You go, gays!

After my outrage at the myopic Benjamin Abalos, Sr. and his corrupt and inutile Comelec for declaring Ang Ladlad a nuisance party list candidate, I couldn’t help but be amused by this bit of information from Danton Remoto. In response to the Comelec claim that Ang Ladlad does not have sufficient funds to run a national campaign, he declared the following as proof of Ang Ladlad’s financial capacity:

• P564,380 cash (deposited with the Bank of the Philippine Islands)
• P500,000 in pledges by members and supporters in the form of goods and products — tarpaulins, buttons, streamers,T-shirts, banners, food and drinks for the campaign.
• P500,000 worth of paintings, sculptures, Baccarat crystal, and coffee-table books inventory for auction sale

Baccarat crystal! Kundi ba naman talaga fabulosa ang mga lola ko!

Hay naku, sayang talaga. Para tuloy gusto ko magkatay ng straight at gawing lampshade. Wala lang.

Love hurts (and then you die)

Watched The Painted Veil, an adaptation of a W. Somerset Maugham novel of the same title. I would have liked to read the book first but the pirated DVD (and impatience) won out in the end. A shame, actually, since I’m sure Maugham’s characterizations would have been a fascinating read; he always was adept at vivifying characters. Still, the film was interesting. The kind that has you dragging on a cigarette afterwards while you quietly ponder the tragedy of the characters. In the movie, Walter Fane, a young somber bacteriologist, travels to colonial period Shanghai with his wife, Kitty, a sociable but shallow young woman. Unhappy with her marriage and life at the colony, she takes on a lover but her affair is soon discovered by her husband. Wanting to punish his wife, he volunteers to work in a remote Chinese village where a cholera epidemic rages. Amidst the trials of living in less than ideal conditions and the uncertainties and challenges of helping a community in turmoil, the spouses overcome their bitterness and find a deeper, nobler purpose and in the process they rediscover and eventually forgive each other. In the end, it’s a story of personal redemption. Much like my other favorite, a similarly-themed movie called The Sheltering Sky, based on a novel by Paul Bowles. Kit and Port Moresby (a little inside joke by Bowles there), a blasé couple who fancy themselves as travelers ("We're not tourists, we're travelers. Tourists are people who think about going home the minute they come, whereas travelers may not come back at all."), embark on a journey to 1940s North Africa in an effort to escape from the familiar and perhaps, rekindle their marriage. But their journey across the Sahara only highlights the interminable gulf that has grown between them after 10 years of being together. As in The Painted Veil, redemption comes only after great suffering; and in both films, comes a little too late.

I’ve always been drawn to love stories that aren’t quite about love but rather about people struggling with themselves; the relationship merely acting as a catalyst that forces a person to come to terms with his flaws, his demons. In real life, love is as much an individual struggle as it is a drag-out battle between two people, which often leaves both parties deeply, if not, terminally wounded. Grace happens when the individual finds redemption for himself. When a couple still finds love amidst the ruins of their struggle for personal salvation, that’s a miracle. And the small miracles that sometimes happen between people are, ultimately, what these two films illustrate.

A government of pimps

I never thought I would ever say this about my beloved country but "TANGINA, WALA NA TALAGANG PAGASA ANG PILIPINAS!" As the transfer of Smith back to U.S. custody and the DFA's (Department of Fawning Asswipes) intervention (AGAIN!) in the case against the thieving Chinese fishermen show, we cannot rely on our government to defend its own. We are literally being raped and pillaged by these foreign fucks and douchebags like GMA and Romulo are more interested in not offending those fuckers' sensibilities rather than protecting its citizens and precious resources. Like it’s not enough that hordes of our countrymen are already in foreign servitude ("bagong bayani" my ass, they're the government's "gatasang baka") because they couldn't get a decent life here, not even if they worked their ass to the bone. God, this government will pimp anything! Honestly, I just want to go all El Fili on the whole country. Aaarrgh, I hate this annoyance! Di ako makasulat ng maayos!

Thank you. Yes, YOU!

In spite of myself, the holidays have forced me to reflect on the people who I’ve loved and been my unfailing family all these years—my friends. I realize that my aversion for the niceties of maintaining relationships (text- and call-backs), manic-depressive behavior and selfish need for solitude can drive even the most loyal friend away. So to all my friends (old and new) who have kept faith and continued to seek out my company and help me through rough times, thank you. All your efforts, kind words and yes, even forwarded jokes, have not been lost on my cold, autistic heart. Your friendship keeps me sane and grateful.

Remember: I may be a lazy friend but I’m the lazy friend that loves you. And because I’m too lazy to be anything else, I’m still going to be your friend long after you thought it possible. Here’s to a lifetime of happy new years my friends!!!

Wine, women and song

Last night I went to Conspiracy bar in Quezon City to watch my friend’s pantasya du jour, Lyn Sherman, and was wonderfully surprised by another singer, Ms. Susan Fernandez. My friends and I were drinking in the garden when I heard what I thought was a softly-playing Esther Satterfield CD in the background. Turns out it was Ms. Fernandez and let me say this: you can’t sing “Love Is Stronger Far Than We” unless you have a pure, exceptionally beautiful voice. Anything less and the song would lose its pathos and become just another maudlin love song. Susan Fernandez had it. My friend JL helpfully clued in my ignorant ass (“Sino siya? Bakit di ko siya kilala?”) by explaining that Susan is, in fact, a well-known folk singer who used to be married to political scientist and writer (and “asshole husband”) Alex Magno. He further added: “Nung bata ako crush na crush ko iyan si San-su. Grabe ang ganda niyan nung araw.” (Aside: I was mildly amused by his comment. As the son of newspaperman Jose Burgos he probably did see a lot of these activists and folk artists when he was still a young boy. In fact, “San-su” is probably his father’s name for Susan which lends a touching gravitas to his innocent remark.)

While much of her repertoire leaned towards more popular songs, there was something about her quiet singing and the way she would occasionally preface her numbers with little back stories that gave her performance a certain depth. I suppose it’s the calm certainty of a woman in her middle years. In contrast, Lyn Sherman’s performance relied more on clever arrangements and stylized vocals that betrayed her relative youth and still precarious place in the world. But there’s no doubt that she’s good and can hold her own against even Fernandez though I had a sense that Susan’s performance threw her a bit and left her a little too awestruck. (Later, Mon and I would have a discussion: While I agree that pretty young things are great for sex, it’s really women closer to your age who are more compelling.)

The evening ended as all bangenge evenings should: with a heated argument about jazz, a clumsy reconciliation and unabashed, if drunken, declarations of “I love you” before we all staggered back to whence we came.

Postscript: I love you too, Egay. Your musician’s heart is true. The same holds for your writer’s heart, Charleson.

Go away, Santa!

Dear Santa,

I wish the holiday season was over. It's like a bad amusement park ride and I'm waiting for it to end with eyes closed, teeth set and fists clenched. Meanwhile, I'm easing my holiday discomfort via near-nightly inebriation. So please Santa, go away before my liver gives out. And take all my ho-hoing family and friends with you.

Love,
Joyce

P.S. I hope you enjoyed the milk and cookies I left out for you last night.