The Marikina river overflowed last night, swallowing the River Park evening market whole. We watched, helpless, motionless. We salvaged what we could, but it was not much. The water rose too fast, and too furious. This morning, W surveyed what was left of the stalls and found nothing.
The River Park area, with almost a hundred shops, was wiped clean. No tents, no tables, no lamp posts. It was like those two months never existed.
Bye, bye Red Corner.
Tuesday, November 30
Thursday, November 25
Hula Hoop
Judgment B. recently posted on her blog the nominees of the NU Rock Awards (she is one of the judges, YOU RAK!), so I'm thinking that it would be fun to guess the winners. After consulting my crystal ball(s), heto ang mga hula ko:
Best New Artist
Who should win: Cambio. Rich guitar layers, pure sonic sweetness. Kris, Diego and Ebe sing like confused angels. Sticky, bright pop hooks.
Who's gonna win: Bamboo. `Cos they have a gazillion kolehiyala fans.
Artist/Band of the Year
Who should win: Sugarfree. Because Bono said that great bands write great pop songs.
Who's gonna win: Bamboo. Or Rivermaya. If we're lucky enough, Sandwich.
Song of the Year
Who should win: "Two Trick Pony," Sandwich. Can't get that riff out of my head.
Who's gonna win: "Noypi,"Bamboo. I can't believe Orange and Lemons and The Dawn are nominated in this category. Cambio's "DV" should have been nominated.
Album of the Year
Who should win: Derby Light, Cambio. I love the britpop (Sleeper, Blur) meets Sonic Youth sound, with effortless pace changes in almost every song. "Patlang" and "Corporate Attire" make up for the bad rapping.
Who's gonna win: Influence,Urbandub. Galing eh. Surprised though that The Mongols' Buddha's Pest wasn't nominated. Supremely pissed that Orange and Lemons is a nominee.
Best Music Video of the Year
Who should win: "DV," Cambio. Dahil wala pa ring tatalo sa Divisoria.
Who's gonna win: "Astro," Radioactive Sago Project.
Best Album Packaging
Who should win: "Novena," Slapshock. Ganda ng colorsep eh. Ginastosan talaga.
Who's gonna win: "Novena," Slapshock.
Vocalist of the Year
Who should win: Ebe Dancel. Ebe ForEBEr!!!! He has such a nice, sweet, high voice. And his singing never falters during live sets.
Who's gonna win: Ebe. Or Karl Roy. They do the most singing. The others just grunt and Bamboo sucks. Masyadong pa-pogi ang boses. Well, pogi naman kasi.
Guitarist of the Year
Who should win: Diego Castillo, Marc Abaya, and Raymund Marasigan of Sandwich
Who's gonna win: Diego Castillo, Marc Abaya, and Raymund Marasigan of Sandwich
Bassist of the Year
Who should win: Buddy Zabala of Cambio and Twisted Halo. More for his work with Cambio.
Who's gonna win: Hmm. Nathan's a bit high-profile. But I'm still hoping it would be Buddy.
Drummer of the Year
Who should win: Mitch Singson of Sugarfree. Changed my mind. Listened to "Prom" and "Kwarto" again and realized that Mitch's playing is just as important as the singing.
Who's gonna win: Mike Dizon of Sandwich.
Producer of the Year
Who should win: Buddy Zabala and Raymund Marasigan, for Dramachine. They should also be nominated for their work with Cambio. The Mongols (who I assume are also Genghis Klan) should've also been recognized in this category.
Who's gonna win: Sandwich, for Thanks to the Moon's Gravitational Pull.
In the Raw Award
Who should win: Matilda.
Who's gonna win: Plane Divides the Sky.
Game. Pustahan na. Sino matalo, mabaho!
Tsaka sagot na rin ang beer.
Best New Artist
Who should win: Cambio. Rich guitar layers, pure sonic sweetness. Kris, Diego and Ebe sing like confused angels. Sticky, bright pop hooks.
Who's gonna win: Bamboo. `Cos they have a gazillion kolehiyala fans.
Artist/Band of the Year
Who should win: Sugarfree. Because Bono said that great bands write great pop songs.
Who's gonna win: Bamboo. Or Rivermaya. If we're lucky enough, Sandwich.
Song of the Year
Who should win: "Two Trick Pony," Sandwich. Can't get that riff out of my head.
Who's gonna win: "Noypi,"Bamboo. I can't believe Orange and Lemons and The Dawn are nominated in this category. Cambio's "DV" should have been nominated.
Album of the Year
Who should win: Derby Light, Cambio. I love the britpop (Sleeper, Blur) meets Sonic Youth sound, with effortless pace changes in almost every song. "Patlang" and "Corporate Attire" make up for the bad rapping.
Who's gonna win: Influence,Urbandub. Galing eh. Surprised though that The Mongols' Buddha's Pest wasn't nominated. Supremely pissed that Orange and Lemons is a nominee.
Best Music Video of the Year
Who should win: "DV," Cambio. Dahil wala pa ring tatalo sa Divisoria.
Who's gonna win: "Astro," Radioactive Sago Project.
Best Album Packaging
Who should win: "Novena," Slapshock. Ganda ng colorsep eh. Ginastosan talaga.
Who's gonna win: "Novena," Slapshock.
Vocalist of the Year
Who should win: Ebe Dancel. Ebe ForEBEr!!!! He has such a nice, sweet, high voice. And his singing never falters during live sets.
Who's gonna win: Ebe. Or Karl Roy. They do the most singing. The others just grunt and Bamboo sucks. Masyadong pa-pogi ang boses. Well, pogi naman kasi.
Guitarist of the Year
Who should win: Diego Castillo, Marc Abaya, and Raymund Marasigan of Sandwich
Who's gonna win: Diego Castillo, Marc Abaya, and Raymund Marasigan of Sandwich
Bassist of the Year
Who should win: Buddy Zabala of Cambio and Twisted Halo. More for his work with Cambio.
Who's gonna win: Hmm. Nathan's a bit high-profile. But I'm still hoping it would be Buddy.
Drummer of the Year
Who should win: Mitch Singson of Sugarfree. Changed my mind. Listened to "Prom" and "Kwarto" again and realized that Mitch's playing is just as important as the singing.
Who's gonna win: Mike Dizon of Sandwich.
Producer of the Year
Who should win: Buddy Zabala and Raymund Marasigan, for Dramachine. They should also be nominated for their work with Cambio. The Mongols (who I assume are also Genghis Klan) should've also been recognized in this category.
Who's gonna win: Sandwich, for Thanks to the Moon's Gravitational Pull.
In the Raw Award
Who should win: Matilda.
Who's gonna win: Plane Divides the Sky.
Game. Pustahan na. Sino matalo, mabaho!
Tsaka sagot na rin ang beer.
Wednesday, November 24
Check Point
The last time I took a written exam, the kind that makes you queasy, was 10 years ago. It was for an elective, Anthropology 140 (Folklore), and I was tipsy from the couple of beers I had over lunch in Krus na Ligas. I barely winged it, but if I knew then that it would be the last, I would have studied harder, made my handwriting more graceful and my thesis statement more coherent. I miss it, the surprises quizzes, the long-winding essays, the defense of an idea. SO now, I try to fill out as many personality quizzes as I can just for the sheer pleasure of checking boxes.
(Thanks, starshuffler, for the Buffy quiz. Wesley and I, meant to be.)
Not So Manic Now
Older and more melodic, the new Manic Street Preachers release, "Lifeblood," is, to borrow another album title, romantic depressive. It's just amazing how a song on Richard Nixon can be so catchy and bittersweet like suddenly remembering a long weekend in the middle of a meeting. Songs like a secret smile. Almost happy, almost there. Almost victorious. If I were Billy Bragg, I'd be taking down notes.
(Thanks, starshuffler, for the Buffy quiz. Wesley and I, meant to be.)
Not So Manic Now
Older and more melodic, the new Manic Street Preachers release, "Lifeblood," is, to borrow another album title, romantic depressive. It's just amazing how a song on Richard Nixon can be so catchy and bittersweet like suddenly remembering a long weekend in the middle of a meeting. Songs like a secret smile. Almost happy, almost there. Almost victorious. If I were Billy Bragg, I'd be taking down notes.
Tuesday, November 23
A Series of Unfortunate Events
Fuck last week.
Hospitals, a car accident, and a persistent fever. So here:
Hospitals, a car accident, and a persistent fever. So here:
Thursday, November 18
Everything's Changing
...and everything's falling apart at work. We are given tasks, which cannot be included in our monthly accomplishment reports, tasks that take up 80% of our time. On paper, it would seem like we're doing so little, when the fact is, we are throwing in a few extra hours everyday just to finish our prescribed assignments.
This makes me sad. Multi-tasking has been abused severely. If multi-tasking were a dog, it would be a very dead dog. By spreading ourselves too thinly, we become experts of nothing, and it is something that matters a lot to most of us.
Some girls are subtle
When Heidi Gluck, Freda Love and Juliana Hatfield formed Some Girls last year, I got deliriously excited because a.) it's two-thirds of the Blake Babies in one band; b.) I like the relaxed, almost bare recording of Gluck's band, The Pieces; and c.) I'm just a huge Juliana Hatfield fan. "Hey Baby" was the perfect soundtrack to our freshmen year in U.P. --- a little insecure, a little lost, a little sexy. Her other releases in the years that followed never echoed the brutal vulnerability and unabashedly pop spirit of her Mammoth Records days (suddenly missing Dillon Fence). Her latest release, "In Exile Deo," happily finds Juliana, err, happy. It's a return-to-form release, comfortingly familiar and happily jangling along the crooked road to love that curves like a knowing smile.
Some Girls is somewhere between the early Juliana, who handles most of the songwriting, and the laid-back, matter-of-fact rock of the Blake Babies. Juliana's guitar lines are subtle, a continuous riff that wraps the songs neatly like a jagged little bow. Actually, everything's a little too subtle. There's no total rock-out moment; their songs are 3-minute pop sweetness fun with a hint of the sour. Just a hint. And it's refreshing that way. "Feel It" is in no way a significant album, and the three girls seem content with their relaxed, tipsy party. And cheers to that.
This makes me sad. Multi-tasking has been abused severely. If multi-tasking were a dog, it would be a very dead dog. By spreading ourselves too thinly, we become experts of nothing, and it is something that matters a lot to most of us.
Some girls are subtle
When Heidi Gluck, Freda Love and Juliana Hatfield formed Some Girls last year, I got deliriously excited because a.) it's two-thirds of the Blake Babies in one band; b.) I like the relaxed, almost bare recording of Gluck's band, The Pieces; and c.) I'm just a huge Juliana Hatfield fan. "Hey Baby" was the perfect soundtrack to our freshmen year in U.P. --- a little insecure, a little lost, a little sexy. Her other releases in the years that followed never echoed the brutal vulnerability and unabashedly pop spirit of her Mammoth Records days (suddenly missing Dillon Fence). Her latest release, "In Exile Deo," happily finds Juliana, err, happy. It's a return-to-form release, comfortingly familiar and happily jangling along the crooked road to love that curves like a knowing smile.
Some Girls is somewhere between the early Juliana, who handles most of the songwriting, and the laid-back, matter-of-fact rock of the Blake Babies. Juliana's guitar lines are subtle, a continuous riff that wraps the songs neatly like a jagged little bow. Actually, everything's a little too subtle. There's no total rock-out moment; their songs are 3-minute pop sweetness fun with a hint of the sour. Just a hint. And it's refreshing that way. "Feel It" is in no way a significant album, and the three girls seem content with their relaxed, tipsy party. And cheers to that.
Tuesday, November 16
Fever to Tell
Burn, Birdy, Burn
Sunday mid-afternoon in bed with a fever, I couldn't shut out the scraping noises on the roof. There are birds nesting in the support beams running across the ceiling, and I have gotten used to their noises, but that afternoon, their scurrying click-claketing was unbearably magnified. I can even see them in my head, their dull brown feathers and shiny eyes and needle-like claws scraping the tin. If I had a blow-torch, I would have Ripley-ed those birdyfuckers, could have burned the entire house down just to get rid of them.
Then I fell asleep.
Monday morning, they were all chirpy and skippy. I was still in a state of incomprehensible incomprehension, but what the hell. Whatever makes those tiny bird hearts happy.
Uh Huh Him
I don't get him. I don't get keeping friendships with passing fancies. We have nothing in common; nothing to talk about when we meet up for dinner or lunch. The silence between us is no longer comfortable, it's just dull and makes me want to run home to my Voyager DVDs. Got a call from him last Friday, and he was asking me if I had been avoiding him. No, not really. I just wasn't making time for him. But I didn't want to break his heart. I just said, "See you when I see you."
So what is it that makes us cling to particular people who are not our friends? As we grow older, and hopefully, get better with relationships, we learn not to force emotions, to see nothing when there is nothing. And old relationships become more precious, yet more relaxed. Easy as breathing. Good as gold.
With him, the harder I try to make small talk, the more I talk small. (That didn't make sense.) All nonsense talk is fun; I live for those moments when we gauge the fun factor of electronic toothbrushes and point our gaydars to models and monsters. But sweating over "Uh, so, do you watch Starstruck?" is not worth it.
So, a "Thanks and have a nice life" is in order. I just don't have the heart to say it.
Sunday mid-afternoon in bed with a fever, I couldn't shut out the scraping noises on the roof. There are birds nesting in the support beams running across the ceiling, and I have gotten used to their noises, but that afternoon, their scurrying click-claketing was unbearably magnified. I can even see them in my head, their dull brown feathers and shiny eyes and needle-like claws scraping the tin. If I had a blow-torch, I would have Ripley-ed those birdyfuckers, could have burned the entire house down just to get rid of them.
Then I fell asleep.
Monday morning, they were all chirpy and skippy. I was still in a state of incomprehensible incomprehension, but what the hell. Whatever makes those tiny bird hearts happy.
Uh Huh Him
I don't get him. I don't get keeping friendships with passing fancies. We have nothing in common; nothing to talk about when we meet up for dinner or lunch. The silence between us is no longer comfortable, it's just dull and makes me want to run home to my Voyager DVDs. Got a call from him last Friday, and he was asking me if I had been avoiding him. No, not really. I just wasn't making time for him. But I didn't want to break his heart. I just said, "See you when I see you."
So what is it that makes us cling to particular people who are not our friends? As we grow older, and hopefully, get better with relationships, we learn not to force emotions, to see nothing when there is nothing. And old relationships become more precious, yet more relaxed. Easy as breathing. Good as gold.
With him, the harder I try to make small talk, the more I talk small. (That didn't make sense.) All nonsense talk is fun; I live for those moments when we gauge the fun factor of electronic toothbrushes and point our gaydars to models and monsters. But sweating over "Uh, so, do you watch Starstruck?" is not worth it.
So, a "Thanks and have a nice life" is in order. I just don't have the heart to say it.
Wednesday, November 3
Market, Market
I turned 30 somewhere between the pirated CDs and barbecue stalls in Marikina's Riverbank market. Nothing unsual, nothing strange. Just a little older, that's all.
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