Didn't get to work on that ethnic studies porn script -- but I did find this:
[The heretofore unpublished fragments below are from the remaining archives, long thought to be lost, of historian Ricardo Tubero; they comprise the only surviving historical work regarding Agapito Flores. It is altogether unfortunate that the middle portions of the manuscript are destroyed, for they presumably cover his productive vocational education, his fateful meeting with President Quezon, and subsequent checkered career. It is undated and unpaged.]
Much rumor and speculation has swirled around the life of the eminent Filipino scientist and inventor Agapito Flores, the unheralded creator of the fluorescent bulb, which has given Light to countless homes and fine establishments. It is nigh time that such unconscionable errors be placed to rest by the swift sword of History, to reduce the tower of Unreason to a pile of smoldering rubble, and to restore Flores to his place as one of the finest scientific engineers the Western and Eastern world has seen.
The facts are these, to wit: Agapito Flores was born in 1898 in the town of Guiguinto, in the province of Bulacan. It was said -- now since proven erroneous by the diligent efforts of the Japanese scholar Susumu Kuraba -- that he was the offspring of an itinerant mambobote (an buyer of empty bottles) and a seller of bibingka in the Guiguinto Public Market. Nothing could be further from the truth: little Agapito was born the eldest son of Bulacan's postmaster general, Tiburcio Flores II, and his godfearing spouse Agapita. Surrounded by a dark cloud of mystery -- no-one seems to have made the acquaintance of this forbearing mother -- she is pictured in the single extant family portrait with an uncommonly haggard visage, tightly clutching a rosary in a wizened hand.
About the early family life of our wunderkind little is known, though there is no doubt that it was a immensely prodigious one, surrounded as Agapito was with nine other siblings, to wit, Consorcio, Demetrio, Eleuterio, Felicidad, Geronimo, Horacia, Inocencio, Jimena, and Tiburcio III. (A younger brother, Benito, perished in an unfortunate kitchen accident involving an egg beater, a gift from a visiting tradesman from Ohio, in the United States; Jimena, the most famed of his siblings, was the winner of amateur singing competitions and famed all over the province for her rendition of "Winter Wonderland.")
Countless historians and amateur psychologists have speculated on the reasons for Flores's pursuit of the chymical arts. One academic, whose name will not sully this treatise, has even ventured -- in print, even! -- that unrequited affection between him and a middle-aged neighbor was responsible for lighting the flame of Inspiration. Such scurrilous items are truly worthy of disdain, for the truth is far more prosaic.
A chance school excursion to the Manila Zoo -- chance because such leisure activities were often quite dear, and beyond the fiscal capabilities of any provincial educators -- provided young Agapito with the impetus for his life's work. Gazing into the murky, silty depths of an ill-kept aquarium -- the Bureau of Zoology was suffering a reduction of funds as a result of the fiscal panic of 1909 -- Agapito was startled to see a fish of the Myctopidae family swim before his field of vision. So taken aback was he, in fact, that he gave out an uncharacteristically effeminate-sounding squeal. The peals of derision from his classmates, whose cruelty your hapless scribe involuntarily remembers with similar agony, rang in young Agapito's ears, but this was of no consequence to our budding scientist: he was entranced, nay, converted, much as Saul was pierced by Our Lord on the road to Jerusalem. And it was through the light of that piscine angel, like the beacon of Science held aloft by the Muses themselves, that our young Agapito, infinitely blessed by the Lord --
[The rest of the manuscript is missing, presumed destroyed by fire when a water buffalo accidentally kicked over a gas lantern in a barn, which led to the fire that consumed historian Ricardo Tubero's home and library. Below is the only surviving scrap of paper, almost blown away by the wind and lost to the world forever were it not for the perspicaciousness of Tubero's colleagues who searched through the ashes.]
-- interviews with Flores's neighbors in his rooming house in Tondo remember a garrulous but bitter man, regaling his listeners with tales of his Paris days and amorous conquests then, of which I shall spare the listener, lest I be accused of impropriety, though it has also long been speculated that his cantankerous manner, no doubt a result of the gross fraud perpetrated upon him, was exacerbated by a lingering, shall we say, social disease, acquired from unconscionable habitual dalliances with a certain woman of ill-repute in Place Pigalle and other amateur historians have ventured forth with the name of the woman, and her other unusual proclivities besides, suggesting that such mental and physical trauma that Flores suffered directly accounted for his particular genius, but once again, such salacious trifles do not bear repeating, and are not worthy for the gentle and genteel ears of the reader, and merely aggrieve further his already estranged descendants.
Dear Reader, there is little more tragic than the events I am about to relate, but Flores's apparent demise from neglect, scorn and wantonness should serve as a caution not merely against the wages of licentiousness, but also against the price of gullibility, for there are those whose unscrupulousness, in particular that American electrical company which I am loathe to name again --
[section of manuscript damaged by fire]
-- scandalous details such as Flores staggering, in the manner of a man given over to drink, by a sari-sari store, ordering two bottles of that potion of Satan, Ginebra San Miguel, and consuming one as he stood, are not the sort of anecdotal details that serve Clio well, and only besmirch --
[large sections of manuscript damaged by fire]
-- and when his dissipated, lifeless body was finally discovered in his death bed, all one could hear inside the tomb of his room was the audible flicker of his invention, a filthy, cobwebbed fluorescent bulb, suspended from the water-stained ceiling, emitting an electrical buzz long after Flores's soul had quit his --
[section of manuscript damaged by fire]
It is my hope that my efforts to chronicle History, and rectify Injustice with Justice, will not be in vain, and that the name of Agapito Flores be returned to the pantheon of Philippine heroes -- nay, as another Pride of the Malay Race, along with the esteemed Doctor Jose Rizal -- and be praised endlessly on the lips of students young and old.
You will inherit a large sum of money.
You will be surrounded by many friends.
Your persistence will be rewarded.
You will have great successes in life this year.
You will give up and ask for a fork.
My department chair is all over the news that Lucy Liu is heading a project to make a Charlie Chan film -- with Liu as Chan's granddaughter (also named Charlie) in the lead role. Some "pro-bono" advice from the AAS department, as he wrote: "lots of sex and violence; but to acknowledge the Asians, with lots of hoisin sauce and sesame oil (Lee Kam Kee can be the corporate sponsor) for body rubs."
I have a better idea: incorporate the sesame oil rubs into a sequel to (or better version of) Darrell Hamamoto's Skin on Skin. That way it can really be porn with a wink. (I was joking yesterday with some fellow professors that writing a script could be a collaborative faculty project over spring break.)
I mentioned Hamamoto's film to one of my grad student classes today -- I had briefly mentioned Richard Fung's article on Asian men in gay porn -- and got a frighteningly enthusiastic response. Here, our previous scholarly discussion devolved very quickly from the life of the mind to the gutter.
One of my students, W., hated the little snippets of Hamamoto's film he saw: "If you're going to make porn, then you have to make real porn." (Let's just say that my student clearly liked his porn a little, uh, raincoaty, since he mentioned bukkake -- a word I never thought I'd use in this blog -- and not, as I put it, "couples" stuff.) "Real porn, not ethnic studies porn."
That got the class laughing. We disagreed: "Ethnic studies porn, that sounds great," said one. "Conscious porn!" said another.
Broken down into a series of vignettes, "ethnic studies porn" might work; adding something genuinely theoretical to the mix (and not just a CNN-like crawl running underneath the action) would be at once pleasurable and, well, pleasurable. I thought a flashback to the Third World Strike ("Make love not war, baby!"), complete with bushy-haired activists would be one possible vignette. W. had some scary ideas of his own, too: one scenario involved a Fu Manchu character and his coterie of enslaved white women ("This one's called 'Heathen Porn'," he said). (I mentioned this to Madeline and she said, "That just sounds vindictive," which I think was the point.)
The first vignette that comes to mind would be the one with the Chinese food delivery guy and the bored housewife:
He: "...and with the pork buns, that comes to $32.69."But that isn't ethnic studies.She: "Oops! I seem to have dropped my change. Let me pick it up."
[or]
He: "...and with the pork buns, that comes to $32.69."
She: "I like that." [slowly] "Pork. Buns. 69."
Guy: "...I mean, it's still an extremely Eurocentric curriculum once you come down to it."Or:Other guy: "I totally agree -- the students get to read nothing but the narratives of the dominant people in power."
Guy: "Of course, the students don't have to be all submissive about it."
[pause]
Other Guy: "Have you ever been handcuffed?"
Woman: "...and the additional problem with 'straight' and 'white' being the unmarked categories is that it forces you to retreat into these smaller, divided facets of your identity! Why can't I be Filipino American and lesbian and Asian American and second-generation immigrant all at the same time? I'm really, really sick and tired of having to perform all this 'identity management!'"Or:[pause]
Other woman: "Looks like you need a massage."
She: "...and so he argues that Blacks and Asians have been exchanging ideas and lifestyles for centuries."Anyhow, spring break starts tomorrow, and the whole family (except Shelby the dog) is taking off for Philly, Manhattan and Boston. I'll be mostly on babysitting detail, with maybe a couple of conference panels on the side. But ethnic studies porn... hmm...He: "Which is why talking about hybridity is problematic --"
She: "-- because it presupposes two existing cultural purities."
He: "I guess that's related to why sociologists have been fascinated with interracial sex for decades."
She: "Well... there are other more obvious reasons for that fascination, no?"
[pause]
He: "Looks like you need a massage."
Tuck under
thumb
and hold firmly.
Add second chopstick
hold it as you hold
a pencil.
Hold first
chopstick
in original
position.
Move the
second one
up
and
down.
Now you can pick up anything.
My favorite new website is called CINEMA, a Philippine-based website that stands for "Catholic INitiative for Enlightened Movie Appreciation."
It should be clear, once you get to their website, what this is all about: it's a movie review site where films are judged on "the basis of their TECHNICAL and MORAL strength and weaknesses." A handy-dandy "moral assessment" legend on the left-hand column, ranking movies from "abhorrent" to "exemplary," provides the viewers information as to whether to leave the kids at home or to watch it late at night -- or rather, not to watch it at all.
What it inadvertently provides, though, is a guide for skin fans, as it tells you most of the naughty bits. There's something oddly funny about how it's described in Tagalog, too -- here's a description of a segment in Mel Chionglo's Xerex:
Sa "O" naman ay malapit ng ikasal si Marge (Aubrey Miles) na naguguluhan kung siya ay tutuloy pa sa pagpapakasal sapagkat hindi niya naranasan sa lalaking kanyang pakakasalan ang rurok ng ligaya o orgasm. Naranasan niya ito sa isang estranghero (Kalani Ferreira) na kanyang nakaniig ng limang magkakasunod na araw. Ito ang lalong nagpalala ng kanyang pagkalito.In Armando Reyes's Tumitibok... Kumikirot -- jeez, you'd think they'd know that their moral assessment would be "disturbing" from the title alone -- the reviewer takes pains to say something good:
Bagama't may mabuting saloobin ang pelikula ukol sa pagmamahal at pagpapatawad, hindi maitatangging higit nangingibabaw ang mga nakababahala nitong mensahe sa mga manonood. Una'y malinaw na karamihan sa mga eksena ng hubaran at pagtatalik ay ginawa hindi dahil sa mahalaga ito sa kuwento kundi upang pukawin lamang ang makalaman na pagnanasa ng mga manonood. Pangalawa'y naging napakasimple ng pagtrato ng pelikula sa buhay may-asawa na umiikot lamang sa dalawang bagay: pagtatalik at pag-aaway.The Tagalog has such a nice ring to it, doesn't it?
And their review of Joven Tan's Eskandalosa -- which they brand as "abhorrent" and "not for public viewing" -- makes you want to put it on your wantlist right away:
Ang Eskandalosa ay namumutiktik sa sex at pilit na ginawang creative art pero bastos pa rin ang dating! Totoo namang napakaganda ang mga piniling tanawin para sa setting at maganda ang inilapat na musika, pero ang editing ay nakaka-dismaya. Nasunod na naman ang gusto ng prodyuser na busugin sa eksenang sex ang pelikula para maibenta ito!It's two hours, they write, full of nothing but "sex; hubaran, bawal na pagtatalik sa iba't-ibang lugar, pang-aakit na makamundo ang dahilan, at lahat ng bagay na may kinalaman sa tawag ng laman." (Yeah!)
(By the way, while there's the clear temptation to snicker at the descriptions, it's also a very comprehensive website, with capsule reviews of a good slew of films released in the Philippines. To their credit, the reviewers never turn preachy, and instead have a wholesome open-mindedness about the films, unlike U.S.-based fundamentalists.)
I don't know what FPJ's platform is, but I doubt he knows either. For that matter, I don't know what GMA's platform is either, and I don't know that anyone particularly cares.
This is just about the messiest Philippine election campaign in decades, and I mean campaign, not election -- the fraud will probably come later. There doesn't seem to be much difference between the newly-minted parties -- no, wait, they're more like alliances now -- since formerly "opposition" senators are now on the same side. It's not clear what these politicians are "opposed" to anymore; it seems to have devolved into a series of high school cliques. May tampo si ganire kay ganoon, kaya nasa ibang alyansya na siya; bati na sila ngayon kaya magkasama na sila.
And now this, where Erap's former principal enemy defects to Erap's best friend's party, effectively ensures that an actor with zero political experience and close ties to the previous ousted presidents will become the next president of the Philippines.
On Imelda.
Saw Ramona Diaz's Imelda with Barb last night, and my head is still reeling. It is a fine, fine documentary, and I am glad that there will be a theatrical release in the U.S. at some point this year; more people should see it (though a DVD is apparently coming out in 2005).
The film's chief virtue -- and there are many, from Grace Nono's soundtrack to the careful editing (more about this in a second) -- is the fact that Diaz lets Imelda talk on and on. We are treated to what seems like a severely delusional Imelda, completely in denial of reality -- or so we are led to think.
Imelda starts off portraying Imelda as a charming, witty woman who, even in her current, less glamorous state, exudes a faded, almost regal presence. The charm is absolutely critical to understanding Imelda and, most important, her large retinue of hangers-on and thousands of Leyte residents who voted her back into office. But very slowly, the film darkens -- martial law couldn't be portrayed as anything but, though certainly the Marcos government tried hard to -- and Imelda's fantasies about representing the people become, at turns, laughable and horrible.
There is some amazing film footage as well, from '70s propaganda reels to shots of Imelda dancing with Kissinger, or George Hamilton singing. (The end credits alone -- where you see Bongbong and Imee dancing to Depeche Mode's "Just Can't Get Enough" -- are priceless.) One scene -- a little tendentious, but very effective -- juxtaposes Imelda's maids airing out an entire rack of her ternos, with squatters living by a railway.
Perhaps my only real quibble with the film is this. Okay, there were some omissions -- no Dovie Beams, no mention of Mindanao, despite some tantalizing footage of a dance troupe dancing the singkil and the infamous Tripoli meeting with Qaddafi -- but perhaps understandable given the limitations of the length. (Diaz explained later that she didn't include events that couldn't be verified independently, but it doesn't excuse the oddly Manilacentric view of things.)
Okay, back to my personal quibble, which isn't really one as you'll see in a second: The viewer is initially seduced, but not necessarily repulsed. That is, one comes out of the theater with a vision of a wacky but charming woman, but not of one that was deeply corrupt and responsible (if indirectly) for human rights violations. Perhaps the fact that the film would never have been made without Imelda's consent explains this. (Diaz did say during the Q&A session that Imelda had to leave the room a couple of times so as not to answer questions -- whether they were confrontational or embarrassing or "too emotional" was not clear.) You come out shaking your head, but not necessarily your fist.
The film takes a fairly even keel throughout, but it is only sympathetic to her in the sense that we hear Imelda explain her side of the story. Imelda doesn't shy from showing her and her tacky extravagance in a bad light; the camera lingers on her face in moments of self-doubt, and slows down the film to somewhat crudely emphasize this point. Events are indeed placed in the proper historical context -- we see Pete Lacaba and Jo-Ann Maglipon talk about being tortured -- but the audience is oddly distanced from this (as was, in her own way, Imelda). But there is no mourning, few tears, no talking head explicitly reminding the audience that we are watching a criminal. (To her credit, maybe Diaz felt little need to beat the audience over the head with it.) But there is little sense of outrage; one comes away with the feeling that the enormity of her crimes are still not so keenly presented.
And perhaps this is also the other great virtue of this excellent, must-see documentary: that the enormity of her crimes are not so keenly felt in any case. The screaming, adulatory crowds of people that greet her at every campaign stop, the landslide election victories of her son and daughter -- Diaz never poses the question "Why are they even back?" Instead, she, in her filmic wisdom, lets the film speak for itself, and one is faced with the horrible answer: Perhaps one feels no real outrage in the film because, as should be clear by now, an unfortunately large number of Filipinos didn't either.
For those who were a tad disappointed with the follow-up albums to Matthew Sweet's masterpiece Girlfriend -- there have been a few songs here and there, but not much, though the epic In Reverse album comes close -- Sweet's latest release, Kimi Ga Suki * Raifu finds him near the top of his form. This album -- a love letter of sorts to his Japanese fans -- reunites the Girlfriend players on some tracks; the fact that the album was recorded in something like three days gives it a glowing, hot immediacy that his more recent output (particularly the collaborative Thorns album) lacks.
"The Ocean in Between" was one of my favorite songs of 2003; like almost all of Girlfriend -- and most of the tracks on the latest album -- the song is nearly perfect pop.
(I would have uploaded this last year, but there was some odd copyright stuff with the Japanese import CD I had, making it impossible to play in a computer.)
Hear it. (3.85 mb)
(Does anyone download this stuff, by the way?)
I'm sure a bunch of you readers have received this already in your e-mailboxes. I can't vouch for the veracity of the quotations -- though there's an article in the Manila Times that covers similar ground -- but the e-mail is being circulated with the caveat that these are not FPJ jokes (or retooled Erap jokes):
1) Reporter: Sir, ano po ang suggestion niyo para ma-stabilize ang peso? FPJ: Magtrabaho lang ng magtrabaho!I'll translate one of the snippets above:2) Reply in a November 26 one-on-one interview with a television news correspondent when confronted with the question on how he would address the country's persistent problems (e.g., kidnapping, economic crisis/poverty), his confident answer was simply: Common sense.
3) When asked for his reaction to the peso plunge, seemingly surprised by the question, Poe said, "Bago 'yan ah, dahil wala pa kaming nilalatag na economic program nagkaroon na ng ano dun, diperensya? Okay 'yan, bago 'yan ah, di ko alam na magkaka-apektuhan ng ganyan?"
4) Asked if he thought the slide in the value of the peso was being played up by the administration to blame the political opposition, Poe replied, "Nagkaroon lang ng chain reaction 'yan. 'Pag nagbago ang dollar sa ibang lugar, may chain reaction 'yan."
5) Reporter: Clone nyo daw po si Erap?
FPJ: There are no identical DNA's.6) When asked about what he thinks of the continuous depreciation of the peso: "Sa totoo lang di ko alam eh. Ikaw alam mo?"
7) Nung tinanong siya ng taga Manila Times kung paano tataas ang growth rate ng Pilipinas: "Well, ano kasi yan eh, ang growth rate na yan tataas din yan kapag tumaas na ang funding natin." (Sabay ngiti at nagmamadaling
umalis...)8) "A foreigner asked me what I thought was the biggest problem in the country. My answer was breakfast, lunch, and dinner..."
9) Reporter: "Sir, what is your birthday wish for Senator Loren Legarda?"
FPJ: "I wish her...... I am at a loss for words!"10) Reporter: Paano ho natin masosolusyonan ang seccessionist problem sa Mindanao?
FPJ: Kailangan lang natin ipaalam sa kanila na masama ang ginagawa nila lalo na ang kidnapping ng mga inosenteng sibilyan.11) Tinanong siya kung paano marereduce ang polusyon sa Pilipinas, sabi niya "Madali na lang yun kapag na solved (sic) na ang mga ibang issue."
12) Arnold De Sales: Ano po ang mga masasabi niyo sa mga nagsasabing importante daw ang edukasyon sa pagiging isang Pangulo?
FPJ: Ang edukasyon kasi, part lang yan eh. Part lang yan. Matututunan mo din yan basta gustuhin mo.13) When asked by Max Soliven (Philippine Star) about the importance of experience in government, FPJ replied: Hindi karanasan, but kung anong nararanasan.
14) His reason for not joining the presidential debate: There have been too many debates in this country. It's no longer time for talk, but for action.
15) When he was booed in Lubao, he was asked about his feelings towards the reaction of the people.... "Ok lang yan, suportahan nila ang gusto nila... PERO SAYANG, DAMI KO NAMANG NAGAWANG PELIKULA SA PAMPANGA... MORE THAN TWENTY."
What can you say, Sir, about those who say that education is important in being a President? FPJ: See, education, that's only one part. That's only one part. You'll be able to learn that too as long as you want it.(I'd love to hear American pundits tut-tut over movie stars being elected to public office, though...)
The Sassy Lawyer recently trackbacked to a long discussion we're having on my blog on names and nicknames -- okay, my family's names and nicknames.
I have no theories about those cutesy Pinoy nicknames; much has already been written (usually by expats, tourists and P.J. O'Rourke) about the "weirdness" of full-grown adults with names like Baby, Girlie, Boy, Bhoy, Sonny and so on. Let me set them outsiders straight: it is not weird; all the infantilizing is in their heads. Some folks may be tempted to see it as laying an odd claim to the glamour/grammar of English, and that might be true. (Though I did grew up with Cherry Pies and Sugar Pies and Honeybees -- and a male college classmate actually named Cookie Macapanpan (first Google hit!) -- and it does sound somewhat painful.)
I'm a little more interested in the whole host of Juniors and the Thirds (and by implication, Juns and Jun-Juns) -- a failure of imagination, or some vestigial (or obvious) act of patriarchy? And what about those themed names? And those one-letter names (Romeo, Ramon, Rodel, etc., or -- hee hee -- Leny and Lily)? Are they ways of unifying siblings further through the magic bond of letters, or a gesture toward reproductive seriality?
I've always kind of liked -- though not, when it came down to it, for our daughter Izzy -- those remixed names. Thus, Rene and Ellie would have a daughter named Renel -- or Renelle, Ranelle, Rhanelle, Rhenelle, etc. It seemed to me to be a kind of rebellion against "standard" orthography and "standard" forms of naming, though it's difficult to spell over the phone.
(Just by utter coincidence, there's a thread on this very topic going on on Orkut -- are any of you readers on this? It actually seems cooler than Friendster.)
...Time for some "officially licensed" Jesus! Check out those pewter pendants!
But it's nowhere near as cool -- and I mean this in a completely non-ironic way -- as Lego Jesus. (You have to check out the entire Brick Testament site.)
[Update: here's the main inspiration (source?) for Gibson's film: Anne Catherine Emmerich's The Dolorous Passion of Our Lord Jesus Christ.]
(what remains)
A scrape.
A breath.
1. Your favourite song with the name of a city in the title or text.
"(Don't Go Back To) Rockville" by R.E.M.
2. A song you've listened to repeatedly when you were depressed at some point in your life.
"I Know It's Over" by the Smiths.
3. Ever bought an entire album just for one song and winded up disliking everything but that song? Gimme that song.
Surely this is what drove kids to Napster... let's see: "Take On Me" by A-Ha. I mean, good lord, how many people ever got past that first song off Hunting High and Low? (I know, there will be fans of "The Sun Always Shines On T.V." out there...)
4. A song whose lyrics you thought you knew in the past, but about which you later learned you were incorrect.
"Bad Sneakers" by Steely Dan. "One more chimp who isn't here?" ("Chick" would have been so much cooler.)
5. Your least favourite song on one of your favourite albums of all time.
"Love You To" by the Beatles, off Revolver.
6. A song you like by someone you find physically unattractive or otherwise repellent.
"Total War" by NON. Not physically unattractive, but repellent.
7. Your favorite song that has expletives in it that's not by Liz Phair.
"Straight Up Nigga" by Ice-T. ("I'm a nigga, not a Colored man / Or a Black, or a Negro / Or an Afro-American, I'm all that / Yes I was born in America true / Does South Central / Look like America to you?")
8. A song that sounds as if it's by someone British but isn't.
"Hardcore UFOs" by Guided By Voices.
9. A song you like (possibly from your past) that took you forever to finally locate a copy of.
"Umagang Kay Ganda" by Ray-An Fuentes and Tillie Moreno.
10. A song that reminds you of spring but doesn't mention spring at all.
"Is This Love" by Bob Marley and The Wailers.
11. A song that sounds to you like being happy feels.
"More Today than Yesterday" by Spiral Starecase.
12. Your favourite song from a non-soundtrack compilation album.
"Let Me Be The One" by Matthew Sweet (from If I Were A Carpenter).
13. A song from your past that would be considered politically incorrect now (and possibly was then).
"Wives and Lovers" by Burt Bacharach.
14. A song sung by an overweight person.
"Set Adrift on Memory Bliss" by P.M. Dawn.
15. A song you actually like by an artist you otherwise hate.
I'll be totally pilloried for this, but "Silhouette" by Kenny G brings back good memories of being utterly trashed on a beach in Boracay in 1990.
16. A song by a band that features three or more female members.
"Eternal Flame" by the Bangles.
17. One of the earliest songs that you can remember listening to.
"Sweet Caroline" by the Ray Conniff Singers.
18. A song you've been mocked by friends for liking.
"Mmmbop" by Hanson.
19. A really good cover version you think no one else has heard.
"The Nearness of You" by 10,000 Maniacs. (Okay, obviously I and a few hundred other people -- and thousands more on their last tour -- saw Natalie Merchant sing this a cappella, but the chances are you didn't hear it.)
20. A song that has helped cheer you up (or empowered you somehow) after a break-up or otherwise difficult situation.
"Free Again" by Alex Chilton.
Extra tracks, if you have more room:
21. A song you've listened to while fucking/masturbating. AND/OR
Too much information, sorry.
22. A song not in English—preferably a foreign-language version of an English-language hit.
Tons -- "Day Tripper" by the Pinoy Beatles kept buzzing around my head last year. I have around here somewhere a few discs' worth of cover versions of "Whole Lotta Love," "Red Red Wine," and "These Boots Are Made For Walking," and there's a Dutch version of "Red Red Wine" which totally cracks me up. (And a breathy French version of "Boots" that's even better than Nancy's.) Oh, and Faye Wong's cover of that Cranberries song.
All of the above sounds like an atrocious mix CD, though.
Make
a face.
Make a fist.
Eileen Tabios has a post on one of my favorite poets, Eric Gamalinda, and she's reprinted a fantastic poem of his, "Melting City."
I can still remember the very first time I saw his name in print, when he won a short story prize in Asiaweek sometime in the mid-'80s or so. My mom was quite excited, because Gamalinda was a neighbor of hers -- they lived on the same block of the same street (Instruccion) in Sampaloc, Manila, where my mom grew up. (She was much older, and remembered him as a little boy.) Since then I've followed his career fairly closely -- I think I even clipped his music reviews from the Manila Times (or was it the Daily Globe?) -- and when I finally met him in NY in 2000 (I'll namedrop here and say that I had dinner with him and Luigi Francia one time), I was somewhat tongue-tied in front of the two. (I don't know -- there's something about poets that renders the fanboy in me all speechless.)
I'm finishing up writing acknowledgments and whatnot for my dissertation, and if there was something I could use as an epigraph, it would be something by Gamalinda. The last stanza of his poem "Enough" -- found in his excellent collection Zero Gravity (Alice James Books) -- I've always found sharp and wounding:
Someday I will send everyone a card
with nothing in it, only
the calligraphy
of a river, and in the back
with invisible ink I will say:
Forgive my happiness,
I have betrayed you all.
Okay: the idea for the logo wasn't really mine -- I think having my ugly mug up there is a little strange -- but there it is. My brother couldn't figure out how to represent "the wily Filipino" (how does one show wiliness?), and so you, dear reader, will have to bear with me staring at you from your monitor.
My brother, who actually does this sort of stuff for a living, did discuss the design with me over Yahoo Messenge. I liked the touch of the rolled-up sleeves, even though I don't really wear ties (I guess I'm more partial to black sweaters now). And for those of you who are unfamiliar with it, the big-head style is reminiscent of posters for ensemble comedies starring Dolphy.
Anyhow, I think it's really cool. =) Thanks, Happy.
(You can also see more of his work at his own website, and at the Sassy Lawyer's blog.)