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.

(photo credit)

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.

My Weekend in Pictures

Last weekend, I was in Bantayan Island, a paradise.

Notebook, pen, iPod, and sunblock. The ingredients to a perfect beach weekend.

Bonfire of the Vanities

Diet be gone! (photo credit: Gil Antecristo)

Power Rangers circa 2011 (photo credit: Gil Antecristo)

Of white sand and coconut trees (photo credit: Gil Antecristo)

Beach babes. (photo credit: Gil Antecristo)

The dusk and the goddess (photo credits: Dim Tesiorna)

More photos soon. Paging Dim Tesiorna. :)

My Imaginary Conversation With a Non-Entity

My profuse apologies to the loyal readers of my blog which has now reached a count of 4 people. I know that you needed your goddess fix 3 times a week but I have not been updating for reasons I'm gonna explain below. Just this weekend, I was plagued with the most mortal of conundrums.

I got sick.

I don't get sick a lot. Germs would be lucky if they get into my system twice a year. But when I do get sick it's a big deal because germs come in full force. I get fever, chills, diarrhea, vomiting, the works, all in one setting. If disease were a festival, mine would be the Carnival at Rio. However, I am not the type of person who lets microscopic life forms get in the way of life. When I woke up on Saturday, my stomach felt funny but I went on with my tennis lessons anyway. It got progressively worse that by lunch time, even if I was really hungry, I couldn't eat anything because I felt like throwing up. I went home and had a major case of diarrhea. I took some medication then I slept and woke up at 3pm because I was going to have a coffee date with Janica. But I suddenly realized that I was running a fever and my stomach upset worsened. The more sensible of you might say stay in bed and get some more rest. You must understand, I do not see this person a lot. So when we set a date, it's written in stone. I just had to go. So I got up, vomit my intestines out and went. It's funny how vomiting can help you feel better because when I met Janica at the mall, there was no indication of the civil war being waged inside my body.

We blew our cash on overpriced coffee and stared out at the newly-opened hotel building across the street. I had the best toffee-chocolate cake ever. Then we stared out at the new hotel some more. But I left the mall feeling like I just had the most interesting conversation ever. Friendship is a funny thing.

photo courtesy: Janica

Her (taken with my phone's cam)

When I got back to the dorm at around 7pm, I was sick again. I took my meds and slept. After another 2 hours, I woke up and threw up. My vomit tasted of the cake that I had earlier that I was tempted to swallow it back up. I remembered that I had not eaten anything the whole day except for the cake which now lies in that black hole where crap goes after they are flushed out of the john. So I ate a little then I asked my cousin to rub my back which was aching like it's going to burst open.

I tried to have a conversation with my tormentors.
Me (channeling Gollum): Leave now and never come back! Leave now and never come back!
Germs: Sorry, vacation's not yet over.
Me (threatening mode): If you don't leave, I'll make sure that you are coming with me to the grave.
Germs: Nyahahahaha. Are we supposed to be scared now?

Damn parasite! They are not getting out without a fight. But I still wanted to give it another shot.

Me(bargaining mode): If you leave now and torture somebody else, I'll stop taking the meds, thereby increasing your chances of actually getting out of my body alive. I'll go back to being healthy and you can go on being a parasite. Everyone happy except the next host.

I fell asleep before the germ could formulate a witty reply. I woke up on Sunday still feeling feverish. Apparently, the germs are a slow bunch and have not yet made up their minds whether to accept my generous offer. Or maybe I'm the one who was dense and didn't get that the unwelcome tenants had rejected my offer. Be that as it may, I made sure the the delay or rejection on their part would cost them dearly. I took more meds. Die, you filthy animals! Die!

I went to my tennis lessons again but this time I made sure not to over exert myself. Like I said, I am not the type of person to let disease get in the way. I would never let them germs have that kind of power. Besides, no one in their deathbed ever said that they wish they had taken more bed rest.

To be human is to suffer and to deal with life forms which are so useless they can only survive by living off of other life forms. As if dealing with everyday life is not enough of a challenge, you have to fight creatures which you cannot see. What are our chances of winning?

Mortality, "thou art a heartless bitch".

My Weekend in Pictures

Tennis practice with Vida for 2 days straight. Muscle pains highly anticipated.

My lousy footwork and bad backhand stroke.

Lunch at the Blue Elephant after day 1.

Lunch at Golden City Dimsum after day 2.

With my wrists hurting, I decided to get a nail job, another excuse not to do laundry this week.

Forgive me, food is always the highlight of my weekend.

The Weekend Without Pictures

What a boring weekend it has been. We were supposed to go to Apo Island on Sunday but it got postponed at the last minute so I was left without a plan. I decided to go to the mall to splurge the budget I allotted for the trip on Christmas gifts for the people on my gift list. Yes, as early as now, I'm already doing my Christmas shopping so that I do not have to blow my entire Christmas bonus on gifts. So I went out. And out was like the aftermath of the apocalypse minus the debris and filth that it usually comes with in the movies.

It was the Sunday that Manny Pacquiao was scheduled to fight whatshisname Margarito. A Mexican. Another one who, I was sure, will be added to the long list of Mexican casualties that Manny was responsible for. But to be honest, I'm not comfortable watching a Manny Pacquiao fight unless I already knew that he'd won. I avoided watching the live telecasts as much as possible. It's not that I have no faith in Manny's ability to win his fights. Obviously, his record speaks for itself. It's a superstition I have. I'm afraid that if I watch his bout live, the cosmos will play a cruel joke on me and make him lose. I know, it doesn't make any sense. First of all, I am not superstitious. Second of all, I am an insignificant person, just one out of the billions in this world. Why would the universe single me out for punishment? Third of all, there are millions of people all over the world watching Manny's fight. Heck, there could be creatures from the outer space watching Manny's fight. Why would he lose because I was watching? It makes no sense whatsoever but I am crazy that way.

Of course, as expected, Manny won. He is not one to disappoint. He beat the living crap out of Margarito who looked like he just came out of  a major facial surgery gone horribly wrong. Manny, on the other hand, looked like he could still shoot a movie afterwards, as Janica put it. Or appear on a congress hearing. Or sing on his concert. Or guest on Oprah. Ah, the many facets of Manny Pacquiao. If that is not genius then that's an over-abundance of chutzpah, which is not a bad thing. Filipinos everywhere were proud to be Filipinos. Crime rate almost zero. No traffic. Ceasefire between the military and the rebels. It's almost unbelievable.

The pride of the Philippines. A real modern day hero. I'm so proud of him because I'm Filipino and he is Filipino. Him winning is like giving a finger to everyone in the First World. I remembered another Pacquiao fight which I watched live in the Waterfront because my then boyfriend was a fan and was adamant about watching him live on a big screen. It was against Hatton. I was so afraid he would lose. Hatton was bigger and it was Manny's first fight in that weight division. A lot of people were saying that he needed to get lucky in order to win.Needless to say, the Waterfront was swarming with people. Nobody could hear the commentators on screen because of all the cheering. But it was great. It was communal experience at it's best. And when Manny knocked Hatton out, I wanted to shout, "Take that, you white ape! You arrogant piece of tae from a rich country!" I was ecstatic. But at the same time, I was bewildered. "That's it? That's all Hatton got? He got knocked down on the second round? How can that be? The odds were against Manny. Everyone had been forecasting a difficult fight for Manny. Nobody ever dreamed of a second round knock out. Did Hatton really prepare for the fight or did he think that he didn't need to because he can take on the Pacman easily? This is an insult!" I was indignant. I was probably more insulted than Manny was. I was frothing at the mouth with indignation while the whole Philippines was jumping up and down and never been happier to be Filipino. Which is not to say that Manny won because he is Filipino. Noooo. He won because he is Manny Pacquiao. If he were Italian he'd still beat the living daylights out of his opponents because... he is Manny Pacquiao. Being a Filipino has got nothing to do with it. His victories were brought about by his determination, his perseverance and his intelligence inside the ring. He may claim his victory to be the victory of every Filipino and we Filipinos may claim his victory to be ours. But the truth is, his victory is his alone. We are but a witness to his greatness and legacy. There are about 90 million other Filipinos. If he won because of his citizenship, why is there no one else like Manny Pacquiao? Or Charice Pempengco for that matter?

So this in not entirely a weekend without pictures because in closing, I would like to  post this picture of the champ:

photo credit

Let that face be warning enough. I pity all those Mexicans who fought and will fight him. They were all a bunch of pretty looking boys. The difference in the level of gorgeousness is like heaven and hell. Mexicans, heaven. Manny, hell. But at the end of every fight they always end up looking worse than Manny. Tsk, tsk, tsk. You Mexican boys never learn.

My Weekend in Pictures

Another grueling tennis practice session with Vida.

Second-hand book shopping. Another check on my 6-month goals list.

I could stay here forever. I love the smell of the store. It smells like good old paper.

Some of my purchases. It will go on top of my Bara-dur

I also bought a bunch of travel books. I hope I could set foot on these places for real and put the books into good use.

Chicken and Krushers with my dear friend, Nila.

My Weekend in Pictures

A whole afternoon with nacho chips and tomato salsa dip. Yum!

Finished my book. Yey!

Coffee ice cream, music, pen and paper on a rainy night.

My all-time favorite: double cheeseburger, fries and Coke float.

A Black Hole Made Out of Fabric

In the darkest corner of my side of the room lies the horror that I have, for two weeks, ignored.

My laundry.

However, last night, I was forced to face its existence lest the growing mountain of dirty clothing would grow even  more in mass and density and completely take over the entire room, leaving my roommate and I to sleep outside with the rats.

Now, if there is one thing I hate with a passion, it is doing chores. It had been the subject of two decades of argument between me and my mother, who is a domestic diva if there ever was one. She has this old-fashioned notion that women should be good at housework and, for the life of me, I could never do anything to her satisfaction. Fortunately for both of us, I grew old enough to move out and, thus, ended what I thought would be a lifelong dispute between my mother, the domestic diva from hell, and me, the lousy homemaker from hell herself. Nowadays, whenever I went back home, there were always more important things to catch up on other than household chores.

Of course, living an independent single-girl-in-the-city lifestyle has forced me to deal with housework more frequently than I'm comfortable with. But, at least, I do not have to accomplish it according to the high standards of my mother. I have been doing housework on my own for 4 years now but I'm sure that if any of my recent chores were to be scrutinized by her, they would fail miserably. Luckily, I am among comrades who share the same predicament. So over gigantic basins full of soap suds, we share stories, gossips, and, more importantly, laundry tips that would get us through our ordeal, albeit temporarily.

Because the truth is, we will never get through it. As long as we live, there will always be that pile of laundry to wash. It is what it is. A perennial item on everyone's to-do list.