Ode to PNP 132

I inherited the car I drove in college from my mother. By then it was probably eight or nine years old. It then got handed down to my brother, five years my junior. If Gino and I were to write our biographies, the years of driving that '89 Corolla would make up the character building chapters.

I remember that the car used to overheat often. Until one of my uncle's mechanics discovered that the previous mechanic installed the fan the wrong way. It was blowing air away from the radiator. The car also had a knack of locking people out. Somehow the lock had gotten loose, and even if you just closed the door lightly, the lock would come down. It taught me to never leave my keys inside.

One time, while driving in the rain, Gino had to stop the car, get out, and wipe the windshield. In his rush to get out, the door half closed. The lock dropped. And Gino was locked out. Since the door was only half closed, Gino figured he could push it to close completely and the lock would pop back up. Illogical, yes, but standing in the pouring rain, on a busy street, his cellphone inside the car, he was out of options. He muttered a quick prayer and gave the door a hard shove to close. The lock popped up and Gino was never so happy.

Why did Gino have to step out to wipe the windshield? Because the wipers' rubber were torn and I couldn't afford to replace them.  Even when I eventually replaced them, I still waited until visibility was nearing nil before flicking that wiper switch. I was conserving the rubber. That's habit that carries to today, even I've finally gotten a relatively newer car. I have to be driving to an absolute downpour before I even begin to think about wearing out the wipers.

I'm only writing about this now because I had new wipers installed today. Ahead of the coming rains, and before the rubber's completely worn out. I got reminded that problems usually sort themselves out, that we get to better days, and that the bad days are still worth a laugh.

moved in

It's been a while since I've been able to write here. Lately, time's been split between work (with some out-of-town shoots mixed in) and house stuff. By house stuff I mean all the work that's involved in moving into a completely bare apartment. I don't think I've ever spent so much in my life. Sincerely, my bank account is fucked. But it's cool. It feels very grown up, picking out my own chairs, bed mattress, lights, etc. Past weekends, I've been supervising the handyman, the plumber, and the electrician. I have tons of bulbs from when I experimented with the lighting, haha. So far, I've got most things; most lately, a microwave oven.

Speaking of appliances, I've learned, in this past month, that the idea of plugging appliances into automatic voltage regulators is obsolete. So is grounding them by attaching a thin wire to the ground or the wall. My knowledge of electrical issues is apparently stuck in the 80s and 90s, in the era of varying voltages and intermittent power outages. I now know that I no longer have to have footwear on before touching the refrigerator.

Now, if you're Asian, you know that moving out of the family home as a single guy is a bit of a thing. There's a bit of guilt that plays into the decision and no one is a above emotional blackmail. So it's good to know that my parents have been quite cool about my decision. In fact, they've been absolute darlings.

Before moving out, I was quietly thinking about oral hygiene. Leaving the family house also meant leaving behind our electric toothbrush contraption (base charger, water pick, the works). But the week of my move out, I found a gift-wrapped box on my desk. Turns out my mom got me my very own electric toothbrush system.

My dad called to ask me about my home theater system. I said I was happy to have my brother's tube TV handed down to me. He was after all upgrading to one of those LCD types. I believe  they're called flatscreens. My dad quickly volunteered to spring for a flatscreen as his house warming gift. Not only that, he said he'd send me one of his unused microwaves. People apparently gift him with these things. This morning, as I picked up the microwave from his office, I found out from his secretary that he sent her out to get me a new one but to pretend that it was something he already had on him.

My parents. What can I say.

Anyway there's still stuff to be done around the house. I still have about a dozen boxes in the "work" area as I wait for my work table and shelves to get made, or get bought. The toilet's water closet needs a bit of tweaking. Some kitchen tiles need to be replaced. Hooks need to be installed and I have to get the wifi router set up so I don't have to be doing this hunched over the low TV console where the broadband modem is on. But so far, I'm in my home away from home.

feed the animals

Holy shiitake, I didn't know that Barclay from Star Trek and Murdoch from the A-Team were played by the same actor. And that actor is Dwight Schultz, who I almost confused with Dwight Schrute.  TV character crossover overload!

Excuse this bit of geek spasm. In fact, this realization is a decade or two late. It's just that I was such a big fan of Murdock that I named my first pet dog after him, albeit spelling it as Murdoch. Murdoch was a black and white spitz-mutt and was given to me by the parents of this chick of a classmate in pre-school. That's what I remember, but I was five then.

I used to be such an, dare I say it, animal lover, even if, nowadays, I couldn't care less for PETA unless I was shooting the naked women in their ads. I think part of it was because my dad loved animals too and had them all over the house. We had dogs, birds, and I'm not sure, but maybe fish too. Even now, I think my dad can't wait to retire so he can have more time to hang out with his avian friends.

Part of it was also because I was fascinated by the About Animals volume from that Childcraft set of books that any self-respecting child of the 80's must have had. I loved that book. I had a hard time getting through the Reptiles and Amphibians section though, and that full bleed page of a snake's head still makes me shudder at the memory.  But the book fed my love for animals, so much so that I wanted to be, at one point, a veterinarian.

But then things didn't quite work out for me. I had a pair of white mice that I got from the pet shop. I got them a nice cage, a water feeder, and that little running wheel they could exercise on. They died the same day I got them. I put them in a little matchbox, dug a hole in my grandma's garden and buried them. The next day, the hole was there but my mice were gone. My grandma said the cat might have dug them out. Over twenty years later, I have a feeling that my grandma, God rest her soul, might have poisoned them, dug them out, and disposed of them properly. The hell she was going to have mice in her house.

Then I got one of those nice colored birds that they used to sell outside churches. It had a nice bamboo cage that we hung on the veranda. That afternoon, the cage was torn open, and my little colored maya was gone. Grandma blamed the cats again.

I finally got a pair of small turtles. I made sure I fed them right and cleaned their round goldfish bowl religiously. One day the maid said that one of them had escaped by piling the rocks up against the side of the goldfish bowl and climbing out. What The Hell, right? After a few days, the second turtle stuck it's head under the rocks instead of inside his shell, and broke his neck. I think it committed suicide, out of the sheer loneliness of being left behind.

Also, by this time, my parents had broken up, and I had to grow up really fast as a self-preservation thing. I also found books, comics, and eventually girls. I wanted to be a businessman, a lawyer, a detective, a spy. Animals fell by the wayside. I am still freaked out by reptiles and amphibians though. They're the worst things in the world.

a day for the absent

I woke up this morning, before 5am, and I found pictures of you. I sometimes forget we have lives of our own, until I see pictures of you.

I remembered that, yesterday, while buying a gift for my dad, and books for myself, that I had also gotten Outerhope's second album, a day for the absent. Quite apt for the morning I'm having, and their music is helping me ease into the day.

And so I'll take this chance to say that Outerhope's launching this new album this weekend. Details here.

+++

Like I was saying, I was getting a gift for my dad yesterday. It was his birthday. My dad says that by May next year, he'll retire from the job he's had for over two decades. I seriously doubt that, but my wish for the man is that he'll find some time for rest and what whatever else this life has for him. So I decided to get him a book. Picking one out was a bit of a task.

I first considered stuff by Dumas or Chabon but thought he might find them frivolous or irrelevant. Then I thought about brainless fun like Tom Clancy or Dan Brown but decided that he might find them too pedestrian even for a former Reader's Digest fan. I considered non-fiction by Richard Dawkins or Christopher Hitchens, but that's really more about me than it is about him. Finally I found Manila, a photography monograph by Ricky Davila. Which is perfect since it's about shared things: photography - my dad used to shoot, gave me my first camera, lent me his old lenses; and Manila, the city we both love.

+++

I woke up this morning, before 5am, and I found pictures of you. I sometimes forget we have lives of our own, until I see pictures of you. But to be honest, I'll be fine.

do you hear what I hear

My brother and I, despite a five-year age gap, get along on many things. We both like the same Star Wars trilogy (sequels, damn the prequels), and we both enjoyed reading Timothy Zahn's Thrawn trilogy plus the succeeding duology. In fact we like Star Wars so much that, one time, while having the car tuned up, we got into a full blown argument over the Force, whether it functions as a religion in the SW Universe, and if that's a good or bad thing.

We like other stuff the same way too. Like this 90's Civil War movie, Glory. We both enjoy quoting from The West Wing, and we have annual viewings of the whole series, usually over greasy pan pizzas. We both grew up reading The Chronicles of Narnia, and took turns sharing our one copy of The Lord Of The Rings.

Even if he is younger, I try to get his opinion on a lot of stuff ranging from hair product and politics. We see church in the same way (a waste of precious weekend downtime), and I can ask him if my tie matches my suit. We both like eating except he works it all off while I... play poker and run NBA fantasy leagues.

Anyway, we both think of each other as fairly rational, level-headed people. We have mutual respect for how the other thinks, arrives at his conclusion, and expresses his opinion.

But, I cannot, for the life of me, understand his choice in music. And the confusion is mutual. He likes Justin Timberlake, Jason Mraz and Maroon 5. I like Arcade Fire, Broken Social Scene and The Magnetic Fields. He says he loves pop and is proud of it. I say he loves pop and I hold his choice in contempt. I say I like my independently-produced alt/folk/electronic/shoegazer/displaced era music, and he calls it obscure and hipster. He likes the craftsmanship and production value of his music, I like the raw authenticity of mine. Hell is other music.

The only possible common ground is some OPM. Most of the time, it's relatively peaceful. Until we're in one car with one iPod hook-up. Then there can only be one.

it's cool to love your family

photo by Marlon

Just had some sort of cousin's reunion here at the house. Everyone's left and I'm staying up to digest all the food I ate. In the absence of parents, uncles and aunts, we made do with spaghetti, KFC, and pizza from Shakey's. Also ice cream and cake from the party last weekend. By the way, our average age is around thirty.

We got together because Al, his wife, Val, and brand new kid, Nila are here from New Jersey. Carlo and Yang are visiting from Dubai. We're all so grown up. Marlon and Rocky brought Liam, my brother's tornado of a godson. Marianne is marrying Robby (not to be confused with cousin Robby) in a couple of months. Yesterday we were building obstacle courses and making a haunted house from of Al's room. Then we'd experiment with the chemistry kit, disappointed that we couldn't make anything explode. We'd run around the neighborhood in a pack and pick from the aratilis tree.

Like I said, we left the parents out, did our own thing, and consequently, ate junk. Fun. But I noticed that Al and Carlo started to sound like their dad, Tito Bobby. And Marianne had her Tita Irene moments. And it wouldn't be totally outside the realm of possibility if I was talking like my dad, Robert, and that Gino was channeling our mom, Anne.

We're starting to be uncool, and I'm down with that.

Lots of stuff happening but I seriously can't bring myself to write about anything. I will force random content upon this blog.


My brother and his best bud, Marco, where production designers for the Cinemalaya 2009 entry, "Ang Panggagahasa Kay Fe (The Rapture of Fe)." We attended the premiere last night and I found myself actually liking the movie. I usually feel that one has to go through a gamut of heavy-handed, irony and humor deficient films to find gems (like Maximo, Jay and Endo) in Cinemalaya. But Fe was good. More than trying to be socially relevant, political or, god forbid, art, Fe was just an story told well.

+++

Finally got my film back from my US trip. It gave me an attack of self-doubt. Seriously. I've been doing this for long and I should be better. I should be constantly good, scratch that, I should be great.

But I'm not and I'm working on it.

+++

I turned thirty some days ago. I was toying with the idea of writing a list of thirty things. Like things I want to do, or things I know, or things about myself. But, god, can you imagine what a pompous ass I'd be?

I do know that I want to do more things that mean a lot to me this year. I'm saying I'm committing time, the most precious thing I've got, to making things that mean a lot to me. Hopefully it will have value for others too.

Also, I'm the luckiest sonovabitch in the world. In the stare down between the abyss and me, I'm holding my own. And it's because I've managed, by some fucking miracle of life, by some mystery of the universe, to surround myself with the awesomest people on earth. Even my dad says so. After my dinner last Sunday, he texted saying that he had a good time, and that my friends were all good people (natch!). That he could imagine me growing old with them and that it all reflects on how I've lived my life.

I like how he didn't care if I made any money or not. In my dad's eyes, I'm big time because of my friendships. Gee, Pa, I am only my father's son.

Anyway, I spent three continuous days last weekend just enjoying my friends and family and it was the best three days in a very good year so far. A very good year in an incredible life. Thanks Universe.

from America

Just got back from Lake Tahoe, where my uncle married, by my count, for the fourth time. I'm happy for the guy, and I like the new wife, my new aunt. Even if I stepped on her gown's trail while taking photos, and heard a rip. My bad, but to be fair, it was a small rip, more heard than seen.

Tahoe during this time of the year was beautiful, but I was without Internet for this crucial weekend of the NBA draft and the deaths of MJ and Farah Fawcett. I'm back in San Francisco now, and the unread items on my reader is stressing me out.

Anyway, my trip is finally winding down. In two days I board a plane that will finally take me home. Home is Manila, Philippines, an incomparable place in every way possible. I want Manila humidity, smog and traffic. I seriously do. I also want the uneven comfort of my own bed.

As usual, I am overthinking and figuring out how I feel about this whole trip. The NYC leg was all about me. It was me doing what I wanted to do, hanging with who I wanted to see, staying at wherever I wanted to stay. NCY was, and will always be, great.

This whole West Coast leg was about family, however, and all the baggage that comes with it. The whole experience of spending extended amounts of time with family in close quarters is Kafkaesque in its absurdity, Dante Alighieric in its pain, and Apatowish in its heartfelt humor.

There are many stories from here. About how my relatives made it here and how they adjusted to the way of life. One family first landed in Michigan, and lasted in all that cold for about a year. They decided to go west to San Francisco and rejoiced when, after crossing the hills and plains, they finally saw the city. That city turned out to be Sacramento. It was such a frontier story, I forgot it happened in the late 80's.

Also my uncle (another one, not the guy married many times over) was so pissed about migrating to America that, within the first few months of living here (well, Michigan), he decided he wanted to go back home to the Philippines. That he planned to do it after dropping off my cousin at school, and only packing his books, makes me imagine the frustration that led to this very unsuccessful plan.

In this part of America crisscrossed by flyovers and highways, I spent many hours in a car listening to my aunt recount how she met my uncle (the frustrated man) after losing her first love, a guy who, ironically, settled somewhere here in the West Coast. Theirs is a story for the movies.

But in the midst of all that, family has taken root, marriages have grown, and love has been lost and found. New chapters have been written. Complete, full lives have been lived here.

I'm going back home to resume mine, but I'm taking the stories with me.

Pasalubong is a dreaded word for me. It means heavier, bulkier luggage. It connotes obligation that, when missed, begins a vicious cycle that involves, at different points, sulking and even more pasalubong. It may be that I'm young that way, ignorant and insensitive to this time-honored tradition. Or maybe it's because I've never been the gift-giver. I'm just happy to see people who I hope are happy to see me. No need for a token exchange of, er, tokens.

Still, hard-nosed as I try to be, I usually end up as a perpetuator of the cycle, a bearer of pasalubong. Usually shopped at the last minute, like tonight, as I passed by Ralph's to get cartons of cigs for a friend and cousin. I can't blame them, even I can't believe how much cheaper it is here.

Anyway. I think pasalubong is very telling of the Filipino psyche. It goes back to the 70's/80's when we could only get a taste of America from the PX store. We needed others to bring home the good stuff. And the others, who forsook friends, family and country for greener pastures, had to have something to show for all that. Pride, loss of face, guilt play into the whole thing, contributing to the whole soap opera that is our society.

Also, it's the 21st century. When my mom wanted to pack the freakin' bidet my uncle wanted, I told her we can ship things nowadays. Or these things could be ordered online. I was told that that was easier said than done. What the old folks can't fathom is that while it's still easier to say than do, the doing isn't as difficult as it used to. (As a side note, is there actually anything that's easier to do than say?)

Sigh. Anyway, my luggage is stuffed. I'm actually editing now. In goes the gourmet tuyo, out goes a couple of my t-shirts. The cycle continues. I just want to see you all, and I hope you want to see me too.

lunch with dad

Pa: Your little sister is into the Eraserheads.
Me: What?
Pa: I mean Sponge Bob!

Pa: What's that cartoon family like the Flintstones? They're all yellow.
Me: You mean The Simpsons?

I'm a grown man now, so every time we lunch out, I get the check. For dessert.

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.

credits

I began this blog over a year ago because I had a then untitled short film I wanted to make. Well, I got it done: I wrote it, directed it, and screened it for friends and family, and somewhere in that time line, I figured out a title.

TRAINING, along with some trips and a certain reunion concert, was a highlight of 2008. I'm so thankful I got it done. I loved the experience of making it and the people I made it with are a big part of my life. Thanks, all of you.

The transition from 2008 to 2009 wasn't as smooth as I wanted. I've come to have mixed feelings about some of my relationships. In the garish lights of the holidays, the inadequacies are ever more glaring. Maybe it's just the holiday blues, but things are always a changing and in some things, I better be changing myself. I'll work it out, no worries.

More seriously, in the past couple of days, I've learned that bad things happened or are happening to people I love. I don't really know what to say about these things. This too, I'm still working out. But I want to say that I love you all, and I just want you to be all right. Somehow I don't say that enough, and I'm changing that.

I'm here now. New obsessions or not, throughout all the adventure and the uncertainty, in the euphoria of pleasure or in the depths of sorrow, I want to keep going. I owned you, 2008. 2009, you're next.

going, going, gone

I am brain dead. But before I got to being that way, I had a great, if not busy, last week.

Last week, I screened my short for friends and family and the turnout was really good. Also, I think they liked it. No one walked out or was particularly obnoxious. People were interested, commenting, asking questions on the technicals, plot points and the ending. I suppose the worse thing for any work is to be ignored so thanks from the bottom of my heart. I’ve also been asked about a sequel. Not that I’ve ever heard of a sequel for a short film. But you know, with the way it ended, it’s not such an out-of-this-world idea… Still I don’t know. There’s a part of me that wants to move on to other stories and there’s another part that’s just easy to tempt.

Anyway, after the midweek screening, there was this legendary, ”industry” party hosted by one of the top post-prod houses last Friday. That was crazy. It was like 1999 all over again. And the thing with this industry where it’s okay to come to work in a t-shirt and a pair of sneakers is that nobody really gets violent. Sure there’s backstabbing, pirating and lowballing, but hey, we still like to party and go home in one piece. No nightclub shootings or parking lot scuffles for the creative types.

Also, a high school buddy got hitched last night. They had a Chinese Lauriat at the reception. Scallops, steamed fish, prawn salad, peking duck ang mango sago! High fives! But the MSG got to me, and I was knocked out pretty quick.

I woke up to today, where I had a postponed pre-prod meeting, a short, relatively easy shoot, and where I’ll have the rescheduled pre-prod meeting after dinner. I’m in a coffee shop right now, drinking just water, because the house is an Internet-less black hole. And the madness that is the rush hour, Yultide season, low-priced gas traffic just makes it plain nuts to go back and forth.

I’m sitting here, my day not quite done, and I’m taking stock of my week ahead.

There’s my full day video shoot tomorrow, which will be capped by a possibly late night, long-haul shoot for an advertising buddy. I’m actually going to try to get that late night shoot moved. Only because, Wednesday, I have to be in the airport by 7AM for a three-day Iloilo travel feature. That’s actually something I’ve been looking forward to (and I still do) but the thought that I’ll be flying in on a Friday night, get through Friday-night traffic during the Christmas season, to get to either a rehearsal for this concert I’m producing videos for, a high school reunion, or that late-night shoot I want to cancel is just killing me in already. Who said foresight was going to save you?

So there, just sitting here, sipping water, thinking how sad it is to start liking the microwaved, hot food of a coffee chain, trying not to remember the comfort of my bed, or the joy of re-reading The Three Musketeers, while waiting for a pre-prod meeting to get going two hours from now, I am brain dead.

shout out!

That was really cool of all of you to come. A big thanks to everyone!

secret prospekt

Today, I’m almost literally twiddling my thumbs. It’s a holiday and I can’t do errands because the places I have to go to are closed. So I spent time listening to the new Coldplay EP and checking out PostSecret, and then suddenly, it all clicked. If I had to make a PostSecret postcard, it would say: I really like Coldplay.

Hehe…

PS. Happy birthday Pa, I’ll see you soon!