Category Archives: Ramblings & Rumblings

Rascal Love

by

0

I read somewhere that when you meet your greatest love, you also meet your greatest fear. While I can’t exactly agree with it–all because I can’t say what or who my greatest love is–there’s my family, friends, special others, pets, passions–there is one fella that makes me worried to distraction:

Max_MG_5738

This guy moved in with me without so much as a “May I?” The feral that this rascal is, he comes and goes as he pleases, and once vanished. I literally trespassed in search, but no luck. Came home three darn days later–thin and full of dust. Argh. Can’t say this sweet rascal is the one I love most, but he does give me the most headache–people can complain or call 911 to ask for help, but what’s a cat to do except suffer in silence or suffer in meows?

Missing Max

by

0

One morning my feral, the rascal Max failed to show up for breakfast. Noon came, and still, no rascal. Worried. As hell. Decided ro draw instead. No plans, just pick up a can of pencils, right?

Ironically–or shall i say, as expected– i ended up drawing a cat to take my mind off a missing cat.

Image

 

Thank God, the feral came home. After three darn days!

Bataan on a Whim

by

0

Crime Partner P and I took off for a drive, not much on the agenda other than, well, to drive. Or get out of Metro Manila even for just a day, and preferably, meet the sea. I wasn’t really geared to shoot, and all I brought was a Leica D-Lux 5. No monsters, this time. Turns out this toy is sort of a tiny monster, nonetheless. Heehee.Image

One of what felt like a hundred hairpins.

Image

No idea what these are exactly, but they were on the entrance to the Pawikan conservation thing. By the way, The three baby  pawikans were in this tiny enclosure, covered with a net. I simply did not have the heart to take thier photos. (Okay, maybe I should be a photo journalist. LOL)

Image

Farmers, after puttng the dried grains back in the sacks.

Image

Crime Partner P — probably comtemplating that we nearly got stuck in the sand. (Yeah, we drove our car sorta too close to the sea. heh heh)

Image

Forget the white sand; I’d much rather be here than Boracay!

Image

Like all good things, even a perfect day must come to an end. But what a farewell display!

Scenes From the Basement

by

0

This is half public service, and half rant. Photography is a necessity, and definitely not for aesthetics.

First sms I saw when I woke up Sunday morning was from K, asking if I had any idea what time we’d have electricity again. I didn’t even know power was out, as I wasn’t in the studio. Then she explained that a car blew up in the basement, and two or three other cars burned along with it. That got me worried, because I left a car at that basement.  I went back to the condo and was greeted by the sorry sight of people lugging suitcases and carts of hastily packed things, stuff thrown in huge garbage bags and hauled to their cars. Dang, the place felt like some ghost town with people just wanting to get out.

Today the story came together, finally. From what I gather, one of the residents met with a car accident and drove the vehicle to the basement, anyway. While he was maneuvering to park, smoke started to come out from under the hood. Driver staggered out as the guard on duty ran toward the car with a fire extinguisher. Flames erupted, and the rest, especially the SUV parked right beside it, is history. Another SUV sustained a lot of  damage, while a sedan had a melted bumper and busted headlights.

And perhaps the best part is that almost the entire building is left without power, no telephone lines, and no cable.  Good luck, everyone, especially to the offices. Right now I am typing this in the dark, as the emergency outlet can only handle so much. Plug a pc in, and forget about using your electric fan.

So, for crying out loud, I am no expert but if any of you gets into an accident that could’ve damaged the engine in any way, please drive your car to the nearest service outlet. It doesn’t just happen in the movies; damaged engines can make cars blow up, burst into flames, and take some innocents with them. Not to mention disrupting the lives and livelihood of the occupants of an entire building, big time.

 

Friends

by

0

Yesterday’s engine problem unveiled a story, or maybe not a story but something to think about. For me anyway.  After I pulled over, I called a friend who owns and runs a car shop, just to ask if leaving my car there was the best option to take, all else considered. He said it was. Hours later, when we were both done with our tasks for the day, he offered to help me retrieve my stranded car. Never mind that he lives many towns away. A little later, a good friend read my blog entry, and said I should’ve texted her. As much as I hate to be a schmaltzy fool, I cannot help but be overwhelmed by such gestures. It made me wonder what defines friendship, and not surprisingly, it is my poetry mentor, Marjorie Evasco, who gave a very simple, succint definition:

“Ah, so many variations of the same theme, but it always remains the gesture of loving and caring kindness that sets a true friend over and above others.”

This lousy(?) day has so touched me in many ways; often, it is only in times of distress that true friends reveal themselves, in ways that overwhelm. I write this here, accessible to the entire cyber world, as an affirmation that true friendship exists; true friendship is a fact. And, as trite as it sounds, true friendship is a treasure beyond measure.

A Stranded Baby and a Jug of Vinegar

by

2

My favorite car that got christened Baby G (as in gangsta) overheated somewhere along Greenmeadows. With two appointments to keep and 15 minutes away from the first one, there wasn’t much choice but to leave the baby there. Hitched a ride with the first guy who came along, got a car from home, and finished all the stuff in the to-do list. Now, time to pick up the poor thing. Hauling two gallons of water in old vinegar jugs, I hailed a cab, and while I was getting into it, my camera tumbled out of the gear bag and rolled on the pavement. Goodness. When I got to my stranded car, the first thing I did was to shoot and make sure my camera is still alive.

Okay, it is! (Come to think of it, battle scarred gear has a certain appeal. LOL)

So far, so good. Put water in a dehydrated radiator. My bad. But hey, can’t possibly end a day like that! Might as well shoot some. Night photography without a tripod doesn’t sound right, but the sheer stupidity of it put me in a good mood. hah! Couldn’t expose too long with a handheld cam tho.

Not too many cars at 1am, too. One last. Just to satisfy a bug.

A Fine Art Photographer’s Walk

by

4

These past few months personal and professional hassle almost made me forget what I love most about photography–it is the seeing part, finding beauty where none seems to exist, seeing it and wanting to share it. I never saw the need nor ever had the desire for fancy set-ups, fancy lighting, or other things that make for a glamorous photograph. Yes, of course, I do those things; sometimes I need to, either for work or personal requests, and I find absolutely nothing wrong with it, as long as it does not make me forget what in my heart of hearts I thrive on doing, and that is shooting “junk.”  “Junk,” because nothing is ever real thrash to me, as a photographer. “Junk,” because, chances are, no one would bother to take photos of those; “junk,” because–and forgive me a little bit of ego trip here–chances are, I was the only one who saw it, or took the time to.

The hassle that nearly took me away from my gear drove me into some sort of melancholy, and the thing that arrested what could have been a downward spiral was a decision to walk alone for a while, just me and a 5D. 24/7.  The photos I am about to attach may not mean or appeal much to most of you, but to me, they will forever remind me of the day I said, “This is my art, this is my photography. I am paying for it with my time, my money, and my energy. I hope you find it in your heart to respect that, but if you don’t it’s perfectly all right.”

Guilty as Charged. (all of us, with very few exceptions)

by

0

“All right, Sir?” Apparently, nothing is “all right.” Not for the military. Not for the nation. A conversation with a fellow writer and part-time hermit years ago said it all:  “If people as apolitical as you and me feel the need to march, and never mind the tear gas, in protest, then it must be real bad.” Now I’m thinking, if retired generals commit suicide, in front of the graves of their mothers, then it must be terrible.

I never knew Angelo Reyes personally, but reading the news of his suicide, with a gunshot to the heart (was it a last act of thoughtfulness, that he did not disfigure his face with a gunshot to the head?), sent chills down my spine, more literally than I would have preferred. Aside from the obvious intelligence as can be seen from his scholastic records, there is no virtue of the former general that I am in a position to extol, but it seems he himself was a victim of a corrupt system so entrenched that saying No to pabaon would’ve made an outcast of him. “Masyadong nagmamalinis” is a label no one wants, although it is our duty to “magmalinis”; a profound failure to do this duty is a huge reason that corruption thrives, and seems to get worse each day. Truly we as a people are known for pakisama, to a fault.

I myself am guilty of this pakisama; once or twice I have closed my eyes and walked away from questionable deals, petty ones that involved a few thousands, sometimes a few hundred pesos. I can only be grateful that I have the luxury of walking away; many people don’t. That is all the “linis” I can lay claim to. Walking away. Refusing to be part of it. Refusing to share the loot. Perhaps I should have been “heroic” enough to prevent, if not expose, such things? But to whom? To ad agencies, television executives, suppliers of ad agencies? The amounts involved were usually laughable; it would probably get a second hand laptop, and no, i don’t mean a MacBook.

I know that protesting such things will amount to nothing, other than getting ostracized, and hey, I needed my job, too. It has happened before, in a television network. Our producer was filching funds, pathetic amounts, really—say P30 from each meal allowance. I didn’t know that at first, because I usually did not even eat what they served (yes, I admit to being a bit of a cono that way) and I didn’t care if we didn’t have enough Coke. It’s just too much trouble to complain about such things; it is far easier to just go out and buy a can of Coke. Eventually the rest of the crew protested, wrote a letter and asked me to sign along with them. I did. Next thing I knew I was accused of being “promotor” of the whole thing, and got a threat for it, “Baka mawalan kayo ng projects dtio, ayaw namin ng mahirap katrabaho.”  That, from a network executive.

Few people know that that is one of the reasons I quit working in television. Lucky for me, I don’t have mouths to feed, not even my own. But what then? Should I have gone to DoLE?  Hell no, forget it. Bad attitude, probably. Practical? Very. Because, what then? Rouse a fucking rabble because someone was filching P30 from a roughly P100 meal allowance?

No way, man.

And that is exactly the attitude that got us to where we are.

Indie Goddess Returns

by

0

30 October, 2010.

So, Cynthia Alexander, the indie rock goddess who gave me insomnia singing I-N-S-O-M-nia, left last summer, hied of to Seattle to test its musical waters.  You know that discomfiting spot, like wishing someone the best best best, yet that little selfish part of you is afraid that she might never come back, and you’d have to book a flight to somewhere int the US to catch her gig again?  That selfish fear was so transparent Cynthia chided me with “Really?” when i wished her luck. I said Of course I do, but I certainly wish you’d come back and gig still.  It was with excitement that we cheered her gig in New York. Yes, New York! and at the same time chewed our fingernails: let’s hope she visits and gigs here still!

The irony of it all. In many ways it pains me that (not only) in my country, undoubtedly talented musicians perform in tiny bars like Conspiracy, while some not so talented ones can fill the Big Dome (Araneta Coliseum in Cubao).  At the same time my friends and I so enjoy those gigs, and we can never find that level of fun and musical high in a place as big as the Dome.

But anyway. Let’s cut through the chase, as my title already did, anyway. Cynthia Alexander is back, will be here until April, and going back to Seattle. So if I were you, I’d catch all the gigs i could, to see me through the next visit.