an insight on outlook.
Taking the Metro Rail Transit (MRT) along EDSA has always been one of my least favorite activities. It falls somewhere between slamming my shin on a metal edge and attending socialite events. (The latter being the top one.) I don’t like it because you climb a stairwell composed of a thousand steps while weaving in and out of throngs of people. You stand around in line and watch the passengers fumble with their magnetized tickets. After standing around some more, you fumble with your own ticket then focus on boxing out half of Manila’s population. You run the last stretch and make it just as the door shuts. Ten minutes later you realize you are on the wrong train, a hundred kilometers off course.
Get me on a cushioned window seat in a bus any day. In my humble opinion, settling into the void of slow moving traffic and getting lost in the view beats ten elbows jostling your face anytime. I’ve always been the type to rough it, but here is where my spirit folds. The force of the MRT is just too strong.
Imagine my horror when one unassuming day I was cornered. I had promised to meet a long-time buddy at 7.30 pm, and having dillied and dallied after work knew it would be too late for a trip by land. Makati to Ortigas in one hour at that hour was a paradox.
It was, clearly, to the torture chambers for me.
And torture it was, for after endlessly waiting in a line that had looped all over the station, I discover that it wasn’t the line for tickets. It was for those who already had tickets and were waiting for their turn to swipe them and get in. The line to purchase tickets was right over there, looping away in its own direction.
Amidst the blur of heads, I see an old European cut in the ticket swiping line. He was met with awkward resistance, but eventually allowed through. To my left, an American family stood gaping at the crowd, obviously debating whether or not they should plunge in. I would correctly guess they wouldn’t.
I then watch my fellow Pinoys in front of me, resilient in their place, moving forward without complain.
I decide not to turn into a rabid, frothing beast.
I very calmly step out of the wrong line and plant myself in the correct one. When the man in front of me spends ages trying to remember where he wanted to go, I think of something else. When I was swept like a leaf towards the platform after swiping my card, I hummed a tune. When a lady inside the train crushes my left toe with her giant clogs, I smile and offer her the right one. Before I knew it the next stop was Ortigas. And it was only 7.15 pm.
They say that one of the best traits of a Filipino is patience. Slowly and quietly—and a lot of times humorously— all the way to their goal.
I no longer detest the MRT as much. Besides, I’ve discovered the top view could be just as mesmerizing.
Sound Tracked
In this season of cheer and many Ho's, allow me to tender a topic of no relation.
Far from an attempt at technical wizardry, this is as lay as laymen could get.
I was plugging my slightly new Astone Rumba 2000 MP3 (1/8th the price of an ipod, going on 200 songs, let’s see how far this baby can take me) into one of them cavities at the back of my CPU when for a moment I am amazed.
The icons emerge onscreen, file transfer ensues with a rotation of the wrist, the whole thing takes all of three minutes.
And just like that, I’ve got Elvis, Grover Washington Jr, and Tito, Vic and Joey all mingling in my Astone Rumba like the best of friends.
Could compiling the soundtrack of your life be any easier?
I remember crouching by our giant gray radio back in the early 90’s, an old cassette stuffed in the deck, awaiting the exact moment Michael Bolton’s “Lean On Me” would air. The very second our ears picked up its rousing intro either my twin or I would pounce on the play and record buttons, wait for the song to end, hit stop, then silently congratulate ourselves for our cat-like reflexes.
Upon filling a tape with said classics, we would proceed with the next volume in our Wee Sing Silly Songs cassette collection, jam the holes on top with paper, and religiously await the next hit.
By the early 2000’s nobody would be caught dead with a cassette tape. (No one except me— I regularly raid cassette sales and once scored Tori Amos’ Under the Pink for twenty pesos. Ha!)
The buzz word by then was CD compilations. You buy the year’s hottest tracks, grouped according to your music preference, and you get everything in one shiny disc—sometimes two (but that would mean having to pay double). The Contagion contained staple alternatives like Gin Blossoms and Candlebox. The Hitlist had the Braxtons and Will Smiths. Hemisphere, Stratosphere and Troposphere were a three-part venture in trance. Sure, our Michael Bolton tapes were free and legal, but these cds, wow. For less than half the price of an original disc you could actually listen to a whole song without the d.j. cutting in.
Of course compilations meant you had to deal with a bunch of unwanted songs, so it wasn’t perfect. So when suddenly you could list all the songs you wanted and have a computer shop burn them in a single disc, I thought no way could it get better than this.
Five years later and here I am sitting on my desk, thinking if it really did.
Again, I double click on my MP3 folder and try hard to comprehend how on earth a teeny little icon could contain all eight trembling minutes of a Jimi Hendrix journey, the inclines of a Janis Joplin dirge. I am amazed at how Lennon’s soul and flow be so easily dragged from one plain-looking folder to another, from one remote portal to the next.
As if to inflict further irony, I’ve recently developed an addiction to the oldies. My present play list is filled with tracks from when I wasn’t even born yet—Bobby Vinton, Hollies, the King—back when records were records, and more so now than ever, back when music just seemed more real.
To put matters of intangible beauty into words is one risky venture. There is the hazard of incompetent adjectives, the complete reduction of a blazing rainbow into linear bricks of black and white. There is either exaggeration or injustice. And then the corny resort to clichés. You and I will both find: there is no simple way of translating wonderful truth into words.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the globe......
karla vizcarra: but ...that's what he saaaaaid
karla vizcarra: you mean ..not everything he says are TRUTHS?
Oliver Mendoza: he LIES!!!!
karla vizcarra: eeeeeK
Oliver Mendoza: his REAL name is Deepvort Phavramishan....Johnny to his friends
karla vizcarra: nooooooooooooooo....
Oliver Mendoza: and he has been livinga LIE for fifteen years
karla vizcarra: Deepvort?
Oliver Mendoza: .....witness protection program gave him a new name, a new face
Oliver Mendoza: EVEN the ability to speak tagalog
karla vizcarra: what!
Oliver Mendoza: it's crazy, i know
karla vizcarra: whatever may this Deepvort be running away so scared from???
Oliver Mendoza: whatever it is, it's too terrible for him to talk about.....
Oliver Mendoza: even THINK about
Oliver Mendoza: watch
Oliver Mendoza: just call him by his real name
Oliver Mendoza: and watch him freeze up
Oliver Mendoza: and act like he doesn't know what you're talking about
Oliver Mendoza: he was so traumatized, he's completely bought into the lie
karla vizcarra: how come you know all this?
karla vizcarra: HOW????
Oliver Mendoza: what kind of highly trained ethnic media reporter/ art director would i be if i COULDN'T find this kind of stuff out ?
karla vizcarra: is that the reason why he's hiding out here amongst unassuming Pilipinows???
Oliver Mendoza: He’s wanted for embezzlement and THREE domestic animal involved misdemeanors
karla vizcarra: EMBEZZLEMENT!
Oliver Mendoza: exactly....he may act all filipino and normal when he's around you
Oliver Mendoza: but believe me, when he goes home
karla vizcarra: he...he... sheds his shell???
Oliver Mendoza: it's all muay thai sports and tom yum gong for dinner
karla vizcarra: the poor man....
karla vizcarra: how can he keep it all inside???
Oliver Mendoza: YOU must!!!!
Oliver Mendoza: tho the secret might burn inside you
Oliver Mendoza: tho you might fight with yourself every single day. resist the urge to put your hand on his shoulder and say 'i know'
Oliver Mendoza: FIGHT IT!!!!
karla vizcarra: i cant imagine everything he must be going through. simply shedding his muaythai shorts every morning must be terrible...terrible for him
Oliver Mendoza: he puts on a brave front
karla vizcarra: my my
Oliver Mendoza: but he's only laughing on the outside
karla vizcarra: yes..
karla vizcarra: like a tortured clown......
Oliver Mendoza: when there's no one around, yes
karla vizcarra: well, i must thank you, mr mendoza for telling me all this
Oliver Mendoza: no worries, mum's the word
Oliver Mendoza: btw, ever heard of some band called Urban Dub?
karla vizcarra: yep
karla vizcarra: cebu based
Oliver Mendoza: any good?
karla vizcarra: very good
Oliver Mendoza: ya wanna interview em for a feature?
karla vizcarra: in the sense that they "sound foreign"
Oliver Mendoza: DAMN FOREIGNERS!!!!
karla vizcarra: but anyway they've got a pretty solid following
karla vizcarra: sure i can interview them
Oliver Mendoza: looooverly
Oliver Mendoza: i'll set it up
karla vizcarra: and how do u propose to set it up>
Oliver Mendoza: they're playing heeeere in SF in a couple months, and my friends band is opening for em, or something
karla vizcarra: being the million miles away that u are
Oliver Mendoza: i figured i'd use Deepvort's old connections to set it up
karla vizcarra: aaah. the mystic chords of time....
karla vizcarra: a name like Deepvort must have many mystic chords
karla vizcarra: whatever a mystic chord is
Oliver Mendoza: i have no idea what that is
Oliver Mendoza: but it sure sounds profound
karla vizcarra: i must ask deepvo-----whoahoops no i cant call him by that name!!!
Oliver Mendoza: i think urban dub's actually from Vallejo? and they moved to cebu?
Oliver Mendoza: something, i forget how it goes
karla vizcarra: WHAT
karla vizcarra: well i didnt know that little piece of trivia
Oliver Mendoza: lemme check, but somethin like that
Oliver Mendoza: i know that the guy who wrote a lot of their songs is from Florida
Oliver Mendoza: and he's not part of the band cuz he didn't want to move to the PI or something
karla vizcarra: scandal.
Oliver Mendoza: ahaha, shhhhh, i might have all my facts wrong
Oliver Mendoza: but if i do...blame it on deepvort
karla vizcarra: well, to save you the trouble i could ask my twin if she could get an interview set
Oliver Mendoza: that's fine too...but i think they're actually expecting my call anyhow
Oliver Mendoza: you have a twin?
Oliver Mendoza: like, a vestigial twin?
karla vizcarra: o yeah you're the COOL guy wih all the connections, i forget.
Oliver Mendoza: joined at the hip?
karla vizcarra: yup
Oliver Mendoza: in my private fantasy world i am indeed the cool guy
karla vizcarra: she's actually here with me now, doing my filing
Oliver Mendoza: nice
Oliver Mendoza: but i actually mean they're expecting my call, cuz i'm trying to time the story to coincide with them coming to San Francisco for this show they're doing
karla vizcarra: hokay
karla vizcarra: buzz me on that
Oliver Mendoza: i'll have my people call your people
karla vizcarra: theys have to go through the people of my people first
Oliver Mendoza: damn, like that?
Oliver Mendoza: you tv star
karla vizcarra: thats the way bro
Oliver Mendoza: soon you'll be talking about yourself in the third person
Oliver Mendoza: have you ever checked out our entertainment columnist?....if you take photos of urban dub, try to send me a few without you in them
karla vizcarra: why i gotta check out our entertainment columnist? She hot?
Oliver Mendoza: no
Oliver Mendoza: she just always sends us photos of her WITH the movie star or whoever she's interviewing
karla vizcarra: HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaahh
Oliver Mendoza: she can never send us photos of JUST the celebrities
karla vizcarra: never.thats effra supra stardunctiousdom for you
karla vizcarra: im just supra.
Oliver Mendoza: can i call you su for short?
karla vizcarra: NO!
A sample of the songs I’ve been downloading this week:
1) handog ng Pilipino sa mundo
2) Rodel Naval’s Lumayo ka man sa akin
3) I just died in your arms tonight- reo speedwagon
4) Ikaw pa rin ang siyang mamahalin- back when April Boy was still April BoyS (Vingo and Jimmy)
5) Lonely is the Night—Air Supply
(Ah looove the phrasing of this title. San ka pa. Hinde the night is lonely. Talagang: Lonely Is The Night. Nauna yung adjective sa noun. Kelangan kasi mag-rhyme sa pasigaw na “now the world just ain’t right!”)
I just hooked my computer to Oliver’s set of speakers and am currently broadcasting Lonely is the Night to entire office. Say what they must about my musical preferences. Reo Speedwagon’s husky emotions should be heard. A huge portion of my daily mental output is concentrated now in trying to remember titles of passing phrases in my head, random tunes built from fuzzy yellow memories.
It’s frustrating when I get stuck with just a couple of words and can’t get the rest of it. Then people stare blankly when I sing the line over and over again, in a struggle to remember how the whole song goes.
E.G
Spent a whole day stressing Jason out with these particular lines: “Ale? Nasa langit na ba ako? Mama, kayo po ba si San Pedro?” in order to obtain its title. He had no idea what I was talking (singing) about. How could any self-respecting Filipino not know this song??? How many songs has Mama, Langit, Ale and San Pedro in a single chorus? Or maybe it was the way i (gasp) sang it??? impossible. He simply could not be deemed a true child of the emerging 90's.
Well, i found out the title and surprise, surprise it’s: Ale (Nasa Langit na ba ako?). By Richard Reynoso (Richard Reynosorus to me and Camoi). So now it’s been successfully implanted in my play list. It comes right after a cobwebby “Kailan” by the Smokey Mountain.
I’ve been partial lately to songs that have each line sung by a different artist. (normally of the power anthem kind) like All for Love by Sting, Rod Stewart and Bryan Adams and Handog ng Pilipino sa Mundo.
Have also touched upon Bobby Vinton,Sam Cooke and am navigating towards Conway Twitty now.
Oh the joy of heart-rending beats and ballads.
Who needs new music eh? Everything you ever really need to hear was recorded decades ago.
