MIND OVER MUTTER

Here's one of my favorite weird facts: the brain named itself. Take the time to mentally digest that one. Now the brain is thinking about itself having named itself. Pretty neat, eh? (of course, i know it was some other person's brain that named itself, but just play along, you killjoy)

I've always kept this fact handy in case I need to detonate a cranium or two, but I'm automatically reminded of it when my own thinker tanks. Like just a while ago, I opened my phone's browser and hit the Google icon. It loaded the search engine in about 5 seconds. And then I stared at the blinking vertical symbol for twice that time and wondered, what was I supposed to google again? As I tried to recall whatever it was I had to rummage the internet for, I could almost hear the metallic squeak of rusted gears struggling to spin backwards inside my head.

Usually, what I'd do is rewind my bullet train of thoughts and look for the particular sequence of cerebral images that connect to whatever it was that slipped out, but I just can't retrieve this one. It must have been some random thing that popped in and the one thing that should know where it went (since the jerk created it in the first place) has rendered itself useless. I'm half amazed and half annoyed about it. Like my brain has a mind of its own and loves to prank me sometimes. Going out? Im gonna make you wear your shirt inside out! Carrying a plate of food? Im gonna make enter you the bathroom! Working on a high priority client-requested task in the office? Im gonna dyslexify a couple of words so you'll misunderstand them and screw this whole thing up!

This is supposed to be the part where I conclude by saying "I know my brain has done many amazing things" and such. But I am going to hold the praises hostage until my brain pays me the ransom of memory. So fuck you, brain.



P.S. Even up to now, I have yet to remember what I was supposed to google. It would be easy to say it couldn't have been something important since I forgot it that fast. But what if it was? Damn.
P.P.S. My brain also came up with this dream last night: my whole family was in a car and I was outside riding a baby stroller holding on to the left rear window and we were going at top speed along EDSA. Fun times.
P.P.P.S. All those italicized sentences actually happened.

THE MAN IN THE SAND CASTLE

There was this thing I saw on the most reliable news source of the interwebs, Facebook, about a certain local filmmaker who threatened a few people that gave their movie a negative review. It made me want to post a blog about opinions and criticism. Which then made me realize how nearly all of the personal blogs now are reviews of stuff. Which then made me realize I haven't written a movie review for a long, long time. Which then made me go back to the first one about opinions and criticism.

So I logged in and found out that I had a recent unfinished unposted entry, with three paragraphs worth of introductory rant about the Manny Pacquiao v. LGBT community issue saved as draft and ended in the middle of a sentence. I Ctrl+A'd it and hit Backspace instead of Delete because I'm a rebel. Also because it connects to what this new entry will contain (if I finish it).

Anyway, I'll never understand people who can't respect other people's opinion of their work, like it's the most perfectest thing in the universe and anyone who says otherwise is automatically an idiot. As a writer, I've always been open to criticism (of the constructive kind, of course). I don't really listen to them that much since I'll not let go of work for external scrutiny unless I'm satisfied that no more changes are needed but I file them under "for consideration" on any succeeding endeavors. I get that some tend to value their output more than it deserves (I do that as well). That does not mean, however, that they can just threaten, ridicule and harass their critics and it definitely does not excuse anyone from being a complete asshole. Nothing does, really. Only time it's okay to be an asshole is if, in fact, you are literally a hole of ass.

And this isn't about someone being called fat and crying foul on social media even though they really are severely overweight. This involves a product released for public consumption. If your product is of subpar quality, society will say so. It doesn't matter how hard you worked on it, how much time or money you spent on it, and how much praise you got from the people you paid to help you with it. Your efforts are meaningless if the end result sucks and no amount of delusionary persuasion will turn it into gold. If it's crap, it's crap. From an asshole. I love how disgustingly that links together.

So go ahead, make your films, write your stories, and peddle your goods for all the world to consume as long as you're sure you can take the heat. Else, crawl back under your rock and fellate yourself for eternity.


P.S. Goes both ways of course. Complaints, reactions and suggestions need not be offensive.
P.P.S. Been dreaming of my soon-to-be-born son a lot recently. I hope he dreams of me too. Cant wait for both our dreams to come true.

BIG BANG BLUSH

(Note: This is an old post saved as draft from 2014. Posted now because why not?)

Funny where a destinationless train of thought takes you. I was watching TV the other day and learned that Kevin Feige's last name is actually pronounced as "fai-gee" and not "feyj" as i previously assumed. But I told myself, (not out loud, of course. just a whisper) it's okay, the mistake is understandable since Feige has the same last four letters as beige. Unless beige is pronounced as "bai-gee".

Anyway, so for the sole reason of just because, I googled beige. And found out that a certain shade of that color is the average color of the universe. Some astronomy dudes surveyed the color of all light in the universe (including 200,000 galaxies) and ended up with a beigeish white hue. When it was displayed on a newspaper article, readers sent in suggestions for a name and they went with "cosmic latte". Some of the other entries were skyvory, univeige, this blog's title, and primordial clam chowder (which I think should have won).

SPEAKING OF NOW

Hello, stranger.

That greeting is actually not just for you, dear reader, but also for me, dire writer, so welcome back to both of us. I'd prefer not to waste time and pixels addressing the whys and wherefores of my inactivity and instead focus on getting this blog back up and running. Again. For the eleventeenth time.

Two things: I made a quick redesign, nothing too fancy, and I imported a bunch of posts from my other blogs, which by the way were quite surprising as I could not remember writing some of them at all. I even took some phrases and googled them, flanked by quotation marks, to make sure they were truly mine and not lifted from somewhere else (good news: mine!). Also, I've decided to write my posts the way an educated adult should and quit emulating E.E. Cummings.

Speaking of, I'm going to be a father again! Of a baby boy this time, which is just whoawesomazing. Yes, that's whoa, awesome, and amazing in one word because that's how I feel about it. Especially since my wife and I have been trying for so long. I wanted him to be born in 2013 (because duh) but I guess the financial crisis caused massive stork layoffs and delayed the delivery of our son to April of this year, which is peachy fine. Really. It's not like time seems to go slower when you wait for something. It's only three more months, no biggie. I very patient.

Speaking of, during Jeean's third checkup, my heart twerked when we heard the little human's heartbeat for the first time and I had to control myself from RKOing the nurse and yelling, "Science, bitch!". Then, a few months later, when OB/GYN Kenobi pointed an arrow to our son's tallywacker on the ultrasound screen, I shook my fists in the air and screamed in victory as I saw our future together projected onto the inner walls of my skull: my wife and I playing Final Fantasy VII Remake on the PS5; Iaine and her little brother washing the dishes.

Oh, and Iaine, who is as excited, if not more, as I am, is turning six this week. She's grown so fast. Feels like it was only yesterday when I dropped her off to school and told her to do well in her exams. Wait. That was actually yesterday. What day is it today? Anyways, those six long years mean I have basically unlearned all the baby care skills I mastered when Iaine was still small. However, I fear not the slumberless nights for I know that when the epic newborn is thrust into this dimension, I shall regain all that power and conquer the realm of second-time fatherhood. So bring on the poop!

One more thing I seem to have unlearned: properly ending blog posts. So bye?



P.S. That is the first and the last time I will use the word that starts with T and means "shake your butt like shit is stuck."
P.P.S. My wife's OB/GYN is not really named Kenobi.
P.P.P.S. Is it the third week of April yet? Please be the third week of April when I wake up tomorrow.
P.P.P.P.S. Actually, please be April after Iaine's birthday. Sorry, Iaine.

UP DARNA DOWN

Apparently, there's a teaser trailer for the new Darna movie playing in front of some MMFF films. I tried to watch the bootleg recording on Facebook and further degraded my eyesight trying to figure out what was going on. Anyways, I've had a Darna remake idea in my head for so long but never really got around to writing it. Since the possibility of me being a part of the 2016 film is absolute zero, here's roughly the first 15 minutes of my Darna pitch, which is a sequel, a remake, and a reboot all rolled into one.

Darna Concept Art by madbox86 

1980. After a grueling battle, Darna defeats Valentina and is about to give the final blow. Valentina pleads for her life. With Darna's guard down, Valentina bites her on the neck, injecting a paralyzing, slow-acting venom. Darna kills Valentina then falls to the ground.

1996. After years of suffering (both healthwise and from being unable to help people in need), Narda dies. In the next room, Ding's wife (let's call her Maria) gives birth to a baby girl. They name her Narda, of course. Ding (now a cop) trains Narda how to fight as she grows up, against Maria's wishes. 10 years later, Ding Jr. is born, who also undergoes training.

2016. An underground cult worshiping Valentina is formed, believing that Reptilians are the true owners of the world. The cult leader's son, Vladimir, kills a family who left the cult and burns the condominium.

Narda graduates college and her father promises to give her the best gift that day. On the way home, the family sees the burning building. The ever heroic Ding immediately goes to help. Narda follows. The building explodes. In the hospital, Ding dies after telling Maria to give the "bato" to Narda. Narda is in a coma. In her dream, Narda sees her aunt and is told about her destiny.

Narda wakes up a week later and is devastated by the news. Ding is buried. Narda is temporarily in crutches. Now living at the topmost floor of an old apartment building, Narda watches through her window several petty crimes happen outside. Maria sees this but still hides the bato from her.

A bank robbery is on the news. Narda wants to watch the TV but her mother insists she stay in bed. Ding Jr. sees that the getaway van being chased by police car is headed somewhere familiar. The getaway van stops at a dead end. The gang leader looks around and sees the old apartment building. He calls for a helicopter. The crooks enter the building. When they reach the topmost floor, the leader is told the the chopper will take a while. As the cops go into the building, the crooks fire at them from above. The leader tries to break the door to one of the apartments.

Fearing for their lives, Maria tells Narda her father's dying message and gives her the bato, telling her to swallow it and shout Darna. Narda remembers her dream but before she could put it in her mouth, the gang leader breaks into the apartment and takes them hostage.

The leader tells the cops to back off or he will kill the family. The leader is then told that the chopper is almost there. He tells one of his men to take the boy with them just in case. A struggle ensues. Maria is kicked to the ground. Narda is thrown through the window. She loses her grip on the bato. She catches it with the other hand. She puts it in her mouth. She swallows. She shouts "Darna!" She falls to the ground... and three-point lands as Darna.


P.S. Post title doesn't mean I'm a fan of the local band. Just thought it sounded nice. Maybe they could provide the theme song, I don't know.
P.P.S. The attached concept art is the closest one I could find to the one I had in mind. Except I don't like the helmet and I want the updated Darna to have straight hair instead.
P.P.P.S. I think Sarah Geronimo should be the new Narda/Darna. She can do the role duality, she has the fan base, and she can sing the theme song herself. Maja Salvador is a close second.
P.P.P.P.S. My idea was, the Darna would then be followed by a new Captain Barbell film, then Lastikman. Then, a Sanlakas movie with all three of them with an endtag tease for Jesebel.

boredom becomes him

the disadvantage of being fast: having nothing else to do. well, of course, i could do even more than im supposed to do but that would amount to nothing because in this corner of corporate hell, twice the effort has the same value as half of it. and so, here i am, watching the network icon blink on the system tray, making right-click squares on the desktop and wishing for one of my coworkers to self combust as i succumb to the slow and painful death by boredom.

there's this thing on reddit about people you hate hanging out with. one guy says he doesn't like people who have the same interests he has but can do them better. i actually hate even more the opposite of that, people who are into the same things you're into but you know you can do better. especially when you know they're into it only for fad's sake and/or because they have money. i hate even more those people who say, just follow your dreams. fuck you. i cannot "just do it". i cannot just get out of this chair, teleport to abs-cbn and start pitching shows and movies to the guard on duty (because that's as far as i'm gonna get). nike's slogan does not work in a country where you're not worth a peep if you do not have a famous relative, a powerful backer, or lots and lots of money.

no one takes risks on a nobody, no matter how great you are. the reason? ever watched reality talent shows where someone acts like they're the best there is and then turn out to be a total moron? the people in charge do not want to waste time on people like that. so they just won't give you any attention for personal claims of superiority alone. which sucks for those who really are as great as they would claim to be.

i dont think i'm that awesome. but i believe i have awesome ideas that studio execs need to hear. and i always have internal apocalypse whenever i see the crappiest of crap get funded and then fail to make a profit.

i am so bored.

short story: ?

i know i said i'd be making alphabetical posts but i just had a dream where i was told to write a short story. i wrote it on a little notebook while trying to find a place to sit down. i immediately woke up the moment i finished it and so i thought i had to type it up (which i now think is a mistake because i should have waited for my dream self to come up with a title for it). this is, as far as i remember, exactly what i wrote in my dream:

I could be naked right now and it wouldn't cause a stir for I am surrounded by robots. They look human but they soldier on through this torturous job without a complaint every single day so they must be mechanical. I listen to the cacophony of keyboards a-clicking/pounding and think to myself: I am in hell.

I walk to my car. I open the door and I see from the corner of my eye something small run behind the car. I go and look but there's nothing there. I see something on the ground, a short line of black dots. I bend down to check closer... and almost fall backwards when I found out what they really are: shoe prints.

I hear it laugh the tiniest laugh I have ever heard. I turn and catch a glimpse of it climbing into the tailpipe. I peer into the tailpipe and could see the outline of the small man, just sitting there, laughing at me, taunting me. I quickly jump into the car, turn the ignition on and rev the engine. I keep kicking the pedal until I could barely see through the black smoke. I turn the engine off and hurry to the back of my car.

I hear it coughing and wheezing inside the tailpipe. The small man crawls out and falls to the ground. I pick him up and see a one-inch version of me dying in my palm.

I am in hell.