NB: I've never been married, never lived with anyone, never had the pleasure of inflicting my presence on any man on a regular or permanent basis. However, the tips here are based on the experiences and rantings of my female friends who are sharing their beds and kitchens with the opposite sex, and believe me, if I have a peso each time I hear their whinings over the issues written above, I'd be filty rich by now.

Oh, the issue about the adobo? And about SOTs and MOTS? Those are mine.

The Things We've Lost

While going around the Lung Center Tiangge one Sunday, I saw this water lily in a wok. It brought me back to Zambales, to those days playing near the small irrigation dams that dot the province, where these water lilies are abundant.

The saleslady told me it's called "kiyapo." It sounded odd to me. Can it be?

I rushed back home and googled it. Yes, Kiyapo became Quiapo. You know, that place where direction-challenged people like me run to, to get our bearing back when lost in this smoke-filled jungle called Manila. The same Quiapo where you buy your pirated DVDs.

Yes, Quiapo used to have a lot of Kiyapos.
The same way Maynila used to be full of nilads, those tall weeds. "May nilad diyan"
The same way San Andres Bukid used to be a rice field. "Pupunta ako sa bukid sa San Andres."
The same way Makati was once full of tall cogons. "Makati ang dahon"

My late grandma said they used to fish in the river at the back of their house in Don Galo, Paranaque. For the life of me, I can't picture how that was possible.

Never mind. We have the internet, cellphones, laptops, cars. Who cares for weeds and water lilies? We can download them anytime.

Or buy them in some tiangge and remember the good old days when there were birds and tall green things.

You know, those things called trees?

Thanks

To the nice single guy who changed my template....salamat.

*palakpaks like there's no tomorrow*

What's Your Script Like?

Someone yelled at his girlfriend in the darker corner of the bar and we rapidly exchanged inebriated glances, figuring out what we should do. Someone shrugged a shoulder and we decided it was best if we didn't meddle.

"I would have left if he did that to me," my friend said. "Wouldn't you?"
"Not without him looking for San Mig Light shards in his bleeding skull," I said. We guffawed and drank to that.

I watched as the abused girlfriend left her seat to go to the bathroom. Minutes later the man stood up and waited for her. When she emerged, he wrapped his arms around her. She hugged him back. The classic abused partner syndrome- the making up makes up for the abuse.

"By the time you're seven, you've created a script in your head about these things and you follow them to the letter when you grow up," the old writer beside me said. "Unless you change your script to break the cycle, you'll keep repeating the same mistakes. Be it in dating, marriage, having children, raising children, the work you do."

I spent a couple of addled brain cells to figure that out. I guess he's right.

Assignment ni Snglguy

I AM…. I CHOOSE

>I have an eating disorder.
>I'm short.
I have a brain disorder.

>I prefer winter over summer.
>I’m a geek.
I'm ridiculous and hilarious most of the time.

>I’m a shopaholic.
>I’m reasonably intelligent.
I'm a dodo.

>I’m attracted to girls.
>I’m attracted to boys.
I go for MEN...with brains AND balls

>I smoke regularly.
So do I

>I drink regularly.
>I get drunk easily.
I drink but leave my car in the garage when I do.

>I do drugs.
I never did, never will. (Too scared)

>I will never date a bad kisser.
>I’ve lied to avoid kissing them again.
I won't kiss someone I haven't fallen in love with. (So I won't mind if he's a bad kisser and I'll have the patience to improve things a bit)

>I’m religious.
>I’m not religious but have morals.
I hate talking about religion. You practice it, not discuss it.

>I’m impulsive.
>I’m hardworking.
I like being productive and seeing outputs.

>I liked “Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind”.
>”She’s All That” is one of my favourite movies.
I loved "A Few Good Men." Saw it countless times.

>I’m good at History.
I read

>I speak more than two languages.
I know Ilocano, Filipino and a bit of English.

>I enjoy taking pictures.
I love taking pictures.

>I like spending money on myself.
>I like spending money on others.
Every year, I spend more on books than clothes and shoes combined.

>I have a regular income.
>I earn money on a job-by-job basis.
I want more money so I won't have to work. I just want to write, dammit.

>I pay my own bills.
>I rely on my parents for money.
I sent myself to school by working and looking for scholarships.

>I enjoy cleaning.
>Tidiness is a must in my life.
I like being barefoot so I like my floor squeaky clean.

>I have heard of Blonde Redhead.
>I enjoy Blonde Redhead.
I don't care.

>I’m fashion-conscious
>I have good taste.
No lifestyle. No life, no style.

>I excel academically.
>I’m told I have yet to fulfill my potential.
I just want to write. (Geesh! How many times have I said that?)

>I’m good at sports.
>I’m good at certain sports.
I played volleyball, basketball, piko, syato, taguan, jackstones, tumbang preso...

>I’m creative.
>I’m artistically inclined.
Moderately interested

>I wanna be an artist when I grow up.
>I wanna be an engineer when I grow up.
I want to be a great writer when I grow up.

>I eat when I’m upset.
>I cannot adapt to change.
I shut up when I'm upset these days. I've given up on some people.

>I have shoplifted.
>I’ve done underage drinking.
I hid my neighbor's guest's shoe when they were too noisy one night. Then left it on the same spot three days later.

>I can dance extremely well.
>I dance like a cardboard gorilla.
I dance like there's no tomorrow in my room when I feel like it. (Which is like every morning while getting dressed)

>I can sing.Oh yes I can.
>I sing like someone stepped on my foot.
I sing like a hyena closing in for the kill.

>I enjoy controversy.
I like anomalies. And writing about them. Gusto ko nang magsulat ulit.

>I can be a bitch/bastard.
> And I can be an a**hole too, if you like.
Mediocrity and laziness and excuses bring all that out in me

>I’m not sure if I want to have children.
>I’m not sure if I’ll get married.
I want to get married. Sino ba'ng me shotgun diyan? Pahiram! Dadalhin ko sa Kenya.

Just a Thought

Why some things printed or broadcast are full of factual errors:

In the beginning, the earth was a dark place. There were no living things.

Then it rained a bit, creating puddles. Then bacteria started growing there.

They learned to type and called themselves writers. Some preferred to be called journalists.