Bee-yatch!

Tang ina, I’m back at work again. Yesterday was absolutely horrendous workwise. I was hauling ass from the get-go. And it was only Monday. I left work at nine fucking p.m. To put things into perspective, yesterday felt like that form of medieval capital punishment where a guy, gagged and bound, would be put in a sack together with a clowder of cats (I looked it up, this is the correct collective term for cats). The sack would then be beaten or thrown into a shallow river to agitate the cats into a clawing frenzy with the poor defenseless bastard suffering all the way to his painful and grisly death.

There’s this woman at the office who I consider to be the queen bitch of the bitchiest queen bitches in the entire history of the bitchiest queen bitches in the universe. In short, I think she’s a bitch.

For the longest time, I’ve been thinking of the perfect putdown that I’ll use on her if fate ever provides that we cross paths in the near future. I would say this at a lull in our argument and with a calm and collected voice: “By the way, who’s running hell when you’re here at the office?”

Q and No A

Just a few questions that have been percolating in my consciousness, some are rhetorical and some do require legitimate answers:

Is it just me or now that Eddie Gil is intentionally trying to be funny guesting in those stupid sitcoms, he’s not? Wasn’t he hilarious when he was seriously talking about Korean dollars and honestly asking what “net worth” meant?

Has anyone actually checked if that motherfucker Ely Pamatong is really a lawyer? If he is, shouldn’t the “international” law school he went to be closed down because it missed including in its curriculum that willfully putting metal spikes along the busiest stretch of hi-way in Metro Manila is, I don’t know, against the law?

Does Sandwich’s “Two Trick Pony” video kick ass or what?

To anyone who’s gonna see the new Ai-Ai de las Alas movie “Volta,” can you please tell me: What’s the point?

Globe, why’d you cut my cellphone’s connection to your Internet server? So what am I supposed to do now when I want to access Friendster while waiting in line at the bank? (When I called Globe’s customer hotline about this, this JV guy I got said that people have been accessing porn sites using their cellphones and rhetorically asked me, “Di ba ho bawal yon?”) Hazzard a guess who’s moving to Smart?

God, when will you grant my fervent prayer that I’ll never hear “The voice of the people is the voice of God” from the mouths of everyone who ran during the last election? Why do these people always have a self-satisfied smile on their faces after making that bleached cliché as if we’ve never heard that said before? Oh, doesn’t that self-satisfied smile become beatific when they say it in the Latin “Vox Populi, Vox Dei” and then immediately translate it for us, the ignoramuses?

Did you know that the Philippines was discovered on March 17, 1521 and not March 16, as claimed by Yoyoy Villame in his song? And that Magellan’s official chronicler, Antonio Pigafetta, failed to add one day to the date of the discovery as he was unaware of the existence of the International Date Line which the expedition had already crossed?

How many times can MTV replay the Movie Awards?

Aren’t Alanis Morissette and Ryan Reynolds the last two people on Earth you’d ever expect to get engaged?

Do you think Alanis Morissette gets bitchy when she has PMS?

A Hole in the Head

Oh my God! I saw the new anti-smoking commercial on one of the local channels which shows some guy getting his head blown off.

It first has the guy sitting down and languidly picking a cigarette off a pack. He takes his time lighting it and putting it in his mouth – doubtless to lull the viewer into a false sense of security and setting him up for the money shot. Cigarette guy takes his first puff and then POW! his head literally explodes. The camera stays on the image of him with what remains of his head up and blood splatter on the otherwise bare white wall.

I’m assuming that the members of the MTRCB approved the showing of this very violent commercial as everything that airs on the local channels is screened by these numbnuts. Their justification must have been that shocking the bejeezes out of smokers was an effective way in getting them to quit the filthy habit since a puff can be equated to a shot in the head from a twelve-gauge shotgun, that is, an instantaneous death. Nevermind that the MTRCB throws a fit when a starlet accidentally exposes a nipple during a dance sequence but a head exploding head into a bloody pulp? That’s just a-okay.

Now, I’ve been hanging out with smokers since I was little and I can safely say that in all those years I’ve never had any of one of them just have his head blown off in my company while taking in a puff. Perhaps this whole exploding head thing happened when I was away but I’m pretty sure that I would’ve been told of this fantastic (but apparently possible) occurrence.

Perhaps the commercial was intended not as a literal message of doom but as a metaphor to show that every puff you to take is a shot in the head. If you ask me, the focus is entirely misplaced on the head – I know of smokers who actually think that a shot to a head is preferable than to be deprived of a menthol cigarette stick. Instead, why not go to the body part which loss would be more mournful? This would be the penis.

For your consideration: Cigarette guy takes one or two drags from the offending cigarette. Then extreme close up on his crotch to reveal that he’s not wearing pants, much less underpants. Another puff from him and then POW! his dick just falls off and down on the floor and land in between his Chuck Taylors (hey, they’re back in fashion – this way we can hook in the younger viewers as well). I guaran-damn-tee it that guys would just stop smoking even if there’s just the flimsiest of evidence that a singular puff would cause dicks to fall off.

History at the Sauna Bath Parlor

I don’t talk about politics for the same reason I don’t talk about colonoscopy bags: there’s not much to say except for the fact that it’s full of shit. Take GMA’s turnaround about running for president. She said she wouldn’t but then less than a year later she decided she would. She justified this by saying that the bigger sacrifice she could offer, at this point in history, was to give up her retirement and instead take the helm yet again of the titanic HMS Philippines.

Nevermind that GMA’s had a crack at the presidency for the past four years. Nevermind that it’s absolutely self-serving to run for the presidency when you are yourself the incumbent with the full resources of the government with a budget of less than a trillion pesos available to you. Nevermind that the programs she vowed to continue haven’t done anything remotely marginal to alleviate the poverty level. Nevermind that her run for the presidency has polarized an already fractious country.

As it is, she is still a president on the hunt for her legacy. But you know what could have been the money shot that would have guaranteed her place in the history books? If she had only decided not to run and instead focus her attention and the resources available to her office in fixing the electoral process. If she had only taken the leadership in computerizing the polls and the canvassing afterwards, this would have ensured the integrity of the results of the May 10 election. We as a nation would have supported the president-elect as we know that he/she won the office fair and square. Years from now, Filipinos would still be talking about how GMA did a Hercules and cleaned up the Aegean stables that is the Philippine electoral process.

But, tang ina, what did GMA do? She entered the fray and caused the whole electoral system to sink deeper into the morass of fraction, fraud, and COMELEC ineptness.

Hey GMA, do you have any concept of what real self-sacrifice entails? Get a clue: It’s Sergio Osmena agreeing to be the vice-president of Manuel Quezon in the elections for the presidency of the Philippine Commonwealth in 1935. To put Osmena’s magnanimity into context, it would have to be recalled that he and Quezon were both leaders in the first Philippine Legislature which the Jones Law provided in 1916. Osmena was the Speaker of the House (the Ayuntamiento – man, I’m doing my high school history teacher proud) and Quezon was the president of the Senate (the Intendencia). Osmena’s was considered the loftier position as he was the head of the party in power and leader of Filipino participation in the autonomous government afforded by the Americans. Quezon’s Intendencia was considered as the No. 2 office compared to the Ayuntamineto. And yet when the time came for Osmena to decide if he should run against Quezon and cause a fair amount of division among the elecorate, thereby depriving each of them a clear mandate, or run as his veep, he chose the latter eventhough Osmena has always been the No. 1 politico. As a result, the Quezon-Osmena team won decisively against the other presidential candidates Emilio Aguinaldo and Bishop Gregorio Aglipay.

I compare history to a sauna bath patron picking his masseuse for the hour from a selection of these inside the “aquarium.” History picked GMA as his masseuse after Erap fucked up the job (he got caught picking history’s wallet). GMA did a fair job at massaging given the time allocated to her but history’s back still aches and doesn’t feel any better. So, should history pick her again when he returns to the sauna bath parlor knowing she’s not that good? Of course not. GMA was already picked by history and he found her skills somewhat wanting. (And besides, she didn’t put out)

Ghost World

I caught “Ghost World” on cable yesterday morning. It’s my first time to watch it since I can’t find a pirated DVD copy of the movie anywhere. I’ve tried looking for the original DVD but can’t find that one either. Why is it that crappy movies like “Charlie’s Angels Full Throttle” is available everywhere and great movies like “Donnie Darko” and “Amores Perros” are left in some inaccessible dark doghouse somewhere?

“Ghost World” is about young Enid (Thora Birch) who is a loveable and intellectual loser too good for this world and therefore makes no effort to live by its rules. She is in the mold of such characters like Troy Dyer from "Reality Bites" (all those pithy and snappy remarks) and Holden Caufield (all that salty language). Enid has only Rebecca (a pre “Lost in Translation” Scarlett Johansson) for a friend and even this relationship seems to be slipping in the face of the demands of responsibility and growing up.

Enid decides to let in one more person into her very elite circle in the person of Seymour (Steve Buscemi), a middle-aged bachelor whom she and Rebecca meet when a prank on him backfires on them. Enid and Seymour form a tight bond against all expectations and its pure irony when she tries to draw him out of their ghost world by making it her mission to have Seymour meet a nice woman. When he does, she regrets that she’s alone again and misses him.

The most touching scene in the movie was when Enid tells Norman, this old guy who waits for a bus that never comes, that he’s the only she can depend on – that no matter what happens, Norman is always there at the bus stop waiting. Oh no, he says, you’re wrong. Norman expects that damn bus to finally stop very soon and he won’t be there anymore.

I love the ending because it’s so open-ended. These are the kinds of movies I like. There are no resolutions in the end and you just think about what’ll happen to the characters long after seeing the movie – your own personal sequel that Hollywood doesn’t dictate to you like you were some kind of retard.

Here are some memorable quotes from “Ghost World” which I got from imdb.com. You can always tell that a movie has great writing when it’s got a lot of entries in its “Memorable Quotes” page in imdb.com. "Ghost World" is no exception and you’ll just bust a gut reading them.

Memorable Quotes from
Ghost World (2000)

Alcoholic Customer: Do you serve beer or any alcohol?
Enid: I wish. Actually you wish... after about five minutes of this movie, you're gonna wish you had ten beers.

Rebecca: This is so bad it's almost good.
Enid: This is so bad it's gone past good and back to bad again.

Rebecca: You actually like that guy?
Enid: I don't know, I kind of like him. He's the exact opposite of everything I really hate. In a way, he's such a clueless dork, he's almost kind of cool.
Rebecca: That guy is many things, but he's definitely not cool.

Enid: So what was all that about enlarged holes and tight cracks?

Seymour: I can't relate to 99% of humanity.

Rebecca: Oh, face it, you just hate every single guy on the face of the earth.
Enid: That's not true. I just hate all these extroverted, obnoxious, pseudo-bohemian losers.

Enid: I liked her so much better when she was an alcoholic crack addict. She gets in one little car wreck and all of a sudden she's Little Miss Perfect and everyone loves her.

Enid: I think only stupid people have good relationships.
Seymour: That's the spirit.

Rebecca: Oh look, there he is.
Enid: As always.
Rebecca: Waiting for the bus that never comes.
Enid: I wonder if he's just totally insane, or he really thinks the bus is coming?
Rebecca: Why don't you just ask him?
Enid: Hi. What's your name?
Norman: Norman.
Enid: Are you waiting for a bus?
Norman: Yes.
Enid: I hate to tell you this, but they canceled this bus line two years ago. There are no more buses on this street.
Norman: You don't know what you're talking about.

Rebecca: So, what do you do if you're a Satanist?
Enid: Sacrifice virgins and stuff.
Rebecca: I guess that lets us off the hook.

Enid: I think I'm going crazy from sexual frustration.
Rebecca: And you haven't heard the miracle of masturbation?

Maxine: It's really quite something to see you all grown-up like this, Enid. I'd love to know what you're doing now. I can't help but feel I had some small part in how you turned out. What're you studying? You were always such a smart little girl.
Enid: I'm taking a remedial high school art class for fuck-ups and retards.

Enid: We need to find a place where you can go to meet women who share your interests.
Seymour: Maybe I don't want to meet someone who shares my interests. I hate my interests.

[Seymour can't wait for two mothers and their many kids to cross an intersection]
Seymour: What are we, in slow motion here? C'mon, what are you, hypnotized? Have some more kids, why don't you.

Seymour: You think it's healthy to obsessively collect things? You can't relate to other people, so you fill your life with stuff... I'm just like all these other collector losers.

[Enid is looking at the racist logo of Cook's Chicken, formerly Coon Chicken]
Enid: So, I don't get it. Are you saying things were better then, even though there was stuff like this?
Seymour: I suppose things are better now, but... I don't know. People still hate each other, they just know how to hide it better.

Enid: Hey, look. There's the pants.

[Doug comes into the Sidewinder without a shirt on]
Doug: What's up, Josh? Give me two packs of cigarettes today. Working overtime: Sixteen hours.
[Puts malt liquor bottle on the counter]
Doug: And nature's nectar, wake-up juice. And give me six of these beef jerky's. I'm hungry enough to chew the crotch out of a rag doll.
[Sidewinder Boss spots him]
Sidewinder Boss: Hey. Hey. How many times do I have to tell you? No shirt, no service. Get the hell out of my store. What do you think this is, Club Med?
Doug: It's called America, dude. Learn the rules.
Sidewinder Boss: "Learn the rules?" No, YOU learn the rules. We Greeks invented democracy.
Doug: You also invented homos.
Sidewinder Boss: Fuck you.
Doug: You wish. You gotta buy me dinner first.

Doug: Rock n' roll, baby: Freedom of speech.

Enid: If he's so weird, why is he wearing Nikes?

Enid: It's not like I'm some modern punk, dickhead. It's an obvious, 1977 original punk rock look. I guess Johnny fuckface over there's too stupid to realize it.
Rebecca: I didn't really get it either.
Enid: Everyone's too stupid.

[observing Seymour's order from across the diner]
Enid: Oh my God. He just ordered a giant glass of milk.
Josh: ...That's a vanilla milkshake.

[After seeing Seymour just miss hitting a truck]
Enid: Oh my god. It's him. He's insane.
Rebecca: We should follow him home.

Seymour: Well, I have to admit that things are really starting to look up for me since my life turned to shit.

Angry Garage Sale Woman: How much for this dress?
Rebecca: God, I can't believe you're selling that.
Enid: That's $500.
Angry Garage Sale Woman: What?
Enid: 500.
Angry Garage Sale Woman: You're crazy. It should be like $2.
Enid: I was wearing that dress when I lost my virginity.
Angry Garage Sale Woman: Why do I care?
Enid: Well, why do you want it? I mean, it would look stupid on you anyway.
Angry Garage Sale Woman: God. Fuck you.

Dana: I am so excited to see this movie. Dustoffvarnya is such a brilliant director. Did you see his last film, "The Flower that Drank the Moon"? It was simply glorious!
Seymour: I guess I must have missed that one. But then what do I know. I like Laurel and Hardy movies.
Dana: Really? I never really cared for those. I mean, why does the fat one always have to be so mean to the skinny one?

Roberta: That piece is entitled "Mirror, Father, Mirror." I like to show it to people I'm meeting for the first time because I feel it says so much about who I am and what it feels like to inhabit my specific skin.

[At their High School graduation, Enid and Rebecca encounter Melora, an incredibly cute and annoying classmate]
Melorra: Oh my God. We have to get together this summer.
Enid: [Deadpan] Yeah... That'll definitely happen.

Enid: Josh.
Rebecca: Josh.
Enid and Rebecca: JOSH.
Enid: God, I'll bet he's in there jerking off.
Rebecca: I'll bet he never jerks off.
Enid: Yeah, he's beyond human, and stuff like that.
Rebecca: Should we leave him a note?
Enid: Sure. You got a pen?
[Rebecca pulls out a pen]
Enid: [writing] Dear Josh, we came by to fuck you, but you were not home. Therefore... you are gay. Signed Tiffany, and Amber.

Melorra: Oh my god, you guys actually made it.
Enid: [Deadpan] Yeah. We graduated high school. How... totally... amazing.

Enid: Wow, look at me. I'm not even listening to a word you're saying.

John Ellis: You know, you never paid me for that Indian dance routine tape.
Enid: Yes I did.
John Ellis: You Jews are so clever with money.
Enid: Fuck you. Stupid redneck hick.

Soda Customer: Hi, can I get a medium 7-Up?
Enid: ...Medium? Why sir, did you now know that for a mere 25 cents more you can purchase a large beverage? And you know... I'm only telling you this because we're such good friends: Medium is really only for suckers who don't know the concept of value.

Enid: He better watch out or he'll get AIDS when he date-rapes her.

Lounging by the Pool

Today’s the first day of my mandatory one-week vacation. Some Einstein at the head office figured out that all the staff should take individual leaves for a whole working week to stress test the existing work set-up of the department – you know, just to see if everything will go to hell in a handbasket if one employee’s going to be away for an extended period of time.

So what am I gonna do the whole week?

Well, I have some ideas:

1) I wanna go back to this sleepy town called Batad which is about an hour away from Banawe. No, that’s not Banawe in Quezon City but rather in Mountain Province. It’s a two hour hike going there with the first hour all uphill and the other downhill. You know you’ve reached midpoint because of the elevation and the incredible view but also this shed manned by kids selling softdrinks. The last time I was there in 1998 with a bunch of white people, the whole town still didn’t have electricity and running water. The inn that we stayed in charged PHP35 a night but it had only an outhouse for a bathroom/toilet. No running water meant that bath water was rain water collected during the afternoon rains (no matter what season it is, it always rains in the afternoon in that part of the country) and the toilet was a hole in the ground – granted that it was a porcelain hole and you still had to squat when you did your, um, business. There were strips of the broadsheet Manila Bulletin which were there for your inhouse reading material and when the time came for me to finish up, I was looking for toilet paper but couldn’t find any, and then I realized that the Manila Bulletin was the toilet paper (hmm, was this an editorial selection on the part of the inn owners?).

2) I wanna go back to Boracay too but my Bora buddies are all at work and I’m the only one on leave. Besides, Bora in June is not the same as being there in April and May during the peak of the local tourist season - when you see all the people you know from Manila making asses of themselves because they’re in that “island state of mind.”

3) Learn Spanish. I MIGHT be going to Spain after all in August and work there for four months. However, I’m looking at working there on a permanent basis. I guess I’ll burn that bridge when I get there.

But as you know, the biggest piece of unreal estate in this world is not the vacuum that divides FPJ’s left and right ear but rather the continental rift that separates wanting and actually doing something. Frankly, all I’ll probably do is read, watch TV, play video games, and drink beer. It’s just five stinking days and it’ll be finished as quickly as a 65-year old on Viagra. Oh look, “St. Elmo’s Fire” is on STAR Movies.

Brush With Fame

I was with this girl who works as a relationship manager for a British bank at a cocktail hosted by a government bank. The cocktail was part of the government bank’s list of events in celebration of Independence Day. For some reason we got to talking about Bill Gates. I said I saw him in person when he visited the Philippines. She asked what he looked like and I said Bill Gates is probably the whitest white guy I’ve ever seen my whole life. Jaime Zobel de Ayala was walking him to the elevator when I saw them. (Random Thought: I wonder if the security guard posted at the reception asked for Bill Gates’ ID on the basis of the strict “No ID, No Entry” building policy) Now, Jaime Zobel de Ayala is pretty white himself but he looked like freaking George Hamilton after a weekend in Palm Springs compared to the pallor of Bill Gates’ complexion. I don’t imagine he gets too much sun up there in Redmond, Washington. On second thought, can’t Bill Gates just outright purchase the sun and do with it as he pleases?

I don’t know if British bank girl wanted to up the ante but she said that she actually met and talked to Dustin Hoffman. This happened when she was taking her masters in London and worked part-time at Armani. Dustin Hoffman shops at Emporio Armani?, I asked. No, she said, she worked at the Giorgio Armani Haute Couture Collezioni shop. He was a pretty nice guy, she said, even a tad flirtatious.

Well, I couldn’t end it at that, right? So I decided to tell her about how I met and talked to a big time Hollywood celebrity . This happened years ago when I was in the States. I worked part time at a health food store in Melrose Avenue in Los Angeles. My idiot cousin actually worked there but was away most of the time fooling around with his girlfriend and so got me to cover for him. One fine day, I was by myself manning the shop when who would walk in but Jason Priestly. Who? She asked. I said Brandon from Beverly Hills 90210. You know, Brenda’s twin brother. He went directly to me behind the counter and asked what kinds of tea we had. Oh, I said, we had all the basic teas: black, green, and oolong. Aren’t you Jason Priestly, I asked. Yes, he said, then thanked me and left.

She asked me if that was it. If that the was my ultimate collision with fame. I said yes. Well, at least she got to brush off some lint on an Oscar-winning actor’s shoulders when Dustin Hoffman tried on a dinner jacket – her ultimate and literal brush with fame. I looked at British bank girl and knew I had to come up with a snappy come back. And here it is: I said that, technically, Jason Priestly could still win an acting Oscar. Before I even got to the last syllable of the last word of my sentence, I knew that I had lost this bit of oneupmanship. For all I know, the vagaries of celebrity kismet has caused Jason Priestly to work in the laundry room of the Beverly Hills Hotel and was right now brushing off lint from Dustin Hoffman’s Armani dinner jacket.

Hate Turns to Like

The first time I heard Rivermaya's latest single "Balisong" on the radio, I hated it. I only got through the first chorus and then I changed stations. I dismissed it as a Coldplay ripoff. Then I noticed that the song was getting a lot of airtime on FM radio - although at this point I'd still change stations everytime I'd hear the piano intro simultaneous with the "Your face lights up the sky on the highway..." lyrics.

And then I saw the video...but I found myself hating the song more because I couldn't stand Rico Blanco's pretentious on-camera mugging. He had this self-satisfied look on his face which seemed to say "I know you're thinking that I put some hidden clues in this video to help you find out if I really got KC pregnant."

Topping everything off was this DJ who referred to the song as "Bali Song." You know, like it had everything to do with the Indonesian tourist trap rather than the Cavite fan knife.

But now, sigh, I have to admit that I've done a complete 180 on "Balisong" - I've gone from impulse hating; onward to Hey, this ain't so bad after all; and now to I can't believe I'm singing this song in the shower. I think the change happened because I kept hearing the song at work where I have my radio on all the time.

It's still a Coldplay ripoff. I still can't sit through watching the whole video. That asshole DJ's still promoting Indonesian tourism when he mentions the song title. But now I actually like "Balisong." It's nice to know that I can change my mind when I give something a second chance.

The World Is Now Right

Creed has disbanded. Yup, the poor (not to mention retarded) man's Pearl Jam has called it quits.

I’ve never liked Creed. I’ve always thought that they were an abomination – an affront to human decency. In the league perhaps of an Adolf Hitler or a Pol Pot. No, Creed didn’t mass murder in the millions but they did offend the musical sensibilities of the six billion or so people on this planet by committing the unforgivable and unredeemable crime of SUCKING. Calling the World Court at the Hague: a High Crimes Tribunal is requested to try the members of Creed for crimes against humanity.

I think what was written on a shirt that Quark Henares saw says it best: EVEN JESUS HATES CREED.

So rest easy now. Lay your head comfortably on a pillow. Sleep and perchance dream of a world at peace, abundant, and loving. We are one step closer. Creed is no more.

Six Degrees of Aga Muhlach

It occured to me yesterday when reports came out that J. Lo married Marc Anthony that Aga Muhlach is connected to J. Lo in less than six degrees: Aga Muhlach dated Dayanara Torres who's the ex-wife of Marc Anthony and who is now married to J. Lo. Two people separate J. Lo from Aga. Now, that's fucking impressive.

So that means Ben Affleck's separated from Aga by three people: Aga = Dayanara + Marc Anthony + J. Lo = Ben Affleck

Matt Damon by four people:

Aga = Dayanara + Marc Anthony + J. Lo + Ben Affleck = Matt Damon

Penelope Cruz by five people:

Aga = Dayanara + Marc Anthony + J. Lo + Ben Affleck + Matt Damon = Penelope (Matt and Penelope starred in "All the Pretty Horses")

Get this, fucking Tom Cruise by six people:

Aga = Dayanara + Marc Anthony + J. Lo + Ben Affleck + Matt Damon + Penelope = Tom Cruise

Wow. Shouldn't Aga get a medal from the government or something?

W.H. Auden

At lunch today, my officemate bought this can of ready to drink coffee. The writing on the can is Japanese and there's some English written on it that says "Brazil Coffee." What followed these two words got my attention:

"The Coffee of Coffees

I’ll love you dear, I’ll love you till China and Africa meet
And the river jumps over the mountain
And the salmon sings in the street.
I’ll love you till the ocean is folded and hung up to dry
And the seven stars go squawking
Like geese about in the sky."

I thought to myself that this was a lovely poem and that maybe I could plagiarize it for any nefarious deed in the future that would involve getting an artistic type to sleep with me.

I brought back the can back to my work desk and Googled the first line and, lo and behold, the makers of that can of coffee have already beaten me to the punch in making it look like that the lines were original by not crediting the responsible poet. The genius behind these lines is the great W.H. Auden and the poem's title is "As I Walked Out One Evening."

The first time I've ever heard Auden quoted, well, recited was in "Four Weddings and a Funeral." It was during the eponymous funeral scene where John Hannah as Matthew was eulogizing his lover, Gareth, and he chose "Funeral Blues" to express his heart numbing grief for his passing. I remember thinking at that time that this was the saddest poem I've ever heard and made a note to research on who wrote it. Thus, I found out who W.H. Auden was.

So now Auden lives on not only as a gay icon (well, he was gay himself) but apparently as ad copy for Brazilian coffee in a can made in Japan (hey, that rhymes! I'm a poet!), albeit uncredited.

Check out the W.H. Auden Society website to read "As I Walked Out One Evening" and "Funeral Blues" in their entirety.