Treasures

For hours now, I've been looking at this pile of things crowding half the bed and the floor of the new room.  Three years I spent in that other room, and even after a regular annual purging, I have unwittingly hoarded more than I have thrown out.  Like a squirrel hiding its acorns, I have filled all imaginable nooks with items I don't currently need, but might, one day, use.

Now this new move has shed light to how far my hoarding has taken me: old receipts; unread magazines; cases of long gone cds; cheap, broken shades.  Among these junk are old treasures that have lost their luster -- unfinished journals of writing that shouldn't see the light of day, stacks of letters from forgotten friends, mementos of travels from years past.  The years have dulled their importance and their significance, but looking at them now fills me with a quiet nostalgia from those dark years of innocence.  

Do I cling to this unfamiliar past, or do I move on?



   

Blogger Lang

It is a sad, sad day for the country when we are laying to rest a good man, a public servant who truly cared for the public; mourning the loss of a man who was taken too soon.  And on the same day, we are made to suffer the indignity and humiliation of being represented to the international arena by a rambling, rumbling, filibustering politico of the lowest degree, who is the complete apotheosis of the former.

It started with a speech that rang the wrong bells and left a bad taste at the mouth, what with its outdated studies, unscientific claims and crocodile tears, truly anyone with enough sense would find it laughable.  If only the topic weren't so serious and all-encompassing.  And to find out that parts of the speech, which was punctuated by hysterical emotions, was copied verbatim online, now that takes the cake.

It should have been a simple case of non-attribution, quickly remedied by an apology and a correction.  But Philippine politics being the circus that it is, and a clown at the helm, mustering the bravado of a hundred bigoted chauvinists, everything has gone to hell, leaving the true topic for discussion all but forgotten.

Three speeches hence, wasting the people's time and tax money, we are no closer to a resolution, but more focused now on this idiotic source of world-wide humiliation.  

And the temerity of someone in power to claim to be bullied.  Mr Sotto, the bullied does not have a voice, and you, as majority floor leader have it.  Lots of it.  Kill the messenger, indeed.  From the very beginning, your arguments have been met one by one with cold, hard facts and valid, up-to-date science, but like a mule with blinders (and seeming like one too) you refuse to listen and see their counterpoints.  Just because you refuse to see logic doesn't mean your points were not addressed.  Because they were.

It was you who, like a drowning man grasping for flotsam, focused on the controversy.  Point in fact, even now, you're delaying the conclusion to your turno en contra, just to abuse you position and give a privilege speech against your detractors.

And there's a fine line, no, a definite demarcation, nay, a whole universe of a difference between parody and satire and impersonation versus plagiarism.  On one hand, you're alluding to the person, intimating to your audience the perverse humor derived from a person, while on the other, you're easing out the source and intimating that the thoughts are your own.  Willie Nepomuceno impersonating Vilma is that, impersonation; he knows who Vilma is; he knows the audience knows who Vilma is, and in that lies the humor of his art.  There is no plagiarism there.

Maybe your teachers at Wanbol University forgot to mention it, or most likely you were out playing hookie, but there is this tiny little concept in leadership called Command Responsibility, where the boss is bound and is accountable for the actions of his subordinates.  So your staff's non-attribution becomes your own.  By voicing that speech in the hallowed halls of the Senate, you, Mr Sotto, make it your own.  It will forever be etched in the annals of the Senate that you, Mr Sotto, not your clown of a Chief of Staff, certainly not your ghost writers, uttered those words.  And it should be you, Mr Sotto, not your whipping boy attorney, nor your underlings, who will be held responsible for those words.  You are the majority leader, you should know that, right?

And how magnanimous of you to shell out your own money and clothes and food to those helped by your show.  Or are they?  But wait, you just failed to attribute the hundreds of sponsors and donors and writers and staff, who did shell out those cash, did all the legwork and marketing and collection so you can show up on cam and dole out your generous, generous help.  After they sing and dance and generally debase themselves on nation-wide tv, of course.  It was once rumored that Willie was paid a million per episode on his noontime show, maybe you were paid below or at par, but I wonder, did you ever shell out a week's talent fee in all those years of clowning on air?

You say we social media people have not done anything to our society and therefore need not be taken seriously.  But we are, Mr Sotto, by exposing how frivolous you and your ilk are, and how unfit you are to rule over Philippine society, that is our contribution, and no amount of corny bulagaan skit you write can match that.

A powerful business tycoon was caught plagiarizing his speech, he apologized and offered to resign his post and return his honoris causa to rectify the damage.  The President of Hungary resigned his post when it was found out he plagiarized his Phd.  Germany's Minister of Defense resigned, too, over a plagiarism scandal.  You see, greater men than you have shown humility over the same infringement.  

Of course we do not expect you to resign, you're too simple to even contemplate that form of sophistication; but an apology would have sufficed.  We are a forgiving lot, after all.  But no, you couldn't even give us that.  Instead you belittle us bloggers, especially those whom you stole ideas from, and attack us via a privilege speech.  And like poisoned icing on maggoty cake, you threaten us with the curtailment of our right to free speech via a law to regulate our blogs?!  Who died and made you dictator?

True, plagiarism is not a crime.  But as one of the land's drafters of laws, at least a little iota of decency is needed, but you can't even give us that.  And as one of the highest elected officers of the land, you, Mr Sotto, represent us -- represent me -- to the rest of the world.  How utterly humiliating to be represented by a bigoted, crass, unapologetic trapo with no sense of delicadeza.  How mortifying!  

But then, again, blogger lang ako, so what do I know, right?

And so, Mr Sotto, I dedicate this Lily Allen song to you.  I hope you like it.

photcredits: thief blogger henyo

Downtime

Brace yourself, the long weekends are coming.

And after weeks of overtime brought on by innumerable deadlines, the long weekend is a godsend.

But with little budget and no plans (and no time to plan with), the long weekend is relegated to staying at home and reading my books.  Or maybe watching cable tv.  And sleeping the whole day off.

My body clock is all but ruined.

But with nothing to do and the bed so inviting, there is no reason to not sleep more than my usual 4 hours daily.

I'm no longer used to staying at home, unlike before, but with little else to do, I might as well enjoy my stay.

It is a plus, though, that most of the people here are out, obviously enjoying the long weekend somewhere else, that I am afforded my quiet time.  I get to hog the tv and the kitchen, and that is always a good thing.

Snatched

Jess is a snatcher.  He specializes in cell phones.  Being poor, he has resigned himself to the reality that he will be suspected of stealing even if he wouldn't actually do it.  So to save everyone the trouble, he learned to embrace the stereotype.

Grace is a call center agent, and a modern woman with a secret.  And she would do anything to retrieve that secret from her stolen cell phone even if it meant scouring the streets of Quiapo for the snatcher with the help of the police.

In an interesting and very realistic turn, Posas (Shackles) tackles the twists and turns of police procedures, and the lives of the people embroiled in it:  victim, perpretrator, and the enforcers themselves.  In the end, as Jess' handcuffs were removed, he finally and palpably felt the shackles latched on to him.

Beautifully shot and subtly acted, it was a joy to watch.  Having heard nothing about the film prior to viewing, I had no expectations whatsoever, and I was happily rewarded for my gamble.  The scene with Susan Africa is easily a favorite.

Posas and four other films are in competition under the Director's Showcase of Cinemalaya.  Ten more films are also competing in the New Breed category for budding directors.

I'm looking forward to seeing a good number of these, and no storm signal will deter me from going to the CCP to buy tickets.  For a couple of years now, I have organized marathon screenings of select movies for me and my friends.  The raging weekend storm almost prevented me from being able to procure tickets.  Experience has told me to buy them on the first weekend because most movies will sell out by the next week of screenings. 

So brave the rains, I did, thankful for the few minutes' respite from rain while travelling on foot.  It felt good having reserved those tickets for our weekend marathon.  It meant one less detail to worry about.

I'm going to watch a quite few movies

photo credit

Getting Over It

Dinner had just ended and we moved back to her living room for some after-dinner conversation. Superior urged us to seat and make ourselves -- myself and a friend -- comfortable. Someone asked for coffee, so I stood up, opened the cupboards, took down some mugs and prepared the coffee.

All too comfortable. And why shouldn't I be, when this house used to be our old apartment when I was a kid. From the door, I see the closed-off patio with a waist-high gate. Outside of which is the common area shared by three other houses, one on the right, and two others on the left. On the high wall near the compound gate, the over-reaching branches of the caimito tree provides a ruckus of rustling leaves, marking this idyllic night ripe for conversation.

What my former boss from the Great Place is doing on the house I spent my childhood in, I have no idea, but the conversation we were having then was friendly, amiable. There was none of the stress and veiled mixture of hostility and disappointment that we shared during our last encounter. I woke up and I realized that I'm finally over that unfortunate event. I'm pretty sure the dream was prompted with my talk that night with officemates.

----

Coffee and Cream, self-professed siblings of different parentage, invited me to coffee and just hang out. Cream had resigned some months prior, and filing for undertime from work was well worth it to catch up. From the stories I heard before Cream resigned, and the stories I heard that night, it was clear there was bad blood between worker and boss. It wasn't always the case, though, as the falling out seemed to have stemmed from Cream's decision to leave. Suddenly, the outstanding assistant became a lackey who did nothing and botched up the simplest of reports.

Accountabilities were turned over and signed off, but the clearance remains unsigned. And months after resigning, there's still no sign of the final pay getting released.

I can only imagine the amount of resentment building up, being finally rid of a thankless job, only to find out that your former boss wont release you. And mainly because the ones left still cannot make heads or tails of the job that was left behind.

A couple of days ago, while strolling around Megamall, Cream saw the bald head belonging to the former boss.  They know they saw each other, but neither gave any reaction, and just went about their own way.  Cream went inside a store and was promptly attacked by a case of the shivers.  There was a bit of laughter while this story was being told, but something was being withheld, something palpable and brooding just underneath the surface.

Clearly, Cream isn't over the ordeal with the former boss.  And from the actions and stories I see and hear, it would be long before anyone forgives and forgets.

----

The night progressed and it started to rain and we took that as a sign to adjourn for the night.  Coffee was able to extract a promise from Cream to continue the story and meet us again the next day for lunch.  And with the promise given, we stood up and made the trek to where the buses will take us to our destinations. 

Addictions: Cinemalaya

It's once again time to head over to CCP for the ten days of Cinemalaya. Film enthusiasts, social butterflies, and yes, students with imposed reaction papers, and bandwagoneers will flood the various viewing rooms to partake of this year's finalists.

Twenty five films have been announced as part of the three main competitions in the festival.  But as in other years, my main focus is with the New Breed Full-Length competition:

Emmanuel Palo’s “Santa Nina”
Gino Santos and Jeff Stelton’s “The Animals”
Vincent Sandoval’s “Aparisyon”
Mes de Guzman’s “Diablo”
Lemuel Lorca and Jerry Gracio’s “Intoy Syokoy ng Kalye Marino”
Alfred Aloysius Adlawan’s “Ang Katiwala”
Marietta Jamora’s “Ang Nawawala”
Paul Sta. Ana’s “Oros”
Julius Sotomayor Cena’s “Mga Dayo”
Loy Arcenas’ “Requieme”

Earlier in the year, the Cinemalaya board was embroiled in its own scandal what with one competition film being disqualified for not adhering to the casting demands of the Board.  Others have called for the boycott of the Cinemalaya for its apparent disregard for its own mantra of being the haven for truly independent cinema.  But though I share the sentiment of keeping Cinemalaya truly malaya, I don't adhere to the idea of punishing the other competitors just to get the message across.

Last year, Cinemalaya increased its clout by tapping Greenbelt Cinemas to feature the films in competition; the first time their movies were shown outside of the CCP grounds.  This year, the competition reaches more ground with the help of Ayala Cinemas.  Aside from CCP, the movies will be shown in Greenbelt and Trinoma.

I am planning to watch as much as I can, maybe sneak as much weeknight viewing after work, as well as organize a weekend marathon among friends.

See you in Greenbelt and CCP!  :-)

Gourmand Travels: What's Inside the Box?

Inside this box are a dozen reasons NOT to go on a diet.

J.Co. has finally opened in Greenbelt.

read more...

Ascent: Antipolo (1)

"Visita Iglesia? Why don't we do the Panata instead?"

I was merely joking when I made the suggestion, but oddly enough, it clicked.  I have med the trek to Antipolo on foot before, and I was toying with the idea of doing it again.  Doing it in the company of friends seem like a good idea.

"Let's meet at Greenbelt and start from there.  I already have a general idea of the route we will take."

And so it happened that Thor and Bee were with me for the trek to Antipolo.


Santo Nino dela Paz

"Oh my, touch the color grey"  Thor exclaimed.
"Yes," I said.
"Yes!" Bee concurred.

This is going to be a fun trip, I told myself.


Church of Sts. Peter and Paul

I planned a straightforward trek; the usual route I've traversed the past couple of times. But Thor broached the idea of Visita Iglesia... well, visita iglesia lite; the original Visita necessitated fourteen churches, one for each station of the cross. For our purpose, we will visit seven.

Immediately, I scanned my mental map of the metro, trying to figure out the churches along my original path. There were just four. I tweaked my path and came up with a couple more. Thor consulted online but the suggestions there weren't exactly along our general path.
It will have to do for the moment, we'll just have to think of something on the fly.

Nuestra Sra. de Gracia

I am, for the most part, a non-practicing Roman Catholic. I've been raised in the rites and the dogma and for the greater part of my formative years, have been participating in the rituals. I still believe in the core values, but it has been years since I participated in the celebrations.

I may have stopped attending masses, but churches are still one of my favorite haunts for reflection. And it does help when the church has excellent architecture. It's a plus if they have some service to help you meditate and send your wishes up to the cosmos.

This trip thus far promises an opportunity for reflection.

to be continued...

Gourmand Travels: I Need a Project

One of the earliest books I recall pouring through was a cookbook.  I even had to compete with Gremlyn for the book.  Sadly, after countless moves and countless relatives moving in with us, that book, along with some other things (toys, clothes, appliances... you know the drill) have become lost.  It didn't diminish my fascination with cooking though.  Cooking shows abound, even then, and the most popular, Wok With Yan, was a weekly family affair.

read more...

Horn

On a narrow side street going to Makati Avenue, a car was navigating the limited space, trying to park. With cars double parked at the sides, the driver has created a bottleneck. Trapped as we were, I had no choice but to let my mind wander while the jeep I was riding was idling by. Suddenly, a loud horn erupts and I was riven from my daydream. The gray car behind us has lost its patience and wants everything to move along.

Seated nearest the exit and in direct line of fire from the gray car's bellow, I studied the offending vehicle, bracing my ears as another long and loud honk was released. "Asshole driver," I muttered to myself. Finally, traffic moved and the blaring barrage stopped. For a few meters, that is; the intersecting traffic as we reached Makati Avenue halted our progress.

The by-now familiar horn blared again, singing its wounded song of stunted privilege. The glare from the windshield is gone and I was able to gleam into the car's interior. "Female asshole driver," I amended myself. Thankfully, she maneuvered her gray Altis onto another lane to direct her horn to another hapless motorist.

Trumpets and trombones are banned on this street

Unfortunately, another buzzer buzzard replaced her in the form of a red Hyundai SUV, who blares her horn in tandem with the brakes every time the jeepney stops. We move a few meters and stop; as is normal during Makati morning rush hour. Hyundai moves a few meters and reacts with a horn before stopping. Move. Horn. Stop.
Move. Horn. Stop.

And yes, you might have guessed, another female driver.

Now, I have nothing against female drivers.  I know some who are excellent behind the wheels.  Gremlyn and Matriarch could run circles around trucks and buses on the expressway during their hayday.  But these female rush hour drivers, why are they so reactive?  Why are they so liberal with the horn?

And these are not your acceptable split-second buzz either.  These are 5-second minimum, push to the floor, blaring of horn.  The kind you use when a sixteen-wheeler is backing inches away from your fender.  It's loud, obnoxious and arrogant.

Seriously, why were these women so horny?

Horny woman - yellow contacts not included

photocredit:  horny street  horny woman

Shirking Responsibilities: Sick Week

Saturday night, I knew something was amiss:  a tooth was hurting and I could feel a little swelling.  By Sunday morning, it was a mess.  Half my face was swollen and it was a minor miracle that I was still able to speak.  I had medicine and lots of food bought for me to counter my sickness.


Come Monday morning, it was clear that I wont be getting to work.  The swelling smarts to the touch and I have a constant headache.  I had an officemate tell my manager my predicament, saying further that I needed to rest.


I could still joke about it, saying to some people that though I beat Pacquiao in 12 rounds, he was able to land a solid right hook to my jaw, and thus the swelling, but it didn't temper the fact that I was in constant pain.  It was as if a drill was trained to my temple while even the lightest touch to my cheek sent tendrils of pain from my face down to my toes.  Rest was elusive and ice cream lent only minor comfort.


Thankfully, I was given furlough from the pain thanks to consultations from doctor friends who advised the viability of mixing antibiotics with anti-inflammatory tablets, at least for certain pockets of time.  It's no good getting temporary reprieve from the pain but have your liver suffer for it.  One thing was clear though:  going to the office was not an option.


So I sent an email to my manager, my boss, and HR head, apologizing for my absence and detailing my predicament.  I even attached pictures, just to gross them out.  And it worked.  No work emails came my way (I kept it open, just in case) and no instant messages too, even though I was constantly online.


I wont deny it, though, had it been any other illness, I would still have made it to the office, albeit a few hours late, owing to the fact that it was constantly raining.  I hate going out when it rains.  But the main reason for taking  a week-long absence was that of vanity.  Going out of the house with my lopsided face was clearly out of the question.  And the low pressures due to the storm was not helping matters.  I was depressed.  I felt ugly.  And those two reasons combined is reason enough for me to lock myself up in my room.  It's not the best excuse to file leave for work, I know, but combined with the swelling and the almost-constant pain, I felt that they are.  Or at least they should be.


I'm returning from work come Monday to face the consequence of my week-long absence.  A leave of more than two days would necessitate a doctor's note excusing the same, but being stuck in the house, and my problem being a dental, as opposed to a medical one, I have no note to excuse me.  If HR would be strict with the handbook, my week-long absence would be inexcusable.  Noted, yes, but inexcusable.  I wouldn't even be surprised if there's a disciplinary note waiting for me when I arrive.  But it's no use anticipating these things.  We'll just see what happens when I arrive at work.


Before then, I will enjoy these last remaining hours of freedom. 

Shirking Responsibilities: Shang

It's the company sports fest today, but I begged off from joining, even though I have no concrete weekend plans.  Then again, I can use this as excuse, though I haven't really decided on watching.

It's that time of the year once again, when Shangri-la plays host to a bevy of film festivals.

Hello again, long lines and waiting for an hour for (free) tickets.

I used to be one of those eager souls who will queue up for a chance to watch the films.  My weekends were free then, and the lines used to be manageable.  And populated with film enthusiasts, some off whom would cheerfully chat you up and narrate which films they've seen and which are the really good ones in the line up.

But the festivals became too popular, I guess, and the allure of a free movie was hard to resist.  And there are those well-meaning professors who require reaction papers and other writing assignments to their students.  That's why year after year, the people who turn up to watch the free screenings get bigger, younger, and I should say, more stylish.  The old crowd of film enthusiasts are no more, probably turned off by the advent of the new crowd, with their college accents and designer labels and cliques perpetually by their side.

I'm still not sure if I'm watching this roster of films.

But I'm sure I wont be around for the company outing/sports fest.

Bibliophilia: Series Enders

I finally got my hands on these two series enders!

The Enchantress is the sixth book in the Michael Scott's Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel series, detailing the adventures of fraternal twins Sophie and Josh Newman and how their lives turned upside down when they discovered that the quirky bookseller in their neighborhood is none other than the immortal Nicholas Flamel.


Serpent's Shadow is the third installment in the Rick Riordan's Kane Chronicles, about the life of siblings Carter and Sadie Kane and their quest to revive the ancient Path of the Gods of Egypt and help thwart the rise of Apophis, ruler of Chaos and destroyer or worlds.


I wasn't expecting the two books to be released in the same week, but since they're here, I can't not buy them.  And now, my dilemma:  I've been following both series for the past three years, which book should I start reading first?


If you don't hear from me for some time, you know what the culprits are.  :-)

Addictions: Coffee

I've been off of coffee for the past three months now, and I miss it terribly.  I did it out of a whim, honestly.  And alright, out of health reasons, maybe.  I was having mild acid reflux.  But that may just have been regular office stress and not the coffee's fault.

But anyways, I did stop drinking coffee and found substitutes to it.  For a time, I was guzzling copious amounts of pineapple juice just to curb my body's insistent search for caffeine.  And as if in retaliation for its lack of addiction fix, my body decided to shower me with hunger pangs.  An almost constant barrage of the case of the munchies.  I am always hungry; never mind that I've just eaten a major meal, two hours hence and I'm already hungry.

Thus coffee was replaced with fruit juices and a wide array of food.  I'm feeling fat.  And still hungry.

I miss coffee.  I miss the taste, I miss the smell, I miss the high.  But my self-control is strong enough that I am still able to cope with its loss.  


There are times though that I wonder how a hot americano would taste and feel like, the way you hold it with both hands, savoring its enticing warmth, drowning in the earthy, intoxicating smell.  Ever so slowly, you reach for it and tease your lips with it, just a little at first, tasting the hotness of it, mouth aching with the sudden gush of saliva from aroused glands.  

You grow bolder with each try, taking in more and more of it, enjoying the scorching in your lips, your tongue until finally you plunge full on, eyes closed and ecstatic as the hotness spreads to your whole mouth, your throat.  And you go for it again and again and again some more, until all of it is spent to the very last dregs.

Then you stare at the bottom of your coffee cup, wanting more but holding back, knowing too well that too much of a good thing is bad.

But I'm still holding back from my coffee intake, and that hot raspberry americano will just have to wait some more.

And yes, I know that the one pictured above is a cup of Peppermint Mocha.  It was Christmastime, and I was aiming for stickers.  haha!

Rise

Are you ready to rise?

Finally, the last of Christopher Nolan's Batman movie franchise is upon us.  Or at least the latest promotional posters are.  Too bad there wasn't a poster of Marion Cotillard.

Will you watch this on opening day, or let it simmer the first few weeks, so there is no crowd?

photocredit

Anyone and Anything

When I was younger, I had such a vivid imagination that I was able to create for myself three alter egos.  These alter egos each have slightly different personalities and slightly different powers.  Yes, these other-selves have powers -- magical, mystical and otherworldly powers.  They can summon dragons and other mythical creatures; they have weapons powered by mystic gems and the like; they can fly, teleport, move things with their mind.


They are eager companions during boring classes and long trips.  They are heroes of long unwritten adventures.  Most importantly, they were tools for retaliation against school bullies.  In my mind's eye, I see my alter egos use their powers to torment and torture my foes almost to the brink of death and nurse them back to health to torture them some more.  Many an afternoon were spent imagining new and elaborate tortures to my very real tormentors.  It may sound weak, but it was loads better than following them home and introducing them to the business end of a hammer.  I didn't want to be expelled.


School ended and imaginary friends faded.  And ShatterShards became the amalgamation of those three alter egos.  He lost the powers but gained a voice.  My voice.  The voice I use to bitch and rant about my problems; the voice I employ to ridicule my mundane experiences; the voice I muster to give form to my thoughts.  But no matter what aspect I use, it's still my voice, and a facet of my personality.  


It is still inherently me.


And not some mere fabrication.  It does not, however, compute that I am my blog nor my twitter account.  Though they may be facets of my personality, it can not and will not paint a complete picture of me.  But it is still me.


But the internet is a funny thing.  You can reinvent yourself and no one will be the wiser.  But like many technologies, it is its own boon and bane.  In your quest for reinvention, you may forget your self, and the webs of lies you weave may be the death of you.

But on the telephone line

I am anyone

I am anything I want to be

I can be a super model or

Norman Mailer

And you wouldn't know the difference

Or would you?

Who's to say now if the friends you've amassed are friends with you or with the persona you built around you?  And will they trust you again once the travesty of lies and half-truths have been unearthed?  I do not have the answer to that for I fear to tread it.


When I was little, I used to have such vivid imagination that I was able to conjure up imaginary personas for myself.  But it stayed where it should, which is inside my mind, because life is already too bizarre and grotesque as it is for my mental conjurings to add to the fray.










  

Take Me or Leave Me

Earlier this week, the song I'll Cover You from Rent's soundtrack played in my head for no apparent reason.  Suddenly, I felt depressed.  I don't know why I felt that way considering how lovely the lyrics are, but I did.


When one song depresses me, I counter it with more songs, and one of those is another piece from Rent.




Every single day,
I walk down the street
I hear people say: "Baby's so sweet!"
Ever since puberty
Everybody stares at me,
Boys, girls I can't help it, baby.
So be kind, and don't lose your mind
Just remember, that I'm your baby


Take me for what I am!
Who I was meant to be!
And if you give a damn,
Take me baby,Or leave me!
Take me baby or leave me!


A tiger in a cage
Can never see the sun.
This diva needs her stage, baby,
Let's have fun!
You are the one I choose,
Folks would kill to fill your shoes!
You love the limelight too now, baby!
So be mine, and don't waste my time
Cryin', "Oh honey bear are you still my, my, my baby?"
(Don't you dare!)


Take me for what I am!
Who I was meant to be!
And, if you give a damn,
Take me baby, or leave me!


No way, can I be what I'm not!
But hey, don't you want your girl hot?
Don't fight, don't loose your head,
'Cause every night who's in your bed?
Who? Who's in your bed?
(Kiss Pookie?!)


(It won't work!)
I look before I leap.
I love margins and discipline.
I make lists in my sleep, baby.
What's my sin?
Never quit.
I follow through.
I hate mess but I love you.
What to do with my impromptu baby?
So be wise, 'cause this girl satisfies,
You got a prize, so don't compromise
You're one lucky baby!!!


Take me for what I am!
(A control freak!)
Who I was meant to be!
(A snob yet over attentive!)
And, if you give a damn!
(A lovable droll, geek!)
Take me baby or leave me!
(And anal retentive!)


That's it!
The straw that breaks my back!
I quit!
Unless you take it back!
Women,
What is it about them?
Can't live, with them or without them!


Take me for what I am
Who I was meant to be
Who I was meant to be
And, if you give a damn
and if you give a damn you better
Take me baby or leave me
take me or leave me
Take me baby, or leave me
Guess I'm leaving, I'm gone!

I saw the musical when it was performed here and this song was one of my most anticipated.  I'm having a hard time looking for the local performances though, because they are at par with the Broadway cast, in my opinion.


Somehow, I can relate to both players sentiments in this song, but I identify more with Joanne.  


Who do you identify with?  

Assets (2)

Assets (1)
And so we have statesmen with unbelievable assets and we only get to know about it one scandal at a time.  We lament at how they are becoming rich while the country is poor, and conclude that the people whom we elected are crooks, but we have no way of proving it.


The main problem is that of accountability.  And vigilance.  The impeachment trial, though it has its flaws, is unprecedented in that for the first time, we are demanding an accountability from one of the highest seats of power.  Finally, we are asking not why one is rich, but how one became so.  But the Statements of Assets, Liabilities and Net Worth (SALN) is merely the beginning.


The main flaw of the SALN is that it doesn't paint a whole picture.  Even coupled with the Income Tax Return (ITR), it doesn't say how one has earned, but merely how much one was taxed.  If we want our leaders to give us a full accounting of how and how much they earned, then the way to do it is subject them to the rigors of Accounting.

Any partnership or corporation, for it to be considered a juridical entity, has to be registered with the Securities and Exchange Commission (SEC).  Regardless if its equity is 100K or 100M, if you want your company to be legally recognized, then you have to register.


And once registered, you have to submit annual financial statements, that is: Balance Sheet, which states your assets, liabilities and net worth; Income Statement, which states your income sources and the expenses you've incurred; and Statement of Cash Flows, which states the movement of your cash.  You also have your Notes to the Financial Statements which further clarifies the balances stated in the three reports.


All three reports are interconnected.  The assets you have are used to create income, which in turn you use to pay up your liabilities and other expenses.  These incomes and expenses are commonly in the form of cash, and thus reported as either an inflow or an outflow.


If corporations with net worth as little as a few hundred thousand pesos are required to submit Financial Statements, why not subject our leaders to the same rigor, considering some of them have assets and net worth amounting to hundreds of millions of pesos?  And considering that amount of money they have amassed, it is not quite far-fetched that these people have their personal accountants trailing after them.  


The financial statements, coupled with the ITR, can paint a bigger picture on the earnings and spending of our esteemed leaders.  It will show us how much they are truly earning, and how much of that earnings are taxed.  Furthermore, it will show us how and why their net worth are increasing.  Because honestly, the government pays them measly change, yet they own cash accounts by the millions, which in my mind, truly does not equate.


The question now is how to impose such strict accounting guidelines to these esteemed statesmen when they can't even submit their liquidations on time.  But that is another issue altogether.






photocredit

Nine Dangerous Things You Were Taught In School (2)

I filched this article from Forbes and I think that it is a good thing to keep in mind.  Bookish that I am, I need doses of these reminders every once in a while. Here's the rest of the article.
Part 1

Be aware of the insidious and unspoken lessons you learned as a child. To thrive in the world outside the classroom, you’re going to have to unlearn them.

Dangerous things you were taught in school:

6. Behaving yourself is as important as getting good marks.Whistle-blowing, questioning the status quo, and thinking your own thoughts are no-nos. Be quiet and get back on the assembly line.

7. Standardized tests measure your value.By value, I’m talking about future earning potential, not anything else that might have other kinds of value.

8. Days off are always more fun than sitting in the classroom.You are trained from a young age to base your life around dribbles of allocated vacation. Be grateful for them.

9. The purpose of your education is your future career.And so you will be taught to be a good worker. You have to teach yourself how to be something more.