The McVie Show Season 4

Season Ender

2006-10-31T17:49:00.000+08:00

I know that it’s time for another season to end when events in my life tell me, “Move on.” So now I’m moving on.

Presenting
The McVie Show, Season 5

The new season only available on BloggerBeta.
Log on to http://mcvie5.blogspot.com

And for my closing number, here’s one from Madonna:

Take a bow, the night is over,
This masquerade is getting older.
Lights are low, the curtains down,
There’s no one here
[There’s no one here, there’s no one in the crowd.]
Say your lines but do you feel them?
Do you mean what you say when there’s no one around?
Watching you, watching me… one lonely star.
[One lonely star, you don’t know who you are.]

I’ve always been in love with you—
I guess you’ve always known it’s true.
You took my love for granted, why oh why?
The show is over, say good-bye.

Make them laugh, it comes so easy,
When you get to the part
Where you’re breaking my heart.
Hide behind your smile, all the world loves a clown.
[Just make ‘em smile, the whole world loves a clown.]
Wish you well, I cannot stay.
You deserve an award for the role that you played.
No more masquerade; you’re one lonely star.
[One lonely star and you don’t know who you are.]

All the world is a stage,
And everyone has their part.
But how was I to know which way the story’d go?
How was I to know you’d break,
You’d break my heart?

You took my love for granted, why oh why?
The show is over, say good-bye.

Kiss Off

2006-10-26T17:33:00.000+08:00

“Kiss you off these lips of mine…
Kiss you off for a custom shine…
Pissed yours truly off this time,
It’s why I ain’t just kissin’ you,
I’m kissin’ you off!”
– Scissors Sisters, “Kiss You Off”

Last night Leigh and I were talking about letting go. It’s a very empowering thing, letting go, especially if it’s done with much love and understanding, not out of spite.

There’s also something to be said about having a certain level of detachment. Now if only I knew what the Buddhists really mean by that. I don’t think they mean you cease caring for something. Maybe it just means one is more willing to let go when the time comes.

Hay life. It used to have semester breaks and Christmas and summer vacations. Now it’s not all that simple anymore.

* * * * *

Speaking of kiss offs, get ready to say goodbye to season 4.

On The Contrary

2006-10-26T16:02:00.000+08:00

Hooray! The anti-billboardists have succeeded in preventing several huge billboards from being put up again. So now driving down EDSA one sees huge steel girders naked against the sky. Are they a better sight than, say, a pretty face of some model or even Zanjoe half-naked? Do they enhance the beauty of the metro skyline? Is Metro Manila prettier now that we have giant skeletons along EDSA?

Yippee.

Speaking of billboards, they placed a huge billboard of Our Lady of Guadalupe on that massive one located (where else?) along Guadalupe, right above Café Lupe. It’s like they’re daring MMDA: “Just try and bring down Mama Mary, you f**kers!” Hahaha.

* * * * *

Mo Twister was a fairly popular radio DJ/rapper/actor when he first burst into the local showbiz scene in the 90s. But after disappearing for several years in the US, he’s back where he first started, in FM radio. He has a morning show on 89.9FM, and his particular schtick is that he dares to say things which other morning DJ would hesitate to mention on air, including stuff about local celebrities. Questions about sexual orientation, penis size and bedroom antics aren’t off-limits in his show. Interestingly, he also has a segment where callers can narrate on-air their actual bad experiences with celebrities.

So it’s no surprise that he’s getting a lot of press—and heat—from certain local celebrities because of statements made on his show. Showbiz old timers have repeatedly spoken up against Mo, decrying his lack of respect for his showbiz elders.

Frankly, these oldies are falling right into Mo’s trap. And instead of ruining Mo, they’re actually boosting his visibility and showbiz clout. If he’s really inconsequential, why are they taking time to react to him? Plus it’s silly that these oldies are belittling Mo and his show, saying that he doesn’t have the right to speak ill of established showbiz folks because “he’s not proven himself” and that “he’s not earned the right” to speak that way.

Duh.

What Mo’s doing is a very tame, Pinoy version of shock radio. With shock radio, there are almost no sacred cows, and outrageous is the norm. The point of shock radio is to provoke—but really, it’s just another form of comedy. It’s not supposed to be taken seriously. To shock and provoke is the joke. Unfortunately most people don’t have that sensibility to look beyond the surface shock value; worse, they take them too seriously.

This indicates that it will be a while before shock radio is fairly accepted by the Pinoy audience. Still I don’t mind having a show like Mo’s. I’m not a big fan of his show; it’s amusing in general but sometimes the topic being discussed just doesn’t interest me. But I’ll defend his right to have a show like his. Those who aren’t in on the joke are in danger of being punchlines themselves.

McQ&A

2006-10-26T12:55:00.000+08:00

From UTAKGAGO: is it true that you can meet a lot of guys in the gym? i mean guys who also like guys. how will you know if a guy wants to have sex with you? what are the signs to look out for?

McVIE replies: Yes, you can meet a lot of Guys Who Like Guys (hereby referred to as GWLG) in gyms. That’s the reason why, in an episode of Will & Grace, Jack stated that the gym was “the gay church,” a place gay men come to worship the male form.

I have been a member of four gyms already. And in all four gyms (not even counting the different branches that a couple of them had) I’ve experienced more than one, uhm, encounter with GWLG. And what I mean by encounter is not just a close encounter—I’m talking up-close-and-personal encounters. The level of encounters range from jerk offs and mutual masturbation all the way to, well, all the way.

Of course the likelihood of meeting GWLGs, having an encounter with them, and the level of encounter depend on several things: [1] the number of GWLG members who go to that particular gym (or branch); [2] the time of the day; [3] the physical layout of the gym’s facilities, most especially the sauna, steam room and showers.

Several general rules of thumb:

1. The higher the number of gorgeous-looking guys in the gym, the higher the concentration of GWLGs in that gym. (“Gorgeous-looking” can refer to just face or just body or both face and body—in which case it’s an unjust situation, unless that guy has an IQ of a fire hydrant; if so, then balance is restored to the universe.)

2. The affordability of the membership fee will determine the socio-economic range of GWLGs found in the gym. Kapag jologs ang membership fee, jologs ang crowd.

3. The more private the sauna, steam room and showers, the more likely the encounters.

4. Also regarding layout: if there are “systems” in place that provide early warnings that someone is coming—a longer hallway or noisy swinging doors, for example—then the possibility of a more intense encounter increases.

5. In general the gym staff is aware that encounters do happen. I believe the long-timers can tell who’s really working out and who’s making out. They tend to turn a blind eye to what’s happening; in return, it would be best to discreetly keep encounters away from them.

How will you know if a guy wants to have sex with you? What are the signs to look out for?

The signs generally apply to all sorts of venues, whether in the gym, at the mall, inside the movie house, in a bar or even in church. In general the more straight and public the place, the more discreet the signs.

If a guy makes eye contact and holds it a beat longer than usual before breaking it off, then continues to glance again and again at you, then most likely he’s interested in you. Either that, or he’s mistaken you for someone he knows. The more gay-friendly the venue (for example, gay bars, dance clubs and bathhouses), the safer it is to assume that they’re interested in you.

In a gym sauna or steam room if the guy keeps stealing glances at you, he’s interested. If he’s also rubbing his hard-on under his towel, he’s definitely interested. If he whips out his throbbing, pulsating cock and starts playing with himself—well! At that point if a miscommunication still happens between the two of you, then one of you is a retard.

Remember one very important thing: discretion is the better part of lust. Just as one must always play safe by putting on rubber, one should always be discreet when engaging in encounters at the gym or any venue with a mixed crowd, like a seminary for example. Gays and straights sharing the same space need to respect each other’s sensibilities. Try not to organize an orgy in the steam room; that’s a sure way to have your membership—maybe even your life!—terminated. The more discreet gay men just use the encounters to exchange digits; the sexual activities happen much later outside the gym.

You can tick off straight guys or even fellow gay men by being too aggressive in the gym. The signal you’re sending out is not “I’m interested” but rather “I’m desperate.” You can get either a snub or a sneer from gay men. Worse, you can get a bloody nose from a straight guy with a mean streak.

My attitude towards gym encounters is this: if I’m just looking for sex, there are other, much safer venues where I can go to instead of the gym. If an opportunity comes in the gym and in my assessment an encounter can happen discreetly, then why not? Palay na nga ang lumalapit sa manok, di ba? But I’d rather use the gym for its original purpose and just be open to possibilities.

Play smart, play safe.

Enchanted Weekend

2006-10-23T18:00:00.000+08:00

Saturday was my first day with the trainer at the gym. First days are usually the hardest, because your muscles are still not used to the beating they were getting. No pain no gain, they say. I just have to constantly remind myself why I’m paying thousands of bucks just to be tortured for an hour.

Saturday evening I didn’t bother to go out anymore because Sunday early morning I was off to Enchanted Kingdom with the TA kids!

The Kingdom is celebrating its 10th year. My goodness, the Space Shuttle is 10 years old. But that didn’t stop us from riding it again and again—we’d get off, run back in line, and ride again. I only thought about Final Destination once then promptly forgot about it. There weren’t a lot of people in the park in the morning so we could take consecutive rides on the roller coaster without much hassle. And I was able to take pictures during the ride. I had to assure the attendant that my camera was strapped onto my arm before he allowed me to use it.

The night ended fittingly with fireworks.

What a relaxing break for a change. No bruising of my ego, no need to strut my stuff in front of other preening queens. Good, clean, innocent fun.

Where Did My Week Go?

2006-10-20T20:40:00.000+08:00

Last night I went out to Government and Bed—two in one night! Well, well, well. I went to Government first because it was the birthday of a good friend of mine. I saw an on-line crush of mine and he said hi to me once, but the whole time I just ignored him because he was with someone else. That and I don’t know what to say to him. Then I met up with Jong and we went to Bed. Thursday evenings in both dance clubs are fairly busy given that they make that day their designated day of celebrating birthdays. Jong met a gym mate of his—in furnez, may katawan ampootah at may er-beauty ang fez. He was wearing a belt buckle with a huge “TOP” on it. Hmmm. At take note, nung nakaupo silang dalawa sa labas, may-I-press his thigh on Jong’s thigh, and HHWUTT (aka holding hands while under the table). Shet. Type ko pa naman, pero laos Cambodia ang beauty ko beside Jong. Teka, anong beauty ang pinagsasabi ko? I bet you they’ll hook up and be in a horizontal position within a week, Jong’s contrary protestations notwithstanding. I got home at around 4-ish, so I set my alarm clock at 7:30am, two full hours later than usual. I think it went off and I turned it off while half-asleep because the next thing I knew it was 8:30 already and I had a 10am. Good thing it was an internal meeting. And that’s like the highlight of my week. Whoopee. Tomorrow morning I start my first training day at the gym; finally I decided to do something really concrete with my expanding waistline and hired a personal trainer. There’s nothing like plunking down good money for motivation—you paid for it, don’t waste it! And with the holidays coming, I’m summoning all my determination and will power to make sure I win the Battle of the Bulge. Plus this Sunday I’m going with the TA kids to Enchanted Kingdom; I haven’t been there in over two years. Since I’ll be with the kids, it’ll be a refreshing change of scene. It’s nice to forget oneself once in a while, forget the self-indulgence and the self-pity. Haaay. I choose this weekend to be a good one for me. So there.

Songs In The Key Of Unrequited

2006-10-20T18:29:00.000+08:00

While going through one’s unrequited funk, one must have the proper soundtrack. Yes, I agree that when one is head-over-heels in love or heartbroken to pieces, every single song seems to have special meaning to one’s current state of love/loveless-ness. But in times of unrequited-ness one should take control of one’s daily playlist, lest one stumbles upon a tune special to the ex-couple-that-never-was, a song most commonly referred to as “oh-that-song-reminds-me-of-him!”

So here are some suggestions. Faithful McVie Show viewers are invited to add their own recommended songs as well, because as you read on it’ll become quite obvious that I grew up in the 80s.

In no particular order:

[1] “What’s Love Got To Do With It?” by Tina Turner
Why this song? This was Ms. Turner’s great comeback in the 80s, after her disastrous relationship with Ike ended. This captures the hard-earned wisdom of a woman who went through hell and back because love blinded her. Yes, it does sound cynical at times but it really is more about taking those cautious first steps after a romantic crash-and-burn.
Repeat after Tina:
It’s physical, only logical,
You must try to ignore
That it means more than that.
Oh, what’s love got to do, got to do with it?
What’s love but a second-hand emotion?
What’s love got to do, got to do with it?
Who needs a heart when a heart can be broken?

[2] “Tainted Love” by Soft Cell
Why this song? The original by Soft Cell is waaay better than the remake by the Pussycat Dolls. Marc Almond’s singing deftly captures the pain and anger of love gone wrong.
Repeat after Marc:
Don’t touch me please,
I cannot stand the way you tease.
I love you though you hurt me so—
Now I’m going to pack my things and go!
Tainted love.

[3] “Say Hello Wave Goodbye” by Soft Cell
Why this song? Soft Cell has kitchen-sink drama down pat, that’s why they have two songs on this list. With the opening line going, Standing at the door of the Pink Flamingo, crying in the rain, this letting go song is so over-the-top, drama queens will surely have a field day imagining this song playing in the background as they slash their wrists.
Repeat after Marc:
Take your hands off me,
I don’t belong to you, you see.
Take them off my face, for the last time.
I never knew you, you never knew me—
Say hello, goodbye.

[4] “So Lonely” and “Can’t Stand Losing You” by The Police
Why these songs? Think of these as like a one-two punch. Start with feeling sorry for your lonesome, loveless self then you proceed to ending it all.
Repeat after Sting:
Now no-one’s knocked upon my door
For a thousand years, or more.
All made up and nowhere to go—
Welcome to this one-man show!
…
In this theatre that I call my soul,
I always play the starring role.
So lonely!
(and)
I guess this is our last goodbye,
And you don’t care, so I won’t cry.
But you’ll be sorry when I’m dead—
And all this guilt will be on your head.
I guess you’d call it suicide;
But I’m too full to swallow my pride.
I can’t, I can’t, I can’t stand losing,
I can’t, I can’t, I can’t stand losing you….

[5] “Victim Of Love” by Erasure
Why this song? One needs to learn from all these unrequited shit. Personally I think this song’s sentiment is a little too much. But when we hit rock bottom in romance, sometimes the only way to recover is to swing the other way and go the cynical route. Sometimes we really need to swing towards both excessive ends of the pendulum before we can settle down to the calm middle.
Repeat after Andy:
I don’t wanna look
Like some kind of fool.
I don’t wanna break
My heart over you.
I’m building a wall,
Everyday it’s getting higher.
This time I won’t end up
Another victim of love.

Any songs you guys want to add?

McVie’s Surviving Unrequited Love

2006-10-19T19:03:00.000+08:00

1. If he tells you he’s straight, forget him. Even if he exhibits more-than-usual signs that he can “turn gay”, forget him. The fact that he told you he’s straight is just another way of saying You’re not the right gay guy who’ll make me switch teams.

2. If he’s gay and he says “let’s just be friends” then he’s really not that into you.

3. Don’t be naïve to think the two of you can “just be friends,” at least in the next few years or so. Friendship cannot flourish if one of you is pining still.

4. Try to avoid bumping into him. And if you do, keep the contact to a minimum. If you bump into each other in a bar, dance club or even bathhouse, initiate a tactical retreat. In other words, leave (even if you haven’t had a drink, dance or fuck). Believe me, the waste of money isn’t commensurate to the waste of excess emotional confusion or pain.

5. Don’t read his blog/LJ/Multiply/or any online site of his. You say you just want to know what’s going on with his life? Bullshit. Deep down inside you’re just looking for clues, even the tiniest sign of hope for you and your lost cause. Just face it; yours is a lost cause.

6. Repeat after Madonna: There’s no greater power than the power of goodbye.

7. Remember that fear of rejection shouldn’t stop you from taking a chance again on someone else. If you succeed in this, tell me how.

A Killer Album

2006-10-18T14:50:00.000+08:00

Move over Paris, The Killers have arrived from Sam’s Town, and they come with guitars, drums and synthesizers a-blazing.

It’s rare nowadays for me to listen—much more like—an album from beginning to end. Thanks to what I call the Compilations Syndrome, which in turn begat the Song Shuffle Syndrome, my ears these days get easily bored if I listen to the same artist with basically the same sound for several songs in a row (usually I last until the 4th or 5th song before tuning out). That is, unless the artist deliberately switches genres from song to song; however, rare is the artist who can pull off that kind of trick successfully without coming up with a stinker or three.

However I was shocked when, song after song, the sophomore album by The Killers kept me listening at full attention. First it’s their sound—I found myself bobbing my head to their more rock-out-loud numbers. After reading some reviews both on-line and off, I realized why I took to this album immediately. Yes, The Killers here sound like they’re channeling other acts—specifically from the 80s. One moment I’m hearing U2 circa “The Joshua Tree” complete with Bono’s evangelical singing and the Edge-y jingle-jangle of guitars; the next moment The Killers are reaching for the big, grand sound of early Big Country and Simple Minds circa “Sparkle In The Rain”. Then there are snatches of Talking Heads and attempts at Bruce Springsteen, including entitling a song “The River Is Wild.” One minute lead singer Brandon Flowers sounds like he’s channeling The Cure’s Robert Smith then the next he’s The Car’s Ric Ocasek reaching for the high notes. But instead of turning me off, here’s a case where familiarity breeds content.

(Funny thing though, most reviewers keep mentioning that The Killers here sound like they’re going the Bon Jovi route, but I just cannot hear “Bed Of Roses,” “You Give Love A Bad Name,” “Bad Medicine” and “I’ll Be There For You” amongst the songs. I guess it goes to show how unfamiliar I am with the New Jersey stadium rockers.)

Then snatches of the lyrics just leaped out to me on first and second hearing:

You sit there in your heartache,
waiting on some beautiful boy to
to save you from your old ways.
You play forgiveness.
Watch it now—here he comes!
He doesn’t look a thing like Jesus,
but he talks like a gentleman,
like you imagined when you were young.
from “When You Were Young”

I said my heart, it don’t beat,
it don’t beat the way it used to
and my eyes don’t recognize you no more.
And my lips, they don’t kiss,
they don’t kiss the way they used to,
and my eyes don’t recognize you no more.
For reasons unknown
from “For Reasons Unknown”

Argh! I hate it. Times like these lyrics like those aren’t what I need, especially these days when I’m feeling particularly weird. You know that gray area of unrequited, hovering between holding on and moving on? Ugh. Whenever I see him, I get all funny-sad inside. It’ll take me some time more, I guess. But until I get him finally out of my system, I’ll quietly suffer.

Woah. There. I’ve said it.

Now to move on; meanwhile, I’ll just bury myself in this killer of an album.

Stand-out tracks:
“When You Were Young”
“For Reasons Unknown”
“Read My Mind”
“Uncle Jonny”

‘Scuse Me While I Kiss The Sky

2006-10-17T18:13:00.000+08:00

All work and no play make McVie a boring show. Sigh.

Pop Goes My World

2006-10-11T21:07:00.000+08:00

My favorite magazine is Entertainment Weekly; I call it “my Bible.” So naturally I log in to EW.com, where I found this very interesting feature where they first had their staff write about “The Beloved Movies You Just Can’t Stand.” Many award-winning or popular movies got lambasted, like Titanic, Magnolia and Blair Witch Project. But then they asked the readers to give their “movies everyone liked but me.” Here are some of the readers’ answers:

Crash (2005)

It’s like having a sledgehammer marked “RACISM” smashing into your head for two hours. — Faith

Never have I been more ticked off on Oscar night... Crash was a farce, a movie that only people who don't watch many movies would like. I liked its message about racism, but the script was just way too contrived. And really, are we supposed to feel sorry for a guy who steals people's cars at gunpoint? He got what he deserved, unlike this movie’s creators! — Snoogins

In 10 years it’ll be a camp classic. Never have so many serious actors tackled such serious material so seriously—and thrown around so many racial epithets. Just so you don’t waste your time, I’ll sum it up for you: Racism is bad, m’kay? And racism pushed Sandy down the stairs. — gazer

The English Patient (1996)

There is a reason that Seinfeld made an episode dedicated to bashing the English Patient...Die already, die!!!!...enough said! — me

THE ENGLISH PATIENT. My hubby and I went to see it thinking it would be fantastic. I didn't think it would EVER end. Oh my goodness. Truly the most boring movie ever. — Liza

ENGLISH PATIENT: Beautifully photographed, but three hours is a long time to stare at a screensaver. Is he dead yet? — Wayne

Longest. Boringest. Movie. Ever. The only movie I've ever seen people walk out on. The scene where she hits her head? Did they just fall asleep during the editing process? Three hours and 10 minutes wasn't long enough? — Ruddiger

Lost in Translation (2003)

Was I the only one that didn’t believe Scarlett Johansson would look twice at Bill Murray? — Kara

Lost in Translation: Two rich people lounge around their luxury Tokyo hotel and sneer at everyone else. — Adam K

How that film won a screenplay Oscar is beyond me. It must have had about a five-page script. — Rosie

* * * * *

Here’s something that Entertainment Weekly has not yet written about—at least, I think they haven’t yet.

Now that Casino Royale will be opening this November with Daniel Craig as the latest (and grittier) James Bond, who will sing the theme song? Pretend you’re a Broccoli, one of the producers of the Bond series. Who would you choose? Remember that they try as much as possible to get an act that’s pretty well-known worldwide. Will you go edgy like the new Bond, or will you choose popularity above all?

Who would you consider?

Among the ladies:
a. Beyonce
b. Fergie
c. Christina Aguilera
d. Shakira
e. Pink

Among the men:
a. Robbie Williams
b. Craig David
c. John Legend
d. Sean Paul
e. Usher

Among the groups:
a. Black Eyed Peas
b. Red Hot Chili Peppers
c. Sugababes
d. System of a Down
e. Pussycat Dolls (?!)

Or will they go a totally different route and try Fatboy Slim?

Baziderata

2006-10-10T22:43:00.000+08:00

In 1999 the director of then-to-be-made Moulin Rouge, Mr. Baz Luhrmann, had a spoken-word hit entitled “Everybody’s Free (To Wear Sunscreen)”. It’s just him reading off a long list of words of advice, much like Desiderata but more practical—and with music. Of the myriad ones he mentioned the following are my top ten, in the order that they were mentioned:

1. Don’t be reckless with other people’s hearts, don’t put up with people who are reckless with yours. (Hmmm. I don’t think I’ve had much practice with this one.)

2. Don’t feel guilty if you don’t know what you want to do with your life. The most interesting people I know didn’t know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives; some of the most interesting 40 year olds I know still don’t. (There are instances when this question is really at the forefront of my mind—usually when I’m behind the wheel, driving to or from work.)

3. What ever you do, don’t congratulate yourself too much or berate yourself either—your choices are half chance, so are everybody else’s.

4. Enjoy your body, use it every way you can. Don’t be afraid of it, or what other people think of it, it’s the greatest instrument you’ll ever own. (Good luck; I have low body image.)

5. Do NOT read beauty magazines, they will only make you feel ugly. (And yet I still look at all these great looking, uber-sexy male models with their washboard abs and groan to myself. I know it’s not healthy for my self-esteem, but still I do it.)

6. Get to know your parents; you never know when they’ll be gone for good. (Goodbye Daddy; thank god Mommy’s still quite healthy.)

7. Be nice to your siblings; they are the best link to your past and the people most likely to stick with you in the future. (Check! But this does not include spouses, like a husband who doesn’t exactly go out of his way to make us like him. But that’s his right, I suppose.)

8. Understand that friends come and go; but for the precious few, you should hold on. (I really like friends who you can take for granted and vise versa.)

9. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and lifestyle because the older you get, the more you need the people you knew when you were young. (But here’s the caveat; take someone for granted just a little too much, and you may lose them.)

10. Don’t mess too much with your hair, or by the time you're 40, it will look 85. (Thank god I didn’t start messing with my hair and using products until I was 39 years old, hahaha.)

Sigh. If only life were as easy as dispensing and following advice.

I’ve A Bad Back, I’m Fat, I’m Leched

2006-10-10T21:46:00.000+08:00

Two Saturdays ago I went to the office to do overtime work. Despite my being tired the next day I insisted on using the treadmill for the first time in over half a year (I’d often use the stepper for my cardio workout). So Monday came and my back ached but I shrugged it off. Tuesday it became worse, so Wednesday I made sure I got enough sleep and rest. Thursday it was better but Friday saw me seated the whole day due to a planning session and staying up ‘til midnight drinking at an officemate’s birthday party. By Saturday my backache was a full-blown production number—I couldn’t bend properly to put on my shoes, and every time I coughed a shot of pain coursed through my lower left backside. There goes Bed and F for this weekend, I thought to myself.

So I had myself x-rayed Monday morning to see what was wrong. By 6pm the results were in: no pinched nerves, no osteoporosis (old age!), no scoliosis. Muscle strain, I suppose. The doctor told me that sitting for a long time was actually bad for my back at this point. I should either be flat on my back or standing with my left leg slightly raised. So to drive to work this morning, I had to push my seat way forward while tilting the backrest to the lowest possible angle without sacrificing my sightlines. In effect my arms were fully extended when I gripped the wheel; I was afraid I looked like a drag racer, the kind you saw on a Saturday evening at Parañaque or at the stretch just outside Corinthian Gardens or at Libis several years ago, with their souped up cars with black lights on the underside. Ugh.

I have enough tablets of my medicine to last for about a week; I’m not supposed to go to the gym while my back isn’t healed yet. Oh my god. Jubesity! When the feeling comes, and you can’t go on, it’s jubesity! This afternoon my gay officemate looked at my picture in my ID (taken a mere six months ago) and said, “Ang payat mo noon.”

Leched*!

(*Pronounced letch-t, it’s English for “Na-leche!”)

Infernally Departed

2006-10-09T20:54:00.000+08:00

(This entry has been revised as of 10 Oct. 2006)

If you haven’t seen the original film where it’s based on, then you’ll find Hollywood’s The Departed (2006) an excellent thriller with tons of twists and turns. But if you’ve watched Hong Kong’s excellent Infernal Affairs (2002) then you’ll be slightly disappointed at how Hollywood has cleaned up the more ambiguous Asian version.

The Departed hews very closely to the set-up of the original: the mob places a mole inside the police force; unknown to them the police also places an undercover agent deep into their ranks. But in the Hong Kong version this doppelganger switcheroo happens years ago. So this long-time arrangement impacts on the psyches of these two moles. By living on the opposite side of the law, both men are now in deep conflict over who they were before versus who they have become. Living a lie blurs one’s identity; at the end of the movie, who’s to say who is really the bad guy?

In the Hollywood version, the characters are more clear-cut. Good cop di Caprio. Bad cop Damon. Badder baddie Jack Nicholson, chewing up the scenery with glee; it’s a mesmerizing performance and a delight to watch. Leonardo di Caprio and Matt Damon also turn in powerful performances, although I personally wished their characters were several years older just like in the original. Even Alec Baldwin and Mark Wahlberg manage to hold their own very well. This being a Martin Scorsese film, the acting is top-notch. The editing is brilliant—the build-up is relentless but well paced. And this script manages to retain this streak of morbid humor, maybe even exceeding the original.

However I prefer the Hong Kong version because it has an added layer of complexity to its main characters and their dilemma. In that version Andy Lau (House Of The Flying Daggers) plays the mole inside the police force, while Tony Leung (In The Mood For Love, Hero) is the undercover cop who’s now a trusted right-hand man of gangster head Eric Tsang. What’s different is that the switching happened early on in their careers, when Lau was about to graduate from the police academy and Leung was “kicked out” of the academy (actually part of the cover-up so that he could infiltrate the mob). So the two had spent a good number of years in their respective covers, long enough so that their characters are already torn at the start of the movie: Lau has found success, respectability and the prospect of a normal life more and more enticing; meanwhile, Leung found himself doing more and more crimes for the sake of keeping up appearances. This push-and-pull is ultimately resolved in the ending of the film, but knowing that the ending’s political implications will make Mainland China authorities skittish, the filmmakers made an alternate ending (available on DVD) for that market.

Meanwhile I think Hollywood abhors a messy ending—and believe me both versions have really messy endings. So Hollywood chose the usual “bad guy gets his comeuppance in the end” which, admittedly neater, is not as satisfying as the original’s audacity to let the bad guy go scot-free. Infernal raises the infernal question: Is the “bad guy” really a bad guy? Too bad Scorsese’s Departed departed from that route and took a safer, neater one instead.

If you’re interested in seeing both, maybe it will be better if you watch The Departed first before watching Infernal Affairs. In any case see both; each deserves an A.

Six Degrees Of Fahrenheit

2006-10-05T14:49:00.000+08:00

This morning on the radio they were talking about how old scents are making a comeback. Old as in our parents’ generation old—scents like Old Spice and Brute by Faberge. Which reminded me of an old Eddie Murphy stand-up routine about how ironically contrasting the two names “Brute” and “Faberge” were—like a very dark, very muscular but very effeminate gay bouncer.

But that’s not really my topic.

Who among you have at one time or another bought, used, or wanted to buy or use Fahrenheit? Go on, come out of your perfumed closet and admit it. There was a time when it seemed like every other gay man was wearing Fahrenheit. It became the token Eau de Homo. I remember stalking the dark halls of Club Bath and every corner had a lingering whiff of that Christian Dior scent.

It was a scent that grabbed you on first whiff—it was quite distinctive and identifiable but not in an off-putting way. It’s as if it automatically branded the wearer but minus the baggage of older scents (“smells like my old man”) or the more citrus-y and floral scents (“smells so girlie”). In fact it seems to hover somewhere in the middle of masculine and feminine, which I guess is why a lot of gay men preferred this scent.

Pretty soon what connected gay men was the scent of Fahrenheit. It got to a point that whenever I detected that scent in public I’d search for the source and almost always the culprit had plucked eyebrows or was fastidiously fashionable. The scent of Fahrenheit became a better gaydar than gaydar itself. And maybe that’s why it disappeared almost overnight. What started out as gaydom’s subtle badge of honor instead morphed into a loud, screaming billboard that could come crashing down given a wrong gust of wind.

With this movement for bringing back the scents of old, maybe Fahrenheit will return along with Cool Water, Drakkar Noir and Colors by Benetton. Is that a comeback I smell in the air?

Sick Cycle Mind

2006-10-05T12:54:00.000+08:00

Sometimes the realization creeps up on me just like that. Like the time I was driving along Katipunan area one morning and I noticed a Korean dormitory, then two Koreans walking to school, then a Korean restaurant and suddenly I realized, oh my gosh I’m in the middle of a Koreanovella! Or that one evening while driving home, I passed by a particular intersection in Marikina City, an intersection I pass through every single day on my way home. But at that particular moment I suddenly realized how the intersection was so clean and well lit; to think that the intersection looked the same an evening before!

I tune things out while driving. Often it’s the landscape that I take for granted; I end up not noticing changes. Or I take note of them but a millisecond later I shove them to the back of my mind. But after a while they break free and suddenly I’m realizing clearly what I’ve noticed subconsciously before.

Last night as I was driving along EDSA on my way home I realized just how many motorcycles were on the road. It was actually irritating. I have nothing against motorcycles per se; in fact, although I don’t know how to ride a motorcycle I would like to be able to eventually. But a lot of them weave carelessly in and out of vehicles, and many of the cyclists don’t wear proper headgear. Then there are those who drive too slow but refuse to move to one side to let you pass.

I think motorcycles should be banned from major highways, or else make a separate lane just for motorcycles. Will Pinoys follow that rule?

Sigh.

For now, I’ll just endure those weaving, swerving motor-sigh-cles. Or maybe I should just drive them back to my subconscious so that they won’t bother me again.

First Day Hay Naku

2006-10-03T16:02:00.000+08:00

As someone who is in advertising and who used to work for a network, I decided to watch the movie First Day High more out of curiosity than anything. After all, I’m not a big fan of any of the cast members (although I thought Geoff Eigenmann was the cutest guy on TV during pre-Milby days). I was curious to find out if a product (Rexona) was able to successfully translate their ad campaign into a unique below-the-line merchandising material, and to see if the final material helped enhance the brand image. Certainly this isn’t the first time that a product used a movie as an advertising tool—Close-Up toothpaste has done it before also with ABS-CBN Films/Star Cinema. But Rexona’s “First Day High” campaign has been one of the most thorough and seamless in its execution, and is a great template for future full campaigns.

Having said that, let’s turn to the latest merchandising material in this campaign. Did this grand effort work? To answer that, we must bear in mind that the final measure is not an increase in deodorant sales, but more on enhancing the image of the product. Ultimately the question can only be answered one way: if the movie works, then the whole effort works. Good movie equals good image that will halo on the product.

Is the movie any good? Grade: F.

The script is shoddy. The direction is sophomoric. The movie thinks it’s being hip and witty but it’s not. The acting ranges from amateurish to downright awkward. Wait, I’m being kind; the acting can be painful to watch.

Kim Chiu actually pulled off a difficult trick of making a cliché character seemed more interesting than as written. Maja Salvador reminded me of a young Jolina Magdangal; if she can tone down her effort-ful acting, she can be a very effective comedienne. At least Jason Abalos didn’t try too hard in essaying his character, sparing the viewers from an affected performance.

Which leaves us with two of the better-looking boys in the cast. Here we see the cinematic equivalent of math’s inverses: the better the looks, the worse the acting. Geoff gets by with posing; meanwhile the range of his facial expressions is best described as Botoxian.

Sayang si Gerald Anderson. He registers well on-camera, having a pleasant aura. But he can’t act and can’t even speak straight Filipino. We already have a Sam Milby, so do we really need another good-looking guy who’s limited to doing English-speaking roles?

The movie seemed to target a specific market—Rexona’s brand managers. Duh. Which made me wonder—how much involvement did clients have in making this movie? Did they have final script approval, or were they just FYI’ed? Because ideally I think clients should stay away from the filmmaking process as much as directors and producers shouldn’t be allowed to create a formula for deodorants. Let the experts do their job. If clients dipped their hands into the making of this film, then they should also bear the brunt of the blame for this failure of a film. If this was Star Cinema’s way of bending backwards to please client, they should stop making movies and start doing commercials instead.

If I were Rexona’s brand manager, I’d take several cases of my product and apply them on this movie.

The Fall Of Manila

2006-09-30T16:36:00.000+08:00

Thursday, Sept. 28

The night before there were warnings already—Typhoon Milenyo would hit Metro Manila directly at around noon the next day. But we had a pre-production meeting at 9am Thursday for a shoot on Saturday. So storm or no storm the meeting pushed through. In the middle of the pre-prod the typhoon knocked the Luzon power grid down, plunging Metro Manila into darkness.

After the meeting we moved to Rockwell Mall for lunch. But we still had to go back to the office. Waiting for our service we watched nonchalantly as Milenyo battered the Nestle building. When we were pulling out of Rockwell the tent flew and crashed right in front of us. Had we been a few seconds earlier the tent would have smashed on our side.

We got to the office at the height of the storm. I was at the corridor when I heard the walls creaking. It was the building swaying in the wind. It was sooo cool. Instead of freaking me out I was actually assured because now I know we’d survive a strong quake.

By 3pm things had already quieted down.

When we stepped out of the office at around 7:30pm to look for dinner only the restaurants on People’s Support were fully lit, drawing people in droves. Walking around the block, we saw the streets littered with leaves and branches and guard posts thrown around. The whole thing felt apocalyptic, like I was expecting zombies to start appearing from the darkness. After dinner I called home. My brother said the power came back on at around 8:30pm.

We left the office at around 10:30pm. Along EDSA north-bound a huge billboard had fallen towards the street. On my way home I saw so many fallen trees; some I never realized were there because I took them for granted.

When I reached our village, the whole place was dark. There were no trees on the streets but the power was off. When I got to our street, lo and behold—the streetlights were blazing. Lucky us our street is connected to a grid that was not down.

While our street looked so normal, the rest of the metro looked broken and bowed.

Friday, Sept. 29

Seen in the light of day, our street wasn’t spared of Milenyo’s fury; it’s just that the darkness helped hide the damage. The trees were all bent and askew due to the strong winds.

Everyone in the office was complaining about how they had no water or electricity; word was that certain areas would be in that state for the next 5 days. Inside I was gloating: Go, Marikina, go! The city in the pink of health, says our mayor’s tagline.

My theory is that the valley helped blunt the typhoon’s full force. The Sierra Madres on one side and the city buildings on the other side blocked the winds. Whatever. We’re still standing.

The billboards though aren’t. A couple of really huge ones fell, causing massive traffic jams along EDSA. Thank god when we were traveling from Rockewll to the office no billboard fell on us. I could imagine the tabloid headline the next day: Advertising folks killed by advertising!

Saturday, Sept. 30

Slowly the metro is rebuilding itself. Most areas in the business district of Makati now have power back on; the traffic lights are working again. Fallen trees are being cut and cleared away. Life goes on.

I wonder if Bed is open tonight.

Ang Pagdadalaga ng Ang Pagdadalaga

2006-09-30T00:37:00.000+08:00

Is it just my imagination or does the re-mastered Ang Pagdadalaga Ni Maximo Olivero have new scenes in it? It sure looked like it when I watched it at SM sometime this week.

The re-mastering made several previously dark scenes a lot clearer, and not just visually. I’ve seen this movie thrice already. But this time there were details I saw for the first time, and scenes previously seen suddenly seemed to have new meaning. I didn’t realize that Maximo burned his brother’s t-shirt; I mean, I got that thanks to the dialogue at a later scene but I never realized that the movie actually showed Victor the policeman seeing Maximo burning the evidence.

And did they also rework the soundtrack? It too seems sharper than the previous versions. Ambient noises were now clearer, so it really helped add to the atmosphere of the whole movie.

Watching it for the third time was the charm; it was more moving now that I was seeing it—as in really seeing it. When Maximo whistled along with Victor towards the end, I realized only then that it was the closest the two came to kissing one another. Touching movie indeed.

If you haven’t seen Ang Pagdadalaga Ni Maximo Olivero on its third—and technically best—incarnation, then shame on you. This version is Maximo in full bloom. Watch it before it gets too old.

I Have Always Been A Storm

2006-09-28T16:30:00.000+08:00

It’s 1:20pm, and Typhoon Milenio (who the hell thinks of these names?!) is wreaking havoc on the city. We’re still in the office preparing for a pitch. We’re on the 20th floor and the whole building is fucking swaying. I first noticed it at our hallway—I could hear the walls creaking. I placed my hand on the walls—the whole building was moving. Cool!

We’re in the conference room; outside the rain has subsided into a drizzle. On the way here I saw huge trees uprooted all over Makati; plus I saw on two separate occasions two motorcycles lying in the middle of the road. I regret not bringing my camera today.

I love stormy weather.

McVIE’s TOP 10 (for the week of 18-24 Sept. 2006)

2006-09-25T12:17:00.000+08:00

The following are the songs that were on repeat-play the whole week last week in my iPod.

10. Crazy by Gnarls Barkley – Still crazy after all these weeks for that song. But it’s on the way out now.

9. Gone Til November by Wyclef Jean – Old song that I immediately liked the first time I heard it. It’s only now that I was able to download a copy on MP3.

8. Lawyers In Love by Jackson Browne – Again another old song downloaded. I missed this song; I was never able to buy the album when it first came out, and I can’t find it on CD anywhere here. I love the guitar and drums on this song.

7. Batang-Bata Ka Pa by Sugarfree – When Ebe sings, “batang-bata ka pa” repeatedly towards the end in his plaintive high-pitched voice, it always kills me.

6. I’m The Man Who Murdered Love by XTC – Love the lyrics.
There’ll be no more pain from broken hearts
And no more lovers to be torn apart
Before you throw me in your dungeon dark
Your honour, they’ll be putting statues up in every park

I’m the man who murdered love
Yeah, what do you think to that?

So dear public I’m here to confess
That I’m the one who freed us from this mess
Love won’t be calling at your address
‘Cause what you never had you never miss, I guess

5. Screwed by Paris Hilton – This is an interesting song. At first I thought, hey this is new for Paris: she sounds like a girl who concedes that she’s on the losing end of a relationship. “Boy meets girl and she falls much harder than him,” and so she’s screwed. But then later on I realized that the title has a double meaning: “Tonight, tonight, you’re gonna turn down the lights / And give me a little more room just to prove it to you.” By the time she’s jauntily singing, “I’m screwed, I’m screwed” in the fadeout, I was laughing my head off.

4. Haru (Widelife Club Mix) by Widelife – I fell instantly in love with the song when I first heard it played in Bed. It took me a while to get the artist and title. It’s 10 minutes long, but it never fails to get my pulse racing and my feet moving.

3. Losing My Mind by Liza Minelli and Pet Shop Boys – Probably one of the gayest collaborations of all-time, topped only by k.d. lang and Andy Bell’s duet of “Enough Is Enough (No More Tears).”

2. Hey U by Basement Jaxx – Super-infectious and silly. It’s the perfect happy music for driving.

1. Nothing In This World by Paris Hilton – Paris’ second single is mindless fun. Light in lyrics yet heavy on the beat, it’s a piece of pop fluff that’s easy on the ears and totally disposable. Plus the video is actually fun to watch.

Paris Is Calling

2006-09-22T19:42:00.000+08:00

Courage is admitting to the world that I bought…

(dramatic pause)

…Paris Hilton’s album!

(Insert gasps, snickers, hoots or—dare I assume?—applause here, whichever matches your reaction.)

Okay, you done already? Good.

Foolishness is coming up with a review of it.

Okay, let’s think of this as an intellectual exercise. (God, I can’t believe I used the words “Paris Hilton” and “intellectual exercise” in the same entry.) So here goes.

* * * * *

Paris Hilton is one of those celebrities whose popularity is based more on ubiquitous media presence than talent. Right now she’s gained enough popularity—or notoriety, depending on who you’re talking to—to be considered as an “it girl” (lower case intentional) of the moment. But the clock is ticking rapidly. So what’s a girl like Paris to do?

Someone must have told her, “It ain’t over ‘til the rich bitch sings.” Paris, her self-titled debut, is a minor triumph of production, canny choice of material, and slick marketing. Welcome the vacuum-packed Paris Hilton! This album is supposed to transform her into a recording star. But listen closely to the album, and you’ll know right away that the real stars here are the producers and the songs—Paris is just the voice they hired to sing them. Did I say sing? There’s no way of knowing that. Before listening to the album I was wondering what kind of act Paris will follow. Will she be like Paula Abdul—not too talented singer, but with songs that have excellent production values? Midway through the album I was wondering if she’s more like Milli Vanilli—is she just a great pretender?

But back to the songs: there’s one for any demographic and genre. There’s the reggae-infused first single, “Stars Are Blind.” There are two funky-lites that’s reminiscent of early Britney, “Turn It Up” and “Turn You On”, complete with breathless delivery and come-hither lyrics like “don’t get so excited / cuz I might turn you on.” Want to hit the pop princess market? “Nothing In This World” mimics early Hillary Duff or Lindsay Lohan. For the rednecks, there’s the Western-infused “Not Leaving With Out You” complete with slide guitar—how very Shania Twain. How about going urban? “Fighting Over Me” features Jadakiss & Fat Joe. And then there’s “Screwed,” a guitar-pop-dance track that sounds very Roxette, all the way to the catchy sing-along chorus.

And they even manage a surprise for the older generation. In a strange case of marketing reversal, she has one song that’s targeted to an older audience. “I Want You” samples horns from “Grease” sung by Frankie Valli; people of my generation will get a kick out of it. Unfortunately the song is disappointingly flat; after the first giddy rush of excitement, the song fails to build up and just limply flatlines towards the end.

Oh and she also sings two ballads.

For me the biggest misstep is her remake of Rod Stewart’s “Do Ya Think I’m Sexy.” There her vocal limitations are laid bare. The song’s true power lies in Rod’s gruff, teasing, spirited vocals. In contrast Paris’ breathless delivery lacks oomph; she sounds like she’s simpering. The song looses steam pretty fast.

Of course it’s possible that her youthful minions have no idea at all of Rod’s original version, and so they’re thinking, “What a cool song! It so fits her!” Maybe the best way to appreciate Paris is to listen to it in a vacuum. How fitting.

The Play’s The Thing

2006-09-22T15:00:00.000+08:00

Last Saturday I was asked, along with four other TA alumni, to be a judge in Starting Five—Iba ‘To, the production showcase of the TA applicants’ theater workshop. It consisted of five short productions showcasing the acting prowess of TA’s new recruits—as well as the directing capabilities of five senior members and the playwriting efforts of two members. It was a very interesting set of productions. I was particularly struck by how dedicated and passionate the new kids were. And the level of production was a lot better over-all compared to previous years. All these bode well for TA in the coming seasons.

Our unanimous choice for best play was “Kulay Rosas Ang Dapit-Hapon Minsan Sa Isang Taon” while “Trabaho Soliloquies” and “Mga Guhit Ni Magdalena” alternated between second and third place.

I will explain the reason behind my choices. I speak only for myself and not for the other judges. Besides, a unanimous vote means the winner deserved to win hands-down. So anything I say here will not change our decision.

For me, “Rosas” was the runaway winner. I would even give the two leads, Exzell Macomb and Regina de Vera, the awards for best actor and actress respectively, while JJ Ignacio gets my vote for best direction. “Rosas” rose above the rest because of material, over-all execution and over-all impact.

“Rosas” is a foreign play adapted to Filipino by a fellow TA alumnus, the late RJ Leyran. Of the five scripts it is the one that’s been tried and tested. In fact the competition clearly showcased the importance of having great material—the better the material, the better the over-all production.

The subject matter of “Rosas” is really nothing new, but then so are the ones of “Soliloquies” and “Magdalena.” Boy and girl meet cute, fall in love but cannot be together, continue to meet cute in their idyllic hideaway (in the Manila Zoo), until reality steps in (in the form of the wife) and their fantasy world is brought to a bloody end. What lifts this piece is the tightrope act between the characters of Macario Sebastian III and the nameless Babae, as efficiently written by the playwright and as ably essayed by Exzell and Regina.

Exzell’s Macario was alternately sweet and scary; one couldn’t be sure if he’s really telling the truth or if he’s lying all along. To make a possible stalker appear sympathetic requires a delicate balancing act, and Exzell successfully—though sweating too profusely—pulled it off. And Regina matched him line per line; her Babae was believably naïve. The interplay between the two was a joy to behold. The two made us feel the push-and-pull of want and wariness; it was engaging to watch the two circle around one another, coming closer, pulling back, only to come closer again.

Also, the beauty of “Rosas” was that the blocking did not call attention to itself (unless on purpose) but served the story fully. “Soliloquies” and “Magdalena” had busier blockings, but their efforts showed; in contrast, the blocking of “Rosas” seemed seamless.

But for me what really clinched it for “Rosas” was the entrance of Macario’s wife. The premise of “Rosas” already had a hint of the unreal—how come she agreed to continue seeing him under curious circumstances? However Exzell and Regina were playing it real, so it was easy for me to believe in the situation. So when Macario’s wife Rose entered in all her surreal glory, it totally floored us judges. You see, Rose was played by a man playing a woman, but the production didn’t bother disguising it at all. In fact, it reveled in the sight—tacky wig, barely disguised dark manly skin, badly painted lipstick, and a man-voice pitched to an awkward and false falsetto (John Rabelas was inspired casting). That lifted the play to a whole new level of surreal. Now that’s impact.

And more importantly, it was a totally unexpected choice that did not feel gimmicky at all. In fact, in a twisted way it made sense (no wonder Macario couldn’t tell Babae about his wife). And if that weren’t enough: upon spotting Macario with Babae, Rose turns around in one big, unnecessary, unwieldy but ultimately fitting scoop, steps up on a bench and nonchalantly shoots her husband dead. How much more unexpected and surreal can one get?

“Trabaho Soliloquies” is about four individuals waiting for the results of a job interview; all of them are gunning after the same position. “Mga Guhit ni Magdalena” is about the oppression of women, as seen thru the eyes of three women from different generations.

“Soliloquies” and “Magdalena” are additive inverses of one another. Structurally they’re alike; both showcase ensembles with moments of soliloquies for every character. But while the former is light and funny, the latter is dark and serious.

“Magdalena” is the better executed of the two: the acting—both individual and ensemble—is more consistently excellent over-all, and the direction and blocking are more inventive. Ultimately it suffers because of the material. There’s nothing new being said; plus the play gives away its insights too early on. And while I applaud BJ’s direction over-all (his was the most inventive of the three), the onstage disrobing and faux-rape are, to quote Ate Vi, “been there, been that.”

“Soliloquies” also had nothing new to say; the joy in watching it is to see the actors pull off the comedy. Unfortunately comedy’s a lot harder than drama, and it showed. The acting was more uneven here, and while I applaud the effort and energy they bring to their roles, the individual actors weaknesses were more evident when they broke off into soliloquies. Still, their enthusiasm and discipline were engaging and infectious. And Trency Caga-anan’s was sure-footed and energetic. “A” for effort.

All three deserved the applause they got, but only “Rosas” managed to make my jaw drop—and ache because of all that laughing. For managing to charm, impress and ultimately surprise us jaded judges (and for making the line “Bear!” extremely funny), the play deserved the top spot.

Darkness Falls

2006-09-22T12:22:00.000+08:00

After Sibak (1994) and Burlesk King (1999), director Mel Chionglo comes up with his third movie on macho dancers, 2006’s Twilight Dancers. Is it a case of third time’s the charm, or three strikes you’re out?

Dear Direk, let this movie be the twilight of peep-flicks disguised as social commentaries. Oh sure, the issues are updated. But still, when you train your camera onto those gyrating boys in their skimpy underwear and caress them longingly with your lens, one cannot help but wonder: what’s the difference between watching this movie and watching the real thing?

And when you go to the issues portion of the movie, you just show them but often don’t delve deeper. Your movie looks like a smorgasbord of appetizers. Do you need to tackle that many issues in one movie? Maisingit lang ba yung mga isyu tulad ng strikes, gun smuggling and institutionalized corruption?

Good thing Tyron Perez is engaging enough to watch. He is easy on the eyes and interestingly, registers very lightly on screen. This serves the movie well since it is he who threads the whole movie; put someone too intense or “heavy” and he’ll bog down the movie. And he really tries his darn best in this role; the effort sometimes shows though. But overall he manages to pull off a believable character who despite his background still has a level of innocence and naivety about him.

Allen Dizon has cornered the market for aging-sexy-actors-who-can-still-disrobe-but- thanks-to-age-and-experience-can-act-a-little-better-now. Just a little. Still Papa-licious for those who like their men a bit more mature and with heft, Allen’s character is supposedly a hot-headed guy trying his best to change his ways. Unfortunately his performance is too laid-back; his occasional outbursts make him look more sullen rather than ill tempered.

Lauren Novero is yummy to look at if you’re into swarthy “er”-types. Period. Too bad he only disrobes once. But he also has a playing-with-myself scene that stops short of masturbation.

Ana Capri acts up a storm as the mute wife of Allen Dizon. Acts up a storm even when only a drizzle is required. Her hands are incredibly all over the place—don’t mutes who do sign language have this economy of movement in their gestures? And what’s with all the grunting?

Joel Lamangan plays another one of those closeted-but-not-really local politicians with a penchant for cross-dressing and crossing off enemies permanently.

Was this film shot on digital? Was the cinematography purposely murky, like the world inhabited by macho dancers? Or is that more a lack of budget? And don’t get me started on the camera work. In the climactic scene wherein Cherrypie Pecache points a gun at one of the guys, the camera—obviously hand-held—is positioned near the ground. Then inexplicably it moves up, walks closer towards and to the right of the actors, and then settles down again. It’s as if the cameraman got tired of squatting and shifted positions arbitrarily. What the hell was that for?

Ah yes, Cherrypie Pecache. Thank god she’s in the movie. For the first time we have a strong female baddie in a film like this. She can convey the danger and the steel under her seemingly harmless exterior. But, but, BUT. There’s still something lacking. Is it intensity? Ruthlessness? She still looks like Cherrypie playing yet another character.

Direk, this whole macho dancing genre has grown tiring under your gaze. No profoundly new insight is presented, nor anything unexpected happens (one can spot the eventual murder of the union leader as soon as you gave him dialogue, for chrissakes).

Stop-dance ka na, direk.

Feeling Couped

2006-09-20T10:04:00.000+08:00

In Thailand a coup d’etat is headline news for CNN and the BBC. In the Philippines a coup is a social event and an excuse for the everyday man to go on vacation. And the way our clients have been pushing us the past three weeks with work, work, WORK, part of me wishes for some socio-political-faux-military-quasi-religious “event” to happen. It’s just an “event” really, because no one is overthrown and nothing is changed. But that gives us an excuse to tell client, go screw yourself and your deadlines, I ain’t doin’ it cuz there’s a coup right now. And I’ll head straight to the mall to watch Mel Chonglo’s latest movie on macho dancers, Twilight Dancers. Or Channing Tatum (hot, hot, HOT!) in Step Up.

Ringing In The Years

2006-09-19T22:41:00.000+08:00

Last Friday evening my phone died on me. Well, not really my phone since it’s actually Leigh’s. But she lent me her old phone because my real phone, the Sony Ericsson Z600, went zonkers a few weeks ago. Leigh’s was supposed to have been an interim phone while I looked for a replacement. Now that one is gone too.

Which got me thinking about my phones in the past. If guys have ex-boyfriends, I have ex-phones. Presenting my callboys:

My first one was a Motorola Microtac.

I got mine when they first came out. He was cute during his time. He was a lot less bulky than the first cellphones, those big unwieldy ones that couldn’t fit in your pocket. The Microtac could fit in your pants pocket—if you’re wearing loose slacks. Any pants tighter than those and you’d invite remarks like, “Is that a cellphone or are you happy to see me?” My Microtac lasted a little over a year. I remember I had to have my line cut because I couldn’t afford one anymore; I had resigned from my work and was planning to go full-time into theater.

My second phone was a Nokia 7110.

I wanted a phone with a sliding cover that protected the keys. I always preferred cellphones that kept the keys either hidden or protected. Plus I had just watched the very first Matrix movie and there Morpheus contacted Mr. Anderson a.k.a. Neo via a Nokia phone similar to the 7110 except it was black. (Thanks to that phone, the movie now appears so dated.) That one lasted longer, about 4 years.

My third phone was a Sony Ericsson Z600.

This one stayed with me the longest, around 6 years. And even then, it was only during its last year that it exhibited signs of old age; the phone would hang once in a while, and the audio would sometimes drop out. (It was the constant flipping of the clamshell that caused the contact to loosen up.) It was clearly my favorite; I collected about 12 different shell designs so I can mix-and-match my phone with my wardrobe, and for a while I actually did that every day—for a total of three days. By the fourth day I just got bored.

This is what Leigh’s Sony Ericsson T630 looks like.

But now it just hangs. Whenever you switch it on, it never gets pass the SE logo forming before it hangs. I swear it sucks.

So now I’m reduced to making do with my sister’s spare Nokia 3530.

I used to be ambidextrous when I had my personal SE and my office Nokia, but now I’ relearning the Nokia set-up. Besides, the 3530’s keys would test the patience of even a rabid Nokia user.

But what I really want now is another clamshell-type of phone, or one with a sliding cover that protects the keys. I dislike that extra step of switching on the “keys locked” pad. And since I’m more partial to Sony Ericsson, I’m now eyeing the Z610i. Me covet!

I Can’t Wait To Hear…

2006-09-17T00:57:00.000+08:00

(from ew.com)

Love, The Beatles

Sir George Martin, now a sprightly 80, glides into a small room at London's Abbey Road studios and takes a seat beside his son Giles. Just down the hall is the famous Studio 2, where, 40-odd years ago, Sir George and the Beatles created some of the greatest records ever made. The Martins—36-year-old Giles is also a producer, with a CV including Kate Bush and Elvis Costello—are here to put the final touches on an extraordinary new Beatles project, a so-called ''mash-up'' album called Love. The disc takes elements from more than 130 original Beatles tracks and meshes them together into a ''panorama of sound,'' as Sir George puts it.

Giles hits ''play'' on the console in front of him, and out blasts the Beatles as you've never heard them. The basic track of ''Lady Madonna,'' for example, has been superimposed onto drums and percussion from the White Album's ''Why Don't We Do It in the Road?'' and ''Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da.'' Somewhere in this stew is Eric Clapton's guitar solo from ''While My Guitar Gently Weeps,'' plus other ambient noises and sounds. The effect is thrilling and contemporary. ''We thought, if the Beatles were together today, '' says Sir George, explaining the record's ethos, ''what would they be playing? That was always in our minds.''

Purists may regard the concept of Love as bizarre—if not a desecration of the Fabs' legacy. But the album has the support of all four Beatles custodians: Paul, Ringo, Yoko Ono, and Olivia Harrison. According to Sir George, Paul told him that '''you could be more adventurous still, y'know....''' When Ringo heard the finished version of ''Octopus's Garden,'' ''his jaw dropped.''

Love started as a tie-in to Cirque du Soleil's ambitious Las Vegas show of the same name, but the potential to create a stand-alone album was always clear. Although the new versions of tracks like ''Get Back,'' ''Being for the Benefit of Mr Kite!,'' ''All You Need Is Love,'' and ''Eleanor Rigby'' were manipulated with state-of-the-art digital technology, Giles stresses that the Beatles' artistry has been preserved. ''I would never try to put Ringo in perfect time,'' he says. ''It would sound horrible.''

Two More

2006-09-16T23:56:00.000+08:00

Okay so I lied. Well not exactly lied, since when I first listed my seven songs of the moment, I hadn’t downloaded yet the two songs below. But this morning I successfully, illegally downloaded the following songs and now I’m playing them on repeat ad nauseam. Why? So I’ll get bored with them faster.

What two songs are these?

Dap-dap-dap-dap-di-da-dap

That’s Paris Hilton’s brain-lodging doo-wooping in “Nothing In This World”. My favorite line is in the oh-so-sing-along-able refrain: “I can do what she can do so much better.”

The second song is so catchy, I dare anyone with a sense of rhythm to stay still while this song plays. It’s Basement Jaxx’s “Hey U”, a heady, foot-stomping, gypsy music-infused number. You have to hear it to believe it.

That’s all. (said in a very Miranda The-Devil-Wears-Prada kind of way).

List-en

2006-09-15T17:27:00.000+08:00

List seven songs you are into right now. No matter what the genre, whether they have words, or even if they’re not any good, but they must be songs you’re really enjoying now. Post these instructions in your LiveJournal along with your seven songs.

In alphabetical order:

1. Batang-bata Ka Pa – Sugarfree
2. Crazy – Gnarls Barkley
3. Doo Bidoo – Kamikazee
4. Haru (club mix) – Widelife
5. Maneater – Nelly Furtado
6. No More Drama – Mary J. Blige
7. SexyBack – Justin Timberlake

Actually I’m into Madonna’s live album, I’m Going To Tell You A Secret, Beyonce’s album B’Day, Paul Van Dyk’s album The Politics of Dancing, and Conversations, the series of podcast interviews from Salon.com (the interview with Daniel Handler a.k.a. Lemony Snicket is particularly hilarious and fun to listen to again and again).

I don’t play tag.

Tie The (k)Not!

2006-09-14T16:31:00.000+08:00

Before I was just dedma about them, but now I love Brangelina:

(from Fridae.com)

Brad Pitt won't marry Angelina until same-sex couples can

Hollywood actor Brad Pitt has said in an interview released last Friday that he will not marry Angelina Jolie, the mother of his newborn daughter until all gay couples in the US can legally tie the knot. “Angie and I will consider tying the knot when everyone else in the country who wants to be married is legally able," the 42-year-old actor told Esquire magazine for its October issue.

Last year Academy Award Winner Charlize Theron told reporters she would not marry boyfriend Stuart Townsend until gay and lesbian marriage was legalized.

What a great excuse not to tie the knot.

“Shallowww… is it me you’re looking for?”

2006-09-13T11:52:00.000+08:00

I’m wearing my brand new pair of Rockport waterproof black leather shoes for the first time. I have a couple of major presentations today to client, and I had only 5 hours of sleep and I was harassed the whole day yesterday so I decided to wear something nice and comfortable. Shit, I’ve been harassed with work the past three weeks and counting! Clients are scrambling for their last-quarter sales push, and they’ve kept me very busy. Which I suppose is a good thing, because I’d rather be harassed professionally not personally. And so far my personal has been peachy-keen. Going by “The Devil Wears Prada” philosophy, I should be fired soon. And speaking of Prada and the devil, I subscribe to the notion that looking good outside—even if it’s just the shoes—will make one feel good inside. Not that my Rockport pair is stunning enough to kick Prada off the shelf; in fact, it’s really quite an ordinary pair of black leather shoes. But I looove the Rockport comfort.

Susme, ambabao ng episode na ‘to! Ambabao! Babao! BABAO! Juliuuuuus! (Forget Tin-tin!)

Ask Me A Silly Question…

2006-09-12T10:24:00.000+08:00

While chatting on the net:

* * * * *

HIM: “Am I pangit?”

ME: “ANO KA BA NAMAN?! Anong klaseng tanong yan?

OO NAMAN, HAHAHAHA!
Seriously, no you are not. You’re not guwapo, but “not guwapo” doesn’t mean you’re pangit.”

* * * * *

Anyone who asks me is really asking for it, hahaha.

But seriously, I was being honest. Isn’t it sad that for most people, “not handsome” equals “ugly” but “not ugly” is rightly seen as “not necessarily handsome.”

I swear, we uglies of the world should unite!

Paris Is Burning

2006-09-11T13:21:00.000+08:00

Gasp! was the collective reaction when Paris Hilton’s first single, “Stars Are Blind” hit the airwaves. It shocked people that she was, er, singing; even more shocking was the fact that the song was decently listenable. On hindsight it is a cannily produced and cannily released first single—it’s very difficult to go wrong with reggae, and the production was slick enough so that Paris sounded like she knew what she was doing. Okay, okay, so it really sounded like she had a lot of electronic help, but they managed to not make it that obvious. (Having a sexy—albeit uninspired—music video also helped add buzz.)

But this morning I was shocked when I heard on the radio her second single, aptly titled “Nothing In This World.” Nothing in this world prepared me for it—the song actually sounds good! Her singing seems surer and more confident here. It plays like a very decent Hillary Duff song, or an early Kelly Clarkson album track.

What’s going on here? Is Paris on her way to become an honest-to-goodness recording act (notice how I purposely used the words “recording” and “act”)? Is this a function of diminished expectations from the listening audience? Methinks Paris, like Jessica Simpson, is perfecting the dumb-blonde brand approach to self-marketing: the lower the expectations, the more wow-reaction they can elicit from the audience. In which case, they—if not their handlers—are actually brilliant strategists.

Introducing Paris’ latest song, Delamar (of RX93.1’s Chico & Delamar fame) said, “She’s here to stay, get used to it.” Yes, stars are blind and nothing in this world has meaning anymore. The Apocalypse is officially here.

Things That Made Me Go, Hmmm!

2006-09-11T08:59:00.000+08:00

The men’s toilet on the 20th floor of our building is situated at the end of a long corridor. Because there are four different tenants on the same floor (including our company), the bathroom is a fairly busy enough place, with people coming and going.

Around Tuesday last week, I was brushing my teeth right after lunch; my officemate was also brushing his teeth at the sink to my left. When I bent forward to spit into the sink, I felt a gentle gust of wind brush my right ear. I looked up immediately; to my right is already the wall. I stared at the ceiling, looking for an air conditioner vent. My officemate noticed the puzzled look on my face and my looking around, and simply said: “Hindi. Meron.”

I immediately knew what he meant. You see, that particular officemate of mine is extra-sensitive to things supernatural; he can sense a presence more acutely than most.

“Really?” I asked. “Where?”

“He’s now standing by the door. He likes to do that a lot—blow on someone’s ear.”

I stared at the door. There was no one. I couldn’t even feel or sense anything. “What does he look like?” I asked.

“An old man in black.”

“How come only now?” I asked. “Whenever I’m here by myself nothing happens.”

He shrugged. “I dunno.”

I finished brushing my teeth. “Well, at least I can now say I’ve experienced a physical manifestation of an unearthly presence,” I told my officemate then quickly stepped out of the bathroom before he could.

* * * * *

Friday evening I arrived home very late to find the lock to my door partially stuck. It would only go in half of the way; if I forced the door closed, I’d be stuck inside my room. My towel, which I often leave on the chair near my bed, was missing. I thought, someone who came in and took the towel—most probably to have it washed—must have turned the knob too hard and got the lock stuck. Since it was past midnight and everyone else was asleep, I decided to just leave things as is.

Next morning the lock was still partially stuck. I went to my mom who was in the kitchen and asked her, “The lock on my door is stuck. Do you know who went into my room?” My mom went to check out the problem for herself. My sister was watching TV in the living room; I decided to stay there instead.

Several minutes later my mom came back to the living room and said, “Now your door cannot be locked shut.” Apparently my mom forced the door closed—and trapped herself inside my room. She called for help to no avail, because we couldn’t hear her above the noise of the TV. Good thing she saw a cutter and a pen on my table; using them she was able to MacGyver her way out. Unfortunately in the process, the lock was now stuck all the way inside. Even if one shut the door, a gust of wind can easily swing it open.

What a hassle, I told myself, but because it was a lazy Saturday morning I decided I’d just buy a new lock later that afternoon. So I watched TV for a few more minutes, checked my email then headed for my room to inspect the damage.

The door was closed. I turned the knob. It was fine. The lock was unstuck and working properly. I tested it a couple of times. It was as if last night and this morning never happened.

I went back to my mom in the kitchen. “My lock is fixed now. Did you do anything to it?”

She shook her head. “When I left it, it was stuck way inside. And I’ve been here in the kitchen the whole time since.”

My sister was in the living room still watching TV. My younger brother was in his room. Neither of them would dare enter my room without asking permission first. My aunt was in the garage outside. That’s everyone accounted for.

I told my mom, “I think Daddy’s still fixing stuff around the house.” Mom just smiled and went back to cooking.

Blurring Lines With Words

2006-09-08T11:54:00.000+08:00

There’s a new term going around that may threaten metrosexual.

Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome heteroflexible.

Unfortunately I cannot claim ownership of the term. I came across it in someone else’s email; she in turn admitted that she just read that somewhere. So there.

But what’s funnier is another term she heard along with “heteroflexible.” The term is: “Bi now, gay later.”

TARUSH!
BONGGA WAGI!
PANALO KAH, MHAMHA!

Experiencing Jeff

2006-09-07T18:58:00.000+08:00

Now, isn’t Jeff Corwin cute?

The Great Gender Bender

2006-09-07T10:05:00.000+08:00

On 2009 it will be my high school batch’s 25th homecoming anniversary, which I suppose is a big deal because even if it’s still three years away plans are already afoot. But even with all these preparations, I believe it will be very difficult to top our 10th homecoming.

You see, during our 1994 homecoming we discovered that our all-male batch had turned co-ed!

The venue of the homecoming was at the high school auditorium. When it was almost time for the activities to start, a curvaceous woman sashayed towards the registration table. The guys who spotted her from afar started ribbing one another in anticipation and whispering: “Pare, who’s date is that?” The female registration staff manning the table thought to themselves, “Oh, her boyfriend or husband must be just parking the car and she just went ahead of him.”

When she reached the table, she breathlessly whispered, “Roman, section 4-D.” Jaws dropped, breathing stopped; there was a collective oh-my-god. Our Roman was now a Romana.

Apparently after college Roman started the process of changing his gender, with his parents’ consent and financial support. And so six years later she pulled off the sweetest revenge: she managed to turn on the very same guys who in high school were turned off by his effeminate manners and his homosexuality. In fact, the running joke that night was guys asking one another, “So, did you lust after her before you found out she was Roman?” “Really? Well, (insert name of guy) was turned on by her after he found out she was Roman, hahaha!”

Now imagine topping that! Come out to the batch? That’s oh sooo yesterday. The only way I can think of topping that is if Romana comes to our 25th reunion—as Roman again! If changing of gender were as easy as changing one’s mind.

Her impact so stunned everyone that, deep into the evening’s activities, when another curvaceous woman in a stunning red dress and plunging neckline entered the venue, people started asking one another, “Uh-oh, is she a batchmate of ours too?”

Turned out she was Jenine Desiderio, our entertainer for the night. Poor girl.

“Do I look like a drag queen to you or what, huh?!”

Crocodied

2006-09-05T09:32:00.000+08:00

Masaya ngayong ang lahat ng mga buwaya sa Kongreso.

Steve Irwin, a.k.a. Mr. Crocodile Hunter, died after a close encounter with a stingray that unfortunately had more sting than ray. When Steve swam too close on top of it, the stingray lashed out its tail in defense. The barb of the stingray—which can reach 10 inches long and is poisonous—hit his chest and plunged straight to his heart.

I’m not a particularly big fan of Steve Irwin; I find him alternately amusing and annoying. The man from Down Under is so over the top with his energy level that it’s tiring to watch him. Besides, Jeff Corwin is cuter and hunkier than him, and I don’t get tired watching Jeff. But I did feel sad when I heard the news. Steven Irwin may be the most recognized and the most vocal (literally) animal conservation advocate around. Say what you will about his too-close-for-comfort stunts and his over-the-top commentaries; they made him a high-profile celebrity and helped increased awareness about animal conservation.

Oh well. Now it’s Jeff Corwin’s time to shine and be the top banana amongst all these animal guys on TV.

Eight Days Equals One Lengthy Episodic Episode

2006-09-04T11:41:00.000+08:00

My dear viewers,

It has been more than a week (a week!) since I last posted an episode here in The McVie Show. Last week was hell week as far as work was concerned; it was a cruel reminder that I have a day job and it’s not writing about shonga people or the loss of Pluto or chenelyn chuvanes chikahan. Heck, this day job is what’s funding The McVie Show, hahaha. So yeah yeah blah blah whatever—at the end of the day, suck it up and take it like a man.

* * * * *

Speaking of shonga here’s a sign at the Chesca Clothes Shop in Glorietta:

I guess they wanted a sign they can still use after the sale, huh?

* * * * *

And I’ve decided to start compiling a list called Song Lyrics That Make McVie Go Hmmm. To start, here’s a line from one of my favorite acts, Erasure. This song isn’t one of their best, but it was a big hit here in the Philippines thanks to a particular dance step created for the song. Here’s the opening line of the Erasure song “Always”:

Open your eyes
I see
Your eyes are open

Hmmm.

On another level is Snow’s one-hit wonder, “Informer”:

Informer you no say daddy me Snow me I’ll go blame
A licky boom boom down

You likey “licky boom boom”? Me likely no likey.

* * * * *

For those of you who are fond of the alcoholic drink Tequila Rose, I was surprised to find out that they’ve recently repackaged it. Plus they’ve added two new flavors too.

Here’s the old bottle:

And here’s the new packaging and two new variants:

For the teetotalers in the audience, Tequila Rose is strawberry cream liqueur with tequila. Yumminess! I’ve seen the new bottles in Rustan’s but I’ve yet to see in stores here the two new flavors: Java Cream (Tequila Rose plus coffee) and Cocoa Cream (Tequila Rose plus chocolate). I’m intrigued—I can imagine strawberry and chocolate flavors mingling, but strawberry and coffee? Mmm! Yet another reason to get tipsy on Friday and Saturday evenings!

* * * * *

For those who are fans of Lemony Snicket’s A Series Of Unfortunate Events (the books, not the movie), the thirteenth and last book will come out appropriately on Friday the 13th of October 2006. “The End: Book The Thirteenth” is quite the appropriate title. Plus one can’t help but notice the pun intended in the title—yes, one should book the thirteenth of October because that’s when book the thirteenth will go on sale.

It has been a great series; I don’t quite remember now how I stumbled on this series, but from the moment I flipped through the opening pages of book 1 I knew I would fall in love with the series. It is unrelentingly unfortunate and funny.

The author Daniel Handler insists that a main theme of this series is how an attempt to put a narrative framework on events can lead to disappointment simply because there’s no narrative at all to begin with. Thus “The End” can actually end up with as many questions still left hanging. Mr. Handler obviously is not a big fan of closure; unfortunately, he may be right because Life isn’t always cooperative. There may be events in our lives wherein we must provide our own closure because if we wait for others to provide the closure, we may end up waiting in vain. Walking away, letting go, saying goodbye—those are actually empowering acts. “There’s no greater power than the power of goodbye” sang Madonna, and for once I think her Kabbalah lessons are paying off.

In his podcast interview on Salon.com Handler intriguingly mentioned that the very last word in the thirteenth book is “Beatrice”; for those in the know, Beatrice is the (dead) woman for whom the 13 books are dedicated to. Prior to the release of the last book, on Sept. 2006 they will come out with “The Beatrice Letter” which may or may not give clues to the mysteries surrounding the Baudelaire’s most unfortunate events.

With these two books the Baudelaire saga will come to an end. Or will they really? On October 2006, be prepared to say goodbye.

Suspension Of Disbelief

2006-08-27T18:58:00.000+08:00

I actually think this object is impractical, even inconvenient. However, whenever people see it, the first reaction it consistently elicits is delight. “Ooh, cool!” “Wow!” It gets them every time; the impress-factor surpasses any initial negative reaction.

Yes, that is a four-sided picture frame “floating” on air, thanks to (tah-dah!) magnets. See the circular globe on top and the three pinlights below? When the picture frame is placed in the right distance between them, the negation of the magnetic pulls on opposite ends results in the frame being “suspended” on thin air. You can even tap the frame lightly and it will spin for several minutes.

I gave Nelz & Norman a two-sided picture frame as a wedding gift. This one we’re giving to my uncle and aunt who’s celebrating their 20th wedding anniversary.

I discovered these magnetic picture frames and other magnet-related devices (a floating globe! a floating UFO!) in this shop in Eastwood appropriately called Magneato!

Better Translate Than Never

2006-08-27T18:27:00.000+08:00

Vhaklur-speak isn’t an exact science; no living “language” is. It’s always evolving at a rate faster than formal languages. It’s really a form of slang—a lot of it is connotation more than denotation.

Having said all that crap, let me try to translate as best as I can the phrase from the previous episode “Chuvah!” Maybe aspiring actors who want to use the monologue can use the following so that they can give meaning and “color” to the lines.

Again, this translation isn’t exact so feel free to adjust it according to your tastes.

Here goes:

“Sometimes we are eklabu (in love) with the chenelyn (idea) of falling in love; having the kemedu (excitement) of having or missing echoz (somebody). It’s alright to feel chorva (wanted) through other shomabels (people), but don’t get dependent on achieving tsimili ekek (happiness) by being with burirot (a boy/girlfriend). Chenelyn (Love) yourself first before making chorva (sharing) your life with somebody, because if you don’t, you will always eklabumbum (be searching) for the chinabels (others) that you think can make you chenez (happy). And in the end it will only make you chenez (love) yourself more. Charot by charot, keme by keme*. Haaay, very touching, ‘no?”

*Since the sentence structure is “X by X, Y by Y”, then mathematically speaking “X” can be anything and “Y” can be anything too. So feel free to just replace “charot” and “keme” with anything, to wit: “Moment by moment, day by day.” Or: “Inch by inch, throb by throb.” Or: “Suck by suck, dick by dick.” Or… oh, you get the point.

Outing Pluto

2006-08-25T00:53:00.000+08:00

In a dramatic turn of Galileic proportions, the International Astronomical Union (a “union”? are they the type who can go on strike?) has voted Pluto out of the solar system. Sorry, I don’t mean that they kicked Pluto out of orbit. The scientists have created a new set of criteria that further defines what is a planet. Now our solar system is officially composed of eight planets instead of nine because the IAU voted that Pluto isn’t a planet.

Scientists call it reclassification; I call it the American Idol effect. Somewhere in Disneyland, Mickey Mouse’s dog goes into deep depression.

Chuvah!

2006-08-24T16:18:00.000+08:00

Imagine a movie scene: a couple is sitting at a park bench, holding hands and looking at each other’s eyes. The guy leans closer to kiss the girl on the lips. The girl at first closes her eyes and purses her lips, ready to receive his, when suddenly she opens her eyes and quickly turns her head, moving her lips away from him. Sheepishly she looks up and sees the puzzled expression on his face. Then she says:

“Sometimes we are eklabu with the chenelyn of falling in love; having the kemedu of having or missing echoz. It’s alright to feel chorva through other shomabels, but don’t get dependent on achieving tsimili ekek by being with burirot. Chenelyn yourself first before making chorva your life with somebody, because if you don’t, you will always eklabumbum for the chinabels that you think can make you chenez. And in the end it will only make you chenez yourself more. Charot by charot, keme by keme. Haaay, very touching, ‘no?”

* * * * *

Now try saying that out loud in a serious, sincere manner. Better yet, use it as an audition piece.

(P.S. – Thanks to nikolaiparis for texting me the line.)

Imeldific

2006-08-23T15:03:00.000+08:00

Monday, Aug. 21, past 10pm, Greenbelt 3. My friend Katski and I were walking past People’s Palace. Earlier that evening we had several celebrity sightings already—Borgy M. and his model girlfriend, Ilac Diaz and Sam Oh, uhm… well, that’s it. Anyway, as I glanced into the window of People’s Palace, I saw the ultimate in celebrity sighting. As in, the ultimate. I pointed her out to Katski. Inside the oh-so-chi-chi restaurant, with her signature bouffant and all, was none other than the Former First Lady Imelda Marcos, holding court to a table full of, oh, I have no idea who they were.

Katski turned to me and said: “Dare. Go in and get her autograph.”

I snapped back: “Double-dare. Go in, walk straight up to her, point an upturned finger at her, then say, in a very Nora Aunor My brother is not a peeeg! sort of way, ‘Do you know what day it is today, huh? Do you remember why we are on holiday, huuuh?!’”

Katski balked: “Ay. I can’t, no way.”

I insisted: “Okay, how about I accompany you inside? Hindi ka nag-iisa. How appropriate. How very Ninoy.”

Unfortunately neither she nor I had the guts to pull it off. So we left the former Iron Butterfly and went for coffee instead.

Evil Laftir!

2006-08-21T20:40:00.000+08:00

“Remember Harry! ‘Love’ spelled backwards is ‘evol’!” – Harry Boyle’s vigilante neighbor Ralph

And “live” spelled backwards is “evil”.

At a party last Saturday my friends introduced me to the people I didn’t know as “an evil person.” I wasn’t quite sure whether they were joking or not, but we all know jokes are half-meant. It doesn’t really bother me if I am evil; mwhahahaha! What is really more bothersome is the fact that I’ve been unaware of this before. I guess being evil never really bothered me. Or perhaps I’ve always deluded myself into thinking that I am a morally normal person (“morally normal” meaning I am neither more moral or less moral than the average Jose).

But let’s pause for a while and examine myself. In general I do entertain lots of evil thoughts and have also said lots of things that, to put it kindly, are unkind to fellow human beings. I do delight in pointing out mistakes, foibles and stupid acts. And I have let loose words both written and spoken that are nasty and unkind; I revel in scathing humor that skewers the weak and the slow-witted.

I will fess up to all of the above. Does that make me evil? As defined by our catholic religion, yes. Evil intention (thinking) plus evil deed (talking) equals bingo! a one-way ticket to hell.

But I also noticed that I often stop short of doing an evil act that goes beyond talk. I’ve never plunged a knife into someone, nor have I ever put a bullet into someone’s head. I’ve never shoplifted nor stolen anything. I am evil but more with words than with action. If action speaks louder than words, then my kind of evil is… uhm, quieter? Duh.

Now I’m asking myself, why do I allow myself to think and talk evil? Maybe because it’s still a whole lot better to just think or talk evil but not act evil. Because if I did, there’d be a string of dead stupid drivers along EDSA today and I’d probably end up either in jail or dead on the road too. As it is, there are tens of “dead” stupid drivers with their cars “smashed” to pieces still running around the metro today, all blissfully unaware that I’d “murdered” them all in my mind. Or made fun of them here in The McVie Show.

Which reminds me, in fairness there’s not been a candidate for the Shonga Awards lately. Either stupid people have slowly been killing themselves or I’ve been lucky enough to have avoided them for the past month.

But maybe you guys have been unlucky. Do send in your entries to the Shonga Awards!

This Crucifixion Is Brought To You By The Letter A

2006-08-20T22:51:00.000+08:00

“I said ‘Jesus A. Christ,’ not ‘Jesus H. Christ’! Christ!” – Herod to Pilate

Eep! So there’s more than one public figure named Isagani Cruz, distinguishable by just their middle initials. So let’s get our Isaganis straight, cuz it’s gonna be queer for queers to crucify the wrong straight.

So repeat after me: it’s Isagani A. the ex-justice not Isagani R. the critic who wrote that anti-gay article in the Inquirer.

Isa Granny

2006-08-18T12:20:00.000+08:00

I’ve kept silent about this issue for some time now simply because I’ve been gathering my thoughts on how to address it here in The McVie Show. Now I’m ready for my close-up, direk.

Okay, rolling na ba? “Rolling. Sound! Action!”

Ahem. For a playwright, critic and former undersecretary of education, Isagani Cruz is terribly uneducated with regards to homosexuals and homosexuality. His article published in the Philippine Daily Inquirer entitled “Don We Now Our Gay Apparel” has the pink community up in arms and eyebrows over such statements like the following:

Walking along the University belt one day, I passed by a group of boys chattering among themselves, with one of them exclaiming seriously, “Aalis na ako. Magpapasuso pa ako!” [“I’m leaving. I still have to breastfeed!”] That pansy would have been mauled in the school where my five sons (all machos) studied during the ’70s when all the students were certifiably masculine.

and

Let us be warned against the gay population, which is per se a compromise between the strong and the weak and therefore only somewhat and not the absolute of either of the two qualities. Be alert lest the Philippine flag be made of delicate lace and adorned with embroidered frills.

I will not add to the growing clamor to give Mr. Cruz an enema, literally and figuratively. After all, there are people more eloquent than I am who’ve already articulated my feelings on the matter far better than what I can come up with. I will, however, say that attitudes such as those he espouses should firmly and vigorously be opposed.

I’m not sure if he’s too old to change attitudes, so I don’t know if it’s worth the bother to try and enlighten him. But my dream scenario is for him to one day come home and find one of his macho sons sinususo his equally macho close male friend. And why does he need to qualify that all of his sons are macho? Methinks the lady doth defend too much.

Haaay naku. Where there’s smoke, there’s tinapa. You know, something fishy.

“Cut! Good take. Pack up!”

JaProsti

2006-08-16T12:21:00.000+08:00

More Japanese silliness from http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Sec_ps-GMI&mode=related&search

This is a series of short English lessons for Japanese. At 3-5 minutes long, it’s like a Sesame Street segment. They just focus on one sentence at a time.

Again, it starts off in a normal manner. The instructress even reminds the viewers to bring out a memo pad for notes.

My eyebrow shot up when she introduced the English sentence for that lesson:

“You’re so good.”

Then she proceeded to demonstrate the use of the sentence. That’s when my hunch was confirmed.

This is practical English for the very practical Japanese—prostitutes!

The next lesson was even more specific.

“I give good head.”

With matching explanation of the English slang.

“I do it well with my mouth.”

She even gives several examples featuring first, second and third person, singular or plural: I give good head. You give good head. My parents give good head. My grandmother gives good head. My relatives give good head too.

Surreal. I had stumbled on a family of prostitutes.

The third lesson was clearly aimed at pleasing the customer.

“First-rate cunt lapping!”

Every time she demonstrated the use of a sentence, she always called on Toshi. “C’mon, Toshi! C’mon, Toshi!” Toshi must either be one hunk of a Japanese guy, or he’s a sad dweeb of Dilbert proportions, wasting his money on beer and prostitutes to get good head.

The lessons end the same way, with her reminding her audience about the English sentence they’ve just learned from her:

“Let’s use it constructively.”

The Zuiikin Gals

2006-08-15T18:28:00.000+08:00

Meet the Zuiikin Gals. As far as I can tell, they’re trying to teach their fellow Japanese to speak English, but with a twist—literally. By combining aerobic steps with their repeat-after-me English phrases, the Zuiikin Gals hope that the English phrases and the aero steps will stick in the viewers’ minds.

Ingenious, right? Talk about exercising your mind and body.

But what makes this clip sooo fucking hilarious are the particular English phrases they are teaching to what apparently is their prime audience—hapless Japanese tourists going abroad.

This particular clip features the Zuiikin Gals teaching the viewers some helpful English phrases they can use when taking a cab in, say, New York. The lesson starts innocuously enough.

Then things take a turn for the bizarre.

Talk about real lessons for real-life use! And to the tune of brain-numbing aero music!

To get the full audio-video effect, log on now:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X-QNWpJaiY0

Pramis, it’s a blast.

Bohemia Rhapsody

2006-08-14T19:24:00.000+08:00

Saturday was our mom’s birthday. Friday evening at around 10:30 I got a text from my younger brother, asking us if we were game to go to this Czechoslovakian restaurant in Angeles, Pampanga. He had eaten there before and was excited for the rest of us to try it out. It was so spur-of-the-moment that I said: Sure, game! I’m really that kaladkarin.

Saturday morning we were at the North Expressway, where they have this strict anti-overloading campaign: cars that are overloaded are forcibly stopped and the excess passengers are made to ride a separate bus which will take them to whatever exit toll gate they’re supposed to go. We saw two of these buses, and what really cracked us up was the huge sign on its side: ANTI-OVERWEIGHT MOBILE UNIT. Good thing the people riding in it were not fat. Too bad I wasn’t able to take a picture of that bus.

We arrived at the restaurant at close to 1pm. There was only one other customer—an American eating at the al-fresco area. We chose to stay in the air-conditioned area.

They served bread and cheese while we waited. We ordered two kinds of appetizers, smoked ham and herring, both served with crackers. My mom loved the fish; “Parang kinilaw,” she declared. That is, if kinilaw were served with mayo instead of vinegar. My nephew, being more carnivorous, attacked and finished the smoked ham.

The sausages were terrific. I would have preferred spicier ones, but I guess not too many people share my spicy taste. The roasted potatoes though were the killer—with just the right amount of burnt sides, I couldn’t help shoveling them into my mouth even as my mind was screaming, “Death to carbs!” The sauerkraut was also excellent. The schnitzels were well done with just the right amount of breading, not too thick or too thin.

The prices are actually quite reasonable; I could imagine them opening a branch in Makati in the future. But in the meantime, one has to drive all the way to Angeles, near the entrance to Clark. It’s a relaxed drive, given the improved NLEX highway.

Remake nAPO Siya

2006-08-14T15:37:00.000+08:00

(I was too excited last night to post this episode immediately. This morning I had a change of mind regarding certain interpretations I had of the songs “Doo Bidoo” and “Batang-Bata Ka Pa.” So now I’ve revised this episode accordingly. If you can spot the difference, I’ll give you a prize. – McVie, 15 Aug. 2006)

I grew up with the music of the APO Hiking Society. With their earlier songs I wasn’t really a big fan; I was merely aware of them (they were big hits on the radio at the time). It also helped that I knew we shared the same alma mater; it made their songs easier to like. Still, I was never really compelled to go out of my way to listen to their songs. When Ninoy Aquino was assassinated they reinvented themselves as a very vocal anti-Marcos group. But that never changed the way I saw them; for me it was music first. It took me a while to really appreciate their well-crafted Pinoy pop gems. That’s why, a few years ago, when I saw their two-volume greatest hits in the record store I immediately bought them.

Yesterday while browsing at the record store for the first time in quite a while, I saw this new release: Kami nAPO Muna. It’s a tribute album with current acts like Parokya Ni Edgar, Sponge Cola, Orange and Lemons, Sugarfree, Barbie Almalbis, Kitchie Nadal, Sandwich, Moonstar88, and more doing covers of APO’s greatest hits.

So I did what a nerdy music lover would do: I made a playlist in my iTunes/iPod called “APO/OPA” wherein the original version is placed side-by-side with its cover version. It’s what I’m listening to now. I must say it makes for quite an interesting listening experience.

Some of the covers hew very closely to the original. But they still sound good, which means the original sounds good even nowadays.

The more adventurous arrangements are far more interesting. The most exciting for me so far is the Kamikazee version of the song “Doo Bidoo” and Sugarfree’s reworking of “Batang-Bata Ka Pa”. With the former, Kamikazee’s irreverent approach transformed APO’s simple, playful ode to the joys of singing into a roaring, all-too-obvious dig at drug use. It’s hilarious to hear the Kamikazee guys going “O, doobee! Doobee!” with the guitars slashing in the background—go, jutes, go! And while the APO’s “Eto na, eto na, eto na, haaaaaaa…!” sounds positively giddy and almost innocent, the new one is a scream that’s a sonic equivalent of a drug rush.

Sugarfree takes the song “Batang-Bata Ka Pa” and makes it theirs. While APO’s version is a gentle lullaby, Suagrfree amps it up and not just in terms of added guitars and drums. APO’s version is a child while Sugarfree’s is a teenager; this is the first time I actually heard a song literally “grow up.” While the original addresses a child’s loss of innocence, the latter is more world-weary and knowing—as if they were talking to teenagers grappling over unwanted pregnancies and STDs. Even Sugarfree’s more intricate and sophisticated arrangement echoes the growth of the song. Plus lead singer Ebe Dancel channels his best Ely Buendia-“haaaaaaaa!” in this song.

I still have to listen closely to the others, but so far I like what I’m hearing. It’s great that these songs are being rediscovered and presented anew to the younger generation.

They’ve done a tribute album for Hotdog (which I also have, but I don’t have the originals). I wonder which artist from the 70s will next be given this distinction. VST and Company? Hagibis? Mike Hanopol? Sampaguita? Coritha?

The King Of Comedy

2006-08-11T18:05:00.000+08:00

Maybe it’s because I grew up with drama queens in grade school. Maybe it’s because I had my fill of unrequited loves in college and after. Maybe it’s because several years ago I re-read Desiderata and at that point the sentences “Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence” and “Avoid loud and aggressive persons; they are vexations to the spirit” suddenly made perfect sense.

That’s why I’m singing Mary J. Blige nowadays.

So tired
Tired of all this drama
You go your way...
I go my way
I need to be free
Ohhh...
So tired, tired, tired of all this drama

Broken heart again,
Another lesson learned.
Better know your friends
Or else you will get burned.
Gotta count on me,
Cause I can guarantee
That I’ll be fine.

No more pain
No drama
No more drama in my life
No one’s gonna make me hurt again

Why’d I play the fool
Go through ups and downs;
Knowing all the time
You wouldn’t be around.
Or maybe I like the stress
Cause I was young and restless.
But that was long ago.
I don’t wanna cry no more.

Oh, it feels so good!
When you let go
Of all the drama in your life.
Now you’re free from all the pain,
Free from all the games,
Free from all the stress,
To find your happiness...

I don’t know...
Only God knows where the story ends
For me.
But I know where the story begins.
It's up to us to choose
Whether we win or lose—
And I choose to win.

Go ahead, go ahead
You demons, get on out my face!
Go on out of my life—
I’m about to lose my mind!

Lord, help me sing!
NO!
MORE!
DRAMA!
Oh, help me sing!
I need peace of mind, peace of mind, peace of mind

I’m so tired,
I’m so tired,
So tired…
Tired of all this drama.

A Series of Baguio Events – Episode 5

2006-08-10T01:34:00.000+08:00

Maybe I was a pyromaniac (as well as a truck driver ‘cuz I love long drives, but that’s another story) in my previous life, because I really enjoy building a fire. In past Baguio trips with the family I always end up building a fire by the fireplace. I find it the whole building-a-fire process fascinating—the way wood catches fire, how fire needs air space to create a bigger blaze, how to position the wood efficiently, etc. I never read up on it; I just applied what little I know about starting a fire for barbequing then winged it from there.

Today I learned how to best position the wood at the start and how to prevent smoke from spilling out of the fireplace. The wood should be placed leaning against the back of the fireplace. It seems the more vertical the wood is placed, the more surface area of the wood catches fire, the bigger the blaze. Placing the wood to the back of the fireplace also ensures that all of the smoke is immediately sucked out into the chimney by the draft.

Burn, baby, burn.

* * * * *

While everyone else is freezing and wearing two layers of clothing, I still manage to go around Baguio in t-shirt, shorts and sandals—in other words, summer wear. No wonder even Baguio folks stare at me when I walk by on the street.

I seem to have no problem adjusting to the cold weather. I remember reading an article in Reader’s Digest back when I was very young; it was some Drama In Real Life bit about a man who had a car accident and had to trudge back through several miles of snow in the dead of winter. He survived the cold because he remembered what an American Indian told him: Don’t fight the cold, be one with it. So whenever I’m in Baguio, I embrace the cold climate and become one with it.

Funny thing is that in the office I get cold easily and need to wear a jacket. I think it has something to do with the artificial cold of the air condition. I think my mind refuses to be one with artificial cold because one can easily “escape” it by either stepping out of the room or switching the air con off; but with cold weather, my mind is resigned to the fact that there is no escaping the cold, so it embraces it instead. Weird, huh?

Personally I’d like to think it’s simply because I’m actually a cold-blooded, cold-hearted creature.

Insert evil laughter here.

A Series of Baguio Events – Interlude

2006-08-09T17:52:00.000+08:00

McVie does flowers… sort of.

What in heave’s name is this?

(Alternative title for this episode: “Two Flowers and a Scrotum”)

A Series of Baguio Events – Episode 4

2006-08-09T14:24:00.000+08:00

Second day in Baguio: waking up to my first Baguio morning for the weekend, and it’s freezing. Good thing I adjust easily to the cold; yesterday while the others were wearing layered clothes I was in t-shirt, shorts and sandals.

The sun provided much wanted warmth as we went through the tourist places: cathedral, botanical garden and Good Shepherd. Then it was ukay-ukay part one, because I’m pretty sure there’ll be another shopping trip before we leave.

This is part of the billboard in Good Shepherd promoting their Cordillera Youth Program.

He brings out the native pedophile in me.

Lunch was at a tourist-y Barrio Fiesta. Outside it is the Baguio Staircase, where originally it showcased giant wooden carvings of Igorots, the original dwellers of Baguio. But through the years they added other smaller wooden carvings of ordinary and not-so-ordinary Filipinos, including Cory Aquino & Cardinal Sin, a very relaxed Ninoy Aquino, Gloria Macapagal Arroyo and Fidel Ramos. What a weird idea.

A Series of Baguio Events – Episode 3

2006-08-09T14:23:00.000+08:00

While waiting for Leigh to finish shopping, I decided to buy the People magazine issue with ex-‘NSync Lance Bass and a huge “I’m Gay” headline on the cover. At the cashier, the assisting girl at the counter read the headline and said, more to herself really, “Ay, I’m a gay!”

Mentally I imagined bitch-slapping her then saying, “I’m a gay? Are you a blind? You’re a silly.”

Yes, it’s another pet peeve of mine—people adding the article “a” before the word “gay” when the latter is used as a noun, not an adjective.

A Series of Baguio Events – Episode 2

2006-08-06T17:32:00.000+08:00

First time I saw the renovated Baguio Country Club years ago, I remember seeing new cottages being built in front of their main gate. At that time I thought to myself, “I wonder what it’s like to stay in a cottage like that?” but immediately dropped the idea because, well heck, I’m not aiming to be a member of high society.

(Pause to take a deep breath.)

Well, now I know what it’s like, mwhahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha! (much evil laftir!)

Okay, I’ve not become noveau rich. It’s just that, thanks to friends in high places (uh, si Lord?) Leigh and family were able to rent a cottage for this trip. And it so happened to be the one right in front of the main gate!

The view of the main gate from the cottage porch…

…and the cottage, with Rogue parked in front.

Coolness!

Since I’m the only guy apart from Lucien, they gave me a room to myself.

And I immediately set up shop so that I can make new episodes and upload photos.

Coolness galore!

Actually, coldness galore too—Baguio weather is sooo cold, especially at night. Check out the photos I took of the Country Club.

Okay, that’s it. Thank you for allowing me to gloat a little while I’m here in Baguio. By Tuesday I’ll be back in Manila, back to reality.

Ang sarap maging social climber, hahaha!

A Series of Baguio Events – Episode 1

2006-08-06T16:52:00.000+08:00

We were supposed to leave a little after 4am Saturday. We left 4:45am.

The drive was very relaxed. In fact, a little too relaxing for me—at the very uneventful North Luzon Expressway, I found myself yawning at the monotony of the drive. I looked forward to the zigzagging Kennon Road because that will surely keep me awake and interested.

First bathroom break was at Jollibee in Hacienda Luicita, Tarlac. We just stopped so I can use the bathroom. But the moment I entered, everyone from the security guard to all of the staff behind the counter greeted me with a loud, “Welcome to Jollibee, sir!” Yikes. So I was pressured to buy a burger and drink. Thank god no one said something like, “May I take your order, phfl-eeh-ahzh” or else I would have scooted out of there.

Second bathroom break at a Shell station and stretch Lucien’s legs.

Third stop at the Caltex station, just before the climb to Kennon Road.

That damn lion used to be black, then was painted bright orange (duh?!) Now it’s black and faded gold.

And then, by 11:00am we were in Baguio.

To Baguio, Please

2006-08-04T19:10:00.000+08:00

Leigh has always wanted to bring her mom, sister and son to Baguio. The last time her mom was in Baguio, Ferdinand Marcos was alive, healthy, and a popular president of RP. And her son really loves long drives. So this weekend they’re all going up to Baguio—and I’m the family driver! Yes, I’ll be driving Rogue, Leigh’s Ford Explorer Sportrac. I’ve driven it to Baguio and back years ago, when we attended the Ad Congress in 2003. Three years later it’s a repeat performance, but this time the vehicle will be crowded. Plus we were told that certain portions of Marcos highway (I guess the low-lying ones) are still flooded, thanks to the last typhoon. So this is the first time I’ll be doing Kennon Road in a truck. At least Rogue is automatic, so that makes driving a little easier.

We’re so excited!

I’m bringing my laptop along so I can download photos immediately, and maybe do a comic or two. Or do an episode of The McVie Show, “live” from Baguio! Bahala na si Batman.

* * * * *

A minor peeve of mine is the way most staff at fastfood counters mispronounce the word “please.” Just today during lunch, after I gave my order the girl shouted, “One Champ, ple-ah-z!”

Aaaarrrgh.

Another variation is, “One burger and fries, fles.” Or “One Chicken Joy meal, pleh-z.”

Oh, puh-leez.

I don’t expect counter staff to be mouthing off in call-center-like English, but please, please, please, how difficult is it to pronounce “please” properly?

The McJuke Box: What’s Playing

2006-08-03T14:11:00.000+08:00

Last night I heard Justin Timberlake’s latest solo single on the radio. I was never a big fan of his or his former boy band’s songs, so it was good that I didn’t know who the artist was until after the song ended and the DJ spoke.

Suddenly I was downloading it and this morning on my way to work I put my iPod on “repeat song” and played it ad nauseam until I reached the office.

So now it’s fuck that morose, feeling-sorry-for-myself Broadway song, and let’s get our sexy on!

I’m bringin’ sexy back (yeah!)
Them other fuckers don’t know how to act (yeah!)
…
(take it to the chorus!)
…
Come here girl (go ‘head be gone with it)
Come to the back (go ‘head be gone with it)
VIP (go ‘head be gone with it)
Drinks on me (go ‘head be gone with it)
Lemme see what you’re twerking with (go ‘head be gone with it)
Look at those hips (go ‘head be gone with it)
You make me smile (go ‘head be gone with it)
Go ‘head child (go ‘head be gone with it)
And get your sexy on (go ‘head be gone with it)

The McJuke Box: What’s Playing

2006-08-02T17:16:00.000+08:00

In the musical Wicked, the green-skinned Elphaba (who later on turns into the Wicked Witch of the West) realizes that the guy she likes is attracted to the popular and pretty Glinda (who later on becomes “Glinda The Good Witch”). She then sings the song “I’m Not That Girl”:

Hands touch, eyes meet,
Sudden silence, sudden heat,
Hearts leap in a giddy whirl—
He could be that boy,
But I’m not that girl.

Don’t dream too far,
Don’t lose sight of who you are,
Don’t remember that rush of joy—
He could be that boy,
I’m not that girl.

Ev’ry so often we long to steal
To the land of what-might-have-been.
But that doesn’t soften the ache we feel
When reality sets back in.

Blithe smile, lithe limb,
She who’s winsome, she wins him.
Gold hair with a gentle curl—
That’s the girl he chose,
And Heaven knows
I’m not that girl.

Don’t wish, don’t start,
Wishing only wounds the heart.
I wasn’t born for the rose and the pearl.
There’s a girl I know,
He loves her so—
I’m not that girl.

Randomness

2006-08-02T10:20:00.000+08:00

Finally met Eon a.k.a. Hasty Devil in the flesh. His company is our client, and they were in our office for a pre-production meeting. It’s nice to meet the viewers of The McVie Show in the flesh—it assures me that they really exist and are not just a figment of my active imagination, hahaha!

* * * * *

My latest batch:

A Curse, An Anarchist and A Gay Romp

2006-08-01T14:06:00.000+08:00

Two movies and one play—all in a weekend.

Saturday I watched Sukob, the star-and-director tandem of Kris Aquino and Chito Roño’s follow-up to the box-office hit, Feng Shui. Normally one would expect more from a second outing of a successful act. So yes, I will admit that I was expecting more from this movie.

Chito Roño proves he can set-up scares well, even if said scares are a trifle cliché. The script suffers from a big red herring that turns out to be an irrelevant distraction. A good amount of screen time is spent on a dead neighbor that, as it turns out, has nothing whatsoever to do with the main plot! The only reason why the neighbor was inserted in the movie was to explain the concept of the sukob sa kasal, sukob sa patay curse.

Kris Aquino’s acting was still terrible. From the first moment she enters the screen, you can see that she is A-C-T-I-N-G. And she still has that insipid expression of pain perennially plastered on her face, as if she has constant constipation. Because of her bad acting, I couldn’t understand why her character did what she did at the end of the movie. But I will agree with the filmmakers that Kris has got to be thrown out of a movie—the earlier in the script, the better.

When placed beside Kris’s histrionics, Claudine Barretto’s under-acting appears positively Streepian. Okay, okay, I exaggerate. Claudine comes off better here, even though she plays a character that she’s played a hundred times before in her soaps. That’s because of her decision to underplay the part. So despite her second-in-billing status, she emerges as the better actress.

Acting is the main strength behind Tanghalang Ateneo’s production of “Ang Aksidenteng Kamatayan ng Isang Anarkista”. The play is a comedy involving public officials and their attempt to cover up the death—which may or may not be accidental—of an anarchist in their custody. Ron Capinding essays the lead role, and he is one of the better actors of TA. In the role Ron proves he’s quite adept at comic timing; physically he also acquits himself, although he’s not as nimble as he used to be. But sadly his acting skills alone are not enough. While he acts up a storm, my main discomfort is that his character isn’t exactly clear. Is he really a crazy person, or someone acting crazy? And why does he like impersonating other people? What are his character’s motivations? Nothing in the script or in Ron’s acting suggest reasons why. Thus the whole second act suffers because Ron’s tour de force turns out to be all bluster but no meaning, so there’s no sympathy for his character. Plus the main joke becomes repetitive.

Speaking of tour de force, Nathan Lane does a show-stopping number in The Producers, the movie musical based on the stage musical based on the movie. In one terrific song-and-dance number in the movie’s last act, Nathan neatly summarizes in a musical medley the whole movie that preceded it. When the song ended, I sensed everyone in the theater was just dying to give him a standing ovation, but because we were only a few watching, everyone was embarrassed to start the clapping.

The movie musical suffers in the move from stage to screen—the stage-y set-up shows the director’s weakness in the filmic language. And some of the shtick that play well onstage only look staged when placed on the big screen. But the bigness of the musical numbers benefit from being blown up onscreen.

Other stand-outs include the hilariously gay duo of Roger DeBris and Carmen Ghia played by Gary Beach and Roger Bart respectively, who have some of the best lines (“If your intention was to shoot an arrow through my heart... Bull’s-eye!”) and moments in the movie; and Uma Thurman who acquits herself by not being afraid to make a fool of herself (too bad though that it was obvious she had a dance-double for some of the trickier choreography).

Watching a play onstage and onscreen made me want to act again. Sigh. Well, that day will come.

Waiter, Pa-Order!

2006-07-29T03:39:00.000+08:00

New item on the menu of Pata King:

Patayinsasindaksibarbara – pata y inasal, sabaw ng sinigang na isda, kilawin with sili, barbeque, sinugba na okra

Take A Peek At My Pics

2006-07-28T16:15:00.000+08:00

I have decided to open a Multiply account to post my pictures there. I find it easier to post pics in Multiply because I can just click-and-drag the files. It’s that easy! Anyway, the McMultiply site is here: http://mcvie.multiply.com

Or you can click on the link found on the McLinks portion.

Postscript

2006-07-26T12:01:00.000+08:00

Some people asked me why I don’t like “Seasons Of Love”. I suppose they haven’t read the comments page of that particular episode (“Pet Sound Peeve”) so for their sake I’m posting a portion of it here. And I’ll add some stuff that I forgot to mention earlier just for clarity’s sake.

* * * * *

NELZ: I understand what you mean. Some people I know can be so O.A. when they sing this piece! Nakakainis at ang sarap sabunutan lalo na pag feel na feel niya yung song. Nakakakilabot ever.  Just a piece of info: I sang this song for three seasons in choir, and according to the choral music piece that we used, it's supposed to be sung “hushed but strong.” I guess for some singers, the “hushed but strong” sounded like earnestness. ;-)  On our last performance of the song, we had to “pull back” from singing it earnestly [meaning not yodelling out the word “love” in the high registers] and let it just let it flow. It sounded great, in my opinion.  

And yes, I abhor the dance version. ;-)

McVIE: That’s precisely it! “Hushed but strong” should be the appropriate approach to the song.  

My friend and theater director Ricky A. and I had this discussion about art, specifically on acting. He doesn’t like how some actors have misunderstood the idea of Method Acting and of Eric Morris. Some actors think that an unbridled show of anger or fear or sadness, as long as it’s truthful, is already considered “good acting.” Ricky disagrees with that.

For him, emotion has to be filtered through a rational and conscious choice by the actor on how to release and express said emotion. Meaning, it’s not enough that you are angry when the scene calls for your character to be angry; that’s not art. Art is when there’s creative control over that anger, an acting choice that the actor picks to add layer to that anger: Is it anger with fear? Anger with disillusionment? Or anger masking a deeper emotion of, say, lust? For Ricky, that kind is the more skillful kind of acting, instead of straightforward, full-tilt, one-layer of emotion. Because in reality, except for babies, people often do not show just one pure emotion—people’s reactions are a mixture of different emotions.

So going back to the song: singing it earnestly renders it OA because it’s just adding a same layer. Whereas there’s an interesting counter-point to the simple earnest lyrics if the song was sung hushed (but strong).  So going back to the song: singing it earnestly renders it OA because it’s just adding a same layer. Whereas there’s an interesting counter-point to the simple earnest lyrics if the song was sung hushed (but strong).  It was a great choice for your choir to “pull back” and just let the song flow. That way the words will speak for themselves; if sung earnestly, it would be like the words were underlined, italicized and printed in bold all at once! With matching exclamation point! Hindi ba OA? Hindi ba nakaka-irita?

The Newest Fastfood Joint

2006-07-26T11:17:00.000+08:00

If an idle mind is the devil’s playground, then idle creatives are the devil’s Disneyland.

Last night Leigh and I together with our good friend Pris were having dinner when Pris announced she was going to Tapa King to buy food to bring home to her family. And I wondered out loud: “What if we just put up our own business, a fastfood joint? Pero ang paangalan, Pata King.”

That started it all.

In no time we came up with a menu list for Pata King:

Pata Tim – the flagship meal, like in Tapa King
Pata Timmy – our equivalent of Tapa Queen, where the pata is sweet and spicy
Pata Teen – our Tapa Prince equivalent, pata is sweet

Patabayan – or Pata Ng Bayan, bulk order na pang-fiesta
Patago – or Pata-To-Go, our take-out / delivery service

Patani – pata at mani (regular)
Patama – pata at mani (spicy)
Patapon – sisig made from bits of pata
Patagalan – pata at isang galon ng Añejo Rum

Patambok – pata, mammon, palabok (merienda meal)
Patak-patak – pata at kanin lang
Patampata – pata and more pata (eat-all-you-can; after a while, nakakapagod kainin)
Patas – pata at patatas (with side dish)
Pataas – pata at gatas (with drink)
Patatas – pata, patatas, at gatas (with side dish and drink)
Patanong – pata ‘n talong
Patalbog – pata, talong, binatog (with dessert pa)
Patapos – pata, pusit
Patalikod – pata, latik at ubod
Patalamak – pata, laing, sinamak
Patakas – pata, kamote, sayote
Pataksil – pata, kilawin with sili
Patapaking – pata, tapa, kilawin, saging

Pataygutom – pata y gulay, tomato (pa-healthy)
Patatkins – patang pang-Atkins Diet
Patalim – pata at liempo (pang-cardiac arrest)
Patalinhaga – pata, litson, at hamon sa gata (for more cardiac arrest)
Oro, Pata, Mata – thrice-golden fried pata (even more cardiac arrest)

Tapatan – tapang pata (pantapat sa Tapa King)
Lipatan – liempo, pata, ginataan
Apatan – pang-apat na patang pampulutan
Garapata – gata ng rambutan sa pata (garnished with bits of rambutan skin for that garapata look)
Pataykambataka – pata y kambing, bagoong, talong, kamatis
PatalsikinsiGMA – pata, talong, sibuyas, kinilaw with sili, goto, malunggay, atsara

A Babaw Episode

2006-07-25T20:43:00.000+08:00

Finally got me a new pair of sports shoes. My old Nike was already showing lots of wear and tear, and finally a part in the right shoe snapped. Doesn’t look cool in the gym. So time for me to get a new pair.

I immediately went to Nike Park because I’m so brand-conscious when it comes to shoes. I like shoes that are mega-comfortable to my feet and so far the ones that really satisfied me are Nike for sport shoes and Rockport for leather shoes.

So I was looking around and of course my eyes fell on this pair which was prominently displayed. It was the new Nike Free. I tried on a pair and damn it was so comfortable! Nike Free was designed to mimic being barefoot, the idea behind it being the athletes before who trained barefoot had stronger legs and feet. The shoe moves with your feet, not the other way around. Plus it really breathes. So you can wear very thin socks or go barefoot in them.

* * * * *

Another thing I bought was this Magnetic Poetry set. I’m not really a poet; I have a hard time writing poetry and express myself better in prose. But this toy/tool can also come in handy in my job, so I decided to shell out one thousand plus pesos for it.

The idea is simple. Taking the cue from magnetic stuff stuck on refrigerators, they’ve created magnets with words on them plus a metallic poetry stand. The idea is to just allow yourself to put words together in whatever way you like on the stand.

Sometimes even just putting two words that start with the same letter (alliteration) can conjure up an image and spark a creative connection in one’s mind. So far I’ve strung the following words together: slather sound, giggle girl, popsicle prison, slip speak, lizard lounge, and plump paradise. I’m just waiting for a spark.

Still it’s a fun and relaxing thing to have on one’s desk. I can just reach over and play with words—literally. Or my AEs might find a better use for it and start posting messages, reminders or (ick!) job orders on it.

Pet Sound Peeve

2006-07-24T14:26:00.000+08:00

I rarely rant here in The McVie Show—heck, I rarely rant period—but please indulge me in letting off a bit of steam regarding a particular pet peeve. I know I’ll be stepping on some bleeding hearts-on-their-sleeves type of viewers. But frankly this is about taste, and in taste there’s no dispute. Unless you have no taste, in which case you wouldn’t be viewing The McVie Show in the first place.

I really dislike the song “Seasons Of Love” from the musical Rent. Okay, okay, that’s not exactly accurate so let me expound. In and of itself the song’s okay, though not exactly my cup of tea (the hook line “five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes” really grates by the third verse). But the melody is immediately catchy, a must for any good pop song. Plus I agree with the general sentiment of the song, that the measure of a man is in the love he makes in his lifetime; or as stated by The Beatles in their inimitable way, “And in the end / the love you take / is equal to the love / you make”.

But I cannot stand how people sing the song with such unbridled earnestness. To be fair the song almost demands that it be sung with such spirit-lifting emotion that one would expect angels to swoop down and lift the singer to heaven. Which is precisely my problem with that song. Earnestness is tricky to pull off; it’s already on the brink of too obvious. The words to “Seasons Of Love” are already quite earnest; singing them earnestly pushes the song off the cliff and into obviousness.

This problem of mine is compounded when the dance version is played in Bed. The sight of a roomful of faggots gyrating and singing so reverential and so irony-free to “Seasons-with-a-thumping-beat” makes my skin crawl. Every time.

There.

Maybe the song really just doesn’t resonate with me in any level. Anyway, if you’re a fan of the song, this won’t change your opinion of the song. And anything you write on its defense won’t change mine either, so don’t bother.

An Invitation To Vogue

2006-07-19T10:39:00.000+08:00

(click on the image if you want a larger view)

I told Dave he needs his flyers copy-checked by a copywriter—nakalimutan ilagay kung anong oras ng shoot! It’s from 5 to 9pm.

If you’re interested… (sings) Let’s go na, let’s go na, let’s go na with Guingona! And no, you don’t have to take off your shirt if you don’t want to.

The Shonga Awards: Candidate No. 2

2006-07-18T15:07:00.000+08:00

To be honest I did not expect a contribution from the viewers this early, but here it is, the first! A viewer who will remain anonymous for obvious reasons sent the following story.

But before that: if you are a fan of Jessica Zafra from waaay back, you may remember an Arnel Salgado, he of “The Fireless Inferno” ummm, fame. Don’t remember him? “She was beautiful like the flowers consumed by fire, her love was sweet that made me suffer from diabetes, she was warm I almost felt the heat of her caress now. Her lips were smooth and her tongue was very luscious like the meat of a beef.” Now you remember! Anyway, this next candidate may not just be a candidate for the Shonga Awards, he may very well be a candidate for a scholarship to the Salgadian School of Literature.

Candidate No. 2: Mr. Copy All

This guy was already going to retire after so many years in a particular company. On his last day, he sent the following email to his officemates:

Guess it’s time to bid you adieu! My stay with our valued company is nearing its end this month so, I’m in a kinda swirly feelings now. Is it true I’m leaving (name of company) after (x) good long years of hard work, perseverance and dedication? Ha, ha, ha ! a funny feeling sets in to me. But I do love this company and my fulfilling history with it...................“It has taken my youth !” Ha, ha, ha ! Bet you know my feelings are at this very moment, Hooooh! (Teary eyed # * @ ö ! ) This is really HARD !

To my Staff, indeed you gave me a headache. But I know you’ll agree that we learn a lot from each other. And truly I valued all the support and your dedication to your work. It will lead you to greater heights if you always strive for performance.

It has been a SWELL experience working with you. All my encounters with you have been a learning process that have enriched me and I give you my gratitude.

* * * * *

Okay, okay, okay, take a deep breath now. Yes, that’s it.

Now, bad grammar is not really stupidity; it’s more a lack of education. But what elevates this guy to the Shonga Awards level is that he sent the email to everyone, as in everyone, in the company. If you’re going out with a bang, make sure it’s the right kind of bang.

Which leads me to offer you, my dear viewers, a good rule of thumb to live by: Before you press the ‘Send to All’ button on your email, THINK x NUMBER OF TIMES before you do; “x” being the number of people who will receive said email.

So, ladies and gentlemen, Candidate Number Two!

The Shonga Awards: Candidate No. 1

2006-07-18T02:23:00.000+08:00

Starting today, The McVie Show will feature candidates to the Shonga Awards. The Shonga Award is given to an individual who has demonstrated a particularly exceptional case of stupidity, or in other words, sho-shonga-shonga sha. Said case of stupidity may range from the simple and sublime to the complex and obvious. Also, said individual may not necessarily be generally described as stupid; in fact, even an Einstein can be a candidate for the Shonga Awards. Everyone has at one time or another experienced a sudden loss of IQ or common sense. That makes everyone a potential candidate for a Shonga Award.

If you know of anyone qualified for, or want to nominate a candidate to the Shonga Awards, just email me at joelmcvie@yahoo.com the complete narration. And I’ll feature it here in The McVie Show. Please take note that only shonga moments that were personally witnessed or experienced are allowed to be nominated; hearsay and second-hand sources (such as seeing it on TV) do not count. Thus George Bush is spared of the award (unless someone from the White House is watching The McVie Show). You may also nominate yourself if you’ve committed a faux pas worthy of a Shonga Award. When enough candidates have been selected, we will vote for the First Shonga Awards.

Make this world a happier and brighter one by laughing at mankind’s examples of stupidity. May we learn from as well as be entertained by them. C’est la vie.

Candidate No. 1: The Caltex gas attendant

Driving home last night, I decided to gas up at a Caltex station along Aurora Blvd. As I drove up, a gas attendant approached my car. I brought out a five hundred-peso bill and showed it to him as he reached my side. He stretched out his palm; I paused a bit just to make sure he saw I was giving him money, then placed the bill on his palm. I said to him, “Five hundred.” He took the bill then asked me, totally serious: “Magkano po?”

Shonga, istcheeeooofid, boba, gaga, not listening kasi eh went through my mind first before I decided to point wordlessly at the bill he was holding. He looked at it, shook his head and walked sheepishly towards the pump.

Ladies and gentlemen, Candidate Number One!

‘Til Bruce Do Us Part

2006-07-17T15:14:00.000+08:00

I am not really a big fan of weddings and marriage in general. I do not believe that love “will last forever” because nothing lasts forever. Even The Hardy Boys will one day fail a case, Madonna will stop reinventing herself, and gays will stop singing “I Will Survive”. And weddings are often tedious, lengthy and costly affairs.

But last Saturday I attended a ceremony to celebrate the union of Norman and Nelz, or NormaNelz as I’d like to call them. They are already married, thanks to the more open-minded people of Canada. But to Nelz’s family and friends, there were no proper goodbyes and congratulations; when he left for Canada, he was supposed to come back after three months; instead, he got hitched and stayed there. So last Saturday was the opportunity for his family and friends to achieve closure, congratulate the couple, and create memories.

Oh yeah, create memories.

I asked the wedding coordinator, “What kind of ceremony is this going to be? It can’t be religious, because our religion does not allow it. It can’t be legal, because our laws say it’s illegal. So what is it?” And he answered, “It’s a production number!”

Ah yes, create memories.

The worst one for me was when Leigh and I were placed in a table with two other guys who will remain anonymous. They were the best of friends for eight years; two years ago they had a major falling out. They have not talked to each other since. So to be stuck in a table with them was major awkwardness for me; not to mention having Leigh sit through that. (I don’t blame the organizers who placed us in one table; I don’t think they knew. And even if they did, I guess they had no choice.)

The best one for me was when the person officiating the ceremony turned to address the couple and said, “Norman, Bruce…” and stopped. Everyone’s breathing stopped also for a second. Then I saw Norman giggle. Later when I was congratulating the couple, I told them, “My next blog entry will be entitled, ‘Til Bruce Do Us Part.”

I was also asked to provide music for the occasion. Before I had a love-hate relationship with being asked to play DJ in parties; on the one hand, it’s while everyone’s having fun, I’m too busy working to enjoy the party. Plus I had to lug around a suitcase full of CDs. But last year I discovered the joys of DJ-ing using the iPod. Last Saturday evening I discovered an even more joyful way to DJ: using my iBook laptop!

Here are some pics:

They are the dancing queens, feel the beat from the tambourine, oh yeah!

The happy couple, “happy” in both sense of the word.

Who was this guy? Nobody knew who he was, and he never appeared that night. Could it be a typo? Or could he actually be Bruce?

Dead Topic

2006-07-12T10:38:00.000+08:00

A close colleague and friend was recently diagnosed as having stage-3 cancer. That’s akin to saying: “Sorry, you’ve been voted out of the Big Brother house. You have several hours to prepare your things.”

Death is never an easy thing to face. Fortunately for me I’m at an age wherein I’ve had several encounters with Mr. Death up close.

When I was in 3rd year high school my grandmother died a day after Christmas; she was 93 already and having conversations with people long dead. But a day after she kicked the bucket, my four-year-old brother followed her to the afterlife in a sudden cardiac arrest due to a virus in his kidney. The old folks rationalized his death by saying we now have an angel in the family and that my brother followed my lola so that she’ll have a companion on their way to heaven. Whatever.

Then when I was in first year college my best friend got intimate with a taxicab while he was crossing Quezon Avenue in front of Sto. Domingo Church. In front of a church! He died a few minutes after being brought to a nearby hospital. Both of his legs were broken in several places and his head had smashed through the windshield; if he had survived he’d probably not be able to walk or talk at all.

When I was in my first agency one of my closest friends was a fellow writer whose boyfriend was also a close friend and my AE. She would drag me to Greenbelt during her lunchtime shopping sprees; I often end up carrying her shopping bags. She and her boyfriend would invite me on their out-of-town beach trips; I was their “legitimate excuse” so that her parents will allow her to go on long trips with her boyfriend. They eventually got married and moved out of the country when he was assigned to Malaysia. There she gave birth to two kids one after the other. After her second child, she was diagnosed with cancer. She died without seeing her any of her wonderful kids go beyond toddler age.

That’s really part of growing old; you get to rub elbows with Death more often. So you have to figure out how to cope with Death. And the way I look at it is that Death is very much a part of Life. The moment we’re conceived in our mother’s womb, our countdown to Death begins. Also, for some people they’d rather that Death pays them a surprise visit. Then there are those who are lucky enough to be told when their deadlines are, so that gives them time to prioritize their remaining time.

In the end it’s really the quality, not quantity, of time spent with your life that will matter the most.

Haaay. Tama na si Death, masyado na ang exposure niya dito sa McVie Show. Hindi siya fun. Next episode, please.

I’m Now A Bottom…

2006-07-10T13:13:00.000+08:00

Last June 26 I received an email from Dax, who asked me to promote a line of t-shirts called Bottom-Less Shirts. It’s a small venture he and his three other friends have embarked on for the gay community.

Well, feeling Sharon C kasi ako, so I told him I’m very willing to promote their shirts and blogsite—but only after I check out the merchandise. Kasi, like the Megastar, I’d want to endorse (endorse daw o!) products that I believe in.

Unfortunately it took me a while to haul my ass over to the Top&Bottom shop in Malate (located just above O Bar at the corner of Orosa and Nakpil Streets). But last Friday I was able to go and get me a t-shirt. It was the one I fell in love with when I first saw it at the Bottom-less blogsite (http://www.bottom-less.blogspot.com) and I told myself, “I’m gonna get that!” Unfortunately they only had a size “small” that night (I was hoping for a “medium” dahil ayokong magmukhang suman na naman). Still, pupuwede na ang small, so getch-kiti-getch na lang akesh.

So… tah-dah!
It’s sooo cool, I’m calling my shirt “Bottom-Less Iced Tee.” Mwhek-hek-hek!

This is their official blurb:

If there is one thing that keeps the gay community resilient and unwavering, despite the countless acts of discrimination and rejection we face in life, it’s our pride.

Pride has fueled us to fight for our place in this world. It is a deeper love for self- -an acceptance, appreciation and a celebration of who and what we are. Something we should live by every single day.

Now, gay men can wear their pride on their sleeves with the Bottom-Less shirts—statement tops that allow you to celebrate pride—fashionably, of course. It’s fashion with a purpose—to nurture and make pride stronger within the gay community.

The brainchild of four friends who felt that there aren’t enough gay statements shirts that are witty, humorous, and endearingly campy—the Bottom-Less shirts were born.

With statements ranging from subtle to screaming, gay men will surely find a shirt that best captures their personality. For sure, the Bottom-less shirts will never be at a loss for words when it comes to spreading pride.

Bottom-Less shirts. Because every bottom needs a top.

Go now and buy your Bottom-Less Shirts at Top&Bottom in Malate. Or visit their blogsite to see their other shirts.

Or click on the link found in the McLinks. ☺

Cyber Toilet

2006-07-07T20:26:00.000+08:00

Our office is on the 20th floor, and we share it with three other companies. One of them is, we suspect sans proof, a call center servicing either China or Korea. They have these foreign boys and girls coming in and out, always talking with no hint of English whatsoever in their sentences, speaking either in Chinese or in Korean, we’re not sure. Yup, that’s how gibberish they sound when they speak.

Anyway, one day I was in the restroom, washing my hands after taking a leak. Suddenly a guy who looks like he’s from the call center entered the restroom—carrying a laptop. I thought, “Maybe he’s on his way to a meeting, and he just decided to take a leak first.” He proceeded to enter a cubicle. “Or a dump.”

When I stepped out of the restroom, I almost bumped into another one of them as he rushed to go inside the restroom—also carrying a laptop!

My eyebrows raised to the high heavens, I wondered if there was a great free wi-fi service in that restroom that I don’t know about. Talk about giving new meaning to the term, “dumping of files.”

So I recounted the incident to the guys in the office. One of them said, “Nag-download ng porno yung mga yun!”

Ah, maybe that explains it.

Things That Make Me Go, “Hmmm”

2006-07-04T15:05:00.000+08:00

I stumbled upon the following on a guy’s profile in G4M (a gay site). He insisted he didn’t want to meet any mamby-pamby guys; he preferred really masculine-acting men who do not “fall in love” with other men. What’s interesting is that he also gives a definition of the labels being currently used right now by people who think like him:

1. DISCREET GAY - mga bakla na nag pupumulit maging lalaki. na kahit anong gawin nila di sila na lilibugan o mag kakagusto sa babae. Nag aastig astigan lang dahil di alam ng magulang na bakla sila. Pero pag mag isa na sa kwarto... nag laladlad
example: PIOLO P.... RUSTOM P (pero ngayun di na sya discreet)

2. GAY OR HOMOSEXUAL - eto ang mga bakla na na kahit bata pa alam na nila na bakla sila. kahit ng bata pa kilos babae na. pag nagsalita babae... pag nag lakad babaeng babae. kumekendeng. proud proud sya sa buong mundo na bakla sya.
example: RICKY REYES... REY PUMALOY...

3. DISCREET BISEXUAL - eto ang mga silahis na nag kakagusto o na lilibugan sa kapwa lalake at babae. kahit saan mo tingnan na angulo very straight. at wala silang ilaladlad dahil normal ang pagiging maton o astig nila. walang na kakaalam sa kanilang kalokohan.
example: mahirap mag bigay

4. BISEXUAL - sila ang mga tipong silahis na attracted din sa babae at lalake pero ang iba ay malalamya kumilos.
example: ARNEL IGNACIO

5. GOY - eto ang bagongkatauhan. sila ang mga STRAIGHT GUY na hindi na iinlove sa kapwa lalake. sila ang tipong hanggang jakol lang at romansa. Hindi sila chumuchupa. hindi sila kumakantot ng kapwa lalake nila.

It’s fascinating how people try to put a name to something in order to understand it.

Now, this “goy” label—obviously it’s a mix of the words “gay” and “boy”. My question is: why would a straight guy want to engage in mutual masturbation and, uhm, “romansa” (what’s that, soulful lips-to-lips kissing? fondling of nipples—by hand? by lips?) with a fellow guy? Unless they’re both in prison or they’re 10-years old and curious of bodily functions, or there’s a pressing economic need (in other words, sex-for-hire), then I don’t see any reason why a straight guy would willingly go out of his way to do something sexual with another guy. If it’s not a preference, then… why? What for?

Part 2

2006-07-02T23:20:00.000+08:00

I swear, ComicLife is the BOMB!

My First Comic

2006-07-01T11:13:00.000+08:00

It’s A Bird! It’s A Plane! It’s A Review!

2006-06-30T00:30:00.000+08:00

WARNING! WARNING! SPOILERS APPROACHING! AVOID LIKE KRYPONITE!
(Don’t say I didn’t warn you.)

* * * * *

Superman Returns is a fairly well-made summer movie. Thanks to his experience in the first two X-Men movies, director Bryan Singer has proven once again that he can make big summer movies that, despite its size, can still have a solid beating heart inside all that special effects. And he does this by making sure that he has an underlying theme running through the whole movie.

In Superman Returns it’s all about being different and yet being asked to carry a huge responsibility. This internal struggle is the core conflict of Superman in this movie; in other words, Superman as the Messiah. Singer piles on the references throughout the movie: when God-the-Son Superman returns and falls into Mama Mary, er, Ma Kent’s arms in a faint, it’s an instant La Pieta. In the Fortress of Solitude, Lex Luthor and company listen to God-the-Father Jor-El (Marlon Brando in a special post-death appearance) lecturing; when Kitty Kowalski (played to ditzy perfection by Parker Possey) asks, “Can he hear us?” Lex says, “No, he’s dead.” At the climactic battle wherein Luther’s goons are beating up a weakened Superman, it’s super-Scourging At The Pillar. In the same battle, Lex stabs Superman with a spear of kryptonite on his side. And after throwing the landmass into space, Superman falls back to Earth with arms outstretched, like Christ on the cross.

Still not convinced? Lex says, “Gods are selfish beings who fly around in little red capes and don’t share their power with mankind.” And lastly, Superman tells Lois, “You wrote that the world doesn’t need a savior, but every day I hear people crying for one.”

With Lois as Mary Magdalene and her 5-yr old son as the offspring of Superman, this movie has more in common with The Da Vinci Code than people realize.

The good thing about Bryan Singer is that while his religious references are obvious, he doesn’t hit you on the head with them, unlike, say, a younger Steven Spielberg. Singer does not linger, nor does he underline, embolden and italicize his points. Which is a good thing—religion can be such a bummer in an action flick. Besides, summer movies have become so idiot-friendly that they’re now unfriendly to non-idiots.

But enough with the religion. Bryan Singer has made a movie that those over 35 years old who have seen the first two Christopher Reeves originals will get a kick out several sequences. The opening title sequence is an homage to Superman II’s opening credits. The ending scene of Superman flying high above Metropolis is a tip of the hat to the ending of Superman I. And thanks to the John Williams original score, those scenes packed an additional wallop—I was as giddy as a girl while watching the opening credits fly across the screen.

All in all, Superman Returns to the screen with a fairly successful film. Wait for him to return again on screen.

Bench Pressed Too Much

2006-06-29T14:51:00.000+08:00

The one with Zanjoe is a sight to behold. But add the others, plus a bevy of belles, and you overload on all those balls, disco or otherwise. Nakaka-turn off actually.

And that’s why I’m not going.

My Current Eye Candy

2006-06-28T18:22:00.000+08:00

His name is Dominic Lau, and he’s a VJ for Channel V. He’s the product of a British mum and a Chinese pa. In a word: delicious!

The RFM guys should have named their new hotdog after him instead!

For The Record

2006-06-27T11:18:00.000+08:00

Just to set the record straight, even though I’m not: in The McVie Show episode entitled “The Making of Sam Hotdog”, the billboard and the product are real (although I’ve yet to see the hotdogs). Everything else is pure fiction. For the record, I do not know anyone from RFM. I have never set foot in their boardroom. I have no idea who their chairman, marketing manager, brand manager, assistant manager, and R&D head are. I also do not personally know anyone named Minerva.

I am issuing this clarification after a day of being asked by people here in the office and on-line, “Really, is this real? Is that what really happened? How did you manage to get the inside scoop?”

Klaro? Klaro. ☺

Pop Quiz, Hotshots!

2006-06-26T17:51:00.000+08:00

Quick, answer as honestly as possible: Who among you thought that the previous episode of The McVie Show entitled “The Making of Sam Hotdog” is a true story? And who among you thought that the said story was just a figment of my imagination?

Be honest with your answer, okay?

The Making Of…

2006-06-25T16:36:00.001+08:00

…Sam Hotdog

One afternoon in the RFM boardroom, management was pondering what to do next.

“Minerva, what’s the latest in R&D?” asked the chairman.

The head of research and development, the lone woman in a roomful of men, pushed back her glasses and, in a prim, I’m-the-school-principal tone, spoke up without rising from her seat. “Research has confirmed that, after kids, the next biggest number of consumers of hotdogs,” and here she gave a slight dramatic pause, “are gay men.”

Silence filled the room. All eyes were on her.

The R&D head, wearing a smug smile on her lips, prolonged the silence by just staring back at them.

The chairman had to say something. “Well,” he said.

The R&D head smiled even wider.

The marketing head spoke up. He always spoke whatever was first on his mind anyway. “Then,” he said, in a similar tone that connected the chairman’s previous one-word sentence, “I think we should really tap into the pink peso! I think we should make a hotdog and name it after a hunk.” His eyes widened as he fell silent, shocked at what he just said at the top of his head.

Again silence filled the room.

“Brilliant,” the chairman said.

Then the murmuring started. Some were scratching their heads, others were muttering to their seatmates. The marketing head, his spirits buoyed by what the chairman said, pushed on further. “The hunk should be from showbiz,” he added. “A star that is hot right now.” There were mumblings of agreement across the table.

The chairman spoke, “Who’s the hottest hunk right now for the gays?”

For the third time that afternoon, one could hear a pin drop on the carpeted floor of the boardroom.

The chairman, sensing his mistake, turned to the R&D head. “Minerva, do you know who’s the hottest hunk right now?” Unfortunately Minerva was a forty-two year old miss who had six dogs as her only companions in her apartment after her mother died five years ago. She stammered, “Well… ah… I think…” before the chairman mercifully cut her off. “I think,” he said, “that we should bring our secretaries in here and ask them.”

Suddenly a voice from the far end of the table was heard: “Sam Milby.”

All eyes turned to the assistant brand manager who spoke up. He started stammering when he realized that not only was everyone staring at him, but they also had puzzled, even accusing, expressions on their faces. “Ah, er, I mean… look, even my girlfriend told me she wants to get it on with that guy,” he quickly added. “I mean, I’m insanely jealous because of that!”

Relief swept across the room. The brand manager, who played badminton regularly with his assistant and had stripped so many times in front of him in the locker room after playing, immediately gave his two-cents’ worth. “Yeah, I agree,” he said. And that was the only thing he would ever say in the entire meeting.

“Sam Milby,” the chairman muttered. “Do we have any other options aside from Sam?”

Miss R&D, eager to make a contribution, chimed in. “Richard Gomez,” she said confidently.

“Too old,” said the marketing head. “I can imagine a foot-long that’s wrinkled and cold.” Ewww, said everyone in the room.

“How about Manny Pacquiao?” said another.

“He’s everywhere,” complained the marketing head, “and besides, I see a short, tough, sweaty cocktail sausage. That’s one salty hotdog.”

“What about Echo Rosales?” said another. The marketing head shook his head. “I’m seeing dark, burnt, brownish instead of bright, juicy red. Plus it looks like a long, thin one. We want tender, juicy, big, fat!” By this time everyone was so busy thinking of options that no one wondered how the marketing head could make a judgment call on Echo’s dick.

“Uhm, Rafael Rossel?”

“He’s half-Norwegian, isn’t he? Are we thinking salmon hotdogs here?” sneered the marketing head, “I don’t think so!”

“But ‘Norwegian Wood’ would be such a great name study,” said the assistant brand manager to no one in particular.

“I know! Richard Gutierrez!” shouted someone. “No,” shouted another, “Richard and Raymond Gutierrez! Twin hotdogs!”

The marketing head brightened. “Imagine, conjoined hotdogs! An alternative to the foot-long! We’ll have to make special hotdog buns for them! Think of the additional revenue avenues!”

“No.” The chairman’s voice was firm. “No twin hotdogs. I don’t want to deal with the mother. And that’s that,” he said, cutting off any objections from the marketing head. “I think I’ll go with Sam Milby. He’s young, fresh, white meat, and his name is very ‘Uncle Sam’ American, and we all know that the hotdog is as American as apple pie and baseball. Yeah, I’m comfortable with Sam.”

He then turned to the marketing head. “Now, I want you and your team to get cracking. I want every homosexual in the Philippines, from Luzon to Mindanao, to say, ‘I want to eat Sam’s hotdog!’ I want them to stuff their mouths with Sam’s hotdog every single day!”

And thus it came to pass:
(This was taken at 6am when the light wasn’t that bright yet. The copy says, “Swift Sam All-Meat Hotdogs. Bagong sarap, bagong kaibigan.”)

Take A Pic

2006-06-24T11:08:00.000+08:00

Playing with my new toy while I was sick.

Meet Daniel, Dream's current incarnation. He stands just beyond my bed, watching me when I sleep. Beside him is his sister Death, but she's still encased in plastic. I have no plans of unleashing her in my room.

The books I still have to finish reading. Usually I read two books; when one gets tedious or boring, I switch to the other and so forth until I finish both.

My weekly "bible". People have been telling me to subscribe, saying I'll end up spending less and I won't miss out on any issue. But there's a thrill and joy in finding an issue on the newstand and snapping it up before anyone else gets a hand on it.

Dinner with Leigh at Filos in The Fort. When dining at Filos, you MUST order the sinigang na ham. It's to die for! When I had my first taste, I forgot my name. It's that gooooood! It's better than sex, pramis. The grilled tuna belly is also good, while the gambas are flavourful, but Leigh and I wished it was spicier.

I like this picture I took of Leigh for some reason.

My Song For The Moment

2006-06-22T16:44:00.000+08:00

You’ve got to love
To learn to live
Where angels fear to tread.
I did it and I don’t regret the day.
Even now,
I think of how
You turned to me to say:

“Are you gonna go
To the Sodom and Gomorrah Show?
It’s got everything you need for your complete
Entertainment and instruction:
Sun, sex, sin, divine intervention,
Death and destruction!
The Sodom and Gomorrah Show
Is a once-in-a-lifetime production.”

Pet Shop Boys
“The Sodom and Gomorrah Show”
from the album Fundamental

Bill Bored To Death

2006-06-21T20:07:00.000+08:00

There’s a proposal for billboards to be banned from national highways. One drive down EDSA or South Super Highway and you know why the anti-billboard crew is up in arms: Hideous to the cityscape! Distracting to motorists! Driving hazards!

While I am a member of the industry that’s responsible for their existence in the first place, let me just say that what I’m about to say next isn’t really in defense for something that is partially responsible for bringing food to our tables. In fact, I’m not too fond of every billboard that comes out; most of them are rather bland and boring. And I think there should be regulations so that our city doesn’t become one living billboard.

However, I must disagree with those who say that the billboards pose a hazard to motorists because they’re distracting to the driver. (We are obviously going to limit our discussions to the drivers, because passengers getting distracted by billboards will not cause a vehicle to ram into another, not unless the passenger decides to distract the driver, in which case it’s the fault of the passenger.)

Let us say that the billboard IS distracting to drivers. In fact, it should be: billboards, like any other form of advertising, should be attention-grabbing and memorable. An almost naked woman that’s ten stories high will distract a lot of hetero drivers, while a Zanjoe wearing just Bench underwear and a pout will certainly make me take my eyes off the road and stare at his crotch.

But to put the blame squarely on the billboard maker is, I think, unfair. Because ultimately the responsibility still rests on the driver to keep his eyes firmly on the road. If he cannot glance at it once in a while and still keep an eye on the vehicle in front, then he’s not really a good driver and shouldn’t be behind the wheel in the first place. Yes folks, the really competent and experienced drivers eventually learn how to take in the surrounding sights while never really taking his eyes off the road for more than several seconds.

Using me as an example, I should have the discipline and will power to wrestle my eyes off Zanjoe’s crotch and focus back on the road ahead. If I allow myself to continue undressing Zanjoe with my eyes, then it’s entirely my fault if I end up rear-ending the vehicle in front of me. Why blame Ben Chan? Or even Zanjoe, the poor, almost-naked kid?

If we ban billboards because they distract drivers, then why stop at billboards? Why not ban any and everything that may distract drivers? Let’s ban bus ads. Let’s ban sexy women from waiting at bus stops or crossing the streets. Let’s ban Porches and other head-turning cars from the streets. Heck, while we’re at it, why not issue to drivers those view guards they put on horses to block their peripheral view? If they only see what’s in front of them then we’ll have less road accidents. Too bad though for Zanjoe, Alexandra de Rossi and the other Bench models.

Let me digress a little: the latest set of Bench billboards on the upcoming Bench Underwear Fashion Show is, I believe, tacky and an eyesore. Okay, at the start I could take it: the ever-delectable Andrew Wolfe, the yummy Zanjoe—the billboards were few and far between one another. Then I think Ben Chan decided to buy every other billboard along EDSA. So now there are disco balls, skimpy-dressed girls and brief-clad boys all over the metro. It’s not just pervasive, it’s already invasive. Billboards already make their subjects momentous because of their sheer size. To overdo what’s already an unsubtle medium is overkill.

Okay, back to billboards in general.

Some of the best billboards for me are those that are simple, easy-to-grasp, yet impactful. Like the ones of Folded & Hung, when they first came out with Claudine Baretto looking like Beyonce Knowles. Who knew Claudine could look like that? It immediately changed the way I looked at F&H. After they came out with their series of Illegally Low jeans billboards, I went out and bought a pair. That’s the power of the billboard. (Unfortunately F&H’s latest endorser, Polo Ravales, leaves me cold.)

Then again, there’s this one billboard by Lucky Me! along EDSA that’s a sad example of badly-crafted copy. The main visual is a bowl of Lucky Me! Supreme tilted 90 degrees to the side; its headline, designed to be read by tilting your head 90 degrees to the right, reads: “Gising na!” (“Wake up!”)

What’s bad is that it took me several viewings to realize that the billboard was oriented that way because it was meant to be read by people lying on their side; in other words, those still in bed. It’s already a bad sign if the billboard isn’t immediately understandable. To make it worse, the copy would have been better if it read “Bangon na!” (“Rise up!”) instead of “Gising na!”. It would have made the reason for the side-view orientation more obvious and easier to understand. Besides, one can be awake and still be lying in bed, right?

The billboards along the North Luzon Express are actually sources of entertainment—it’s fun to make fun of billboards of livestock feeds with their pun-filled copy and their kitschy visuals. “One Latigo, all bulate go!” screams a headline for livestock de-worming medicine.

I think that there should be regulations so that the proliferation of billboards won’t go overboard. But please, let’s not blame the advertisers for incompetent drivers.

Rest Day

2006-06-21T20:06:00.000+08:00

I rarely get sick, so when I do I really take time out to rest. What I also noticed is that I tend to recover faster than most. Part of me wishes that it is really some mutant power of mine, but the reality is I think more boring: I’m just lucky that way.

But for today I’m not so lucky. I’m at home coughing my throat out, or so it feels. I’ve had this cough last week, and I was on my way to drowning it with lots and lots of water, but last Saturday I got wet walking under the rain to my car. Liquid versus liquid, and I guess the rain won. By Monday I was coughing non-stop, and Tuesday I had a bit of fever going.

So today I’m taking it easy. I just need to rest this off. I have no excuse to be bored silly: there’s the computer, some books that are begging to be read, and DVDs that are still encased in plastic. But there’s also the bliss of just doing nothing.

It’s a rare luxury, not having to do anything. It’s a luxury because too little of it is frustrating, while too much is tedious. But when it comes, one must embrace it wholly. It’s as if the world decided to stop for you, but actually it’s you disengaging from the world.

Cool Pics!

2006-06-18T21:10:00.000+08:00

When I get obsessed, I really get obsessed. Last weekend I spent Independence Day going around the metro looking for this particular digital camera: the Nikon Coolpix 5700. But I soon found out that the Philippines is Canon country. Well, Sony and Kodak too. So after several malls I saw only one 5700—in Market! Market! Unfortunately it was the display unit and the salesperson was honest enough to refuse selling it to me because it had already sustained some scratches.

I called Columbia, the official Nikon distributor in the country, and I found out that the 5700 is already being phased out. So I decided to go buy instead its cousin, the 8700. It isn’t being phased out, but I wouldn’t be surprised if soon it will be. It’s a line of cameras that Nikon calls pro-sumer cameras: they are squarely in between consumer-friendly click-and-shoot cameras and professional cameras. The 8700 is 8 megapixels, something which I don’t really need but I’d find a way to make use of eventually. I think the only major difference between the 5700 and the 8700 is the megapixel size; otherwise they look identical.

My old Coolpix 3200 will go to my sister. Meanwhile, I may get trigger-happy in the days to come. So for the viewers of The McVie Show on dial-up, my advance apologies: downloading pics may cause some delay in viewing the Show.

Here is a test shot:

Oops, She Does It Again

2006-06-18T18:16:00.000+08:00

I have been quite busy the past two weeks, and the first casualty is The McVie Show. It’s not that I don’t have time; I can always make time to write. It’s just that I don’t have the energy—by the end of the day, I’m just too tired to put my thoughts in order.

Thank god for Britney Spears.

* * * * *

Britney Spears may have second baby in Namibia
Posted on Friday, June 16, 2006 (EST) in MSN.com
Pregnant pop diva Britney Spears may follow in the steps of Hollywood couple Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie and have her baby in Namibia.

WINDHOEK, United States (AFP) – “Deputy Tourism Minister Leon Jooste confirmed that he received a telephonic enquiry from Spears’ office to have her second baby born in Namibia,” the Namibian Broadcasting Corporation (NBC) said Friday.
A tourism ministry official told AFP: “Our office received an enquiry from the staff of Britney Spears,” but did not elaborate.
The 24-year-old star is six months pregnant with her second child with husband Kevin Federline, although entertainment tabloids have been hawking reports of an imminent split. The baby is due in September.

Faked Drugs

2006-06-14T12:16:00.000+08:00

This was a tabloid’s editorial cartoon.

One More, Once More

2006-06-14T11:16:00.000+08:00

Thanks to Alyssa Keys, the following viral is experiencing resurgence in popularity (or I should say, notoriety).

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OQUECz_EwSg

I saw this earlier this year and I thought it had died a natural death. Because of Alyssa Keys, Michael Fajatin will have to live down his 15 minutes of infamy all over again.

What Goes Around Comes Around….

2006-06-13T19:32:00.000+08:00

The hottest viral going around these days is this:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=leW9nn8ZCAM

Unverified sources claim the poor girl is Alyssa Alano of Viva Hot Babes. Given local showbiz, it’s likely her career will get a boost from this.

She should call herself ALYSSA KEYS. And when she introduces herself to her audience, she should say, “Hi! Alyssa Keys me! Kamusta na u?”

Get her a new manager, quick!

Fundamentally PSB

2006-06-12T10:17:00.000+08:00

Even before hearing a note from the Pet Shop Boys’ latest release, Fundamental, I read several glowing reviews about the album. Generally the verdict is similar: “a smashing return to form by the Pet Shop Boys” is the almost unanimous assessment.

Glowing reviews tend to elicit two reactions from me. Either I end up liking the reviewed because of preconditioning, or I run screaming in the opposite direction. I must admit while listening to the album I was vacillating between the two the whole time.

Most critics refer to the Boys’ return to form as their return to electronic synthpop versus their previous Release, which had guitars all over the place; that album was generally panned by many. But part of me suspects that “return to form” is also just a subtle backhanded way for the critics to say, the Boys are repeating themselves. A mid-album musical breaker like God Willing? Been there with The Samurai in Autumn from their previous album. Spelling out the title in the chorus with “M-I-N-I-M-A-L, we are minimal”? Done that with “We’re S-H-O-P-P-I-N-G, we’re shopping” in their very first album.

But while the Boys do repeat themselves, they’re smart enough to rise above the sound of rehash. They still write some of the smartest and sharpest lyrics around (although one song, Numb is written by Diane Warren). The critics are also praising the Boys for being more overtly political in this album, although their very British concerns will be lost to those who don’t tune in regularly to the BBC.

Plus they were astute enough to get Trevor Horn to co-produce the album with them. Having him onboard is like getting a third ear—everything sounds familiar yet one can hear a newness pulsing just below the surface.

The songs certainly evoke the sounds of electronic past. The album starts strongly with Psychological, whose instrumentation recalls latter-day Depeche Mode. Towards the end of Minimal the guitars come in above the electronic beat ala-New Order. Plus the Boys evoke their own sound as well. The Sodom and Gomorrah Show opens with a dramatic bombast that’s so PSB; plus there’s the Paninaro-like opening of “Sun! Sex! Sin! Divine intervention! Death! And destruction!” Integral is a strong album ender in the vein of Go West or Saturday Night Forever. Meanwhile I Made My Excuse And Left is a successfully mournful number that recalls the Boys’ more morose musical musings. And even the song Indefinite Leave To Remain still has guitars strumming in the background.

While far from perfect, Fundamental is a strong contribution to the Boys’ oeuvre. The Boys smartly dip into their synthpop strengths while letting Horn tweak their sound. The result is a subtly surprising album that at times sounds frisky and fresh while remaining fundamentally PSB.

Va-va-vroom!

2006-06-09T20:56:00.000+08:00

Tuesday I brought Orlando to the casa for his 80,000-km maintenance. He’s already five years old and for the past few months you can feel and hear his age. There are numerous creaks and his response has become more sluggish. So I hesitated for only about half a second when the guy at the casa told me that Orlando’s maintenance fee would reach… gasp… more than twenty kiyaw… double gasp! I just bit the bullet and mentally computed the number of tricks I have to get on weekends in Quezon Circle for me to pay for Orlando’s upkeep. Plus I had to leave him in the shop for two days; good thing I was able to use my brother’s car for the meantime.

This morning I picked up Orlando from the casa. The moment I pulled out of the place I knew Orlando was a changed car. I felt it the instant we hit the street. Gone were the creaks and the matagtag sound and feel. Plus the feel was a lot tighter yet smoother, like everything is well oiled. It didn’t exactly feel like driving Orlando the first time, but it came close. Suddenly all that money spent was justified!

So now Orlando feels sexier to drive. I’m so excited to go behind Orlando’s… ah… wheel and take him for a spin.

Sex and cars—what a classic combination.

T.G.I.F.

2006-06-09T19:57:00.000+08:00

First, my apologies to the viewers of The McVie Show. The past two weeks were quite hectic with us making two uber-major pitches or bids. (A pitch is when we present to potential clients and hope they are sufficiently impressed to hire us.) And during the weekend in between the McVie family went to The Forest Club in Puypuy, Laguna to relax and unwind in their hot spring pool. In my ngarag state I forgot to bring my camera, so sadly there are no pictures of that beautiful place. Argh.

But great news at the end of this week—we got both clients! Boring news to everyone else, but that’s the reason why I haven’t been able to entertain you guys recently. Sigh.

* * * * *

The movie Superman Returns is about to open in theaters nationwide, and the billboards are all up. Curiously, all the billboards have the logo of HANFORD on the bottom area; the garment company must be a major sponsor for the movie billboards. It’s funny though that an underwear manufacturer should sponsor a movie about a superhero who flies around wearing a red pair of briefs.

* * * * *

Long weekend. Three out-of-town invites. One McVie. What’s a guy going to do?

Soundtracks

2006-06-07T19:52:00.000+08:00

One time when Leigh hitched a ride with me going home, Erasure’s Victim Of Love was playing on my iPod. I turned to her and said, “I think this song ruined me.” I explained that when I first heard it, I was immediately struck by the lyrics and I remember really taking them to heart. Leigh admitted she wasn’t familiar with the song, so I recited the lyrics to her:

“I don’t wanna look like some kind of fool;
I don’t wanna break my heart over you.
I’m building a wall, every day it’s getting higher—
This time I won’t end up another victim of love.”

Leigh looked at me and sighed. “Well!” she said. “There’s no way we can go back in time and fix things now, is there?”

But this isn’t really about my views on love. Rather, that exchange made me realize just how influential certain songs have been in my life: shaping the way I think, forming my views on love, life in general, and the world we live in.

So I turned on my mental music jukebox, switched “rewind” and started looking at the songs that made an impact on me when I was growing up. Here are the ones that made it on my list.

Ob-la-di, Ob-la-da, The Beatles. My earliest memory of any song, rhyme or ditty is the chorus of this Fab Four classic: “Ob-la-di, ob-la-da, life goes on, bra!” As a kid I always thought they were referring to the female underwear, which made the song somewhat of a taboo for me. For a kid growing up in a semi-conservative household, it was shocking to hear a pop song be that blatant.

Yesterday, The Beatles. This song holds the record for most number of remakes made, but my most memorable version is the one by Andy Williams. When I first heard the line, “There’s a shadow hanging over me,” I had nightmares thinking that a shadow in the form of a hanged man was hovering over my head whenever I’d fall asleep.

Eleanor Rigby, The Beatles. Even before I realized that the Lennon-McCartney lyrics were pure poetry, I was already struck by the plaintive, “Ah, look at all the lonely people.” Whenever I felt that I was all alone in the world—as a teen, one can feel that way a lot—I’d look to this song to validate what I was feeling.

For No One, The Beatles. One of the saddest songs by The Fab Four. Call me masochistic, but I always liked downer songs because they echo and reinforce the deep sadness I’d feel from time to time. “You find that all her words of kindness linger on when she no longer needs you” kills me every time I hear it. And the final blow: “And in her eyes you see nothing, no sign of love behind the tears; cried for no one, a love that should have lasted years.”

You’re In My Soul, Rod Stewart. It’s a cheesy song, but growing up in the 70s I had no concept of cheese. I just know that it spoke to my need for someone to share my life with. “You are my lover, you’re my best friend—you’re in my soul” was such a powerful concept. I’d imagine hugging someone while singing that song to… him or her? Hmmm, that’s weird. I think at that age I was still hoping I’d end up like everyone else, a guy who’d end up with a girl. Ewww.

I Don’t Wanna Talk About It, Rod Stewart. Another serving of extra thick mozzarella from Rod “Don’t Cha Think I’m Sexy?” Stewart. “I don’t wanna talk about it, how you broke my heart….” As you can see, I gravitated towards songs of love lost.

Boogie Nights, Heatwave. Then again, one can only have so much of sappy heartbreak songs. Whenever Heatwave’s dance hit would play on the radio, I’d stop whatever I was doing and stick my ear close to the speakers. I remember switching stations up and down the AM dial just to be able to catch that song. “Got to keep on dancing, keep on dancing….” The call to dance your troubles away was irresistible.

Weekend In New England, Barry Manilow. Now we’re entering the heart of Sap City and Barry Manilow is the mayor. To be fair, this song is one of his most evocative. The opening notes on the piano alone is enough to warn the listener that more drama and bombast is yet to come. Then he askes that heart-wrenching question: “When will this strong yearning end?” By the time Barry ends with, “and when will I hold youuuu…” and he holds that note until “…again…,” you wanna start screaming at him for an encore: “Again! Again! Again!”

Ships, Barry Manilow. I thought this song about the distance separating a father and a son echoed how I felt about my father. I found the line, “I said, love’s easier when it’s far away. We sat and watch a distant light…” so evocative. I viewed my dad as a distant father, and I wished he’d be more demonstrative. But that was before I realized he grew up without a father figure. After making peace with that, I eventually found the song irrelevant to me.

Knowing Me, Knowing You, ABBA. The Swedes scored with this excellent break-up song. “We just have to face it, this time we’re through” (and echoed by the back-up vocals: “We’re really through”) is such a great example of abject resignation for a relationship that has truly run its course. It made me realize that “til death do us part” doesn’t happen to all of us.

The Name Of The Game, ABBA. Love is a game. And in the game of love there are ruthless pros and naïve beginners. “If I trust in you, would you let me down? Would you laugh at me, if I said I care for you? Would you feel the same way too? I wanna know the name of the game.”

Calling Occupants Of Interplanetary Craft, The Carpenters. This is the most un-Carpenters song in their entire oeuvre. And because this song was released just after the Steven Spielberg movie Close Encounters of the Third Kind, it helped increase my fascination for the stars, UFOs and science fiction.

Everlasting Love, Andy Gibb. At the time this song was on air, I saw the movie The Wild Geese and fell in love with most of the men in the cast (and it was an all-star cast headed by Richard Burton, Roger Moore and Richard Harris). I was especially smitten by a supporting cast member (I forget na who, basta blonde siya) and I remember imagining that I was singing this song to him on the movie set! Weird. What fantasies one can have when you’re young and silly.

You Should Be Dancing, The BeeGees. I remember I was so fascinated with John Travolta and Saturday Night Fever. One night I was riding my bike along the neighborhood when I heard this song playing on the TV and I saw through the windows of a neighbor’s house that they were showing a scene from the movie. I rushed home only to find out they cut the song shot. It’s the kind of song whose opening beats alone could give me such an adrenaline rush.

If I Can’t Have You, Yvonne Elliman/The BeeGees. It has a straightforward sentiment: if I can’t have you, I don’t want nobody, baby. Sung with plaintive precision by Yvonne “Mary Magdalene” Elliman, it was a song of desperation disguised as a dance ditty.

Emotion, Samantha Sang… this song written for her by the BeeGees. It’s a deceptive song—the melody is so rich and lyrical, you’d think it’s a sappy love song if you don’t listen carefully to the words. But it’s really about a brokenhearted girl who cannot find anyone to replace her former lover: “It’s over and done, but the heartache lives on inside. And who is the one you’re clinging to instead of me tonight?” I love the seeming incongruity between music and lyrics.

Tagged by Phillip

2006-06-06T23:10:00.000+08:00

20 years ago I...
1. Participated in EDSA Uno and helped kicked out Marcos
2. Admitted to my college best friend that I had a crush on him, which put a strain on our friendship
3. Tried to cry on-cue onstage and failed

10 years ago I...
1. Participated in a TA tour in Iloilo and Roxas City and had probably one of the best experiences of my life so far
2. Directed my first play ever—and it’s by Shakespeare
3. Tried to have a career as assistant director for commercials and failed

5 years ago I...
1. Enjoyed my first year of work at ABS-CBN
2. Changed the name of Rupert Jr.—in honor of my previous car—to Orlando
3. Frequented Burgoo, Aresi’s, and Chili’s in Tomas Morato for lunch or dinner

3 years ago I...
1. Launched The McVie Show Season 2
2. Became a card-carrying member of F
3. Carried my dead father from the living room sofa to the car to the clinic bed where he was pronounced DOA

So far this year I...
1. Went back to advertising
2. Enjoyed a threesome with a couple
3. Bought—along with my mom and my sister—a Mac!

Yesterday, I...
1. Presented in a new biz pitch—wearing a chef’s outfit
2. Flirted on the net
3. Accompanied Leigh to Tiendesitas

Today, I...
1. Got my car’s registration from Raffy
2. Went home via the MRT then via FX
3. Tried to finish a blog entry I’ve been working on for a couple of days but failed

Tomorrow, I will...
1. Go to work
2. Flirt some more on the net
3. Work out cuz I’m getting fat, argh!

In the next minute I will tag...
1. Anyone interested in answering this. C’mon, you’re all grown-ups, you can choose on your own.

Thanks Phillip for tagging me. At least I had a quick and painless blog entry I could easily post online.

Winner Tee

2006-06-02T22:12:00.000+08:00

I saw this shirt on a guy this afternoon, and I fell in love with the message: Cancel my subscription. Because I don’t need your issues.

Woo-hoo! Clap! Clap! Clap!