Breaking News: My Ass!

I woke up at six this morning and turned on the TV. "Unang Hirit" was on and I managed to catch the tail-end of a commercial break. Suddenly the words “Breaking News” flashed. Oh my God, I thought. What is it now? Had a tsunami struck in some far off tropical paradise wreaking another cataclysm of biblical proportion? Had young and foolhardy military officers and their troops taken over a luxury hotel in Makati City in another bid to unseat the President? Had the Abus exploded another bomb? What?

And then I see that fathead Arnold Clavio. I wait in nervous anticipation and hang on to his every word: Ara Mina’s brother (yes, her brother) was involved in a car accident along C-5.

I shit you not. Fathead gets a live report from a reporter in the hospital where Ara Mina’s borther and his girlfriend are being treated for slight injuries. The brother starts recounting what happened: he was driving his Honda Civic along C-5 at four in the morning when this delivery truck hits him. Said delivery truck was going really fast. He has some bruises while the girlfriend has a neck brace on.

Fathead starts with his questions to Ara Mina’s brother. Are you alright? Yes. Was the truck going fast? Yes. What did the driver say? I haven’t talked to him yet.

Putang ina. What the fuck is this? Who gives a shit about Ara Mina’s brother? Who did this guy have to blow to merit such media attention? The only way I’ll even consider this as newsworthy is if Ara Mina herself was in the goddamn Honda Civic. No, not even that. She’s not a big enough star. How about if Ara Mina was in the goddamn Honda Civic with Dennis Roldan and got hit while making their getaway from the NAKTAF detention center. That’s not even worthy of a “breaking” billing. Oh, here: Ara Mina was in the goddamn Honda Civic with Dennis Roldan and got hit while making their getaway from the NAKTAF detention and Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo was found gagged and drugged in the trunk of their car. Boring! One last crack at this nut: Ara Mina was in the goddamn Honda Civic with Dennis Roldan and got hit while making their getaway from the NAKTAF detention and Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo was found gagged and drugged in the trunk of their car with a cell phone stuck up her ass playing the Ethel Booba sex video.

Now that’s breaking news.

Just Some Post-Valentine Bullshit...

It’s the second year in a row that I didn’t go out last night for Valentine’s. I don’t have a girlfriend right now and so it was pretty much same old, same old. I didn’t do any hackneyed romantic gesture for anyone like, say, send flowers – I didn’t even call this girl whom I’m sort of involved with in a freaky way.

I’m living back at the house now since giving up my apartment in the city. I’m delaying looking for a new place because I have a feeling I may not have to. No, I’m not going back to Spain anytime soon. I don’t think I’m ever going back there, well, not because of work at least.

I got home in time for dinner last night. I managed to escape Makati before that fucking Abu Sayaf bomb blew up a bus along EDSA. My shithead brother got a heart-shape pizza from S______’s. Isn’t that special? Why go through all that effort of making a heart-shape pizza? It’s not like couples are actually going to S_____’s for a Valentine’s date right? Right? Really? Whoa, if your date took you to a pizza parlor for Valentine’s, then he’s the worst kind asshole – a cheap one.

Anyways, I was thinking about the best Valentine’s date I ‘ve ever had. It wasn’t a date per se because the girl involved didn’t believe in going out on Valentine’s. No matter how much I presented to her these grand plans for our Valentine’s, she wouldn’t hear of it. An intimate Valentine’s candle-lit dinner for two being serenaded by violins in a classy French restaurant wasn’t her thing she said. She’d rather spend that night painting her apartment.

Well, do you like flowers at least , I asked. No, she said. Oh good, I lied, I didn’t really give flowers as gifts on Valentine’s.

On the big day itself, I called her to ask if she was riding with me after work so I could take her home. She said she was hitching a ride with her officemate because she didn’t trust me on my promise not to take her out on Valentine’s Day. Fine, I told her that she put too much faith on my romantic inclinations on this day.

I was about to leave the office when I received her text message. She was asking where I was having dinner tonight. I texted back that I was going home because I really didn’t believe in going out during Valentine’s Day.

So what did I do next? I went to the goddamn mall and bought her tulips. I was gonna get her roses but as my luck would have it, the shop I went to had run out of these. I remember paying an astronomical three hundred pesos for three lousy tulips which were as lethargic and dried up as Dolphy’s career.

I went to her apartment to surprise her with my stupid tulips – knowing that she’s already confirmed to me more or less that she doesn’t like getting flowers.

She smiled and shook her head when she saw me after opening her door.

I said, “I’ve never given you flowers before and this seemed like the perfect day to do it. They’re a little dirty because I threw them away in that garbage bin but changed my mind, fished them out, and so here they are. ”

She said, “How’d you know I love tulips?”

I knew it. It happens all the time. Girls say one thing and mean the other. It’s not that you can’t trust what they say – it’s more about going beyond what they say literally, breaking everything down, disregarding the apparent bullshit, and assembling the nuggets you have left into what they really meant to say in the first place. A process akin to the mystical science of alchemy.

She asked me if I’ve had dinner already and I said no. I was guessing that going out was still out of the question. She said that she was about to prepare dinner herself and could easily whip up a serving for me.

I can’t recall exactly what we ate – sausages I think – but I remember telling her that this was, bar none, the best Valentine’s dinner I’ve ever had. And I really meant it.

After dinner, we just sat around talking about Greek Mythology. We were drinking this mean cocktail I made from whatever leftover alcohol she had.

There was a knock on her door and when she answered it, there was this guy holding a dozen roses and chocolates. Apparently, the guy was the driver of her friend and he was sent out to her apartment tonight to make the delivery. Poor guy. I wonder if he ever told his boss that he saw some guy in the apartment of this girl he really liked – alone with her on Valentine’s.

After seeing the guy off, she showed me the heart-shaped box and said, “Dessert.”

When I also took my leave that night, she thanked me for the flowers and for coming over. She said that she was really glad that I showed up and kept her company this Valentine’s.

I said that I knew all along that she’d appreciate a friend’s presence tonight and that I’ve finally discovered the secret of turning base metals into gold. She looked at me like the weirdo that I am and I just said, “Nothing.”

Out of all the Valentine dates I’ve had my whole life, this night stands out as the most memorable for me. I guess it’s because it was entirely spontaneous, simple, and damn romantic. Besides, it was also free.

I was gonna bitch about Valentine’s Day for today’s blog entry but I thought the better of it. What else can I say other than it’s the ultimate Hallmark holiday perpetrated by merchants everywhere to shill merchandise, restaurants, and concerts of foreign artists who had their hits during the Reagan administration

For all you guys going tonight on a date, here are a few pointers I wrote about in a piece which I was going to submit to a friend of mine who was launching a new men’s magazine. I never got to submit it and it’s been in storage gathering virtual dust in my harddrive. This was a few years back but I hope that some of it could still be useful.

Dating 101

I think paraphrasing an old showbiz aphorism says it best: “Death is easy. Dating is hard.” Believe me, I know. I’ve gone out on so many dates with so many women that I feel that I’m almost an authority on the subject. (Yes, that’s an “almost” because I believe no man can truly claim to be an expert on anything that even remotely involves contact with members of the female persuasion.) Now, I’m not one to kiss and tell. It’s just that I feel my wealth of experience on this most important and daunting mating ritual can provide life lessons to all of you, my friends. So sit back and relax while I mine the innermost depths of my consciousness (and even a little bit of my subconscious) to give you this primer on dating.


How To Get Them


How? You silly boy! That’s easy. All you have to do is…ask. You actually go up to the girl of your dreams, the one who makes birds suddenly appear everytime she’s near, and ask her out. Chicks dig self-confidence and if you positively reek of it there’s no way in hell she can say no. How do you think a Cro-Magnon like Jack Nicholson gets some action? Just because Jacky Boy acts like he knows what he’s doing doesn’t mean that he actually knows what he’s doing. It’s all in the attitude. But dude, you say, I’ll just stammer and soil myself when she’s in front of me. Then practice, practice, and practice some more. Try your line on your less attractive girlfriends. The point is that, like free-throw shooting, you practice so much that when the time finally comes up to step-up, you just let everything go and do it— at this point your instincts will surely take over and blaze the trail to success. Or failure. But you’ll be so pumped up with adrenalin you won’t notice that you got horribly shot-down or even soiled yourself.

More than self-confidence, chicks dig a guy with a sense of humor. How do you think a Neanderthal like Robin Williams gets some action? A caveat though. It’s so easy to get gimmicky and overdo the humor angle when asking a girl out. Just like telling a white lie, keep your line simple and short. Don’t give the girl too much of an opening to mock your feeble attempts at drollness. At best your line should solicit a closed-lip but obvious smile not knee-slapping, lung-busting hilarity. How much more terrible would it be to be soiling yourself to the sounds of the love of your life’s scornful laughter?


How To Act When On One of Them


Be a gentleman. Chicks dig a guy with class. How do you think that somebody as mousy-looking as David Niven got some action? You pick-up the object of your affection at her house and on time. It is imperative that you are the sole provider of transportation. This is so you’ll never let her out of your sight and thus give her a chance to be a little introspective. Don’t give her the opportunity to delve on the fact that you’re a mousy-looking geek.

Be on time but don’t be too early-- you wouldn’t want to tip your hand and show this girl how needy you are. It’s okay to be a little late but not too much—I say fifteen minutes max—you wouldn’t want to tip your hand and show this girl that you’re not putting too much importance on this date, you ballsy sonafabitch.

So what do you talk about? Make like a hostage-negotiator and shut-up and let your date do all the talking. Ask very terse but loaded questions. How was college in an exclusive school like? Did you have any boyfriends? Are you really happy with what you’re doing right now? Let her volunteer every information. Just nod your head a lot to feign interest. No facet of her life is too trivial to not merit her see you react to her stories by slapping your forehead and going “Nooooooo. You’re pulling my leg that time!”

Where you take a girl on a night out is one consideration that is of the utmost importance. The destination, in this instance, is part of the journey. I find that a dimly-lit Italian restaurant that seethes of old world charm more often than not does the trick. Never, never, never take her to a place that you’ve never been to yourself. You have to be familiar with the waiters, the set-up (lighting is terribly important—you don’t want her to see those acne scars up close right?), and most importantly, the menu. You should know every item on that list six ways to Sunday. She’ll more than likely consult with you on what to order and wouldn’t she be impressed if you knew every type of pasta the restaurant has to offer. One last note on this: have a definite place where you’re taking her. Never ask a girl where she’d like to go. This will make you look unprepared and indecisive. Find out on your own her preferences. Ask her girlfriends, officemates, or family. Anybody who’s sure to tell the girl that you’ve been asking about her. This way, you hit the proverbial bird in these two ways: you get to know more about her and use that information and she’ll feel flattered that you’re interested. Don’t ask her ex-boyfriends who are still in love with her—this should be pretty obvious, Einstein.

Finally, I’ve saved the best advice for last. One word: Spend. Yes, that’s right. Spend money like a drunken sailor on shoreleave. Think Eric Stoltz in that 80’s classic “Some Kind of Wonderful.” Get this, the guy blows his entire college fund on this one date with Lea Thompson. He hired a Limo, rented a whole auditorium, and bought diamond earrings all for her. Now, I’m the first one to say that Eric may have gone a tad overboard with his dating strategy but I only relate all of this to emphasize my point—you have to splurge hard-earned moolah if you expect to score. You have to show this girl that you give and are worth a damn. Remember, money talks and bullshit walks. So if it’s a choice between Tokyo Tokyo or Sugi for Japanese, you know what to do.

Million Dollar Movie

I watched Million Dollar Baby over the weekend and I must say that it’s my favorite contender for this year’s Oscars. Well, it’s the only movie vying for the Best Picture Award that I’ve seen so far but I doubt if any of the others – The Aviator, Sideways, Finding Neverland, and Ray – could affect me the same way Million Dollar Baby did with its emotional intensity, grace, and heart.

I’ve been thinking about this movie long after I’ve watched it and it’s very rarely do I feel that way. The movie’s triumvirate of actors did such a perfect job in their roles that I could feel my heart breaking while I was watching them. And so it’s more than fair that all three are nominated for Oscar acting awards: Hillary Swank for Best Actress, Clint Eastwood for Best Actor, and Morgan Freeman for Best Supporting Actor. I am seriously rooting for all three to win but, as it happens, the Academy doesn’t give Jack shit about what I think.

The first half of the movie traces the path of Maggie Fitzgerald (Swank), born as trailer park white trash, to the welterweight championship of the world. This ambitious undertaking requires a boxing trainer and manager and she doggedly pursues Frankie Dunn (Eastwood) for his expertise in both areas. He disregards her offer at first because frankly Frankie doesn’t train and manage “girls.” However, the assistance of ex-fighter Eddie “Scrap Iron” Dupris (Freeman), who works for Dunn in his gym, helps turn the hardened boxing expert around to Maggie’s plight.

All three play their respective parts flawlessly. I was especially impressed with Hillary Swank who did such a brilliant characterization as the head strong boxer that she could be on her way to earning her second Best Actress award. Eastwood and Freeman likewise play their parts as grizzled boxing veterans to such perfection that when they banter and play games of verbal one-upmanship about the good old days of boxing, you take in every word as God’s honest truth.

I thought at first that the movie was on its way to tread the territory of the feel-good Rocky movies but just when you thought that it’d be so, the movie's second half takes a rather surprising turn. I won’t spoil it for everyone because I think that one of the reasons I love this movie so much was that I was unaware of what would happen after Maggie gets in the ring for her chance at boxing glory. Suffice it to say that I applaud director Eastwood’s decision to move the movie in that unexpected direction. Conservatives like film critic Michael Medved and radio personality Rush Limbaugh have taken Eastwood to task for the film’s ending but I’ve always thought that these fucking assholes wouldn’t recognize powerful story-telling if it came out of Dubya's ass while making his State of the Union address. They just think that everyone in Hollywood is a hippie communist pinko with an agenda to bullhorn. Honestly, why would they assign any sinister motives to Eastwood when all he set out to do was make the best movie of his directing career? I’m more than certain that he wasn’t pushing any specific belief system offensive to Medved and Limbaugh. More than anything, Eastwood’s known to be a conservative – eventhough in a previous interview he made known of his political leanings as a libertarian.

Anyway, don’t let these senseless side issues keep you from watching the movie. It’s the best boxing movie since Raging Bull came out in 1980. While it may have taken all of 24 years for a movie of the same genre to be as good, it certainly was worth the wait.

The Church of the Holy Frying Pan and The Temple of the Blessed Grilled Sandwich

Half of the time, I don’t know why the media would churn out stories so stupid that it calls into question their basis for what classifies as legitimate news. Take this bit I saw on almost all the local network news shows last night.

A Texas man has claimed that an image of Jesus has turned up in his frying pan. If what Juan Pastrano is saying is true, the Son of God has chosen to reveal himself once again after two thousand years wearing a crown of thorns on the underside of a frying pan which he was using to cook breakfast for his mother. Imagine that, Jesus didn’t choose to appear a day after his birthday last year to protect the 160,000 people who were in harm’s way from the catastrophic tsunamis, but instead he decided to use his omnipotence to turn up in a cooking implement.



Enough of the cynicism. My question is, should the media outlets all over the world even give passing notice or even valuable TV airtime and news print to such a blatantly stupid claim? What does one get out of learning about the appearance of Jesus as an image in a frying pan? Would it strengthen one’s faith as this is further proof of our Lord’s presence in these troubled times? Or would the utter ridiculousness of the situation cause one to question faith per se because disbelieving the supernatural basis of the image weakens the whole argument for what faith is – that is, faith does not require earthly nor scientific explanation?

Pastrano hasn’t decided yet whether to put the Jesus frying pan up for sale. I bet he’s getting plenty advice to do so as the bar for pricing these unique religious items has been set recently with the sale of a 10-year old grilled cheese sandwich in the image of the Virgin Mary on eBay for twenty eight thousand dollars. So he can hold out for more than that amount because, hey, it’s Jesus we’re talking about here.

I don’t even want to speculate where Jesus will turn up next.