One of my greatest regrets is wasting my childhood. While everyone else had a clear goal in life and was studying to be doctors and pop singers and the like, I was cooped up in my room watching Tattooed Teenage Alien Fighters From Beverly Hills.
Long ago in the radical ’90s, some goober had the brilliant idea to rip off Mighty Morphin’ Power Rangers, but for some reason decided to replace the dinosaur robot with gigantic Valley teens who fight in neon spandex. I can’t quite imagine the thought processes that went into this one. I imagine someone at the board meeting must have said something like, “You know what would make Power Rangers even cooler? Let’s have Richard Simmons’ backup dancers grow 500 feet tall and have them beat the shit out of aliens.” I’d hate to pick on this show for the same reason that it’s mean to make fun of disabled people. What I will point out, though, is that it has a severe lack of Amy Jo Johnson to have naughty fantasies about.
Talking about metamorphosis always brings me back to my days as a student at OB Montessori in Greenhills, where their favorite metaphor for a child’s personal development (which they shoehorned into the school logo at every opportunity) is that of a caterpillar pupating and turning into a butterfly. It was obvious and it was corny, but it was a metaphor that made sense. But then I always end up thinking: if every person undergoes through this development, why don’t I feel any different now than when I was still a frickin’ “caterpillar”? To me, the whole pupal stage in that metaphor is kind of like how “???” is the last step before PROFIT. I’m all like, did I miss something here?!
I decided back then that the best way to enter this magical developmental “pupal stage” was to take a near-literal approach. That is, I shut myself off from the outside world, cut all contact with my friends, and tried to cultivate a persona that was completely different from how people saw me as a kid. Years later, I showcased the “new” me to my friends after years of no contact… and they ended up treating me the same way as before. I was the same old awkward, humor-deprived kid who was always the butt of jokes because he took himself too seriously. I didn’t develop, and it was all because in my self-exile I failed to see myself from the perspective of other people. I also had no idea how the people around me were developing as individuals compared to myself. While friends of mine were already on their way to becoming doctors and bank managers and internationally acclaimed singers, I’m still struggling as a multimedia designer and comic book artist to this very day.
But then I realized something. There’s no magical cocoon in life wherein you can just shut yourself off for a time and come out a beautiful butterfly! (This metaphor is starting to make us all gag, I’m sure, but just stick with me a little longer.) In fact, us regular folks should compare our lives to that of the cockroach’s life cycle.
You heard me!
Unlike butterflies, which have distinct stages in life, a young cockroach (called a nymph) looks essentially the same as an adult roach. The difference is that adult roaches are bigger and dirtier, but more difficult to kill. They soldier on with their lives despite being loathed by everyone else and having to go through an endless gauntlet of bug spray and shoes. At the end of the day, they might be missing a few limbs, but they’re pretty much immune to bug spray and nuclear fallout. In other words, as a roach, you’re still essentially the same exact creature that you were before, except stronger. People will think less of you, but that’s just part of the process. Granted, some people do go through the whole butterfly thing, but they’re the lucky ones. Gotta make do with what you got, after all.
So in this, 2012, the year in metamorphosis, let’s expect to go through a few more cans of Raid before we reach the end. I know I will (maybe with some Baygon mixed in). I already gave you your first challenge by bombarding you with horrible metaphors. Let’s do this thing!
While I’m not a fan of the stress and the cold weather and the awkward greetings from strangers that the holiday season brings, I do love me some Christmas tunes. They’re the one thing I enjoy about Christmas nowadays, because Lord knows it ain’t peace and good will. (If you happen to know where I can find those, please let me know. Seriously.) But anyway! Christmas songs. Love ‘em. I’ll list my favorites below and try to embed YouTube videos to go with ‘em. Feel free to listen to them and read my thoughts on each one. Or don’t, you meanies! Either way, here they are, in no particular order:
“Sleigh Ride”: Apparently this thing wasn’t even written as a Christmas song, but whatever. When I was a kid growing up in the tropics, this made me imagine one of those postcard-perfect Christmas family scenes where the kids jump out of bed on Christmas morning while still in their jammies, run up to the window to see the snow falling outside and go “wow”, and then huddle around the Christmas tree to unwrap their presents. Now that I’m a grown man living in Canada, I go “Tsk!” whenever I see snow outside my window, and I don’t even receive so much as a fruitcake anymore. Either way, this song still gives me the warm fuzzies inside. My favorite version is by the Boston Pops Orchestra with John Williams. Harry Connick Jr. works too.
“Carol of the Bells”: This carol was apparently based off a Ukrainian folk song called “Shchedryk”. People always say this song gives them images of a serial killer dressed up as Santa… not that I can blame them. Me, I think of the version from Home Alone composed by John Williams. It’s the perfect music for Christmas-themed movies whenever you want to build up to the climax. Speaking of Home Alone, it is, to nobody’s surprise, one of my favorite holiday movies (another one being Jingle All The Way… so sue me).
The Home Alone Theme: It’s very easy to associate John Williams with Christmas because he composes all the memorable holiday tunes (most of them, naturally, from Home Alone), not to mention that the guy looks like Santa Claus. On a related note, I always thought Short Round’s theme from Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom and Hedwig’s theme from the Harry Potter movies (both also by Williams) sounded Christmassy.
“Heto Na Naman”: I love Ryan Cayabyab’s compositions, especially the a cappella ones, and this one is no exception. I wish they’d sing this at Filipino Christmas mass, but unfortunately most choir members are middle-aged women with less vocal range than a broken kazoo and less harmony than drunks at a karaoke bar. (I know they mean well, but come on. That’s no excuse for not trying!)
“Kumukutikutitap”: Another composition by Cayabyab (if I’m not mistaken), but the most well-known version is by Joey Albert, who now lives here in Vancouver. I like both versions just fine. The title translates to “sparkling”. If memory serves me correctly, they used this song as a toothpaste ad jingle back in the ’90s. Makes sense to me, except for the ironic fact that the song also sings about candy.
“O Holy Night”: This is the solemn Christmas song of choice. Very moving when sung properly by a children’s choir, but again, unfortunately we get the, uh… less impressive version, courtesy of our well-meaning local choir. (I want to say “tormented souls screaming in agony”, but that’s just mean.) Again, my favorite version is from Home Alone.
“Happy Xmas (War Is Over)”: Sure, it’s a preachy song made by hippies for hippies, but it’s got that depressing sound to it that I really like listening to for some reason. For all its preachiness, it does have a very relevant message. It’s the song of choice for Catholic charities whenever they display starving African children on television. Make of that what you will.
And there you have it. If you work holidays at the mall, you’re probably sick of most of these songs being played on an endless loop on the PA. Sucks to be you. Anyway, ciao for now. Gotta batten down the hatches if we’re to survive another round of the holidays!
I just came across this article about kids dressing up as saints for Halloween at the urging of the local parish. It’s a good way for kids to learn about the lives of Catholic saints, the church explains. OK, that’s cool. It’s a clever way of teaching children about the faith, right?
But ohhh no, it doesn’t stop there. The good ol’ Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines (CBCP) had to chime in with their little tirade of how dressing up as monsters and witches is a deplorable Western practice of capitalizing on and glorifying “icons of evil”. Accuse me of putting words into the CBCP’s yapper all you like, but that sounds like they just called Westerners a bunch of devil worshipers. Oh CBCP, you smug rapscallions! We can always count on your self-righteousness to turn the most harmless of holidays into caustic political discourse.
But rather than dwell on how the CBCP likes to shepherd the populace by keeping them in the Stone Age, that got me thinking on how Catholic saints can actually make for cool Halloween costumes. Seriously. If you read up on saints, you learn that these people actually had very interesting lives… and more often than not, even more interesting deaths. Here’s a list of saint-themed costume ideas!
St. Lucia was being courted by a pagan suitor, who remarked that she had beautiful eyes. Refusing to marry a nonbeliever, she gouged her eyes out and served them to him on a platter. Later versions of the story made the pagan suitor out to be a jerkbag, just to drive home the point that pagans are no-goodniks. Either way, it makes for a costume that’s scarier than any toilet-paper mummy out there.
St. Jeanne d’Arc. What cooler role model for young ladies is there than a courageous woman who dressed up as a warrior to fight for her people? Though if you want to keep it grotesque, maybe dress up as her after the stake-burning…
We also have a plethora of saints who died by beheading. You got St. John the Baptist, St. Firmin, and many more. Basically just modify your Headless Horseman costume a bit, et voilà! Instant saint.
If your kid dresses up as St. Nicholas, you can even reuse the costume for Christmas. Savings galore!
My brother and I attended the Distant Worlds~Music from Final Fantasy concert in downtown Vancouver a couple of weeks ago. Needless to say, it was awesome. Not only did we get to hear some of our childhood favorites being performed by a live orchestra, we also got to see the master, Nobuo Uematsu, himself! I am so glad I splurged a little extra to get good orchestra seats. If that didn’t sound exciting to you, then you, sir, are a Philistine.
Probably the most memorable part of the evening was when the orchestra played the all-around Final Fantasy VII favorite “One-Winged Angel” for the finale, but with a little twist: instead of the usual choir singing Latin vocals, the conductor Arnie Roth had the audience sing to the lyrics projected onscreen instead! Needless to say, the song was pretty much butchered (see the video below), but it was great fun nonetheless. Uematsu himself was stirring up the audience, but everyone really started to get into it at the part without the lyrics (at the 2:10″ mark on the video). (Of course, being the big nerd that I am, I didn’t even need to look at the screen to sing along. So sue me!)
Other highlights of the concert:
“Aria di Mezzo Carattere” from Final Fantasy VI–with three opera singers playing Maria, Draco, and Draco’s rival. Unfortunately, it did not end with Maria getting kidnapped or with a giant octopus trying to drop an anvil from up the rafters.
“Vamo’ Alla Flamenco” from Final Fantasy IX–the guy doing the guitar solo must have traded hands with the Robot Devil from Futurama, because the skill with which he plucked the strings was inhuman. Now that’s flamenco!
“Dark World” from Final Fantasy VI–apparently a more recent addition to the setlist. Arnie Roth himself joins in to play the melancholy main melody with a violin solo (it’s normally done on piano). Uematsu himself joins in to play the church organ portion, except for some reason, he uses a baseball organ instead. This initially drew giggles from the younger crowd (little Philistines!), but the overall harmony was just as haunting as the original. The orchestra provides the ambient sound replicating the cold winds from the desolate wasteland where this theme was played.
“Blinded By Light” from Final Fantasy XIII–the only piece from the setlist composed by my other favorite composer, Masashi Hamauzu! Glad to see they’re showing some love for his talent. Dumber fans knock him off just because he took over Uematsu’s usual post for FFXIII, but smart fans like me know better. That’s right–Hamauzu haters are Philistines. Philistines, I say!
And of course, “Aerith’s Theme” from Final Fantasy VII–my all-time favorite Final Fantasy character theme, and the reason I attended this concert in the first place. Brings a tear to my eye every time! *sniff*
This happened to me last night. It’s a true story.
It was completely pitch black, save for the lone spotlight illuminating the stage. I chose a seat on the far end of the theater. I had hoped that picking the worst seat in the house would obscure my view of the play. After all, it was a play I’ve seen countless times before.
Everyone in the theater–every actor, every stagehand, every person sitting in the audience–was someone I knew. They would probably understand why I wasn’t interested.
But even in the complete darkness of the theater, I could clearly see the look on everyone’s faces. It’s as if they were impatiently waiting for something to happen. And for some reason, they were all looking at me.
“Dude, they’re waiting for you to get up onstage,” the girl next to me said. It was a girl I haven’t seen in ten years.
“You’re the famous award-winning songstress here, not me!” I replied. “Shouldn’t you be the one going up onstage?”
“They’re looking for a male lead,” she pointed out.
“Uh, no they aren’t.” Each of the actresses already had their very own male lead.
“Or maybe you just need a leading lady.”
“Maybe I just don’t want to go up there.”
I knew that the audience enjoyed seeing me squirm onstage. Every time I watch Top Chef or any of those game shows with that jerk Willie Revillame, I always inadvertently imagine myself in the place of those poor contestants. And every time I get up onstage–on that specific stage, no less–I feel like I’m being grilled awkwardly by those game show hosts. Except now, I had a bunch of sadists watching me perform live. And these were all people I knew, no less.
“Well, do you want me to go with you?”
I looked up at her. I was stunned, of course. It was what I always wanted to hear, but not what I expected from someone I hadn’t seen in ten years. “Seriously? Are you kidding? Well, I–okay, sure. All right. Yeah, fine. I’d like that. I’d love it. I want you to be my leading lady.”
She smiled at me, and held my hand. We walked towards the stage, and everyone cheered.
And then I woke up.
I cursed myself for having such a sappy dream, and wrote about it on my blog to get it out of my system.
Anybody remember that cheesy ’70s B-movie horror film, Food of the Gods? I vaguely recall watching this clunker when I was three years old, causing me to develop an irrational fear of rats and mice. (Strangely enough, I didn’t develop a phobia of giant chickens. Guess that scene was too stupid even for little kids.) In fact, during the great Luzon Earthquake of 1990, I ran crying to my mother thinking that a giant rat found its way under my bed and started violently shaking it. Hey, cut me some slack–I was five years old and it was my first earthquake, after all.
The increasing instances of me randomly running into long-forgotten childhood crap online is starting to make me wonder about my browsing habits.
And here I thought M.A.N.T.I.S. was a random blast from the past.
Part cartoon, part claymation, Mr. Bogus was one of those Saturday morning cartoons I used to watch as a wee laddie. There was nothing particularly memorable about it, which is why it’s been festering in the deepest recesses of my memory for two decades. As in literally twenty years of not even remembering that it ever existed, then BAM! There it is again, theme song and all. I reckon the real reason I wasn’t very good at math was because memories of Mr. Bogus occupied a good chunk of my brain. Sheesh.
Welp, that’s it for now. I gotta deal with some problems regarding my university application, among other unsavory tasks. If there’s one thing I’m not nostalgic for, it’s having to deal with all this red tape to get my schooling. Grrr! Remember to sniff me out on Facebook, Google-bots. Bye for now!
Now that I’ve finally landed a job as a professional graphic designer, I’m actually doing work I know I’m halfway competent at! Compare that to my days as a tech support guy where I instructed customers to connect wires and stuff and pray that they don’t electrocute themselves. That said, I’ve been busier than I’ve ever been in my entire life, so much so that it leaves me little time for self-indulgent things like blogging. And porn. (If you’re too busy for porn, you know you’re too busy for anything.)
What I never get tired of indulging in, though, is a bit of nostalgia. (I know, I know. 26 years old and I’m already acting like I’m 70.) Sometimes I dig a little too deep into the ol’ memory well, and I end up remembering something like M.A.N.T.I.S.
Dig the concept: successful Afro-American industrialist becomes paraplegic, constructs sweet-ass cyborg exoskeleton, fights crime. It’s as focus-tested for political correctness as it gets–and yet it’s mind-blowingly brilliant. I bet if they made this for a more modern audience he’d also be Jewish, half-Asian, and possibly gay. And maybe he’ll be doing a crossover with Hulk Hogan’s character from Thunder In Paradise. Awesome.
I have to admit, I completely forgot about this show until I ran across it again online recently. It’s one of those shows that could have been memorable but instead ended up with the main character getting killed in the last episode. By an invisible dinosaur, no less. (Either they were completely out of budget at that point, or they were trippin’ some serious balls. In any case, I think my brain just imploded.)
Right then. Time to hit the ol’ dusty trail! Google-bots desperate for a little more zemzelett can find me lurking around Facebook. Ciao, bella!
