Wednesday, November 7

This old fart

And this how we tackle creative briefings.

I like it a little complex and apparently so do most of the guys in our creative team. Besides, it is something of a given in advertising. Communicate with wit. Be playful. Contrast for clarity. With an explosion of trickery in your exposition. But not everyone goes for it. A few are amused and applaud the effort. Most just want it straightforward. Say it as it is. Simple.

And I keep hearing this: People don't have the time to think anymore. So keep it simple.


Are we all just reflexes now? Dismissing things that demand a little of our time? And I'm also getting tired of blaming the usual suspects: technology, the immediacy of the net, Paris Hilton. Kung gusto mo, aalamin mo.

But curiosity itself (as an impulse) has become rare. I watch the kids that I'm in contact with and they have no sense of history. It's mostly all the now, and never the how or what came before. And there's a lot of who and what came before in music, comic books, literature, art, etc. Endless volumes.

This is old fart peeve at work.

So yeah, I'm peeved.

Tuesday, November 6

The rejects but aren't they a great looking bunch?

I had high hopes for these and I never learn (not to hope). We lost the bid so at least I get to post these lovely rejects. Brilliant art direction by Arne.

Monday, November 5

The countdown continues

I'm blaming it on the weekly comic. Ever since 52, and now Countdown, days, weeks, months have been passing faster. Which is fine, except for the getting older bit. Makes one think, if my life were a weekly serial, would it be as engaging?

Birthday celebrations have been getting more low key. I don't even remember last year but I think it was spent in bed. Sleeping, of course.

This year's was equally laid back. Lounging in the living room, beer in hand, watching Austin City Limits (Rilo Kiley and Death Cab for Cutie) and Temptation Island. Then Battlestar Galactica talk til 3 a.m. with Faye and Dodo.

Taking time to relax is a luxury. A rare, sweet luxury that my body isn't used to. I read somewhere, Reader's Digest I think, that one should relax by degrees or else the body gets shocked and gets sick. So here I am, sniffly. The price of a long vacation. The price of getting old.

Thursday, October 25

Oh Boy

Tagged by Dodo.

This is me caught staring at Sufjan Stevens. Every time copywriting gets a little unbearable, I reward myself with Sufjaness. I've been listening to his Christmas albums, too. Audio-video lock. Right.

It's 10 p.m. and I'm still at work. My brain hurts. So I'm just surfing and staring. That's my iTunes (The Libertines, What Became of the Likely Lads) and Is It Safe open. Quite a long way to go still. Final touch ups on TV and print ads. Still tweaking event concept. And zero comm. plan. Heh. We'll just wing that tomorrow.

But for now, Sufjan.

1.Upon receiving this tag, immediately perform a screen capture of your desktop. It is best that no icons be deleted before the screen capture so as to add to the element of fun.

2.Post the picture in your blog. You can also give a short explanation on the look of your desktop just below it if you want. You can explain why you preferred such look or why is it full of Icons, things like that.

3.Tag five of your friends and ask them to give you a Free View of their desktop as well.

Tagging anyone who stumbles upon this!

Monday, September 17

A detour to a wake which got me unbelievably depressed and a dizzy spell over dishes

A sister-in-law of a good friend passed away last week. W and I went to the wake last Saturday. We already knew she died from cancer and that, I imagined, she had time time to say her goodbyes like with most terminal cases. But apparently, it wasn't just the goodbyes that she had time to prepare for: She actually planned her funeral. She gave instructions on the dress (she wanted a white dress, not a top and pants), the venue (Nacional), and made a list of who to call up immediately after she passed away.

We stayed for an hour, W was chatting about work with the friend while I was quietly eating lemon squares and biko. Before we left, an elderly relative arrived in a wheelchair. She had a hard time recognizing people and her body looked like crumpled paper. Our friend's brother wheeled her near the coffin. She stood up with little help and took a few painful steps to look at the body. That was when her knees buckled and she had to be almost carried back to her chair. She approached the other brothers and sisters and said: Isa isa na.

One by one. We all fall down.

I realized that death didn't scare me that much and it was the growing old that really frightened me. The forgetfulness. The burden of crumpled limbs. And the goodbyes to people you love.


I ran out of cigarettes that same day, and didn't really crave for any. Woke up Sunday afternoon dizzy. Made lunch, still dizzy. I was washing the dishes when it crashed against me like a wave, an invisible slap across my face. High blood pressure? Withdrawal symptoms (that early)? Or just plain dastardly chores?

Saturday, September 15

Sorting the laundry and not much later Doctor Who and a Big Mac

So there it is. This year's theme: Chores and then telly on Friday nights. It's actually a surprise how I'm enjoying domesticity, well, an excuse really so I can spend at least two hours a day with the Doctor.

And look at the time. Almost four in the morning.

Just wishing everyone well. And here's a premature shout out to my sister, Faye, who will be celebrating her birthday this Sunday somewhere far-flung.

Wednesday, August 1


It's always something. Lyrics. Pop hooks. The horn section. Jangly guitars. A cute vocalist. And sometimes, it's nothing, except for the butterflies in your stomach. A connection is made. Blind love. Blind fandom.

Munich is to blame. That needle sharp riff piercing through a dancey beat, not at all ominous. Quite skipping in the mud happy actually. And Tom Smith's admonishing baritone: You speak when you're spoken to.

I wanted to dance. I wanted to be righteous. And I kinda wanted to make love, well, fuck, to the song.

It's the confusion that can only result to giddy air guitar playing at 3 a.m. and groggy mornings when the first voice you hear in your head is someone else's and it is singing I'm so glad I found this.

Brooding. Joy Division rip-off. And now Coldplay-like?

Fuck that yeh.

Editors' latest album, An End Has a Start, is knee-buckling tender at its core. Smokers Outside the Hospital Doors is a brilliant exercise of passive aggressive songwriting: tip toeing, punching through, soaring then crashing, in no particular order. It oddly feels like running through the woods.

And again, groggy mornings with this voice in my head singing Take my well-worn hands.

Tuesday, July 24


Tagged by Dodo. MOJO Meme, folksies.

What Music Are You Currently Grooving To?

No, I don't have epilepsy. That's actually me grooving, shoulder dips, pointed toes, and all. Most probably listening to Tilly and the Wall's Bottoms of Barrels, The Long Blonde's Someone to Drive You Home, Beirut's Gulag Orkestar, of Montreal's Hissing Fauna, Are You the Destroyer?, and The Arctic Monkey's Favourite Worst Nightmare.

A wistful smile with eyes slightly cross-eyed means I'm glued to the sticky refrains of M. Ward's Post War, The Bluetones' The Bluetones, Pony Up!'s Make Love to the Judges With Your Eyes, and The Weepies' Say I Am You.

If I'm sitting on the steps looking all poet/ninja-like, then I'm plugged in to Bloc Party's A Weekend in the City, Hot Chip's The Warning, The Decemberists' The Crane Wife, Bishop Allen's August EP, and Rilo Kiley's Take Offs and Landings.

What, If Push Comes To Shove, Is Your All-Time Favorite Album?

Blimey! (Because it's a MOJO meme.) This is just impossible. But right now, while I'm sitting at my work desk, it's got to be Tilly and the Wall's Wild Like Children. Partly because I've given it a spin a hundred times since I finally got the disc. Close second is Paul Weller's Stanley Road. Never was a huge fan of his but this record is just immortal.

What Was The First Record You Bought? And Where Did You Buy It?

I was in the third grade and it was Madonna's Like a Virgin. Ever Gotesco, Recto. P18.00, I think.

Which Musician Have You Ever Wanted To Be?

Air guitars and all, John Squire of The Stone Roses. If I were fronting a band, The Beautiful South's Paul Heaton. And Rilo Kiley's Jenny Lewis. (Hee. Dream, dream, dream.)

What Do You Sing In The Shower?

In the shower, the elevator, while walking to work: The Long Blonde's Separated by Motorways, Echobelly's Great Things, The Magnetic Fields' The Saddest Story Ever Told, The Decemberists' July! July!, Tilly and the Wall's Fell Down the Stairs and M. Ward's Chinese Translation.

What Is Your Favourite Saturday Night Record?

Saturday's pub night, innit? Still spinning Shed Seven's A Maximum High, especially Magic Streets and On Standby. The promise of a wild night, though it's most just a couple of bottles now and a movie. When the boyfriend and I are out driving around, it's Amy Winehouse's Back to Black.

And Your Sunday Morning Record?

Pernice Brothers' Discover a New You and Overcome by Happiness. Usually a back-to-back spin. Realistic optimism.

This list could all change by next week, of course.

Sick Boy Watches TV

My stomach flu lasted for three days, just like the Wikipedia entry said. It was also sudden and assaulting, a painful knot, this mortal coil. It's quite depressing, really. How something infinitesimal can do that much damage in such a short time.

Buy hey, I did finish the first season of Brothers & Sisters, and I must say, I'm addicted. I love the, err, lack of direction and the pointless-ness of it all, which is quite refreshing. The writing meanders, wistful and witty, in and out of the the Walkers' kitchen-sink dramas. The cast is amazing to watch. Heck, the boys are amazing to watch.

(I feel a TV Boyfriends-entry coming...)

Thursday, June 21

And I think I've found my Ernie

From Cookie Monster...

You Are Bert

Extremely serious and a little eccentric, people find you loveable - even if you don't love them!

You are usually feeling: Logical - you rarely let your emotions rule you

You are famous for: Being smart, a total neat freak, and maybe just a little evil

How you life your life: With passion, even if your odd passions (like bottle caps and pigeons) are baffling to others

Tuesday, June 12

If the Brakeman Turns My Way

I’ve got the symptoms: late nights in front of the TV, achingly predictable Friday nights with a book, catching up instead of partying, green tea for coffee, sugar-free pastry, and just recently, a nagging weight around the neck.

It took awhile but here it is, still too soon.

When panic grips your body and your heart is a hummingbird
Raven thoughts blacken your mind until you're breathing in reverse

I'm settling comfortably in my thirties. I'm done being the dog walking in circles flattening the grass. Though I enjoyed the experience tremendously, the band thing came just too late in my life. I'm just not that person anymore. I prefer slowly spiraling to drunkenness conversations with friends over quick, massive attacks of alcohol. I'm the catch-up guy now. What are you reading? What are you listening to? And do you remember that time...?

All this automatic writing I have tried to understand
From a psychedelic angel who was tugging on my hand
It's an infinite coincidence but it doesn't form a plan

At work, I'm surrounded by mostly skittish young people, but also the most hardworking and (frighteningly) responsible of the young folks that I have ever met. We ambush work with furrowed brows and take 30 minute coffee breaks in between. The meeting of deadlines, a given. The fooling around, also a given.

Bright Eyes' Cassadaga is not a record you spin over and over. The dusty folk and soul creeps from behind you and quietly breaks your smile. Not at all depressing. But thoughtful. Thoughtful of time passing. I listen to the album at work to ground me. To remind me that work has to be done, that work is where I am, that work will pass in time.

It is an old world it's hard to remember
Like a dime store mystery
I'm a repeat first time offender
Who has rewritten history

This is, then, the bed of grass that sometimes takes a couple of fuck-ups to find. The bed you made, and the people you choose to fill your space. Growing old sucks. Knowing that you're growing older sucks more. But it's a given.

The rest---the books, the music, the silliness, the couch in front of the TV, the love, and most especially, the friends you've grown old with---these, you grab and never let go.

Bright Eyes, "If the Brakeman Turns My Way"

Tuesday, June 5

The Coming Cold

Raindrops keep falling on my head. Every time I step out the office building, there it goes again, falling on my head like a memory. Right as rain, never did get that.

I've often told friends that I need my sunshine, a spoonful of sunshine everyday in my world. A day of hovering clouds, fat and dark, and I'm swirling down the drain of depression. Romantic depressive. Not giving up the ghost, as foolish as it may seem. Bring on the Sinatra, the glass blower's daughter, and the invisible ink. Jump in my drink.

And here I am, naming toothbrushes. It's actually cool. The client wanted us to assign them personalities, like the Spice Girls. So I went looking for some synonyms of "sporty." "Whorish" came up.

Whorish Blue. With Flexi-Grip.

Monday, May 28

the changingman

...Was also a hot mod man. A mod hot man. All kinds of hotness, Paul Weller is. Bought the Stanley Road Deluxe Edition (2 discs plus DVD) over the weekend. Sentimental is understating it.

The 90s. My first stable job. Buy 2+1 beers at Decades beside Makati Cinema Square. An office crush drunkenly saying: Oasis is way better than anything. Oasis will never leave you. Mix tapes. The Golden Age of Britpop. Blowing my savings in CD Warehouse. Oasis, Ocean Colour Scene, and Pulp singles hunting. And much later: Travis, Dubstar, Lush.

Stanley Road could just be the best guitar record of our generation. Wings of Speed could just be the best ballad of our generation, You Do Something to Me the second best. And hands-down the best version of Sexy Sadie, which manages to be sexy and, err, sad.

This is a happy day.

Saturday, May 19

The Burden of Continuity

As children, we never did care about history. Yesterday was as far we could go or we could consider, and only because we wanted to have something better today. I already had this yesterday and now I want something better. But generally, we just didn't care. So it was no problem jumping right smack in the middle of Saturday Fun Machines, of chato or patintero, of comic books. Previously didn't matter. We were sure that it didn't matter.

Met up with Dodo last Friday night, and when he said he had a lot of back issues to unload, I didn't realize what a lot meant until they were in front of me. It was A LOT of comic books. Speed Force. The Spirit (with a Neil Gaiman story). Giffen's Legion of Super-Heroes. ACME Novelty Library. Waid's JLA. A James Robinson Bat-Man arc. A couple of SHOWCASES. And a whole lot more. He told me that these weren't complete arcs, that some pick-up 3 issues later or was issue 2 of a 12-issue mini-series. And I replied, giddily of course, "It doesn't matter."

I picked up my first comic book when I was around 3 years old, and it was X-Men #101. The team had just come back from space but their survival from a previous battle was eclipsed by Marvel Girl's death. Then all of a sudden, Marvel Girl surfaces from the ocean as Phoenix. "I am the Phoenix!" in bold, jagged letters, and she, in green and gold with wild red hair. It was the only comic book we had for a couple of months so my sister and I read it over and over. Again and again. And we never got tired of it. We didn't know anything about the X-Men, and only found out a couple of years later what happened after that issue. But it didn't matter.

Continuity is obssession for the passing of time, the progression of characters, the history of a universe. I am a continuity geek. I go out of my way, I hide from friends, I skip lunches just to search for that missing issue, always trying to understand things. I am cautious with people. I don't take great risks. And I stay awake at night worrying about what will happen next.

Sometimes I just want to be the 5-year old me who isn't burdened with motives, repercussions and probability.

Sometimes, whatever it is, it really doesn't matter. We'll write that panel when we get there.

Tuesday, May 15


Not being overly dramatic about it but I do miss him, and I am just a teeny weeny bit lonely. Loads of lonely when it's one in the morning. So if you were wondering what all The Weepies, The Tilly and the Wall, and the All Smile are all about, why the heavy rotation of all these bittersweet folk songs, well, I need a little company.

But I was glad to hear that he was able to hang out with Itsy in Singapore, that's a bright spot there.

Still, ten days is much much too long. It's the longest we've ever been apart in 8 years.

And cut to montage: I'm catching up on a year's worth of X-Men comic books. I'm making coffee in the kitchen. Decaf. I'm smoking in the stockroom, arm stretched out the window. I'm buying take-out food. I'm working in front of the computer. I'm rearranging toys, according to height, according to series.

7 days more to go.

Friday, May 4

I'm feeling hungry...

How can you stop what's coming... when you don't know anything about power?

Congratulations, you're Sylar, the artist formerly known as Gabriel Gray! You are a seriously nerdy person with an enormous desire to be different, and to be recognized for it. As long as you don't go eating brains, this doesn't have to be a bad thing at all. You're ambitious, intelligent, tenacious, and unique.

Your best quality: Panache
Your worst quality: An obsessive desire for recognition and power

Link: The Heroes Personality Test written by freedomdegrees on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the The Dating Persona Test

Sunday, April 29

Brighter Later

I'm wide awake, it's Sunday morning. Sleepless from cigarette-withdrawal coughing. I'm only cutting down sticks per day and yet I'm hacking to kingdom come.

"Make a plan to love me sometime soon." Soulful, with swelling strings. Bright Eyes does a Cat Power, all smoky bar cliche. All hung-over sunrise. Just beautiful. I forget to cough.

Maybe, I forget to breathe.

The rest of Cassadaga is folksy blues, distant stories but easily poignant. Sweeping. And surprisingly light-hearted. Oberst rambles above guitars, fiddles, dusty landscapes. Like flipping through postcards until one is warm all over with memories. Memories I don't have but the songs somehow conjured.

Get the album. The melodies are catchy but fleeting. So just continue spinning the record over and over. On quiet, sleepless, Sunday mornings.

Saturday, April 28

Friday Night Light a flickering TV screen. And a computer screen, without the flickering of course because that would mean spending. Spending is the enemy right now. So I could spend more in the very near future.

W's away on a trip so I teach myself how to add headers to my blog, I sing along to Tilly and the Wall's "Rainbows in the Dark," and catch up on the third season of Project Runaway. I'm really getting good, very good, at wasting time. I can practically teach it to a class, write a book about it---wait, there's a book out on that topic already and it's called The Seven People You Meet in Heaven. Or Want to Meet in Heaven. Why not The Gazillion People You Want to Meet in Heaven? One practically has his entire after life meeting up with dead people. Waste of time to read that book is what I'm trying to say.

Exceptionally temperamental today. It's the trying to cut down with the smokes. Bought nicotine chewing gum and I'm almost done with the first pack. Helps a lot with the craving. But not with the irritability, which is a scientifically acknowledged symptom of cutting down on cigarettes. Yay, me! License to bitch at this guy from another agency who wanted "edgy" on an SM ad. Shoe Mart, mga friendships. Kahit na hindi edgy ang copy ko, bungal ka pa rin.


Great. Worked myself up to a hissy fit. Time for take-out food. You all have a great weekend.

Thursday, April 26

Wednesday, April 25

Werewolves in Their Youth

I was silly once. I remember sharing a joint with a couple of friends in the university, and like most defiantly naughty deeds, it was done, the smoking, under a tree, sitting on the grassy ground, buzzing bugs circling our heads like halos. We giggled mostly. Giggled and giddily ate crackers. And then we started running. In circles. All over.

“Let’s pretend that we’re Vietnamese girls and we were being chased by G.I. soldiers,” F said, already getting ahead, lifting up his imaginary skirt. We had just seen Heaven and Earth.

And so we did. For hours it felt like. Laughing and stumbling, circling the tree like insects. Buzzed.

I miss it. Guiltless abandon. Relaxed rebellion. And I had almost forgotten how that felt like.

"I laid on my back, let the punk record spin
The sloppy guitar, it was shooting out stars
It all went to my heart, yeah some rainbows in the dark

Beautiful, innit? Tilly and the Wall's growing pains and misbehaving is anything but rock and roll dumb cool. No drug-dazed walking dead fuck ups. No sunshiny languishing either. It's clever without being precious; incisive without plans. I'm a lyric kind of guy and the kilometric strings of words---practically streets of stories---are a pleasure to explore with quick turns to rousing disobedience and hidden alleys to heartbreaks.

Musically, it's still Bright Eyes meets Rilo Kiley with tap dancing for percussion though everything is bigger on this second album. Bigger harmonies, bigger sound, bigger choruses. The stomping, clapping and tap dancing are more delirious in the soaring riffs and tiptoes on the slow burners.

"So I thank the city, the lights that it's spinning
The friends that I have and the shoes we’re not shining."

If there's anything that being in my thirties taught me, it's to inject a little silliness in everything: work, love, the books I read, the music I listen to, the memories I choose to guard.

Tilly and the Wall is a feral celebration of our youth. Invincible to irony. Enthusiastic in crumpled clothes. Exultant as we race down the street. Or run in circles. It doesn't really matter.

Friday, April 20

If I were a book

You're Prufrock and Other Observations!

by T.S. Eliot

Though you are very short and often overshadowed, your voice is poetic
and lyrical. Dark and brooding, you see the world as a hopeless effort of people trying
to impress other people. Though you make reference to almost everything, you've really
heard enough about Michelangelo. You measure out your life with coffee spoons.

Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

(Nicked this from Is It Safe.) Stuck with...Though you are very short. Man. But yeah, sooo tired of all the deconstruction, -isms, meh. So early 90s. Heh.

Tuesday, April 17

Bohol! Bohol!

Quite literally. The nightly gin drinking has made those five days blurry, in a time-jump sense, only little is chronologically playing out in my head. There's the arrival, the solemn Friday, the search for pork, and the first of many guzzling down of gin shots, err, bottles.

First day high. And the search for inihaw na liempo. Kaya mga nakasimangot.

Flight was crazy early, 6:30 a.m. Dizzy for the most part, smokes and coffee not really helping. Sleep walking in a strangely quiet place. We've been forewarned that Boholanos are highly religious and touring the place on a Good Friday was close to sacrilege. So I mostly slept while the others started plotting the quickest route to the beach.

Bohol air, almost sweet. The closest to ecstasy in a biblical sense. Really. Breathe it in and you know there is a God. We would walk aimlessly under the heat of the sun (which wasn't painfully hot unlike Manila's evil sun) and there was no tightening of the chest, no catching of breath. The tour was just great fun and for the first time in years, I felt tireless.

The complete cast, from left to right: Word, Tristan, Mark, Sam, Me, and Arne

First time in 7 years that I joined a sorta company outing. Partly due to a few people that I cannot get along with, mostly because it's usually an overnight thing. Me, I'm the stay-up-late, wake-up-late guy. So five days was perfect. Relaxed. Loose. Hours to wile away.

And these guys are incredible company. Kwela pero masipag mamalengke at magluto. Mahilig din sa alkohol kaya panalo talaga. So yeah, we're planning to make this a yearly thing. Maybe Palau?

Monday, April 2

Hot Chip — Colours

There's "Boy from School," instant, shiny loops. Top of the Pops stuff. Then there's "Colours," bottled longing that bubbles over. It takes its time. Teases sunshine. And delivers hot white blisters.

Monday, March 19


Tobey, our yappy bodyguard who only kisses the men in the family died last Friday noon. 6 years old. Way too soon. He's my bespren.

And I am still heartbroken.

It never gets easier, huh.

Wednesday, March 14

Curious Beast

Melodic. Soaring refrains. Even as the words fade, the humming draws circle eights around your heart. Folksy, disjointed prog-rock and lush crazy arrangements, as expected, but also disco guitars, rock riffs, and a duet with Laura Veirs.

There are stories, too. The Decemberists, particularly Colin Meloy, can't help but to weave words into tales cautionary, or Canterbury rusty lyric. But there is grace in the primitive telling---not nostalgia, but a studied stubbornness on eloquence.

The Crane Wife is a curious beast. There is both overwhelming emptiness and infectious childlike glee. A melancholy that is more an impression than a feeling. A smile that can't be contained when Meloy asks us to fill our moths with cinnamon now.

And it's the memory of the smile that makes you want to give this record a spin over and over again.

Monday, March 12

Star-Crossed Lovers

Literally. Crossing universes and lifetimes. Hawkman is from JUSTICE series 3 and Hawkgirl, JSA series 1.

Posing care of me. Purty, huh?

Friday, March 9

My Space

There it is. My own private. Mornings are the best. Most of the people come in late so that means music, coffee and cigs at my desk, my thoughts to myself. Not full-blown thought balloons of to-do's but shuffled ideas.

Tail-ends or very much middle of the road ideas as I go through the day's job orders. Two today. And highlighted at the bottom: Must not be copy heavy.

It's going to be a good day.

Friday, March 2

Live Forever

Gods. We pray to them, read about them, and worship them. We bridge the gap of improbability willingly. Blindly, to a fault. But that is for another entry (one that I would never write because it hurts my head). This is about the gods that if possible we could will into being. Gods that save not our souls but people in trouble.

Gods that we also call superheroes.

Neil Gaiman and John Romita Jr. take on the daunting task of resurrecting one of Jack Kirby’s shiny gods, The Eternals. Issue #7 came out yesterday and just like any proper geek porn collector, I took all the issues out from the box and started reading from the first issue all over again.

As a serial, Eternals was underwhelming mostly due to the months in between issues. And if you pick-up quite a number of titles, the slow awakening of each Eternal was too leisurely paced to be memorable compared to, let’s say, the appearance of Thor on the last panel of Civil War #3.

The entire seven issues in one sitting make all the difference. A fourth world of difference. Cinematic, thanks mostly to Romita Jr’s strong, square-jawed, supersized art. And epic. Which is the tricky part. The story is quite familiar; American Gods meets Paul Jenkins’ The Sentinel. Gaiman takes his time to introduce the men and women who would be gods. Quirky has always been his game; Sersi as a flighty party planner is just precious and Makkari the struggling stubbled intern is, ahem, sexy. As the events turn from dangerous to fucked up, all their inner gods awaken and they do save the world just in the nick of time.

Is it as good as The Sandman thingy?

Hell yeah.

Maybe even better. Seasons of Mist is the only book that I’ve read more than once. And that serial killer convention arc. Blame it on age but I just can’t get back into the ominous saccharine of the Endless anymore. But I still dig the toys.

Eternals is Gaiman at his most relaxed. Technicolor compelling. This is Gaiman writing superheroes. Mythical, yeah, but still superheroes. And he delivers. The funnies. (Digging Yellow Jacket here.) The action. The larger than life. Gaiman is back to being “my man, Gaiman.”

Stripped of gothic men in drag, his storytelling is blade sharp, slicing and dicing the reader’s defenses with characters that pulsate with pain, anger, deliverance.

Eternals ends with quiet tragedy and a new quest, and quite ready to be picked up by a new writer. Just in time for J. Straczynski’s relaunch of Thor. And the return of the New Gods over at DC.

Gods do live forever.

Thursday, March 1


Got this from Chockwit. So yeah, a little accurate. A little too accurate.

free enneagram test

Wednesday, February 28

MEME: By the dozen

Meme from Dodo:

Say you were meeting a new person, and you wanted them to have some idea of what kind of person you are. But you can't actually tell them in so many words. Instead, you have to give them a box with a dozen things in it for them to look at/read/listen to/taste/whatever - - -and a copy of your journal or a link to your LJ would be the same thing as just telling them directly yourself, so that's not allowed.

What would you put in the box?

1. HAWKMAN FIRST APPEARANCE - I was around seven when I had my first Hawkman action figure, the kind that flapped its wings when you pressed its legs together. It had been a hand-me-down from a cousin, along with other toys, all lost. But Hawkman. I collect Hawkman. I don't know. There's something about flying with actual wings. Whoosh. Whoosh. It's the flapping noise, wings slicing air. And definitely the chest.

2. THE ELEMENTARY PARTICLES by Michel Houellebecq - Two brothers on the quest for love. One is an inaccessible molecular biologist, the other a hedonist. And they both fail miserably. And I think I've read it three times already. Uh-oh.

3. A pack of cigarettes. I know. One day, I will.

4. Moleskine notebook. Naks. Handy for scribbling down copy points and jokes. And when jotting down lists. Top Tens. Must Haves. Must Buys. Never leave home without it. Fits snuggly in back pocket of jeans, adds much needed volume to ass.

5. BODUM Coffee Press - In orange. Bodum. Bodum. Bodum. Just saying it makes my heart race.

6. Paper. Any kind of paper. I love paper. I love the smell of paper.

7. MY NEIGHBOR TOTORO DVD. I'll put this in the box just so you can see me placing it inside the box and snatch it out when you're not looking. I cannot part with this. Hayao Miyazaki's most fun, most thoughtful, MOST. Childhood bottled. Open in case of drunken sentimentality.

8. Rilo Kiley's TAKE-OFFS AND LANDINGS. Build your own television receiver / Staying home can't be that bad for me / Cause I'm not scared / But I'd like some extra spare time / Easily earn me big money / I'm ready to go. Intersecting highs and lows of love, life, death and everything else in between (employment and break-ups among others) in crisp guitars and lazy melancholy.

9. Ear plugs. Peace and quiet that fits the pocket.

10. FABLES VOL. 4: MARCH OF THE WOODEN SOLDIERS. Bill Willingham at his edge-of-your-seat best. Immortal wooden soldiers marching down Manhattan. Magic. Fire. Jealousy. And love, of course. All colliding, all battling it out. Willingham is the best storyteller in this genre who doesn't have a club of kids who love to play dress-up. Good. I'm keeping this to myself. (In other words, madamot ako sa geek porn. Haha.)

11. EROPLANO Minus-One CD. The song minus the vocals. I know I can string together notes but this one surprised me. Along with Grace's lyrics, this was actually a great song. This is me, mimicking The Reivers. Go record this for us, Ave.

12. KFC Bucket.

This is more work than I thought it would be. Day 2. Feeling better already.

Wednesday, February 21

Speaking of dickheads

It's a breath of fresh air. A walk in the park. I'm just waiting for all the little birdies to sing outside the window. And what a fucking relief.

No dickheads in this office.

Or maybe I'm the only one. Heh.

A far cry from the daily tug-of-war at my previous workplace where an actual Dwight exists. I didn't mind much the watchful eyes. They can watch me all they want. But when Dwight-ess started picking on my people, pressuring them, well, bullying them behind my back, well that's a different story. I didn't even know there was a problem until someone came out in the open and showed me the emails. Then the claims of lazyness, lying, and non-performance. And all this went directly to the boss. I could've handled it. If I knew about it.

So it was like that. Every fucking day. As much as I love most of the people I worked with, it wasn't enough to keep me on board. I hate fighting silent wars. It's just too time consuming. I catch only a couple of hours sleep and still I'm way behind on my TV shows and comic books.

Now back in advertising. At ThreeSixty Design, Inc. Late nights, sure. But also rubbershoes, shirts, shitloads of cash (I'm exaggerating) and people who work hard but also don't give a fuck with whatever you do with your time as long as you deliver. And it feels fucking great.

(Metal Men cover from

Sine Kwela

Meme from Dodobird. (Di ako makatulog.)

1. The Last Movie You Saw In A Theatre, And Current-Release Movie You Still Want To See.

Curse of the Golden Flower. With bosses from the company I used to work with. Long story. I could never say no to the person who asked.

Maganda ba TROIKA? Ang bakla ng title. Hehe. Hindi na lang tawaging threesome. D'Threesome.

2. The Last Movie You Rented/Purchased For Home Viewing.

Ultimate Avengers. P199 lang. Wala nga lang extras.

3. A Movie That Made You Laugh Out Loud.

Johnnie To's Love on a Diet.

4. A Movie That Made You Cry.

Johnnie To's Love on a Diet.

5. A Movie That Was A Darling Of The Critics, But You Didn't Think Lived Up To The Hype.

Crash. Little Miss Sunshine (Not bad, but just, err, cute). The Departed. Gladiator. Basta ata panalo ng Oscar Best Picture. Superman Returns and Batman Begins. Muro-Ami (Napanood ko kasi sa TV si Cesar).

6. A Movie That You Thought Was Better Than The Critics.

Marie Antoinette. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. Jurassic Park 3. Little Children. HULK. A.I.

7. Favorite Animated Movie.

My Neighbor Totoro. Princess Mononoke. Happy Feet! Watching Naruto movie now.

8. Favorite Disney Villain.

Iago from Aladin. Kamukha ng ex ko.

9. Favorite Movie Musical.

Prairie Home Companion. Masaya pa rin Moulin Rouge. High Society. De-Lovely.

10. Favorite Movies Of All-Time (Up To 5).

Of all-time meaning kung ano lang maalala ko at 3 a.m.

Park Chan-Wook's Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance. Bong Joon-ho's Memories of Murder and The Host. Neil Marshall's The Descent. Alfonso Cuaron's Children of Men. Joey Gosiengfiao's Temptation Island.

Thursday, January 11


Let’s just laugh. Take it from rehab poster boy Evan Dando.

Way back in the 90s, way back in the long lines in the university, way back when waiting for your turn was much easier, way back when music was BASF bulky.

Way back when plastic was the smell of new music.

He kinda shoulda sorta would’ve loved her if he could’ve. Then, I’ve never been too good with names.

Way back when it was easier to disappear in a pop song.

From your teens to your thirties with a flip to side B. Now, lines are for paying bills, or making a deposit to a savings account that devaluates faster than the Peso. Now, there are worries of the future, bulky fat cells clogging arteries. And your turn to be the next big thing is the missed bus while you were sleeping the afternoon away.

But The Lemonheads still make it easy to disappear. Not like in existentialist crap novels, but Kirby cool. Invisible Woman cool. Watching the world go by while you plan your comeback. Taking the backseat because you need to remember what it was like to laugh, to run so fast until your knees buckled, to fall in love every summer. Little things that make it worth while. Little things that make you stronger.

The Lemonheads are sloppy with the guitars (and the smile) but sharp with the hooks. As it was way back. Has it really been that long ago?

Let’s just laugh.

Thanks, Itsy.

Tuesday, January 9

HK: Ngong Ping Express

January 2, the let's-do-touristy-things day. Still have to download from various cams the New Year's eve countdown at the Star Ferry pier and dinner with the Azadas on the 1st. So on to cable cars and Buddha.

Around 10 degrees kaya keri ang winter collection.

Buddha...(ako yung may scarf, heh)

...and his air-benders.

Masyadong fresh ang air.

(Below) This was taken on the same day in Soho where we had dinner.
Ang walang kamatayang Wong Kar-Wai shot.

Pictures muna. Abangan ang Meme 2007 at isang ma-emote na look-back sa 2006. Wait. Review na lang kaya ng Kasal, Kasali, Kasalo, the most panalo film of the MMFF? Or isang deconstruction ng Nicholas Tse movies? Syempre inuna kong pinanood ang Dragon Tiger Gate bago Invisible Waves.

Just deliriously happy is all. This is my first new new year in a long time. Have my cape on , Dodobird.

Hope we all have an interesting 2007.