The Comedy of Errors

There are some people who are just naturally funny, they don't even have to try. Every single thing that comes out of their mouths is effing hilarious. And even if they're not saying something funny, how they say things is enough to drive you hysterical with laughter.

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Unfortunately, Vic Sotto is not one of them. The saddest part is, in all his years in show business, none of his friends and collegues were able to point this out to him. All throughout his career, he delivered the same shtick that passes for comedy in his vocabulary. He has never even tried to reinvent himself or tried his hand on another genre. Maybe, if he'd tried drama, I'd see some redeeming qualities. Surely, his face is more suited for drama. Maybe that's one of his problems: he doesn't look funny. He always looked as if somebody died on him. He can't sing, he can't dance and he can't make anyone laugh to save his life. And coming from someone who laughs at the corniest jokes, that's saying something. Just to prove to you how easy it is to make me laugh, I even find John Lloyd Cruz's commercials funny. And I am not a John Lloyd fan.

I am pretty sure there are other people out there who had the temerity to call themselves comedians unjustly. I can only name Vic for now because he keeps on popping up on these TV commercials, which by all indication could be done with the same conviction by Vic Sotto circa 1980's. The only difference is that now he is much older, ergo less appealing, less forgivable and even less convincing. I'm sure it is not all Vic Sotto's fault. But his is the only visible face to place the blame on.

So why are companies still paying Vic Sotto big bucks to star in their films and endorse their products? I have no idea. Charisma? But I don't see it. Vic Sotto is probably laughing at us from the comforts of his million-peso mansion. Suckers!

P.S. I swear, this Julienne girl was in every single production number of Party Pilipinas last Sunday. What? They've ran out of reliable talents?

P.S.S. It must be difficult to perform on TV where people with nothing better to do like me can scrutinize the performer. There was this girl who was playing lead vocals for a local band, who's microphone went from one hand to another every after 3 seconds. How annoying.

P.S.S.S. I feel bad for Sam Pinto who's talent is limited to looking pretty. She was in one number where all she had to do was strut around the stage, walk over to the guy who was singing and touch him. Repeat 20 times to cover all the other male singers in that particular number. Apparently being the number 1 sexiest in 2011 will not save you from having to look ridiculous on national TV.

P.S.S.S.S. I have ran out of reading materials and after the mugging incident, I am left broke from now until the foreseeable future. So I'm watching more TV than I should. Please forgive me.

The Night of the Living Dead

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If there was one incident that would prompt me to blog again, it was what happened to me a week ago.

I got mugged.

I was on the ground. He had a gun. The worst part is I'm 5 months pregnant.

But apparently that doesn't matter because it happened. It's not the kind of thing that you imagined would happen to you. I mean, I've always been vigilant. There were times when I thought about it happening to me and the scenario always ended with me getting killed because my reflex would be to fight back. Of course, when I really think about it, it doesn't make sense to risk my life to protect trivial belongings. They can always be replaced anyway.

But during the moment of truth, things don't really go the way you imagined they would when you were still making them up on your mind. I was not prepared in the least. I was crossing the street. The light turned green. Suddenly, 2 guys in a motorcycle stopped by me and one of them got off. I did try to run even when he already got to me but he was too strong and too fast. He ran after me, caught my bag and yanked really hard. That's how I ended up laying on the ground. Then I saw the gun. Everything was a blur after that. He managed to pull my bag and they drove away. I got up. Witnesses and concerned citizens flocked around me as if I were a freak show, which is not to say that I did not appreciate their concern, because I did. There was one guy who was a few feet away from me when it happened but he ran away when he saw the gun. He was profusely sorry. He even went as far as giving me P20 so that I could get home because I have not got a cent in me. I was his charity case. If I weren't so worried about my baby I would have laughed so loud, they'd think I hit my head on the pavement and gone crazy. I called my office mate from the convenient store across the street so that I will have someone who will go with me to the police station to file a report. I could not describe any of the two men to save my life. But I just felt like I needed to do something. I did not delude myself into thinking that I'd get any of my stuff back; my pens, my IDs, my notebooks, even my journal wherein I had documented my now non-existent sex life. But it will not do me any good to dwell on what I have lost.

It was a long night. I went to work the next morning as if nothing happened except that I didn't have any make up on because  my vanity kit was in that bag. The office mates who went with me to the police station were not yet around so I was the one who had to break the news to those of them who were present. They could not believe it. Apparently, a pregnant woman being mugged is unheard of, shocking and offensive to the sensibilities of the righteous. I had to show them the humongous bruise on my knee to convince them that I was not kidding, as if I would ever joke about a thing like that. I do have a track record of shocking the bejesus out of friends and office mates. Like the time I told them that I was pregnant. I had to pull out my ultrasound report just so that they would believe me, and even then they were still incredulous.

I found it hard to sleep the following nights. I kept thinking that I have died that night and I was just imagining that I was still alive and people were still talking to me. When I'm on my bed at night, I keep reliving the events. Only this time I'm more of like an omniscient spectator. Like I'm standing a few feet from myself and I can see everything that is happening but they can't see me. I can't even remember how I felt. Everyone I know had his piece to say about the incident. Some were angry, some were scared, some were concerned and frothing at the mouth. They told me that I should not be alone at night again, that I should not ride a jeepney at night, that I should not have a substantial amount with me on my bag, that I should transfer to a safer neighborhood. And I could not agree more. But then again, if I learned anything from watching too many episodes of Criminal Minds, it's the fact that there is no safe place. You can be attacked in your own house. And you are always alone, even if you are in a crowd. But I cannot let that fear stop me from living my life. If I did then I would have completely lost. Not only had they stolen my stuff, but, by being afraid, they would have taken my freedom as well. And that is something that I cannot allow. To fear is to suffer. To fear is to surrender.

I got attacked and I lived to tell the tale. My unborn kid and I are survivors and all we got was a five-second local news TV coverage as souvenir. The cosmos has a twisted sense of humor. But "what does not kill me will make  me stronger."