surviving the fear, reality tv-style.

Watching Pinoy Fear Factor, Argentina, South America, World, Milky Way Galaxy, Universe last night. I needed to emphasize that because Ryan Agoncillo, the host, wants us to always remember that they were able to produce a show - another Pinoy franchise of Western reality shows - that they were able to shoot it, in Argentina, which come to think of it is not really a remote possibility. What they were able to do really is to transport half the globe a bunch of fuckable (of course, sex sells) twenty-something lousy retards who flinch and fall and fail most of the challenges (at least for two weeks it has been airing).

But for sheer consumable entertainment, I think I’ll score it a little notch higher than the Pinoy version of Survivor which really sucks like a vacuum cleaner. Having watched many seasons of Survivor hosted by Emmy-winning Jeff Probst, watching Survivor Phils is like watching the same Survivor dubbed in Tagalog. The scheming, the issues, the personages, it’s all the same, and with challenges that are not-so-challenging I could laugh. Even Paolo Bediones, who really sucked in this, rehashes Jeff’s line in Tagalog: “Nagsalita na ang tribo… (The tribe has spoken…)” Sheesh.

The Last El Bimbo

The Eraserheads' 2-disc Anthology album is playing on my PC right now. Me and about 3 of my colleagues are having an Eheads nostalgia trip. At least this is what those who cannot come to Taguig and be in one with the thousands of hopeful fans can do.

Whenever I hear an Eheads song, it transports me to that day in high school where I stupidly sold to my classmate the Circus and Cutterpillow cassette albums, which by now are worthy collectors’ items. Not that cassette albums are extinct in this Ipod age, but golly, for a kid who grew up in an Eheads generation, those are just definitive.

Anyway, now that I’m into it, Ang Huling El Bimbo is my ultimate Eheads song. Not because I used to play it on the piano/organ when I was I guess grade 3 or 4, but even listening to it now, I could almost cry at the sheer genius of it, especially when the guitar starts to bellow and you can feel the miserable end of the girl who looks like Paraluman, the playfulness of fate. It’s almost cinematic. Alapaap, Minsan, Superproxy and Huwag mo nang Itanong would be next in line.

I lost track of the last two albums and the last memorable song for me was Julie Tearjerky, which I really really like and which explains my Facebook status.

You know when you’re really an Eheads kid because you don’t just regard them as one of the most influential Pinoy bands, or that their erstwhile chemistry as a band defined the good ole Filipino camaraderie, or that the songs transcend class and age. The magic is just there; in the pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa of Alapaap, in the do-ro-do-do-do-ro-do-do of Torpedo, in hoo-woo-hoo-woo-hoo-hoo-hoo of Magasin.

Traysibot diaries

While I have previously indicated my delight over riding on an empty or even a near-empty jeepney, I have sometimes come to detest riding a tricycle (in Davao we usually refer to it as traysibot), another ingenious Pinoy mode of transportation that have earned some notoriety in the daily hurly-burly of Juan dela Cruz. Undoubtedly, it has created its special niche (along with the jeepney) in contemporary Pinoy pop culture. Few months ago, news reported a road accident in Manila involving a tricycle which crossed a highway.

The common picture we have of a tricycle is usually the one which has the motorcycle in the middle with two wheels on both sides of the attached part (which I think is quite illogical because then you would have four wheels and thus it should be called quadri-cycle). However, the attached part of a traysibot, or in the layman Pinoy machinist’s term is called the sidecar, only needs one wheel to be completely mounted.

My trips to some Mindanao cities have also introduced me to some charming versions of the tricycle. In Cagayan de Oro, it's motorela (sounds like the mobile phone brand). While I've seen motorelas in limited routes in CDO, the tricycles in Butuan and Zamboanga graze the city streets like the jeepney and they look pretty much the same in assembly. In Butuan, however, you can easily identify them because they're all colored orange and they have humongous ID numbers painted in black.

In Davao, traysibots are common in subdivisions, villages or housing compounds because the size allow them to navigate the narrow streets. However, they are prohibited in highways because aside from the added congestion the whole anatomy of the poor thing can become an eyesore especially if metal parts are already rusting and clunking and it looks like an overblown version of a dilapidated toy tarak-tarak. Riding in the traysibot is another hell of an experience. The motor, depending on its age can really test the ultimate decibel levels, so answering your phone or talking to your traysibot-mate is close to impossible. And depending on the age of the entire thing, the moment you step off, you have your insides all shaken up.

But despite the occasional unpleasant experience, every nuance of the tricycle or traysibot experience is truly and distinctly Filipino.

I actually own one now. Not really own because it's still a liability. I practically loaned the whole thing. I got the motorcycle for a 5,000++ downpayment with no hassles of registration because they the company took charge of it. When interviewed by the agent, you're supposedly to tell every reason why you're going to purchase one except use it for business like jamming up a sidecar and make it a traysibot.

So I lied. And perhaps I believe it's a known secret that just gets passed off as a perfunctory response. Which explains why a lot of people consider it as an easy way to earn fast daily income. Something that pays my siblings' daily meager allowance. Something to buy a kilo of rice for or a bundle of firewood for cooking.

The motorcycle is not really for my own use because I've never driven anything in my life. I still have some phobia left from falling off twice while riding and getting whacked by a coconut palm because I didn't wear a helmet.

So this whole traysibot business is up, but it hasn't been running for the past days because there were no available drivers (who usually thrive on boundaries) who are usually just our neighbors.

Given that it's really mine, I think I have to start learning to own the thing. This might be the career path that has unconsciously eluded me. O, sakay namo!

A rush of nausea to the head.

Nowadays, commuting can be a real pain in the ass. No, not because of traffic, which has become bearable thanks to the newly-installed traffic lights. You can endure the traffic, but you're sure as hell lucky if you get down on a jeepney or a taxi without a headache after a dose of the Bisaya rap that makes it important to contemplate on phenomena such as farts, smelly armpits and thick eyebrows. Here are some lines: "Utot, baho kaayo... kabalo bitaw kang baho nganong simhuton!" (Fart, you know it stinks, why in the hell should you smell it?) Or: "Baho ka'g ilok... makasakit ug utok!" (Your armpit stinks... it makes one sick to the head!).

I understand this could be a venue for local budding talents or artists, but God, after hearing three puke-inducing songs about farts and armpits and thick eyebrows, it just makes you sick to the head.

circus politicos

This could easily be part two of the asshole chronicles -- on a national (grander) scale.

The regular commercial programming nowadays is punctuated by those annoying political campaigns that either portray politicians as would-be clowns and comedians or a potential actor/actress worthy of FAMAS nomination. Either way, they still make you want to puke. In the Philippine setting, it has been normal to see artistas crossing the line (dangerously and for the people, rivetingly) towards politics, but the recent crop of political TV ads tell us it can also be the other way around. You've got to see them to believe.

But of course, Pinoy elections would never be fun without the usual who's who in showbiz scene who is yet to tread on the all-too familiar ground of showbiz-populated politics. This year's most outstanding example probably is Richard Gomez, who in a last-ditch effort to save his ailing career paraded in the Comelec grounds to ceremoniously announce his candidacy for Senate. There's of course Lito Lapid, the proverbial cowboy in the Senate, who courageously challenges everyone in his way for debate as long as it's in his native tongue, Kapampangan. This time he runs opposite Jejomar Binay for mayoralty slate.

No surprise though is Manny Pacquiao. The rumor started around the time when he registered residency in Manila. After speculations of him running for mayor in his hometown GenSan, it was announced on the news that he'd be on the congressional slate. It shouldn't be incumbent SoCot congresswoman, Darlene Antonino-Custodio biting her nails but the people of the province who will most likely lose given the wrong choice. Guys, this is not a boxing match, please. In this situation, redemption does not come in beating the hell out of your opponent.

But then, it wouldn't be called Philippine politics and there would be no such thing as tradpols if it weren't for entertainment like these. God help us.

ode to the old

As kids we usually detest the sound of our father belting it out to the tune of Matt Monro or Tom Jones. We unearth copious cassette tapes of the same artists and other oldies superstar in our parents' old cabinets. To their bygone era, these figures were luminaries. Their music defined decades.

To the normal contemporary young adult who is not baduy (or at least that's what they think they are), listening to It's Not Unusual or My Way is the closest thing to hell. Just a single line from oldies songs are so revolting that we normally change the radio dial so fast as if it were a Coke cap.

But what I think made this generation unappreciative of the oldies are right in the very heart of Pinoy pop culture. The phenomenon that redefined Pinoys. A foreigner can easily identify us with this -- the Karaoke or more recently, the videoke. Everyone just loves to hold that mic and if the song requires, dance like it's the last night on Earth. The power to shine and be the next Pinoy Pop Superstar (with the irritating squeal) can be so addictive, the videoke gimmick can be likened to a druggie's version of pot session.

Though there are already KTVs and sing-along bars just about everywhere, the masa would prefer the hulog-hulog portion -- a videoke slot machine -- 5 pesos and you can attempt to outshine everybody with Celine Dion's My Heart Will Go On. But just you wait until that pot-bellied drunkard got hold of the mic and let loose his balladeer side. You've just heard the most abominable version of the famous My Way or Bridge Over Troubled Water.

For me, hearing the street-versions of the old songs make me hate them. But in the end, you can't really deprive these people of the cheapest sort of escapism.
-------