On Thor, RH Bill, Animal Torture, Bullies, Ayala Triangle, U.P. Sunken Garden, Jose Mari Chan
What It Takes To Be Worthy
Thor is the son of the king and chief deity Odin and heir to the throne of Asgard. He is the master of Mjolnir, the hammer of the gods forged from a star, the power of which defies imagination.
Stuff like that can get into your head. So even though his courage in battle is legendary, he grew up cocky. When he disobeyed his father and unilaterally attacked the lair of the Ice Giants with a small coalition of willing friends, like what George W. Bush did in Iraq, he was exiled.
What he did was right, but the whole thing turned into a disaster, so he was wrong – and that’s the way of the world.
On earth, he had to endure unimaginative mortals to get back Mjolnir, and he was shocked to high heavens when his hammer wouldn’t budge. Even gods gets disappointed, not the most reassuring thing to hear, but at least they know where we’re coming from when we bombard them with prayers.
I love Anthony Hopkins, truly, but Sean Connery comes to mind as Odin.
Thor is lucky, the series of fortunate events made his adventure last only 2 days. He doesn’t strike anyone as homeless, as observed by the girl whose iPod was confiscated by federal agents. I can’t imagine him lining up in feeding centers and bemoaning his fate. Then again, he’s not Pinoy.
Thor’s story mirrors the Parable of the Prodigal Son, complete with a jealous brother, Loki. There’s another Biblical tale that echoes their sibling rivalry: how Isaac was tricked into giving his blessings to Jacob instead of Esau.
Thor went to earth and was transformed into a better man – and he has proven worthy to reclaim his rightful place. It’s like being reincarnated and now he’s born-again.
Thor is now home, where he belongs, because those who cross rainbow bridges, who have been purged and purified, and who don’t get drunk, all go to heaven.
I support the passage of the Reproductive Health Bill because intelligent family planning cannot rely on menstrual cycles alone. Sex follows its own sked and libido moves in mysterious ways.
President Aquino is ready to defy the Church to curb the galloping boom, and I admire him for that, and I’m behind him all the way in my own little way.
Here’s a solid case for population management: Just last week, the Department of Social Welfare and Development rounded up more than a dozen minors in Balintawak who were sniffing rugby and gambling on the sidewalk, asking pedestrians for money so they can gamble more.
Children like these are mostly spawned by uneducated, alcoholic and criminal fathers, the kind that begs you for coins – and curses you if you don’t give them.
Here’s a suggestion from a friend: Stop taxing families with less than 2 children as an incentive for family planning. That makes sense. The present set-up of tax exemptions for large families actually encourages precisely what the government is trying to stop.
Here’s my own suggestion: Pay 5 thousand pesos to male teenagers in slum areas to undergo vasectomy. They will agree as long as their peers won’t know. Purely voluntary of course, and PAGCOR can easily jumpstart the pilot project.
But for juvenile delinquents and jail gang members, vasectomy should be part of the punishment – we are sick and tired of their kind.
Our cities are now infested with squatter areas and overrun with genetically conditioned mendicants who mate and multiply even before they reach adolescence. Change the tax code and pass the RH Bill before it’s too late
The Worst Animal Is Man
Torturing animals is unspeakably despicable. There’s a scene in The Brothers Karamazov where a boy stuck a sharp pin into a piece of bread and threw it to a starving, trusting dog. His conscience punished him later, and he even became swore loyalty to Alyosha, so at least he had a measure of redemption.
Real life, on the other, can sometimes be more surreal than Russian dramas, sometimes more abominable than real life. It’s bad enough that a U.P. student mauled a kitten to death out of sheer bloodlust just a couple of days ago.
What’s even worse are those Filipinos whose job is to systematically subject animals to intense agony and slow death, capturing it all on video which they sell to perverts who gets aroused by it all.
What the hell kind of sub-humans are those?
Man is the only animal which inflicts pain for the pleasure of it. It makes you wonder why God thought we have evolved enough to have dominion over the earth.
You Have To Earn R-E-S-P-E-C-T
I attended a class with a trainer who’s the complete opposite of a good leader, the complete opposite of a good teacher, and the complete opposite of a professional worthy of respect.
He bullies his students, humiliates them in front of the class. It’s obvious he’s uncomfortable with me because I’m one of the handful who doesn’t kiss his ass, and I know he resents me because I’m the only one in class who’s not afraid of him.
I have nothing but contempt for power-trippers.
This is a snapshot of my life now so I’ll have lots of things to chuckle about when I grow old and look back. I left that class and good riddance. As you see, no names and no clues. I’ll tell you this though: it’s not taebo or pole-dancing.
Trees of Gold
Spent the entire day yesterday in Ayala Triangle, the park behind the Makati Stock Exchange. People, local and foreign, look at me and see a guy in a blue sports shirt, jeans and silver rubber shoes. Probably a student, writing in a notebook, with trinkets on both wrists like a hippie, a couple of books on top of his knapsack.
I was actually writing magazine articles, making my free time productive and hydrated with Gulp from 7-11 and Coke from McDonald’s.
I look up and see trees of gold like the cherry blossoms in a Shinto shrine in Japan.
In The Arms of Nature
The Sunken Garden at the sprawling Diliman campus of the University of the Philippines, like Ayala Triangle, is special to me. What plays in my mind at those places is I’ll Remember by Madonna, theme from With Honors, a touching movie set in Harvard.
I won’t tell you why, only it’s about peeks at the bright sparks on the verities of existence, sheltered by the arms of nature, under an infinite sky that will outlast our sojourn through eclectic lifetimes.
I’m proud to be old school. With music, I gravitate towards the classics. I was really shocked when a former classmate who idolizes Adam Sandler said he doesn’t know the Beatles. But that’s another story.
I can’t find the words to express my respect and admiration for Jose Mari Chan, and I’m supposed to be a writer, and a budding songwriter to boot.
I was happily tuned in to Music and Memories last Sunday, where he was a guest co-host to Boots Anson-Roa, pinch-hitting for Willie Nepomuceno. Jomari Chan is what I want to be someday: a successful artist with a beautiful family.
He wrote A Love To Last A Lifetime to his wife, their solid marriage is now on its 41st year, and all his children have grown up to be professionals and good citizens.
It’s the first time I actually saw him in a talk show, and he’s really a beautiful soul because I know a good man when I see one. He generously gave away copies of his latest album to the listeners, and he’ll be sending them by mail out of pocket.
That’s really touching but I’m not really surprised because I know that magnanimity brings good karma, and that’s why stingy folks never advanced in their lot.
His CD, Strictly Commercial, is a groundbreaking anthology of the staggering 73 ad jingles he had composed, including the famous “Wala pa ring tatalo sa Alaska!”
That’s mind blowing. I don’t always say this, but I’m truly, madly, deeply impressed.
The music of Jose Mari Chan is the soundtrack of my life. My favorite Pinoy song in English is Constant Change, and my favorite Pinoy Christmas song is A Perfect Christmas.
What’s this, slumbook? But wait, there’s more!
My favorite Christmas song remake is his When A Child Is Born, and my favorite contemporary revival is his version of John Denver’s Perhaps Love, a beautiful duet with his daughter Lisa.
Those songs, with all due respect, sound a lot better than the originals.
I’m happy to be Pinoy in this lifetime if only for the exposure to original Filipino music, like his Can We Start Over Again. His music is timeless and world-class: no less than the Manhattan Transfer is recording his songs for international release.
Jose Mari Chan, more than anyone else, deserves to be honored the National Artist For Music, so why not now?