monopoly

A month ago, like everybody else who was on some sort of Internet social networking site, I was making up a list of 25 Random Things About Me.

I had fun making that list, tagging friends, having friends comment on it, and commenting on theirs. Except that a few days after making it, I realized that I had forgotten one thing about me that should've made the list. Not that it was any more important that what I had written down, it was just less embarrassing than my #19 (Rick Price's Heaven Knows being my first CD ever.).

It should have been this: I love playing Monopoly, and I take the game very seriously. I try to think up strategies and theories on to how to win the game. I try to apply risk assessment principles, basic cash flow management ideas, and even chaos theory (i.e. my thought bubble: "If I offer to trade Flat Iron for his Reading Railroad, I wonder if that will jolt Battleship into selling Top Hat his Illinois Avenue, so that Top Hat and Race Car can take each other out, and I can have monopoly of the orange properties....Hmm.")

My all-time low, though, came at a game with Gino and two of his buddies. We ordered in for KFC, and before the food arrived, I wanted to make a three-way deal. I don't quite remember how it all went down, but I think that I got Pot to agree to sell Chin a property at a discounted price, in exchange for what I was going to trade for with Chin, and to make everyone happy, I was paying for their share of KFC. Something like that, they agreed, I got what I needed. And that was the trade that shifted the momentum of the game to my favor. Except that I realized that I paid real money to win in a game about keeping it.

I just remembered that this should have made my list of 25 random stuff about me because I've been playing it on my computer for the past days, and I still get pissed when the computer out-monopolies me.

HT: swissmiss

I needed that.

Finally got to see a doctor, and I'm finally on antibiotics. I'm hoping I can get up and going soon. I feel I've missed out on a lot. First off, there were those shoots I had to back out of. Then a couple of gigs here, some movies there. Then I stay in bed for some days and Marbury is suddenly a Celtic. Which is great because I'm not a fan of the Celtics. I hope Marbury will be a cancer that will eat them up from the inside.

I was most afraid of missing the Geothe/IFA-organized exhibit German photographers at the Yuchengco Museum. Good to know that that will be up until April.

Thanks to Tammy's FB note for that.

My body clock is shot from sleeping during weird parts of the day to having to wake up every three hours for the meds. I got up at 3am for the latest cocktail and since then, I've been awake thinking of all the things I'd like to taste when I can swallow without pain again. Swollen lymph nodes are a bitch.

1. There's lemon chicken, salt and pepper shrimp, and yang chow fried rice from North Park.

2. Original Recipe breast and wing, plus macaroni, from KFC.

3. The lechon that Anthony Bourdain had, which I can get if I sign up for one of Marketman's buffets... in Cebu. And every thing else they have on that damn buffet, like kilawin, sisig, rice wrapped in banana leaves, biko.

4. Seafood from dampa. Most probably grilled fresh tuna, salt and pepper shrimp (again) and lapu lapu cooked in sweet and sour sauce.

5. Peking duck two way from Spring Deer. Also mantis, from same resto.

So I'm actually sick. Sick for real, and sick enough to not be able to get out of bed. I had to back out of today's shoot and tomorrow's. Ever since I started working, I've never called in sick. Good thing that the editors were so cool about it. Now I have Friday's shoot to think of.

So far, I've been living on apples, oranges, and chicken soup. Last time I had chicken soup, I was probably eight. Also I've been taking over a dozen of my mother's alternative medicine pills every three hours. I was just so out of it, I couldn't even ask what they were for. Turns out they're some sort of immunity boosters (too late) and flu controllers.

When this is all over, I'm heading over to North Park.

funny people

Aww, I can't wait.

HT Ramon.

Eggboy

Eggboy is the synthesized and electronica alter ego of Diego Mapa, prolific member of Monsterbot, Cambio, Pedicab and God knows knows who else.

Anyway, last December, at the Furball Christmas party, he was giving out a homemade CD. Eh di kami close, so I got shy and didn't ask for one. I felt it was bound to be uploaded soon anyway, and I was right. At the very sparsely updated Sibika't Kultura, I found the following links to the free download of Eggboy's Dragzbanny EP and more.

The Dragzbanny EP can be downloaded HERE. The album artwork can be found HERE.

Eggboy was also part of a number of artists and producers who remixed Bagetsafonik's Travelogue into Travel Agents: Bagetsafonik / Travelogue Detours. Other artists involved are Caliph8 and Squid9. (Note to self: when thinking of a DJ name, must end with a digit.) Click HERE to download, via QED.

The local franchise of Project Runway also commissioned Eggboy for tracks to make up the show's soundtrack. Given two weeks, and with his wife about to give birth any time, Eggboy came up with around 40 pieces. By the end of the project, he, "made almost 80 pieces including stingers, bumpers and disapproved tracks."

Finding a way to still own the tracks, Eggboy released them as 50 INTSTRMNTLS N A WK. It's available for free download (commercial use needs permission): PART 1, PART 2.

Download in progress, will listen asap.

Arnold's book signing

About Martial Law Babies, I once wrote:

While in HK, I brought my copy of Arnold Arre’s Martial Law Babies with me to read. Actually, I started on it the night before my trip, and couldn’t put it down until I was almost midway through. I forced myself to get some sleep, woke up, stuffed it into my suitcase, and got on my flight. First night in HK, trying to get all the food digested before I slept, I finished the graphic novel in one sitting. While doing so, there were times when I laughed out loud, and there were times when I wanted to cry.

Arnold is having a book signing on February 28, 3-6PM at Powerbooks Trinoma. Bring your favorite Arnold Arre graphic novel, meet the guy, get it signed!

group show

I think this photograph of mine is part of the photography group exhibit for the NCAA-organized Philippine International Visual Arts Fest 2009. Ross Capili kindly invited me and it's cool to show with some photographers who I really think highly of. Lilen Uy, and my cinematography teacher, Nap Jamir, among others, are both part of the show.

I'm sketchy on the details but I think the festival was launched today at Robinson's Midtown (Manila), but the photography exhibit will be on for tomorrow until February 22 at Robinson's Forum (Pioneer). It's a short show, so I hope you guys get to see it.

Martin Parr's Everybody Dance Now

The polarizing, irreverent, brilliant Martin Parr, has a new book out.

“Photography is perhaps the most democratic form of human expression second only to dance,” remarks Parr in his accompanying essay and Everybody Dance Now, which exudes laughter, drunkenness, music and movement, is a testament to the universal nature of those expressions. Photography critic Andy Grundberg, who also contributed to the edition, adds: “What these photographs really seem to be about is twofold: first, the delights of photography in extremis, hyperactive and usually hyper-colored, and second, the irrepressible good-naturedness of humanity.”

Check it out at Pentagram.

HT to A Photo Editor for this one.

the big cactus

No one can really hate on Shaq. How can you? That shit is borderline performance art!

etc

When I found out that Peter Cetera was coming to town, I decided it was time to acknowledge the time in my life (in the late 90s, sometime in high school) that I had Chicago's Greatest Hits 1982-1989 in my CD player.

So some like-minded buddies of mine and I decided to go. By the way, when I say my buddies, I mean two sets of married couples. I was indeed the fifth wheel. But fuck it, the only V-Day I know is the day when the Allies finally crushed the Third Reich hordes.

Anyway, so we all arrived at Araneta Center early, to avoid the traffic. We explored Ali Mall a bit. I had Dairy Queen, pretty good stuff. Had a long, early dinner, and went to go get our seats. In the bleachers. We figured this wasn't going to be much of a visual spectacle so we could get away with the cheapest tickets, and just listen for Cetera's distinctive vocals.

Also we predicted that up in the bleachers, the men's room wouldn't have proper urinals and that a fight would break out. We were right on both counts. Haha. You had to pee against a wall, and a guy got up shouting because some other person spilled drinks on his pants. Nice.

So being in the peanut gallery is actually fun. I've never been. So this is where all the clapping and hooting comes from. Also, our bunch sang the loudest and cheered the hardest. I think being stuck way up in the back, and in the dark, emboldens people.

While we were sitting there waiting for the concert to start, we got talking about how this might suck. How Cetera might not have the license to sing Chicago songs and we'd be stuck with Peter Cetera as the solo artist. We only knew two songs from Cetera as the solo act (Glory of Love and After All). We had inadvertently lowered our own expectations and this helped a lot.

Finally, the orchestra (a forty piecer!) came up the stage and played a medley of Chicago hits. The crowd clapped enthusiastically and so did we. Until we realized that, oh shit, they're playing the songs now because Cetera really can't sing them. But that wasn't the case. Cetera finally came up, sang everything we wanted him to sing, except Hard Habit To Break. He even got us to wave our cellphones in the dark. Pia brought binoculars so, once in awhile, we'd get a really good look of what was happening way below. Between songs we'd quip and comment, eat popcorn and drink watered-down softdrinks.

In a situation like this, I think it's always best to forgo all your pretense of hip and cool, and just sing your lungs out. We felt that if we went to this concert fully aware of our age, but young enough to embrace the irony of our own adult contemporization, we could come away having great fun. We were right.

Daydream Cycle

Was supposed to be working on #11 of my list below. But I got sidetracked.

Daydream Cycle, a band that my brother turned me on to (after he cameod in a music vid of theirs), released their first, self-titled album online. You can legally (I suppose), and for free, download their awesome music from HERE. The album came out in 2001, and is out of print.

They also released a Christmas single late last year. Download HERE.

Pretty generous, but more importantly, they're awesome. I'd listen to them more if I could only find their albums. I'm heading over to a record bar this afternoon to source out the second album. Before the third one comes out.

81. %

So I made it through last night. This week, even. And I made it while being productive. I'd say almost 90% of this week's tasks got done. I don't know what 9 out of 11 is. That's pretty good for a procrastinator. Here's the list, in order.:

1. Finished subtitling my short film.
2. Took delivery of these T-shirts a buddy of mine and I made.
3. Delivered CDs and a billing statement.
4. Attended to business permits, municipal requirements, etc.
5. Sold some shirts.
6. Printed my folio and dropped it off.
7. Delivered some of the shirts to a bar who is consigning.
8. Got tickets to The Final Set.
9. Got the oil in my car changed.

I was supposed to have it tuned up, thinking it was scheduled for it. But I checked my receipts and the last tune up was just five months ago. It's got a lot of mileage on it, but I think I'll live with just the oil change for now.

Anyway the last two on the list are:
10. Research the requirements for film fest submissions.
11. Record my receipts for the last six weeks.

I hate doing 11. I hate it.

+++

I'm liking the The Submarines a lot. They even have a cute back story.

hbd Charles Darwin

Belated 200th happy birthday Charles Darwin!






From Gizmodo.

do not go gentle

I noticed that I’ve been pissed off about the traffic lately. It has been heavy, you gotta admit. But lately, I’ve been wanting to bring my pissed offness to another level. I want to write a letter to the newspapers, I want to write on online fora, to mailing lists, and on blogs. I want to tell people what I think is the matter. It involves buses, bus lanes, and people at the Authority having egos the size of a bus. I want mouth off and explain my whole brilliant traffic scheme; I want to describe why it’s crucial we get it right, and lay the blame on whoever is not getting it right.

Of course that’s going to get me into trouble with my dad, so I’ll shut up.

Also today, the printer where I was supposed to get my folio printed fucked up incredibly. The short of it is that they wasted my time, I had to get it printed somewhere else; and that delayed the delivery of my folio by another day. I was seething around noon today. I got home, I googled the company’s contact info but I couldn’t find it. So I actually composed an email rant to be sent to the large photography online mailing list I belong to.

But I discarded without sending, eventually.

It used to be that I could be very understanding of these things, and of people who cause these things. I could always play my own devil’s advocate. I’d see it from another point of view and self-mollify. It’s not that I keep these things bottled up inside. I let off steam, I rant to people I trust enough to let me just let it out. To keep it healthy, you know.

So I was alarmed by my reaction to these events of the past days. I actually went the extent of prolonged revenge-fantasizing or of finding ways to actualize my angry reactions. (That sounds so New Age, I just have to say. And I’m chuckling while I say it.)

Pia says, my god, you’ve turned into your parents. And I might have. I now know what they know, and see what they see. My clumsy metaphor for this is that they’re up the hill, and see what's after it. I’m going up it now and starting to see what they see. (Hence the expression? Maybe. Damnit.)

Sometimes I wish I’d rather be less aware. I miss being twenty and thinking that everything was mine for the taking. Back then I felt that I had time to make mistakes, to get things done on the second try. I know now that there are things I can't be. And for the things I want to be, I better get it right and get there now. You see those people living half-lived lives? That could be you.

Yet my time is being wasted and it’s all I’ve got. It’s my time! My time! I’m dying and they can’t show me my prints. I’m dying and the buses won’t drive straight.

PA

I want to be rich enough to have a personal assistant. I'd ask the PA to do the following things:

1. Apply my file-naming method to all the songs I download: artist - album title - track number song title. If it's a compilation it should be compilation title - track number - artist - song title.

2. Take my car to its bi-annual tune up. Also register the car at LTO.

3. Deliver my CDs, do my collection, and deposit my checks.

4. Archive my photos by date, client, and subject.

5. Scan my film negs for me.

6. Also make record of all my expenditures based on my receipts. Amount, when and where.

That's it so far, and except for the first two, it's almost all work related. I'd be a nice boss after all.

do it. just buy it. do it.

injury

I did a bit of iPod housekeeping today. It was time. Out went Bruce Springsteen's Magic, and the whole lot of Mates of State. Some Arcade Fire, Sigur Ros stuff went out too. That made room for the soundtrack of Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist, Ramon's downloadable playlist, a couple of songs from The Temper Trap (thanks Donna!) and The Frightened Rabbit's The Midnight Organ Flight.

+++

Last week, at my out-of-town shoot, I slept in the car in bad way and strained my neck. I have my full range of motion, but for awhile there was an acute pain whenever I'd turn my head or tilt it up and down. Now, it's a dull pain. And my neck still hellishly stiffens up when I sleep. Morning's are literally a pain in the neck.

So you know me during the rare times I'm unwell. I get really depressed, thinking the worst, and getting depressed over that. I feel like I have tumor in my neck/spine or something, or maybe I've broken it. I hate this feeling.

So I did the sensible thing. I went out and bought myself a new book and a pair of New Balance sneaks. The girls are on to something here.

(NB U410Bl, but in black, not this purplish one)

Watching Marley and Me didn't help either. I'm not really an animal movie watcher, but this one also had Jennifer Aniston's legs in it, and I've always felt some sympathy for Owen Wilson. The movie was actually solid, if not a bit heavy in the end. Who would've thunk.

Jay

Some spoilers ahead.

I saw Jay yesterday, and I think it deserved that Cinemalaya 2008 Best Film award. I found it to be intelligent, subtle, and solid.

The writer and director, Francis Xavier Pasion, was a senior Comm major when I was freshman back in the day. I think he was even a founder and the first president of The Loyola Film circle. So it's good to finally see his output, and a deftly made one at that.

Jay is the name of both a murdered gay teacher and the also gay TV producer documenting the aftermath of this death. And being one of those metafilms, it blurs the lines between truth, manufactured truth, and whatever the hell is left. My friends know that I have a bias against self-aware text. But Jay surprised me by being poignant without being annoyingly precious. For the most part.

One of the things that struck me about Jay was how the film was shot on a static, tripod-mounted camera, while the in-film's documentary camera was always moving and going for the money shot. In the static shots, the director even tosses out conventional blocking, and framing techniques allowing heads to be cut and the focus to be on anonymous, overlapping torsos.

I think it's a clever way to say something about the difference between the artificial beauty of manufactured truth and the artlessness of real life. The documentary footage shows a close-up of the mother mourning for her son in the morgue, bathed in warm, golden light. The film reveals this to be a reenactment. For the real event, the camera is set in a corner and we see a wide shot of the mother collapsing into a heap upon seeing her son's dead body in a fluorescent-lit, antiseptic morgue.

While this is all clever filmmaking, it's really the great dialogue and nuanced acting by Baron Geisler and Coco Martin that make Jay a gem. Combined with the stark imagery serving as backdrop, the humor and pathos that make for the authentic condition of the characters is clearly seen. All in all, good calls by the direk.

Yet, this film movie is slightly marred by, of all things, it's ending. I'm not going to spoil that, but I'll say this. This is the problem I have with self-aware text: I like how my favorite things, like books and films comment on life, so I get thrown off when these things comment on commenting on life. Jay's ending is one comment too many.

Jay opened the other day, and is showing in SM cinemas.

Wat Tyler

Let me geek out a bit here, again. I really enjoyed history in school. We had a really good Soc Sci teacher who made the subject less about dates and names, and more about how events changed a people and vice versa. It was good stuff, and despite my dismal high school performance, my Soc Sci grades (and English) made a strong argument for the possibility of me turning out all right eventually.

I've been looking for more non-textbooky history book lately, almost to the point of emailing my high school Soc Sci teacher (which I just did). But in the meantime, I judged it by its cover, and bought a book entitled I Wish I'd Been There -Book 2, European History (edited by Byron Hollinshead and Theodore K. Rabb).

It's got essays by noted historians on significant moments in the history of Europe. Events covered are, for example, the day Alexander the Great died, when Hannibal crossed the Alps, when Handel is fired, and the making of Newton's Principia. Highfaluting but heady stuff.

I got it because I expected to find some easy-to-read but detailed accounts of these interesting days, but I now realize why the book was titled that way. From what I've read so far, there is hardly a surviving, first hand account of these events. Little is written and most is surmised. Hence, all these history buffs wanting to be there.

But the book's still interesting. It sort of gives you atmosphere, the mood of the time surrounding these events. Like in high school, it's interesting to find out how people where thinking then, and how things have changed or haven't.

Anyway, there's an account in the book of a medieval English uprising in 1381, called The Peasant Revolt. The rebels, consisting of peasants, laborers, some clerics and retired, veteran soldiers, had a leader called Wat Tyler. They charged up to London en masse, crossed the Thames, and forced the fourteen-year old king, Richard II, to meet with them.

These were hardly unsophisticated rebels. They were organized and smart. They knew how to wage war from all those years of being forced into soldiering. And being serfs, they knew all about unfair taxes and labor practices.

The rebels banded together because wanted the abolition of serfdom, to be free from obligatory labor and the right to move from their respective manors. Very MLK, it was all about equality.

Anyway. So finally, on June 15, Wat Tyler met Richard II at Smithfield. Tyler came on horseback, to signify his equality with all these snooty knights and nobles. He got off, knelt before the king, got up and shook the king's hand. Then Tyler addressed the Richard II as brother. Had Richard II fist-bumped Tyler back, I would conclude that Richard II, was in fact, a brother.

To make the long story short, Richard rebuffed the rebels. Tyler lost all his affability and asked for water which he drank and spat out before the king. He also asked for a jug of ale, drank it, and got on his horse. Finally some kingsmen got pissed, Tyler and his boys got pissed, and a melee ensued. Wat Tyler was surrounded, felled, and beheaded before his men.

I'm surprised this isn't a Mel Gibson movie yet.

RIP Mike Francis

Wow, Mike Francis passed away a couple of days ago. He was 47.

knowing is half the battle

They also aired a new Star Trek trailer and the Transformers sequel's trailer at Superbowl, but Paramount yanked it off Youtube. Boo! Who the heck doesn't want free viral marketing, I ask you.