8.25.2004
coño commuting tales
They aren't always the foul-mouthed New York city terrorists we see on TV. But somehow, Manila's own version of the cab driver specie manages to equally leave distinct impressions on those whose paths cross theirs.
In the years I've been riding these smoke-guzzlers, a few road warriors have given me the experiences/scares of a lifetime.
UNFORGETTABLE TAXI STORIES...
Dr. Driver
Earlier tonight on my way home, my cab driver asked me, "ano na nga bang signal number daw?". i said, "ay sorry, manong, di ko pa alam". It was a run down white kia pride, and manong was approximately 45 years old with dark, weatherbeaten skin and salt and pepper hair.
Dr. D: "eh akala ko sa inquirer ka di ba? wala bang balita?"
Z: "wala po akong radio sa opisina ko tsaka nakasubsob po ako sa computer"
Dr. D: "computer?"
Z: "opo."
Dr. D: "naku, masama yan..."
Z: "eh ganun po talaga trabaho eh (smiles)"
Dr. D: "masama sa mata yan. ewan ko ba kung bakit nauso pa yang computer. di nakakahigop yan ng pressure ng mata..."
Z: "... (eh?)"
Dr. D: "nakakahigop yan. masisira mata mo diyan."
Z: "oo nga po eh"
Dr. D: "kumain ka ng maraming saging, carrot atsaka kalabasa ha...tsaka wag ka masyado manonood ng tv, lalo na yung colored tv"
Z: "er...opo"
there. i was adoring him already. and then...
Dr. D: "kumakain ka ba ng isda?"
Z: "opo"
Dr. D: "lapu-lapu, kumakain ka?"
Z: "opo"
Dr. D: "sarap yun di ba?"
Z: "opo"
Dr. D: "dapat kumain ka ng maraming isda...para matuto kang lumangoy. ako diyan ako natutong lumangoy"
gagong driver
My former officemates and I would often watch movies after work. Former office then was just behind AIM. As you can see, it wasn't our fault. Greenbelt was just there.
After talking about Zoolander from Monday to Friday morning, we decided to go ahead and catch the Friday evening screening. Earliest one we could catch was around 9pm.
Suffice to say, Carlyne (the friend I share the cab home on late nights with) and I was picked up by a cab near Oakwood.
He took a not too explored turn (but I still knew the way there) on the way. But I specified another route. Anyway, as we progressed through that particular avenue, the lamposts got dimmer and were fewer in between. And it was then that he just suddenly started to talk about the holdup rackets that go on with taxi cabs in that exact same street.
He then proceeded to name each one (there were about 3) and describe, in frightening detail, how the holdup rackets go on. My friend and I looked at each other and the silence inside the cab was palpable.
Speaking slowly and looking directly at us he said, "Mag-iingat kayo dito ha." And he didn't speak for the next three minutes as the alley got darker.
And my friend and I both got home safely. No coffee the next morning
In the years I've been riding these smoke-guzzlers, a few road warriors have given me the experiences/scares of a lifetime.
UNFORGETTABLE TAXI STORIES...
Dr. Driver
Earlier tonight on my way home, my cab driver asked me, "ano na nga bang signal number daw?". i said, "ay sorry, manong, di ko pa alam". It was a run down white kia pride, and manong was approximately 45 years old with dark, weatherbeaten skin and salt and pepper hair.
Dr. D: "eh akala ko sa inquirer ka di ba? wala bang balita?"
Z: "wala po akong radio sa opisina ko tsaka nakasubsob po ako sa computer"
Dr. D: "computer?"
Z: "opo."
Dr. D: "naku, masama yan..."
Z: "eh ganun po talaga trabaho eh (smiles)"
Dr. D: "masama sa mata yan. ewan ko ba kung bakit nauso pa yang computer. di nakakahigop yan ng pressure ng mata..."
Z: "... (eh?)"
Dr. D: "nakakahigop yan. masisira mata mo diyan."
Z: "oo nga po eh"
Dr. D: "kumain ka ng maraming saging, carrot atsaka kalabasa ha...tsaka wag ka masyado manonood ng tv, lalo na yung colored tv"
Z: "er...opo"
there. i was adoring him already. and then...
Dr. D: "kumakain ka ba ng isda?"
Z: "opo"
Dr. D: "lapu-lapu, kumakain ka?"
Z: "opo"
Dr. D: "sarap yun di ba?"
Z: "opo"
Dr. D: "dapat kumain ka ng maraming isda...para matuto kang lumangoy. ako diyan ako natutong lumangoy"
gagong driver
My former officemates and I would often watch movies after work. Former office then was just behind AIM. As you can see, it wasn't our fault. Greenbelt was just there.
After talking about Zoolander from Monday to Friday morning, we decided to go ahead and catch the Friday evening screening. Earliest one we could catch was around 9pm.
Suffice to say, Carlyne (the friend I share the cab home on late nights with) and I was picked up by a cab near Oakwood.
He took a not too explored turn (but I still knew the way there) on the way. But I specified another route. Anyway, as we progressed through that particular avenue, the lamposts got dimmer and were fewer in between. And it was then that he just suddenly started to talk about the holdup rackets that go on with taxi cabs in that exact same street.
He then proceeded to name each one (there were about 3) and describe, in frightening detail, how the holdup rackets go on. My friend and I looked at each other and the silence inside the cab was palpable.
Speaking slowly and looking directly at us he said, "Mag-iingat kayo dito ha." And he didn't speak for the next three minutes as the alley got darker.
And my friend and I both got home safely. No coffee the next morning
8.24.2004
Tralala Sunday
(supposed to be an entry for Aug. 22, 2004)
Days like these, you wish you could sleep forever.
Woke up at 1am today, after various disturbing dreams too disturbing to remember, mostly probably brought about by a marathon “monster” movie session yesterday (watched alien vs. predator then the village).
Sundays, very obviously, are meant for hotdogs and eggs, breakfast at 2pm, and church at 5pm.
It’s a nice enough recharge. The battle for my mental health continues tomorrow.
Days like these, you wish you could sleep forever.
Woke up at 1am today, after various disturbing dreams too disturbing to remember, mostly probably brought about by a marathon “monster” movie session yesterday (watched alien vs. predator then the village).
Sundays, very obviously, are meant for hotdogs and eggs, breakfast at 2pm, and church at 5pm.
It’s a nice enough recharge. The battle for my mental health continues tomorrow.
8.15.2004
sugod!
8.12.2004
the night of no creamy onion soup
it was, indeed, a night that paid tribute "To good looks and sexy bodies"--Bryan Ocampo
below are the tres chic photos of muy palanggas (that was my attempt to sound like tim yap, celine lopez, maurice arcache and johnny litton all at once...and so are the captions he he)
many, many people in attendance. some stupid photos from a bunch of stupid old people =)
setting the tone: everyone making like Brydon Chile (in blue, far left)
young beauties (L-R)ZaZa Ronquillo, K!, Sarami Escalante, DJ Ong, and Yeena Yeena
the gang's all here... to bad margaux's hiding that whammer on her finger... baka lumiwanag pa yung picture ;p
all aglow, party girls at the fore (L-R) the sparkling ZaZa, ultra-hip Patlinka Pinka, and the one and only Marga De Ortizia
Oh no! ZaZa needs more schwing while Latin lover of the night Eduardo look on.
(needless to say, this is my favorite photo of the night)
till the next time!
below are the tres chic photos of muy palanggas (that was my attempt to sound like tim yap, celine lopez, maurice arcache and johnny litton all at once...and so are the captions he he)
many, many people in attendance. some stupid photos from a bunch of stupid old people =)
setting the tone: everyone making like Brydon Chile (in blue, far left)
young beauties (L-R)ZaZa Ronquillo, K!, Sarami Escalante, DJ Ong, and Yeena Yeena
the gang's all here... to bad margaux's hiding that whammer on her finger... baka lumiwanag pa yung picture ;p
all aglow, party girls at the fore (L-R) the sparkling ZaZa, ultra-hip Patlinka Pinka, and the one and only Marga De Ortizia
Oh no! ZaZa needs more schwing while Latin lover of the night Eduardo look on.
(needless to say, this is my favorite photo of the night)
till the next time!
if you say so
8.11.2004
of all the &%#$*@#
one...two...three...four...five...
FIVE, with a capital "F", huge and red frigging pimples ALL on my chin.
Like it was ever a notable chin anyway! They didn't even think to spread themselves properly.
Maybe one on my nose, two on my forehead, even one near my eyes if they want and then one on my chin.
but no sirree, they want to congregate on my chin like a smaller version of the Himalayas.
gonna be doing some Serious Popping tonight.
FIVE, with a capital "F", huge and red frigging pimples ALL on my chin.
Like it was ever a notable chin anyway! They didn't even think to spread themselves properly.
Maybe one on my nose, two on my forehead, even one near my eyes if they want and then one on my chin.
but no sirree, they want to congregate on my chin like a smaller version of the Himalayas.
gonna be doing some Serious Popping tonight.
8.08.2004
Pieces of Art (or The Argument for Dying, Stupidity, Ignorance and Insanity)
disclaimer: forgive the posturing for a while. the muscles wanted to flex =)
It is the greatest gift in life to bear witness to the best art, whatever mode. In this, I feel lucky living in the 21st century—with its technology, current sensibility and penchant for remembering the fantastic and the beautiful. It could be because of the breadth that humanity’s accomplished at this point. Industrially, it’s a world that is at once expedient and flexible. Anthropologically, we know so much more than our simian predecessors (We’ve even dated ourselves re: humanity is still a baby barely learning to walk compared to, even, some stones and species). The result is, as a race, we are probably at our most confused. Possessed with sometimes frightening technological power, advanced ideas and an incredible body of knowledge, yet young and unsure if we really matter anything at all. And all this uncertainty is good. We are again looking to fairy tales, divination, mysticism, ghosts, signs, feelings and intuition for some guidance.
This uncertainty is a good space. In it, we dare to believe in magic, beauty, and everything else we cannot reach or understand. Imagine if we were sure of everything.
As a baby, humanity already has in its stock of memories past transgressions, amazing discoveries, forceful successes… These days are opportunities to remember everything before the invention of the wheel, the wars, the stepping on the moon… These days are opportunities to regress back to the earthy origins, non-symbolic definition, unity with the universe, and our own delightful smallness
And the sometimes frenzied, sometimes long remembrances have given us art that are (one at a time or all at once) disturbing, eternal, evocative, ambiguous, reflective, universal and ultimately innocent in their ferocity of feeling.
Songs like Annie Lennox’s “Into the West”, paintings like Gustav Klimt’s “The Kiss”, books like “Like Water for Chocolate”, or even movies like “Karakter” touch us somewhere we don’t know, and not knowing where makes us feel alive, makes us want to kill ourselves, makes us weep, laugh, dance and wish we could lose our sanity so we can just exist there in that void where we know nothing and are free to interpret everything.
They say that no culture exists in a vacuum. I’ll take the blank, black-white pungency of emptiness any day.
Intelligence and knowledge are just words that came from that rich blankness. The “crazy”, the “stupid”, the “ignorant”--and ultimately the dead--have either returned to or never came out of the nothing-everything.
All of a sudden, it seems now that the void from where we came from is where we will ultimately be.
And it’s the most comforting thought in the world =)
--zane a. ronquillo
It is the greatest gift in life to bear witness to the best art, whatever mode. In this, I feel lucky living in the 21st century—with its technology, current sensibility and penchant for remembering the fantastic and the beautiful. It could be because of the breadth that humanity’s accomplished at this point. Industrially, it’s a world that is at once expedient and flexible. Anthropologically, we know so much more than our simian predecessors (We’ve even dated ourselves re: humanity is still a baby barely learning to walk compared to, even, some stones and species). The result is, as a race, we are probably at our most confused. Possessed with sometimes frightening technological power, advanced ideas and an incredible body of knowledge, yet young and unsure if we really matter anything at all. And all this uncertainty is good. We are again looking to fairy tales, divination, mysticism, ghosts, signs, feelings and intuition for some guidance.
This uncertainty is a good space. In it, we dare to believe in magic, beauty, and everything else we cannot reach or understand. Imagine if we were sure of everything.
As a baby, humanity already has in its stock of memories past transgressions, amazing discoveries, forceful successes… These days are opportunities to remember everything before the invention of the wheel, the wars, the stepping on the moon… These days are opportunities to regress back to the earthy origins, non-symbolic definition, unity with the universe, and our own delightful smallness
And the sometimes frenzied, sometimes long remembrances have given us art that are (one at a time or all at once) disturbing, eternal, evocative, ambiguous, reflective, universal and ultimately innocent in their ferocity of feeling.
Songs like Annie Lennox’s “Into the West”, paintings like Gustav Klimt’s “The Kiss”, books like “Like Water for Chocolate”, or even movies like “Karakter” touch us somewhere we don’t know, and not knowing where makes us feel alive, makes us want to kill ourselves, makes us weep, laugh, dance and wish we could lose our sanity so we can just exist there in that void where we know nothing and are free to interpret everything.
They say that no culture exists in a vacuum. I’ll take the blank, black-white pungency of emptiness any day.
Intelligence and knowledge are just words that came from that rich blankness. The “crazy”, the “stupid”, the “ignorant”--and ultimately the dead--have either returned to or never came out of the nothing-everything.
All of a sudden, it seems now that the void from where we came from is where we will ultimately be.
And it’s the most comforting thought in the world =)
--zane a. ronquillo
8.06.2004
re: City of Lost Children
as befits the current fixation with hollywood's resident heavy (ron perlman, the man), i have been buying/watching/awaiting various stupid B movies, straight to cable and straight to video flicks just to get a glimpse of dear ronny's baby blues and barrel chest.
i have now seen more than my fair share (actually any person's fair share) of unbelievably blah movies and a couple of underappreciated gems as well.
i recently acquired a copy of jean pierre jeunet and marc caro's The City of Lost Children, one of the better designed movies i have seen in previous years (although maybe a copy with better colors will help me appreciate it better). costume design was by the equally weird, sometimes fabulous gaultier.
The City of Lost Children (1995) is a French film that has good, simple intentions. I think, though, that this is a movie that could have done with fewer realized characters. it's understandable, given the setting (neo-modern, Mad Max magica land type) that all the characters will be off-kilter interpretations of the good, bad and those in the gray. however, as plot points, some of the characters could have afforded to be a little more stereotypical (never thought i'd say that) to actually help push the story instead of the context.
the film details the journey of One (Perlman) and Miette (some very pretty french kiddie actress) as they try to outwit Krank (some wonderfully creepy actor) and his minions in order to save Denree, One’s adoptive baby brother. Krank, you see, steals children’s dreams in order to “feel”.
One used to work in the local circus as the strongman act and Miette is the acknowledged leader of a band of young semi-criminals. One, who used to be a harpoonist until he heard whales sing, has the heart and mentality of a 12-year old, while Miette is as jaded as they can get. they find in each other a kind of family. in the process of saving Denree, the duo encounters a cult of one-eyed people who see everything in green, a flea/spy and his master, conjoined evil twins, a prostitute, and an underwater treasure (actually garbage) collector, etc.
the film has touching moments of warmth and weirdness, and as such, watches like something i have never seen before. if you have ever tried listening to the band-group-”musician’s collective”-whatever called Forest for the Trees, watching City of Lost Children evokes the same kind of response…scratching your head until your children have children.
...all in all, i still like it, if only for the moments that are all at once touching, pervy and disturbing... those and the "unravelling" knitted sweater scene =)
the offbeat The City of Lost Children can be scary (especially the opening sequence), sweet, sad and deceptively simple. if you like neil gaiman, children’s fiction, gothic fairy tales and the better horror films, you’ll like this.
i have now seen more than my fair share (actually any person's fair share) of unbelievably blah movies and a couple of underappreciated gems as well.
i recently acquired a copy of jean pierre jeunet and marc caro's The City of Lost Children, one of the better designed movies i have seen in previous years (although maybe a copy with better colors will help me appreciate it better). costume design was by the equally weird, sometimes fabulous gaultier.
The City of Lost Children (1995) is a French film that has good, simple intentions. I think, though, that this is a movie that could have done with fewer realized characters. it's understandable, given the setting (neo-modern, Mad Max magica land type) that all the characters will be off-kilter interpretations of the good, bad and those in the gray. however, as plot points, some of the characters could have afforded to be a little more stereotypical (never thought i'd say that) to actually help push the story instead of the context.
the film details the journey of One (Perlman) and Miette (some very pretty french kiddie actress) as they try to outwit Krank (some wonderfully creepy actor) and his minions in order to save Denree, One’s adoptive baby brother. Krank, you see, steals children’s dreams in order to “feel”.
One used to work in the local circus as the strongman act and Miette is the acknowledged leader of a band of young semi-criminals. One, who used to be a harpoonist until he heard whales sing, has the heart and mentality of a 12-year old, while Miette is as jaded as they can get. they find in each other a kind of family. in the process of saving Denree, the duo encounters a cult of one-eyed people who see everything in green, a flea/spy and his master, conjoined evil twins, a prostitute, and an underwater treasure (actually garbage) collector, etc.
the film has touching moments of warmth and weirdness, and as such, watches like something i have never seen before. if you have ever tried listening to the band-group-”musician’s collective”-whatever called Forest for the Trees, watching City of Lost Children evokes the same kind of response…scratching your head until your children have children.
...all in all, i still like it, if only for the moments that are all at once touching, pervy and disturbing... those and the "unravelling" knitted sweater scene =)
the offbeat The City of Lost Children can be scary (especially the opening sequence), sweet, sad and deceptively simple. if you like neil gaiman, children’s fiction, gothic fairy tales and the better horror films, you’ll like this.
good news...
Heart Evangelista WONT be Cho Chang in the next Harry Potter movie!!!
My prayers worked =)
My prayers worked =)
