Y aunque no quise el regreso, siempre se vuelve al primer amor*



Yesterday, I saw Almodovar's new film "Volver". Penelope Cruz speaking in her mother tongue is so sexy and Almodovar's camerawork makes passionate love with every curve of Penelope's beautiful body in this film. The sensations I felt were all the more heightened as I sat in the very front row mesmerised with Penelope's perfect decolletage projected on the 30 foot widescreen. (I didn't plan on sitting on the very front. We arrived just in time to a packed cinema because Natalie thought we should have a fish and chips dinner, and garlic breath, at Posh Fish before watching the film.)

I can't seem to find major fault in Almodovar's fluid storytelling, the subdued colouring that further draws attention to Cruz (especially when she is made to wear red frocks), the superb ensemble acting, the fact that this is a Spanish film and easy to digest for a Flipinoy like me...etc...etc. It's so close to Pinoy melodrama, but a very very good one and it supressed some of my homesickness.

I've had some interesting life experiences after watching a Penelope Cruz film. After viewing "Woman on Top" with someone I just started going out with, we had our first french kiss under a moonlit sky. That led to a rocky on-off-on again 'relationship' until she eventually dumped me. We've each moved on and the only baggage I carry is that wonderful memory of a first kiss, egged no doubt by that Penelope Cruz movie.

In fact, "Woman on Top" will forever stay in my memory, as a movie title and as a descriptive phrase, as long as my neurons are firing because that was the position assumed when I finally consented to be deflowered by this other girl who I thought was 'the one' (hindi pala siya). On hindsight, I now regret losing my innocence and purity at such a young age. My parents will not get a good dowry even if some girl will look past my indiscretions and love and deliver me to the altar because I'm already tainted.

Fast forward to the present. After the film, Natalie and I lingered in Jericho for coffee and I was thisclose to another near-Penelope Cruz experience experience. This beautiful girl walks in and eye flirted with me for 1/4 of a second. I can't possibly describe how pretty she is but here is a picture of my friend Natalie. The girl who swept me off my feet was 1.15 times prettier. I was about to leave Natalie on her own to talk to this new apple of my eye except for the minor fact that new girl's apparent boy friend arrived. I sulked. "What does he have that I don't? We're equally fugly!". "He's either got a big dick or very rich" Natalie assured me. (Natalie is still single by the way and the only way to her heart is through offerings of food and wine sent my way. And don't believe that bollocks Natalie posted on her blog that it's not her picture. She's being immodest. Cheeky bitch.)

Maybe I need to see Volver again. My luck must have run out.

And now for Music Reviews: I visited the library and got some CDs for this week's soundtrack.



Happenstance by Rachael Yamagata is an album, released last year, that I never heard of until today but was quickly drawn to because of the pretty cover. She won me over quickly with her alto voce and edgy jazz piano playing. The best part is her honest songwriting that speaks to me. I'm in love with her already. Pota pare, parang hango sa buhay ko yung mga awit nya. I can feels it talaga.

Incidentally, Natalie and I were in agreement that with the shift to music downloads, this generation is starting to miss out on a big part of the album listening experience - the album sleeve! I won't blabber about this too much but anyone my age (or older) knows the overpowering joy you got from discovering that the album you bought came with an 18-panel sleeve containing song lyrics, band art, photos, and useless trivia. I'm frigging sure everyone had this fantasy that they would somehow be mentioned in those lengthy acknowledgments on the last panel. Norah Jones thanks Nash for the inspiration. 'I couldn't have done this album without your love and inspiration babe'....O biba? Mailalagay mo ba yan sa iTunes? Shet.



There were hushed murmurs of the resurrection of classic rock just before the release of Wolfmother's eponymous debut album. Just when I was admiring my fugly countenance on a mirror trying out a slick Ozwald Boateng suit I couldn't afford but tried on anyway (window shopping ngarud!) wondering what's the point of growing my hair long when shampoo prices were going up, these guys started playing on an iPod commercial. I froze. Could it be true? Were they for real?

And now that I the library has lent me a copy I can say: Damn! These guys are the shit! They actually walked the talk and justified the hype. It's Led Zep, AC/DC, Black Sabbath, Bowie, Pink Floyd, and 70s goodness rolled into one satisfying joint. Who would have thought that three colonials from Oz could come out of nowhere and release this year's best rock album? It's all killer no filler. And the best way to appreciate such a rare album is to play it on a boombox, ramp up the volume, and wake up the neighbours.

Don't you just hate it when you shell out hard earned money (made from selling those ginebra gin bottles you risked life and limb to collect fromt the foot of the kanto drunks) for an album to find out that there are only two good songs? The worst part is that the two good songs are separated by 10 crappy fillers and so the tape gets worn out from all the rewinding and fast forwarding. (I submit that downloading singles instead of whole albums has at least one advantage.)

I listened to the entire Wolfmother album in one go. When it was all over I lit one Cuban skinny cigar, took a puff, and poured myself a shot of tequila. They were that good.



I also borrowed Mkutano. Another Taj Mahal collaborative project, this time with Zanzibari musicians. There's a wicked reworking of the delta blues classic "Catfish Blues" with the oud and other traditional African instruments. Man, if I had the same finger dexterity as Taj Mahal, women wouldn't be needing sex toys.

*Though it was not what I wanted, first love makes one always come back again. From the Tango "Volver" by Alfredo Le Pera (trans: Coby Lubliner)

Y aunque no quise el regreso, siempre se vuelve al primer amor*



Yesterday, I saw Almodovar's new film "Volver". Penelope Cruz speaking in her mother tongue is so sexy and Almodovar's camerawork makes passionate love with every curve of Penelope's beautiful body in this film. The sensations I felt were all the more heightened as I sat in the very front row mesmerised with Penelope's perfect decolletage projected on the 30 foot widescreen. (I didn't plan on sitting on the very front. We arrived just in time to a packed cinema because Natalie thought we should have a fish and chips dinner, and garlic breath, at Posh Fish before watching the film.)

I can't seem to find major fault in Almodovar's fluid storytelling, the subdued colouring that further draws attention to Cruz (especially when she is made to wear red frocks), the superb ensemble acting, the fact that this is a Spanish film and easy to digest for a Flipinoy like me...etc...etc. It's so close to Pinoy melodrama, but a very very good one and it supressed some of my homesickness.

I've had some interesting life experiences after watching a Penelope Cruz film. After viewing "Woman on Top" with someone I just started going out with, we had our first french kiss under a moonlit sky. That led to a rocky on-off-on again 'relationship' until she eventually dumped me. We've each moved on and the only baggage I carry is that wonderful memory of a first kiss, egged no doubt by that Penelope Cruz movie.

In fact, "Woman on Top" will forever stay in my memory, as a movie title and as a descriptive phrase, as long as my neurons are firing because that was the position assumed when I finally consented to be deflowered by this other girl who I thought was 'the one' (hindi pala siya). On hindsight, I now regret losing my innocence and purity at such a young age. My parents will not get a good dowry even if some girl will look past my indiscretions and love and deliver me to the altar because I'm already tainted.

Fast forward to the present. After the film, Natalie and I lingered in Jericho for coffee and I was thisclose to another near-Penelope Cruz experience experience. This beautiful girl walks in and eye flirted with me for 1/4 of a second. I can't possibly describe how pretty she is but here is a picture of my friend Natalie. The girl who swept me off my feet was 1.15 times prettier. I was about to leave Natalie on her own to talk to this new apple of my eye except for the minor fact that new girl's apparent boy friend arrived. I sulked. "What does he have that I don't? We're equally fugly!". "He's either got a big dick or very rich" Natalie assured me. (Natalie is still single by the way and the only way to her heart is through offerings of food and wine sent my way. And don't believe that bollocks Natalie posted on her blog that it's not her picture. She's being immodest. Cheeky bitch.)

Maybe I need to see Volver again. My luck must have run out.

And now for Music Reviews: I visited the library and got some CDs for this week's soundtrack.



Happenstance by Rachael Yamagata is an album, released last year, that I never heard of until today but was quickly drawn to because of the pretty cover. She won me over quickly with her alto voce and edgy jazz piano playing. The best part is her honest songwriting that speaks to me. I'm in love with her already. Pota pare, parang hango sa buhay ko yung mga awit nya. I can feels it talaga.

Incidentally, Natalie and I were in agreement that with the shift to music downloads, this generation is starting to miss out on a big part of the album listening experience - the album sleeve! I won't blabber about this too much but anyone my age (or older) knows the overpowering joy you got from discovering that the album you bought came with an 18-panel sleeve containing song lyrics, band art, photos, and useless trivia. I'm frigging sure everyone had this fantasy that they would somehow be mentioned in those lengthy acknowledgments on the last panel. Norah Jones thanks Nash for the inspiration. 'I couldn't have done this album without your love and inspiration babe'....O biba? Mailalagay mo ba yan sa iTunes? Shet.



There were hushed murmurs of the resurrection of classic rock just before the release of Wolfmother's eponymous debut album. Just when I was admiring my fugly countenance on a mirror trying out a slick Ozwald Boateng suit I couldn't afford but tried on anyway (window shopping ngarud!) wondering what's the point of growing my hair long when shampoo prices were going up, these guys started playing on an iPod commercial. I froze. Could it be true? Were they for real?

And now that I the library has lent me a copy I can say: Damn! These guys are the shit! They actually walked the talk and justified the hype. It's Led Zep, AC/DC, Black Sabbath, Bowie, Pink Floyd, and 70s goodness rolled into one satisfying joint. Who would have thought that three colonials from Oz could come out of nowhere and release this year's best rock album? It's all killer no filler. And the best way to appreciate such a rare album is to play it on a boombox, ramp up the volume, and wake up the neighbours.

Don't you just hate it when you shell out hard earned money (made from selling those ginebra gin bottles you risked life and limb to collect fromt the foot of the kanto drunks) for an album to find out that there are only two good songs? The worst part is that the two good songs are separated by 10 crappy fillers and so the tape gets worn out from all the rewinding and fast forwarding. (I submit that downloading singles instead of whole albums has at least one advantage.)

I listened to the entire Wolfmother album in one go. When it was all over I lit one Cuban skinny cigar, took a puff, and poured myself a shot of tequila. They were that good.



I also borrowed Mkutano. Another Taj Mahal collaborative project, this time with Zanzibari musicians. There's a wicked reworking of the delta blues classic "Catfish Blues" with the oud and other traditional African instruments. Man, if I had the same finger dexterity as Taj Mahal, women wouldn't be needing sex toys.

*Though it was not what I wanted, first love makes one always come back again. From the Tango "Volver" by Alfredo Le Pera (trans: Coby Lubliner)

It Can Only Get Better.



1. I mislaid my phone for two hours and spent three hours looking for it. It's a jurassic Nokia 3310 (or something) and I'm not too worried about losing the phone per se. I'm one of the few who like to be disconnected sometimes. Often it takes me two days to reply to my own mother's text message. Yet, I need my contact list. (I should really make a safe copy.) It's got numbers of all my dope and arms dealers, my lawyers in 20 countries (to bail me out in case I get arrested, which is quite often), my fortune teller, the escort service agency, my ground spies in Malacañang who keep me updated, disgusted, and amused at the shenanigans they do in that palace of malevolence. (Is Gloria Arroyo still throwing cellphones at her staff when she loses her temper?)

When I finally found it, it was in the most public of all places. What a relief! I then took a moment of silence to say a little prayer to Bathala, thanking him/her that I am the only Filipino within a one-mile radius otherwise I'd have to go to Quaipo to buy back my own phone. Hay Salamat!

2. I won't rant about the continous rain Middle Earth has been having. I grew up in Baguio where it rains 400 days a year.

3. My visa expired yesterday.

4. Please spare me the loooooong details of your so-called sale 'shopping' trip to Gap! Buying mass-produced disposable clothes is about as exciting as buying skimmed milk from the grocery. There's nothing wrong with it but really it's nothing to crow about. Should I care that you bought a blue polo shirt that a hundred other unique individuals also chose from those racks and racks of clothes whose cotton was picked by underpaid, overworked, and maltreated children in Western China before being transported to Southeastern China to be sewn by underpaid, overworked, and maltreated children?

Knowing the ridiculous profit margins they make, you shouldn't even be buying Gap at full price anyway. At 'rock bottom' sale prices, they're still making money. I only go to Gap when everything's 95% discounted which reflects the real value of those items. (Which still provides more than enough to double the wages of those underpaid, overworked, and maltreated child labourers.) I go in and out discreetly. (Yes it's that shameful an experience.) 10 minutes tops.

Gap doesn't even serve you a complimentary glass of Chateau Margaux while you wait as the minimum-wager attendant packs your purchase in an oversized bag made of trees harvested from a third world rainforest. How can that be a 'shopping' experience.