madness

“Man is the cruelest animal.” – Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche

Rido (clan war) in itself is a senseless thing that has no place in the modern world. What makes it more barbaric and insane is when it victimizes those who do not even belong to either party, like what happened in Maguindanao last Monday. It is repulsive, to say the least. The handiwork of bottom-feeding degenerates who are no better than those filthy savages hacking each other with machetes in those godless African jungles.

It’s sad that this happened while the country is riding the crest of a high and beautiful wave brought by the international success of Manny Pacquiao and Efren Peñaflorida Jr…

kiss the girl

On one hand you wonder what they’ll not do to get the public’s attention; on the other you’re thankful they’re not posing themselves as friends of the environment and bringing kasoy seedlings to media events. A vice presidential aspirant did that last week, and I nearly lost my lunch.

Meanwhile, five young dingbats from Long Beach, California, were arrested for groping.

So much for Sunday evening weirdness.

gibo

Come May 10 next year, I’ll be casting my vote on Gilberto “Gibo” Teodoro Jr.

Why not? Noynoy Aquino is a pansy, Villar an animated dummy, and Estrada a convicted plunderer who should be fearing for his ass in jail up to now.

The others are equally no good: Nicky Perlas is from another galaxy, Ebdane probably high on asphalt fumes, and Escudero can not walk his talk and, from the looks of it, is about to burn in his own light.

It’s not really a hard choice to make, on my part. I look at Gibo and see the class and smarts of a good leader. All one has to do is watch his interviews and ignore what the goddamn surveys are saying.

But unless Noynoy or Villar drops dead before Election Day, or admits he’s heavily into child porn or a chronic bed-wetter, it’s going to be their showdown next year. Four elections are enough for me to know the pulse of the electorate.

So again I might live the next six years of my life under a president that I didn’t vote and thus do not respect. But at least I can say with a straight face that, when the circus is finally over, I voted from my heart and avoided being a sellout.

Now, let me brood over Edu Manzano’s candidacy.

pride

It is always a source of high when total strangers give good words about Raven. It started sometime last month when, while attending the baptismal of a friend’s son, a geek with an SLR whom I haven’t seen before suddenly sprung from nowhere to snap photos of our little bird.

“Jesus Christ!” I yelled. “Better put a lease on that one.” Then I plunged into this loud, paranoid spiel on window-shopping kidnappers and scums who are out to get me and my family just because I sport long hair and refuse to play their insipid games. It was only through the intervention of my wife Charmaine that I realized what was going on. Fear and alarm transmogrified into pride and joy. Raven has just won her first fan.

I remember this because something like it happened several times over the weekend: Friday night in Gateway Mall where we had dinner with my father, and Saturday afternoon in Starmall while running an errand. Total strangers would look at our Raven, smile and say, “Ang cute!” or “Ang chubby!” (At four months, Raven looks bigger for her age, many say). Some would say it openly to us, others to their companion. Whatever the case was, those were rare moments that we’re glad people didn’t keep their words to themselves.

god updates

Hanging out with Marben Romero of Badburn last night at Ten02 Bar, I got the following info:

* The Lamb of God gig in next year’s Pulp SummerSlam – to be called Slam of God, how cool is that? – is already a done deal. The necessary papers had been signed, the proper arrangements made. All the band has to do is come here and blow our brains out;

* Talks are still ongoing with the Testament camp, but things are looking positive;

* Trivium will perform early 2010, probably in February, if things pan out according to plan;

* Four of the five Archenemy members are vegans. In the meet-and-greet after the band’s  Oct. 20 concert at WTC, only bassist Sharlee D’Angelo, the sole meat-eater in the group, showed up. So much for paying P2,000 to see Angela Gossow’s ass up close;

* Slayer was supposed to co-headline with Archenemy, but the Swedes, for some reason, wanted all the attention; and

* Shadows Fall enjoyed a week in Boracay early this year screwing whores (and, if I am to believe Marben, a female employee of a local magazine).

smells like team spirit

The last two days in less than 50 words:

“I excuse myself I’m used to my little cell
I amuse myself in my very own private hell” *

Day one of office team building gig at Tarawoods in Tanauan, Batangas: Drunk from a lethal combination of gin-beer and wiggy from no sleep or at least not enough. With friends at first: laughing, swapping stories, bonding. Then alone staring at the night sky, enjoying the sound of crickets and little wings and other things unseen.

Upchucking your dinner and finding yourself locked out of the guesthouse in the bitter late-night cold is never fun, but I’ll chalk it down as an “experience.”

Day two: From Tarawoods straight to the waiting office. Floaty head, watery eyes and a bellyful of Extra Joss to keep the Sandman at bay. A pile of stories to edit and upload and a bite-sized Toblerone for dinner (better let sleeping ulcers lie). CCR’s  “Have You Ever Seen the Rain?” playing on and on on Youtube.

Ominous droplets of something dark in my hankie every time I cough.

Maybe there is such a thing as clean, sober fun. But I’m not acquainted with it.

(Photo courtesy of TJ Dimacali)

* from Alice in Chains’ “Private Hell”

walking proud

The P500 gift certificate that came as a freebie in the Archenemy gig last October 20 made this kick-ass Draven shoes affordable for my severely malnourished wallet. (Considering that the other freebie was the band’s Wages of Sin album, that event was surely a winner.)

I’m not really big into shoes – leave that to those dudes who’d buy anything endorsed by an NBA star – but allow me to make an exception. To point: These motherfuckers are the second “branded” shoes I bought with my own money, the first one being a grossly discounted pair of leather, heavy-heeled Skechers boots I scored in December 2006, a week before I got married.

Draven is not up there with Adidas or Puma, but I consider them “branded” nevertheless since it is endorsed by Fear Factory, Slipknot, and Green Day.  And the price: You can buy cases of beer and decent pulutan with it. No-name shoes aren’t priced that much.

The pair I bought is a Duane Peters edition that boasts of suede, canvas, and rubber toe caps. Been trying it for days now, on muddied and rain-slicked streets, and am satisfied so far.

And since I’m not a Commie, I lust and drool and pant for things money can buy. For the holidays, what I really want – though will not get, as is always the case – is this:

And also this:

Why not? Anything to kill the blues that comes with the cold Christmas weather.

fear

CLEVELAND – Anthony Sowell regularly reported to the Cuyahoga County Sheriff’s Office, as required since his release from prison after serving 15 years for a rape conviction, authorities say.

Now he is back in custody after four years of freedom, arrested Saturday on new rape charges and after police discovered six decomposing bodies at his home. (Read the rest of the AP report here.)

With freaks like Sowell, who needs ghouls and goblins to make us piss our pants in fear? Be afraid of the living not the dead, as the old yarn goes. That shadow lurking in your backyard late at night may not be your deceased lolo, but your neighbor… with a knife in his hand and hate in his eyes!

Terrible times, indeed. Osama bin Laden is not the only nut out there. He’s probably just the hairiest. Happy Halloween, future victims.

fatherhood…

… is rock n’ roll.

Holding Raven is like shredding with an Ibañez Mikro before a humongous crowd.

picture (im)perfect

Lesson learned in the Archenemy concert: Jim Beam and mosh pits and photography don’t mix. (Evidence here.)

Buffoons like Erap Estrada can be elected president, but an inebriated dude trapped in the middle of a seething vortex of sweaty bodies can never snap good pictures. Never!

Excuses, excuses, I know. Maybe it’s the crappy, low-tech camera I brought in the gig. Or the distraction provided by the hot-looking Goth chicks in the venue. Perhaps it’s Loren Legarda’s climate change. Hell, it could be anything. Or everything, for that matter.

Or maybe it just boils down to the simple fact that, all things considered, I’m not really cut for  photography (although Hustler magazine taught me to be more appreciative of pictures in my youth). Well, the hell with it. I went in WTC last October 20 not as a photographer anyway, but as a fan hungry for high decibels. Which was exactly what I got in great fucking abundance.

Meanwhile, there’s talk among heavy music insiders that Lamb of God is next, probably in next year’s Pulp Summer Slam. Trivium and Testament are reportedly being considered also.

Whatever. The freaks of this country can look forward to the 2010 elections, but our legion will be excited about something else.