Friday, October 31, 2003

So Just How Old Are You?

My inner child is sixteen years old today

My inner child is sixteen years old!

Life's not fair! It's never been fair, but while
adults might just accept that, I know
something's gotta change. And it's gonna
change, just as soon as I become an adult and
get some power of my own.

How Old is Your Inner Child?
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Thursday, October 30, 2003

Letter to Some of the Old Gang
(This post was edited 31 October 2003 at 12:30 pm)

Dear Karl, Ferlin, Duff, Doj, et. al.

My drawings look like sh!t. This is a consequence of not getting in enough practice. I haven't been drawing, really drawing, since I quit CCCom; I was hardly drawing even back then. You should know that, like you, I am going contractual and corporate. No, it's not a concession to the great gods of practicality. Please don't think of it that way. If you did, I'd never live it down. But as a friend of two-plus years told me, every artist has a day job. The girlfriend joins him in his chorus, assuring me that bothering poor busy Americans with offers of product catalogues of stuff they might not really need, is just a means to an end.

Hell, it may even be a nationalistic endeavor.

The new Filipino hero does not need to die for his country, or slave away as a domestic helper in a foreign land-- he can just hire himself out to a call center and get paid by foreigners (indirectly) in the safety of Inang Pilipinas. We can belatedly show the whole world what a world-class people we are. Ever ready to serve. Or in my case, ever ready to smother them with product catalogues. Hey, the global economy will not grow if products don't move, right? Er, right?

I mean, look at you-- you're heroes too! Bill Gates pays you guys through a chain comprised of companies subcontracted by subsidiaries of Microsoft. Never mind that Bill owns whatever your creativity cooks up while you're working for people who're working for Bill. Those are still DOLLARS pouring into the local economy!

Okay, enough of the wisecracking. I'm sorry guys. It really looks like I'm putting a bad spin on our collective work experience. Let it be on record that I am saying don't really object to our country's seeming place the mutating global service industry. As a people, we're filling a real need out there. And we should be proud, count ourselves lucky we even have jobs (or in my case, the prospect of employment).

I just wanted to get a rise out of you, on the off-chance you stumble onto my blog. Force you to write me, because I miss you buggers. It's been too long since we shared a goddamn beer, or even a good game of of D&D.

Write back or otherwise contact me when you can. Please?

Lotsa love,

Evil Dhex

Tuesday, October 28, 2003

Moving Day, Conclusion

"I'm right, you're wrong.
And from that simple fact
are derived all the rights I have
that you conversely don't."

In this mindset, Rightness ceases to be the lamp by which to guide your actions. It becomes a tool, a means to an end. The end is always power. Crush your enemies because you are "right." Grab these material benefits because they "naturally" belong to you or your marginalized ethnic group. You've been given that license by God-- you are "right," and God himself champions your "rightness."

The Buddhists have a neat phrase that best encapsulates the concept. to carry this mental baggage around is "to stink of righteousness." This is also partly what they mean when they say that even trying to attract "good" karma to yourself is ultimately self-defeating and delusional.

It's a mental malady and it turns otherwise right-thinking reasonable people into Osama Bin Laden and George Dubya. "We've been wronged and we're going to get even. Damn anything that stands in our way." Indeed.

Baguio by Way of Mindoro

I was writing about annoyed bill collectors, naggers and viragos previously. How the did I wind up tackling ethics?

Love Poems I

Whatever you do, do not send this poem fragment to your significant other, especially if she is a student of history. Can anyone tell me why?

...My soul cries in the nightmare of my long night
Yet there is darkness while you are away. . .
Please return the sun into my life.

Monday, October 27, 2003

Let's See Just What You Know About Goth

Try this quiz. I passed.

A True Goth Quiz
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Moving Day

Am currently searching for something to paint today. Not having a good time of it though. My mind keeps wandering back to that woman. Bill collector? Landlady? Person of Indeterminate Importance?

She sent her lackeys three days ago to collect on Honey's unpaid "water" bills-- bills Honey "inherited" from the previous owner of her new unit, a relative. Honey spoke with our Person of Indeterminate Imortance (PII) and borrowed her ledger, duly making copies of the ledger entries referrring to our little bill-- some P2000. What we could not understand was why the water meter seemingly kept itself running when there was no one living in the unit since last year, when Honey's relations moved out.

There was talk of other unpaid dues besides water, plus interest-- all incurred by previous occupants when they were still around-- that have accrued over the course of the last year. Honey figured she'd get the details down on paper and pay for what she could, to stave off the buck-passing that was bound to occur. She'd confront her relative about the housing unit's magical accounting later.

Our PII then left us to our devices-- a trip to Pasay to collect more of our outgoing stuff. We returned the following morning to be warmly-- no, brusquely-- greeted with inquiries as to the location of the Important Ledger.

And There's the Rub

Honey had slipped the ledger into the grillwork in front of the window the evening we left for Pasay, figuring that the Nice Irritable Lady with Sooo Much to Do and Little Time for Fools would be back later in the evening, to pick it up. Even if we would not be on hand to greet her, she'd be able to pluck the ledger from the grillwork and everyone would be happy. Or so Honey thought.

Pass Me the Blame, Please.

I'd like to think that I was tired at the time. Honey had, after all, dragged me to Baguio and back on what almost became a goddamned fool's errand. I went to Rock & Register with her because she was bone tired but had to show up anyway. I picked up after the bands and the concertgers to facilitate a speedy wrap-up. I stayed by her as she partied at Music 21 (though I will admit, I enjoyed that) so she'd not have to burn out alone. I brought her to Cavite. It would only be natural, I'd like to think, that neither she nor I would have thought that leaving the ledger in the grillwork was probably a mondo bonehead idea. I know I was too tired to notice Honey slipping the ledger there in the first place.

As of presstime, Honey may still be searching for the building sanitation & maintenace man, who may have taken the ledger away. The night we left, we'd put empty bottles in plastic bags outside, right under the window (and the ledger), preparatory to selling them to the first person who expressed interest. The morning our PII waxed brusque, terse and "don't-fuck-with-me," our bottle bags had been moved to the other side of the airy corridor. I am too upset to properly paint because I cannot, at this point, help her with her search-- and this won't sit well with our PII, who will be back with her virago's tirade. And maybe even a righteous huffing declaration of "Hala! Sumama ka sa Presinto!" (loosley, "Ha! We're going to take this up with the Police!")

"Don't Pitch the Bitch"

I love women. Those who know me will attest to that. But I cannot abide by naggers and viragos. You've made up your mind to do something (or not to) and they'll be on your case 'til the day you die. And there is absolutely nothing you can do to shut them up. You can read your NLP manual 'til your eyes fall out, you can even practice your NLP with some proficiency. But when they get started pushing your buttons, you are at their mercy.

You can't even go Alpha Male on them. You're not supposed to. You simply can't hit them-- and I believe hitting a woman is wrong, even if she is a nagger-- despite the fact that hitting them may actually be the simplest, most satisfying, most elegant way to shut them up. (Yes, gentles all: everyone has his puerile, immature maladroit side.) You go up against a nagger and it's no win, unless you elect not to fight-- and she may not even let you take that option.

Worse Things

There are worse extant things than nagging women, of course. And high among these things is a mind-set that puts a premium on uncompromising moral ascendancy. "I am right. You are wrong. Because of this, you do not have rights. You cannot possibly have anything important to say. You will do what I want because I am right. Those are the rules."

to be concluded...

Sunday, October 26, 2003

The Other Otaku Tourist

I seem to be making up for all the time I kept myself from travelling (months!) After a week in Baguio, I was back in Manila, snapping away at concertgoers with Honey's digicam, some eight-plus hours after i got off the bus.

Dateline Roxas Blvd., Manila
'Twas a rock concert of course, Rock & Register, set up by concerned groups to encourage the apathetic and politically powerless youth to register for the 2004 elections and vote for someone. I arrived with Honey to catch the tail end, around 22:00+. We missed Gary Granada's appearance and exhortations of pinkish patriotism: a shame.

Much to my chagrin, I wound up picking up some of the garbage the bands, staff hands and concertgoers generated that night: all in the name of going home to a warm bed. See, I figured, the faster the concert wrapped up, the sooner I could sleep. Alas, that was not to be.

Dateline Malate, Manila
Honey rustled up her sister, her concert-organizing NGO friends and yours truly, and half-dragged us to a Malate branch of Music 21, the official hangout of Carver Carl and Master Tobie. We burned up the rest of the post-midnight, pre-dawn morning, "wassailing and carousing" to songs we'd never be caught dead "wassailing and carousing" to in public.

Dateline Kawit, Cavite
06:15. Groggy and slightly drunk, smelling of smoke and last night's pasta and chips, I accompanied Honey to her condo, and tried to persuade her not to rendezvous with her officemates. They'd be bound for Cavite in less than twenty minutes! I managed to persuade her to stay and rest a bit. She could "go to Cavite's Island Cove resort later," I'd said, "I could accompany you. I know the way."

And this is where I am, right now, writing this blog on bits of paper-- hotel leaflets and flyers.

Contrary to public perception, I am not having fun. I'm sleep deprived, I've yet to bathe, and I'm killing time, waiting for Honey, while my wallet is leaking like it was a damn sieve. I've seen the Hotel (nice ambience) and the Cafeteria (great, if expensive, hotel food). I've been to the Fishing Village (not my thing, but great if you want the quiet), the gym and the bowling alley; the swimming pools and the mini-golf course. I am waiting on the off-chance that Honey decides she's too tired to continue schmoozing with her officemates; I might have to take her home.


Honey usually doesn't party-hearty like this. But she pled this excuse: she was promoted yesterday-- highest pay grade for her type of work.

Friday, October 24, 2003

Quick Bytes from Sammytown

Lunch with Sam
I did get to see Sammy in Sammytown (Baguio). We did lunch--Sammy, Honey and I-- at a small pizza place called Pizza Volante. Wonderful ambience considering it was once the lower lobby of a movie theater. We scarfed down a wonderful pesto pizza too-- wonderful, considering that the greens on the pizza looked like moss. But don't be fooled, gentles all: it was to die for.

Survey Says...
Honey and I left Baguio at 1:30 a.m. today. We spent the previous day finally distributing those heavy survey forms and waiting for our respondents to give them back. We gave 'em a cinderella deadline. Methinks a good chunk of them made good use of their time answering and giving back the forms. I read a few: serious youth with serious answers. Gives me hope for der Fatherland. Honey is generally satisfied, never mind that we did not hit the 200-respondent target: it was a good run for a pilot study.

I found out that you never really run out of cabs to get around in, in Baguio, especially if your point of origin is along Session Road. I found out that the taxi drivers always give you exact change. They're not as grumpy nor are they as dysfunctional as their Manila counterparts.

Get your hungry belly to Sizzling Plate the first chance you get. That is, if you're neither Hindu or vegan. They just serve the best Sacred Cow. If you feel like pasta, feel free to stop by Pizza Volante. Remember the moss-like pesto pizza! And if you're dying to max the credit card and schmooze with the culturati, there's always the Cafe by the Ruins.

Wednesday, October 22, 2003

I Have A Weakness for-- (Blonds & Hybrids III)

Daniela Amavia.

Okayokayokay! She's not blond. But I'm sure this globe trotting actress has gotta have some blood in her that ain't just Greek. Not that it really matters. Ran into her as "Alia" in the teevee miniseries adaptation of Frank Herbert's Children of Dune. Pundits scream lousy acting, but I believe she played Alia well, especially in the scenes expounding on Alia's increasing love affair with power.

She's also appeared on Felicity and a few other television shows and movies I've never heard of (mainly 'cause I ain't from Europe). According to her official site, aptly placed at, she's auditioning for new roles as of presstime. Oh yeah, guys-- she also advises me (and everyone who runs into her site's main page) to "be yourself."

Note to self: must finally get my own webspace so I can post all the damn pics I want.
Blame It on the Cold Mountain Air

Dateline Baguio City.

Being a research assistant (read: pack animal) for my significant other is not as hard or as boring as it may look.

Everyday I get to lug half a ton of survey forms as if they were my collective cross, new-made just for me. I lug my cross up a winding cement path from the inside of some rich man's hidey-hole called Lexberville (hmmph. must be a Luthorcorp subsidiary. Damn Lex. He's as egotistical as me) until I hit the main gate. From there, I wait for a passing cab to take me into town, specifically to Session Road. After making minor oikos-related transactions, I wend my way to Teacher's Camp.

At all these times I am with Honey, who, upon our arrival at Teacher's Camp, will speak with the apparent leader of the youth group we wish to study. She will hand him the forms. Half an hour later, she will get them back, unfilled, and promise to return the next day. Y'know. So that the delegates can have done with their effing sportsfest or whatever it is important that's occupying their precious kiddie time, and finally fill out the effing forms.

I am a peaceful man, described by some as taking after Mohandas Gandhi in submissiveness, but not in problem-solving. Right now Mohandas wants to wring the delegation leader's scrawny widdle high school neck.

Not Your Laughing Buddha

Dateline: Teacher's Camp, Baguio City.

Mohandas Dex
Dex the Pack Animal has finally transformed into Mohandas the Hopeful-if-not-Cranky Research Assistant. As predicted, I have forgone the strangulation of the convention head. Instead, I am taking my ire out on certain people whose mayhaps necessary machinations have put me, me, in a mood to scowl.

I should not be scowling and snapping at everything that comes hither. Not when --
  • I've got my best girl and sandwiches within easy reach

  • I'm surrounded by a swirling mass of the cream --at least to the eyes of their handlers and sponsors-- of Philippine pre-collegiate womanity.

Well, okay, there're a bunch of, er, juicy males too, but I will leave them to the tender affections of the females and the local gay community.

See, my sister (let's call her Indira) SMSes me-- informing me that a Very Important Job Interview cannot take place (Friday afternoon in Manila) without my warm, ambulatory Baguio-bound corpus. You will note that I did not like Indira's use of words.

[Kuya] Ur xpected here by 2mrw morning
Ur intrvw's in d aftrnun. Dnt put it off 4anything.
...& bliv me, pulling strings at d [company]
isnt a piece of cake.
[the Maid] has the details.

"Pulling strings" at "the Company" is "not a piece of cake?" Molasses! As if my sister had personal knowledge of the schmoozing my aunt had to do to help get me that interview. (And why on Earth does my aunt have to schmooze to help get me employed?) If Indira wanted to impress upon me the importance of my returning early, she could have just cut the message short after "Don't put it off for anything!"

Upak Chopra
A coupla hours after I read the message and stewed over it, one of my harpies calls me up and nags me about showing up early. Happens. And normally, I'd be able to keep my cool, smiling my beatific smile, as I lay the problem at Sri Krsna-Caitanya's lotus feet. But I was in the middle of processing survey forms and diagnosing a faulty laptop--multitasking--when I was made to listen to my harpy's unnecessary and wearying exhortations. I became a very annoyed Roman Catholic prelate-- old, utterly self-righteous, fat, dismissive, quick to dish out verbal abuse. The kind you still find --by some accounts-- at the UST.

Honey figuratively rapped my knuckles with the Sword of Awakening for the shameful outburst, returning me to myself. I only hope I am more composed the next time I am forced to work through more tiresome things when I'm caught multitasking.
I'm Beginning to See A Pattern Here...

You are Form 9, Vampire: The Undying.

"And The Vampire was all that remained on
the blood drowned creation. She attempted to
regrow life from the dead. But as she was
about to give the breath of life, she was
consumed in the flame of The Phoenix and the
cycle began again."

Some examples of the Vampire Form are Hades (Greek) and Isis (Egyptian). The Vampire is associated with the concept of death, the number 9, and the element of fire. Her sign is the eclipsed moon.

As a member of Form 9, you are a very realistic individual. You may be a little idealistic, but you are very grounded and down to earth. You realize that not everything lasts, but you savor every minute of the good times. While you may sometimes find yourself lonely, you have strong ties with people that will never be broken. Vampires are the best friends to have because they are sensible.

Which Mythological Form Are You?

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Monday, October 20, 2003

The Ghosts of CCCom

A link to this site on Marco Dimaano's blog Stark Raving MAD has this alternate text pop up when the mouse hovers over it: "Evil Dex rants! Be afraid! Be very afraid!" Afraid of what, I wonder? I am a has-been in the relatively young field of modern Pinoy Comics, or worse, a never-was, and by choice. As an authority on comics my views are no longer relevant. Nevertheless, I'm thankful to Marco for his generous inclusion of my site as a place to visit.

And this brings me to my next point. In a previous entry titled "The Nelz Agustin Dilemma" and in other earlier entries, I talked about the pupose and relevance of blogging. Does the blogger write for himself or does he write to entertain or offend other people? How much of himself should he be baring? How far should he lean to satisfy his audience's --assuming he has an audience-- needs?

For the most part, the Big Bodega has been personal, a small Bodega. New readers will have to struggle to catch up with events revolving around Dex and his immediate experiences, and I am sure a lot of them, if they're looking to research Culture Crash and other comics, drawing & writing techniques, et. al., won't bother to do so-- they simply have neither the requisite time nor interest.

So: should I start pandering to the needs of these and other people with varied interests? (critics: "Dex, mapapel ka talaga!") Carver Carl does, in his inimitable, illuminating, gentle way. As does Marco.

Or mayhaps I should stay a has-been (critics: "Tama. Diyan ka na lang!") and leave the comic-book reviews, discussions and tips to my betters, letting the Big Bodega fill itself with Dex-related curios, aphorisms and other detritus?

Check back on me in a bit. Maybe I'll have an answer by then.

Honey called up, and told me why she could not be found and why the sched was shot to hell. As expected, all is forgiven. I'm just glad she's okay. I'm in Baguio now, at some Internet cafe --naturally deprived of coffee-- surfing, while she finishes polishing draft 1 of the survey/interview schedule we mean to administer tomorrow.

I keep harboring this silly notion that I will run into my friend Sammy. Baguio is small, but it's still too big for one to find another on near-zero information. Sammy, Sammy! I'm knocking about on your turf!

You Can Find Me On Google Now

And it's unnerving. Still it's only to be expected, as search engine bots are out there, busily doing what they were designed to do-- ferret out bits of information that engines can refer to later. I keep expecting to find my liver on sale at Amazon or EBay. Sheesh.

Saturday, October 18, 2003

Color Me

Color me concerned.
I have not heard from my girlfriend since the beginning of the week. We were supposed to be in Baguio by now, trying to facilitate the resuscitation of an organization I will not name. She had acquired my services as photographer and data collector for a token sum.

Color me worried.
She doesn't just drop out of sight. Not without good reason. I disappear and my family doesn't know where the hell I am, but that's me. I'm the unproductive unemployed hippie (read: lazy) gay-loving tortured soul artist pinko. I'm supposed to go off on my own for weeks and become a living example of "what you shouldn't do/think/feel." My girlfriend's long since joined the Establishment, and is thus expected to be in this or that place at this or that time. Or at least leave word about why she can't make the meeting.

Color me angry.
It feels like every time I open my mouth I lose credibility. I begged off on a family outing (big thing if you're a Lira), reneged on prior commitments (have bridge, will burn) and delayed job interviews with people who actually wanted to see me. Because I said "I have something important to deal with in Baguio." Turns out I now have squat to do in Baguio and I have a few choice sentences to swallow.

My capacity to forgive a slight borders on the ridiculously stupid. I have made letting things pass into an art form. I can forgive anyone, anything coming forward to take responsibility for my girlfriend's seeming disappearance and this loss of face. But someone's got to give me some answers. Where is my girlfriend? What happened to the Baguio trip? Why was I made to wait and worry and most importantly renege on my promises and clan commitments for nothing?

I'm still waiting for those answers as I type.

Color me stupid.

Tuesday, October 14, 2003

Feel Good Channel

The things that people take for granted are the things that I most enjoy when I get the chance to do them.

driving - I won't get to do this much as it's been six years since the ole license expired. Still, almost nothing beats a fat wallet, a full tank and taking the car out to purposely get lost. in In today's traffic, though, I'd rather commute.

cutting your own nails and shaving -It speaks of lousy hygeine. But I don't get to do this as often as I'd like because I tend to get lost in most activities I find myself indulging-- or slaving away-- in. I swear, it gets so bad, this kind of immersion, that I cannot tell what day it is or even who I am sometimes.

bathing -I never had to worry about this twelve years ago. You woke up five minutes before the bell, washed your face, brushed your teeth and walked to class. You'd be home two (or six) hours later indulging in a hot shower. But that was UPLB circa 1991. The air was cleaner (that Makiling was also cooler than Metro Manila was also a bonus). Hell, everything was cleaner then.

These days you have to bathe so damn fast you can't enjoy it. By the time you get back you have to bathe again, and quickly too. Don't want to fall asleep and drown in the damn tub.

using a towel -I grew up in a household where resources were routinely and painfully shared. Squeamish person that I am, I prefered to have exclusive use of my towel after bathing. As I could not keep my eyes on the thing 24/7, I decided to forgo its use at my QC home. Simplifies things. You'll dry out sooner or later anyway...

walking -Yes. Just walking. In the morning. Not walking to get somewhere but just walking and taking everything in. True, I live in Tatalon (in the mid-nineties, it was the new Tondo) But morning sunlight makes everything look so fresh and new: the colors are especially vibrant.

going to work -When it challenges, when it's fair, (or even when it's there) the prospect of shaping your future with your own hands is an energizer.

relating with your dog -Sure, Piolo parses the Universe in "Bite" and "Can't Bite." But I know he loves me.

exercise something you do not get when you spend whole days in front of the PC. Can't lose calories if you can't get off your ass bum.

prayer -I'm no prayerful man. Incidences of religiosity in my life tend to follow the movement of a badly-drawn sine wave-- up and down at different points on the spirituality-materialism graph. But there is nothing like an actively promoted, culturally accepted form of guided alterations of consciousness when you're doing it without a critical audience around to tell you what a hypocrite you are.

"Uma Thurman" -Sure, Dex. Keep trying to solve for i using real numbers.

Monday, October 06, 2003

I Have a Weakness for Blonds and Hybrids II

Julie Benz. Most known as vampire "Darla" from Buffy the Vampire Slayer as well as Angel. Powerful, memorable performances there. She did star in a few brainless flicks as well: an iteration of Scary Movie and Jawbreaker. Took a role in Spielberg's "Taken." Jack Nicholson fan. Will always have a fan in me.

More Buffy? More Darla? Check this site out.
New Words for the Week

Subtext- 1. n., the implicit meaning or theme of a literary text. 2. n., the underlying personality of a dramatic character as implied or indicated by a script or text and interpreted by an actor in performance.

College- n., an institution of higher learning that grants the bachelor's degree in liberal arts or science or both.

Secretary- 1. n., a person employed to handle correspondence, keep files, and do clerical work for another person or an organization. 2. n., an officer who keeps records, takes minutes of the meetings, and answers correspondence, as for a company. 3. n., an official who presides over an administrative department of state.

Holdup- 1. n., an interruption or delay. 2. n., an armed robbery.

Graduation- a ceremony at which degrees or diplomas are conferred; a commencement.

Mea Culpa -Latin for "My fault."


Some offenses are unbloggable, despite your sudden near-overwhelming need to vent, especially if the same are committed by the people most close to you. Too many unsavory consequences if these events were made public knowledge-- the loss of face, personal and family prestige, not to mention the goodwill of everyone else at large. It's sitches like these-- offenses that beg to be recorded, yet threaten to scream bloody murder if anyone reads about them-- that rank high on the list of my vexations.

OPlan Zero Backlog

Shameless appropriation, I know. But at the time, nothing was more apt to describe the process. It was both motto and mindset: my rallying cry every time I got behind on my Visual Communication plates. And it worked too, until sometime in my third year at the "College of Fighting Arts" (another Dex Lira in-joke: you fought your teachers, you fought the administrative office who claimed your grades did not exist, you fought your peers for those precious class slots...)

I'd put up a sign in my room, very reminiscent of those predominantly yellow PLDT signs warning pedestrians and motorists to stay clear of this or that part of the road. OPLAN ZERO BACKLOG. DEX AT WORK. I would, returning from an early evening video game session with the old gang, retire to my room, sleep a bit and wake up at 0200 so I could properly begin.

I feel like putting up the sign again, partly just for kicks. Partly because I miss the old gang when we were still a gang. Partly because I have to psych myself into "project mode" as I have a lot of plans left unaccomplished. Partly because the family's turned my room and workspace into yet another shop-- this time to cater to the needs of the "postally challenged and correspondence-needy." Partly because I no longer have a proper place to sleep when I'm not in Pasay City.

Sunday, October 05, 2003

Goodbye to Powerpoets

We up and did it-- pissed off Powerbooks so badly they don't want us "making noise" and "being rowdy" on certain assigned Saturdays every month. Not that this wasn't a two-way street.

Still, I am very very thankful. At least there was, for three years, a place I could go to spout poetry without getting tomatoes thrown at me. Thank you, Powerbooks. Thank you fellow Powerpoets. Thank you "Master," for starting it all.

Friday, October 03, 2003

That Old Jim Croce Song

I dug up my old photography plates from my fine arts classes back in the day (1996). Immersed in the memories I am mildly albeit pleasantly shocked. Apparently there was a time when I was not the posterboy for regret.

I was young, eager to finish my second shot at college, and I was good. Okay, not perfect, but good. Good with line art, good with photos. I had a mean way with copy (study under Mandy Labayen and he'll make you a damn good copywriter! Too bad he's retired from teaching at the UP. )

How on earth did I let myself get convinced that as an artist, I was never good enough?

Lesson from Tolkien: hope blooms amid crap.
The Age of Mortals

It's the dawning of a new age. Dex Lira reads classic science fiction... and doesn't understand it!!!!

Ey, Decks! Welcome t' the human race.

Thursday, October 02, 2003


I know that versions of this have been circulating on the 'Net. But what the hey, it's my blog, so I'll put 'em up. My Comments are in these brackets: [ ]

Along a highway in Pampanga: "WE MAKE MODERN ANTIQUE FURNITURE"

On a self-service restaurant in Cebu: "PLEASE HELP OUR COMFORT ROOM CLEAN"


In [where else!?] Cubao: "NONE ID NOTHING ENTRY"

Along Luneta Boulevard: "BAWAL TUMAE SA BULEVARD" [I'll bet!]


[I'm going to add a classic-- "GOD KNOWS HUDAS NOT PAY"]

On a flower shop along Rizal Avenue: "WE SELL ARTIFICIAL FRESH FLOWERS"

On a delivery truck: "NOT FOR HERE" [Quo Vadis, Lord?]

On window of a restaurant in Baguio: "WANTED: BOY WAITRESS" [Ah! A bastion of gayness! Wait, was that a typo?]

On a street in [Eraptown] San Juan: "BAWAL MAGTAPON NG BINALOT NA TAE RITO"

Grafitti inside the cubicle of a ladies' comfort room in a university: "PLEASE DON'T SIT LIKE A FROG, SIT LIKE A QUEEN." [I saw this somewhere... nope, don't ask me what I was doing in the ladies' room]

At a men's comfort room, above a urinal:(maybe from UP Diliman dorm) "HAWAK MO ANG KINABUKASAN NG BAYAN!!!"
[damn straight it came from a UP Diliman men's room]

[Another variant I saw at a College of Science stall: "YOU HOLD THE FUTURE OF THE FATHERLAND!"]

At a construction site in Mandaluyong: "BAWAL OMEHI DITO. ANG MAHOLI BOG-BOG"

Somewhere along San Andres: "NO URINATING, ON THE OVER WALLS!" [Ah, so can ON them? Beat that, Bayani Fernando!]

Vacant lot near Makati Avenue: "DON'T PARKING!!!"

At an eatery in Cebu: "WE HAB SOPDRINK IN CAN AND IN BATOL!"


And this is the best of them all...para sa mga abugado ito.... (no offends ha?) [no offends!?]

On a building somewhere in the Philippines: "NOTARY PUBLIC, TUMATANGGAP DIN NG LABADA KUNG LINGGO."


[Yeah. And we're ranked as the third most corrupt country in Asia.]

Yeheyyy! Pinoy ako!