Sunday, May 30, 2004

My Life in Brief(s)

Ian's Sizzling Pusit and SisigHaus

I am upset. Upset because that damn videoke machine won't respect me. It gave me a low score. (85!) Sacrilege! Blasphemy! Desecration! Profanation! (There goes my Words for the Week column!)

Yes, Ian's having us compete for a bottle of liquor by making us sing until we're hoarse...

Read the full story here

Saturday, May 29, 2004

Birth Pains

No, nobody's pregnant. But this blog will be less about my life than it will be long and hopefully interesting commentary. This means you can more easily search the whole morass for articles that caught your eye-- or your ire.

I've managed to restore the Haloscan commenting script on this thing, all the better for you to throw verbal rotten vegetables (or virtual roses) at me for opening my big mouth and putting my foot in it.

So where is all the inane stuff (that is, if you guys don't already think my ideas are inane) going to go? What about the stories, the little life vignettes?

They still have a place on blogspot. Specifically--

Dexterian Lit for fiction and poetry;
Fringe Living for the 4-11 on what I'm doing.

Keep the mouse clicking on this space for commentary.

Honestly, I don't know how I can pull it off, but I really feel the need for an overhaul.

Make your comments. I appreciate them.

Thanks!

Friday, May 28, 2004


I don't look like this much anymore... (sigh)  Posted by Hello

Saturday, May 22, 2004

you are violet
#EE82EE

Your dominant hues are red and blue. You're confident and like showing people new ideas. You play well with others and can be very influential if you want to be.

Your saturation level is lower than average - You don't stress out over things and don't understand people who do. Finishing projects may sometimes be a challenge, but you schedule time as you see fit and the important things all happen in the end, even if not everyone sees your grand master plan.

Your outlook on life is bright. You see good things in situations where others may not be able to, and it frustrates you to see them get down on everything.
the spacefem.com html color quiz


Today: listening to Shaggy and Marvin Gaye; Color It Red
Missing: old friends


Dex El Phone Home (1 of 3)

There was a time when the only phone I wanted was big and studly, a real man's celphone. It would have been heavy, blocky, simple and utterly functional to spite the Nokia-toting freaks and showoffs out there. Yes, laugh all you want at my oversized black or olive-drab, military issue, highly radioactive phone. I can still bean you with it, sterilize you when I make a call, or bludgeon you to death with its manly antenna, har har har!

Trouble was, those phones were being phased out faster than a Poison groupie can drop her trousers for Nikki Sixx (Does anyone reading even remember Nikki Sixx?). Nokia had done what the other European and North American cellular geniuses forgot-- break into the Asian market with phones that were actually designed for human hands. And with the coming of the almighty GSM technology, I had to adapt, lest I find myself totally out of touch with the world at large.

Then I lost my Motorolla. Stylish, manly and cumbersome? Gone. And much to my great pain, I joined the millions of my countrymen who measured the status of their lives by the numbers on their Nokia phones. The really hideous irony was I grew to like my Nokia. The interface was intuitive (today's new in-word), it bothered to corelate whoever was SMSing me with his phone number, and it was so easy to send an SMS message that made sense to dyologs and people who respected me enough to sms me in complete, comprehensible sentences. The reasons why I professed to detest Nokia-- highly identified with jologs, fragile, poor signal reception, girly-- were (almost) forgotten as I was seduced by a color screen, polyphonics and MMS technology. I had become like my countrymen, whose celphone choices were limited to Nokia and... nothing follows.

Then I took a bold step, trading in my 3530 --nice number to measure my life by (a Nokia 7650 or a 6600 with a Plan means I've "arrived")-- for Kervin's moderately priced Sony Ericsson. It's sleek, chic and metro� (my new celphone catch-phrase, as opposed to "manly"), is almost as intuitive as the old Nokia and carries more features to boot. If I can't have my real man's� celphone, those models having crossed over into the realm of pure thought, I can at least live free of one more jolog association with this one.

Ah, what bliss! Let Freedom� ring!

------------------------
"real man's ____" is a registered trade mark of Evil Dex's Evil Comedy Hour, Ltd.
"sleek, chic and metro" is registered trademark of Evil Dex's Evil Comedy Hour, Ltd.

"Freedom" is a registered trademark of the Bush Administration


Dex El Phone Home (2 of 3)

My unhappy sim called, trying to speed up repairs to his home. I do not blame him, but, as calls like his often are, his request for an audience was... inconvenient. Besides rushing to meet a very dead deadline, I was busy trying to bilocate between a funeral for a friend and the airport arrival of another friend. I'm going to have to come back down to Manila soon, if not make some calls from here.

At any rate, our plumbing leak has been plugged up. All that's left is to fix the water damage to our neighbor's (my unhappy sim) wood floors and ceiling. I wish Engineer-san give me an estimate of how much it's all gonna cost already, so Honey and I can space the money we'll be spending.

Update: Apparently, Engineer-san has much better things to do than schedule repairs and make estimates. Far be it from me to waste his time.

Honey and I will have to go find her trusty construction guy, Mang Mario. He charges P500 per day, but no one can fault him for his craftmanship. As long as you can keep him busy and provide him with free lunch and coffee, you'll get your money's worth in workmanship; speed; fair estimates; and sound advice from a master carpenter, mason and plumber.

Dex El Phone Home (3 of 3)

Honey tells me, over the phone, that last month's money from my publicist client didn't land in her bank account. She's gone over her bank records with a fine toothed comb, but despite the diligent search, the P3500 he owes me has not been found. I am ...mildly miffed. At the evry least, this means that this month's P2500 will not make it to Honey's bank account either. I have to go home and clear this up with him. He's been silent of late. No calls, no encouragement, no new assignments, nada.

I am assuming he is

a) extremely busy;
b) mildly miffed at the missed deadline (can't be helped);
c) shopping around for another writer.

He pulled a Houdini on me two months ago, in the heat of election fever. Events found him in places as far as Guam. Thanks in part to his diligence, Senator Enrile will most likely warm his chair for the next six years. For reasons of Christian charity and justice, I hope the old prune actually pays him for services rendered. Soon. At the very least, that may motivate my publicist to actually pay me.

I won't take it against him, if he's busy with option c. But he should at least honor his side of the bargain and pay me. It's quite possible that he (or a flunky of his) may have deposited the money in the wrong bank account, due to somebody's clerical error. But I am almost certain I gave him the right number, since I checked. I still have it saved on my phone.

Wednesday, May 05, 2004

Monday, May 03, 2004

Got Nothing Better to Do

Ian "got this off Nikka." Thought I'd try it myself.

1.Go into your LJ's [blogger] archives.
2.Find your 23rd post (or closest to).
3.Find the fifth sentence (or closest to).
4.Post the text of the sentence in your blog along with these instructions.

Dex's result (at least the one that made most sense)--

We're often afraid that every frank and open discussion about The Almighty is going to degenerate into Biblical, Q'uranic, apocryphal and gnostic verses flying fast and thick across the dinner table, producing nothing but frayed nerves and a splitting headache for all concerned.

Saturday, May 01, 2004

Quijano de Manila is Dead

I expected it would happen soon enough, but when I saw the tribute in the Inquirer, it caught me by surprise. National Artist Nick Joaquin has passed away at the ripe old age of 86. He died Thursday morning, of a heart attack.

For those who don't know him--or know of him-- because they didn't take their Humanities classes seriously, here are the important things to know about the newly-dead:

Nick Joaquin was a Filipino, a journalist, storyteller and playwright who lived through World war II and Martial Law. When he wrote (in English, under the pen name Quijano de Manila) about people and events, his writing was clear, and only lightly spiced with humor and irony. His readers often felt that what he wrote about transpired before their eyes . When he wrote stories, however, his English took on a lyrical and (some say) Spanish-mystical quality. It was no less clear, but it grabbed you by the throat and took you on a kaleidoscopic stream-of-consciousness rollercoaster that left you in a kind of reader's ecstasy. You didn't notice until a lot later (refrigerator moment) that the paragraph you've just read spanned two-to-four lucid pages.

This was a man who loved Manila and made it a setting for many stories. If you ever wound up reading them, you'd know why. You'd be tempted to fall in love with Manila yourself.

One of his most widely-read stories, The Summer Solstice, was turned into that movie with the horrid trailer, topbilled by Edu Manzano, Dina Bonnevie and Rica Peralejo. Two other stories stand out as "required reading" in any Philippine school with a decent Humanities course: May Day Eve and The Woman with Two Navels.

I've never met him. But Joaquin, along with such Philippine luminaries as NVN Gonzales and F. Sionil Jose, taught me how to write.
Two results from a quiz I got off Tobie's blog...


What kith are you? Find out here.



The eshu wander the entire world, following the path of their own fate. They get to wherever they're going at the best moment, and the trip is always exciting. They live for adventure and the new; the moment for them is always now, and cowardice is shameful. Eshu have an extremely personal sense of honour. They follow their paths with style and flair, sampling each new culture and quickly blending in with the locals. The wanderings of the eshu are legendary; probably something they've seen to themselves, as the eshu are consummate tellers of tales. Indeed, they learn through their tales, gaining experience both through the telling and the achieving of feats of legend. They often see themselves as the central characters in some grand play, be they hero or villain they play their parts to the hilt, no matter the cost or how reckless the action. They'd rather go out in a blaze of glory that will fuel stories for centuries to come than live in ignominy. Besides, as changelings, they'll simply be reborn.


What kith are you? Find out here.



Once upon a time, these dark fae were charged with frightening children into being good. They delight in the funerary and run-down, ancient things, but most of all, they love secrets. They have very keen senses, and are quite skilled at putting what they know to good use. If you can pay the price, there's very little a well-placed sluagh doesn't know. Several members of this kith number among the world's best spies and burglars. While not all of them are even interested in these paths, other changelings tend to distrust and dislike them. For solace, many turn to the Restless Dead, finding more comfort and sympathy from them than from the living.