Lego Brickmaster: Star Wars - Worth the Retail Therapy

So last Tuesday, after having Mo towed from Las Pinas to Buendia (that’s a different post), Remi and I went gift shopping. To reward myself for finally getting Mo moved, I bought the Lego Brickmaster: Star Wars from DK Publishing (I know it doesn’t make fiscal sense to buy something to reward myself for something that will cost me more money, but I’m borrowing Mabie’s Logic of Retail Therapy, so it makes perfect sense.).

Anyway, back to the Brickmaster. To put this product into perspective, it combines two loves quite nicely. It’s a book which contains Legos. You can put together 8 models (2 models at a time) from the 240 bricks it has and it comes with two minifigures: a Clone Trooper and a Battle Droid.

The box says it’s for ages 7 and up, but the builds are quite intricate and quite satisfying for a nerd like me.

It’s a really good buy for 969 pesos at National Bookstore and if you’re somewhat of a neat freak, this is for you. The book comes with a pouch where you can store the Legos when not in use, and the geekgasmic instruction booklet is printed in thick, glossy paper with random Star Wars facts and full color illustrations.

Happy Commercialismas

Nothing fuels my hate fire for humanity better than taking the MRT at rush hour two weeks before Christmas. Everybody is out exercising their purchasing powers, and while half is stuck in traffic on EDSA and wishing upon each other a painful and violent death, the other half is crammed on the trains. It’s an amazing phenomenon, really. It all turns into a Laws of Physics-defying mass of humanity. You move up the levels of intimacy with your fellow train takers faster than if you’re drunk and frisky at a party. You start with a comfortable personal bubble and end up butt cheek to butt cheek with total strangers.

This varies of course. If you’re in the first car (the one for the women, pregnant, elderly, peeps with children, and peeps with disabilities), then it can go in any number of ways: butt cheek to back, boobs to back, and boobs to boobs, among others. This is not hot. Not hot at all. There are also instances when you will find yourself at odds with an extra large gift item, including, but not limited to, boxes of cakes, small foldable tables, wooden boxes, and large stuffed animals.

Personally, I think the most unpleasant is having my face pressed against a giant stuffed tiger, and having to inhale from said stuffed animal’s crotch area and getting instant asthma.

Happy Commercialismas to you too bitches.

Tales from the End of the World

As I sit on my desk at 1AM in the morning, I wonder. Should the world end today, the Apocalypse would catch me with my pants around my knees, so to speak. I’m working, and thus am writing about various tablets and several sales copies that need to be done before I go on Christmas break. Should the world end today, what would I have said for myself at the end of the day in front of the Whichever Gate? Better yet, while waiting in line in either Gate, what would I tell the other people while idling around before Judgement?

I’d probably tell them that writers got to eat, and hopes and dreams don’t pay the rent. Hah.

Anyway, when I think about it, there are a lot of ways in which the world can end for me – and it doesn’t involve global warming or giant asteroids or thermonuclear war. For one thing, losing the one person (The Girl) would pretty much have the same effect for me as the sun imploding.

Mush and doomsday soothsayers aside, I choose to believe that the Mayans marked this day, December 21 as an end of an era. Personally, the Change had started long before I started paying attention, and it had always been there like an asshole you can’t shake off, though I didn’t start paying attention until Mabie prophesied a “change in demographics.”

There’s Jex and Karl and Annabs living in their respective provinces, and there’s Jay living in a completely different country. They pop up once in a while, but it’s never really like the ‘old’ (shit, what?) days when we all went on epic benders with people tossing their cookies on my couch. There’s Rica who is now married and has a child. There’s Chris who is now un-single and is going out of Makati for the first time this year (I may be wrong). There were French Exits and FOs and various other screwed up stuff that makes scheduling a dinner an absolute nightmare.

My brother has two kids now, and thus I am Tita to a nephew and a niece, both of which have reportedly inherited my Sungit. (Gujab kids, next you will need to learn Angas.)

So you may have noticed that in the middle of this post that I again had forgotten where I was going whilst writing this. What were we talking about? Ah, yeah. The End of the World.

So my friends, if the world does end today, or if it just shrugs, says fuck it, and continues on like it does, still I will say, see you tomorrow.

The Volkswagen Club of the Philippines Car Show 2012

I’ve mentioned before how the Philippines has very healthy VW community (vwcp.org), and every year the community gets together to celebrate a perfectly good geekdom in classic car ownership. Remi and I went to this year’s annual VWCP Car Show to ogle at the various forms of VW nerditude and the eventual products of said geekdoms.

We were not disappointed. As we looked for a parking slot, we assured Subbie, Remi’s Toyota Vios that all the other cars she’ll see on the show are technically subcompact cousins from Germany). We parked, got out of the car, and suddenly, I was in the mothership. Every other car on that parking lot was a Volkswagen.

We took a walk around the lot and I classified each section in my head: the Daily Cars, the Kafer Cup Vroom Vrooms, the Hippie Buses, the Karmann Ghias, the Herbies, and the Ooooh Shiny Ones. The Daily Cars are my favorite of the bunch, simply because these cars are the ones you will see every day and frankly, isn’t it a wonder how those cars can still run perfectly well. They run better than most 40 year olds I know. 

Bili na kayo, Volks kayo dyan~! 

It looks like Mo, but not quite the same shade.

I'm sure he's not hiding Lindsay Lohan in there.

Purdy.

It's not a car... It's a Karmann Ghia.

Vroom! Vrooooom!

It's so pretty, and shiny, and pretty.

The Hippie Bus

Dune Buggy

Plus, I'm older than you are.

IT'S SO SHINY.

This is how you cultivate the 'Bug Bite' in little children. Note to self: I must get one.

Notice anything? It's an automatic.

Car Show

Universe, are you trying to tell me something?

Pretty in Pink

This has given me quite the idea.

I missed seeing Bacchus (Kuya Clark's orange bug, my inspiration for what Mo could look like in the future) and Hershey, their Volksrod. Still, it was a fun Sunday afternoon. 

Volks Chronicles: Headaches and Money Vortexes

I haven’t written any updates regarding Mo the past couple of weeks because I was tired, broke, and frustrated. The overhaul was done and over with, the brakes are fine, and I even bought a new starter. Still no go for my poor 1972 Volkswagen Beetle.

Here’s the Cliff’s Notes version:

1.       After getting the brakes brake bonded, I also had to get a starter bushing kit. I was told that the starter was shot, and they were trying to repair it.

2.       I also had to get new brake tubes and brake rubber thingies (I’ve forgotten what they’re called!). The starter still wouldn’t work, so I had to get a new solenoid to see if that would do the trick.

Secondhand Solenoid

Brake Rubber Thingies

3.       The starter problems persisted: The starter would get the engine going, but it also kept going. This would be a problem since if it didn’t stop running when the engine had already started, the starter would experience a catastrophic meltdown (which was what I thought I’d experience too).

4.       I was advised to get a new starter, the high torque kind. It looked awesome out of the box. Kuya Nardo Manzano, the parts guy, expressed his doubts about Kuya Mancio’s skills and cautioned that he might ruin the new starter too.

High torque starter, yeah!

It's so purdy~!

5.       I told Kuya Mancio to text me once he had the new starter in and once Mo’s going. He didn’t.

6.       Of course, we went to his shop and found that he had in fact tried the new starter. It started once. The second and third tries, however, were awash with epic fail.

7.       Once we got to Buendia, where Kuya Nard’s shop is (Kuya Mancio’s shop is in Las Pinas!), the starter was tested and IT WORKED FINE. Kuya Nards and his mechanics all shook their heads and told me, “Walang alam mekaniko mo.” (Your mechanic doesn’t know anything.) I considered whether the remark was some sort of mechanic trash talk or a blunt but spot on assessment of just how much shit I was in. I decided it was both.

8.       After discussing the options with Remi (Do I want to keep hitting my head with this money-sucking hammer? Or do I pull the car out of there ASAP to have it serviced by people who know what they’re doing?), we opted for the second option. We’ll pull out, tow, and have Mo fixed next week.

9.       We’ll do this next week because my goal date (the VWCP Annual Car Show) is this weekend. On Sunday. At the QC City Hall.

Kuya Clark of BatVolks texted me the other day to remind me about the car show. “Swabe na ba bug mo?” he asked. I told him no.

Things don’t always go as planned. Then again, based from experience, the best things in my life at the moment are the things I didn’t plan nor expect.

Finally Facing My Waterloo

A few people, on occasion, ask me what I do for a living. I tell them I write. The follow-up questions to this are, “Do you write books? Or do you write for magazines and newspapers? Where can I read your work?” By this time in the conversation, I’ve adopted a glazed over look and my mother takes over. She explains, with a kind of patience that I’m not sure I’ll ever develop, that I am a freelance writer working for a company that operates overseas. She adds helpfully that I’m also an editor for an independent publishing company. (They have a book out, she says, would you like to see it?)

I typically find these conversations fascinating, because while it’s happening, a whole separate conversation goes on in my mind. “I write, yes, but writer? No. I’m a paid hack.” The thought entrenches its ass in my head: You are a hack. Say it. SAY IT. THEY HAVE TO KNOW.

Remember, this inner dressing down is happening as my mother is offering the visitor a hot beverage, and I have to excuse myself (to save said visitor from seeing me frothing at the mouth and raving madly about being a shitty writer) to retreat to the silence of my desk.

My playlist is playing in the background, it’s a mixtape of music that was lovingly assembled and given to me several months back. It’s a great mix of slow numbers about having all kinds of time and a light that never goes out, and fast numbers about elevator love letters and flowers in the window. On my computer screen, a blank Word document stares back at me with silent condemnation.

You’re supposed to be writing, the cursor blinks at me angrily. Yes, actually. I should. I’m some 8 thousand words into this thing – it even has a prologue and a chapter and a half.

When Remi asks me how the writing is going, I look at my feet and say, “It’s okay, I guess. It’s just that it’s shit. I’m putting a piece of crap into book form!” She gives me a hug and tells me to stop saying stupid things.

And my friends. Oh, I have such good (and faithful) friends. Lei tells to stop the crazy talk and cheers me on. I asked Karl to test read for me, and since I believe in properly labeling emails, I put in “Crap” on the subject line. Karl replied, “Oh, you writers and your silly self deprecation.”

I don’t know guys. This story is just too big and too out-of-control for me. It feels like it’ll open its giant maw at any moment and swallow me whole. (And if it’s feeling especially mean, like it’s that time of the month or something, it’d regurgitate my half chewed carcass and then eat me again. Just for the shits and giggles.) I’m ill-equipped for this. When dealing with giant monsters that breathe fire and spit acid, you’d want to have the best possible equipment – like a giant robot armor for example. Or even maybe a Rambo knife.

I’m staring at this monster, my monster, as it looms over me, and I’m scared. To death. My wooden sword of Hopes and Dreams seems feeble in my hand. My thick carapace, developed through years of criticism, seems weak and brittle in the face of this monster. Still, I put on my Oh-Screw-It-All Hat (patent pending) and hack away. I retreat often, with my hair singed in places and probably missing both eyebrows. Still, onward I go. I’m not sure why I’m doing it, because dammit, this is probably one of the shittiest things you can ever do to yourself, but onward and forward we go.

Someday (maybe through sheer luck and with my mixtape of awesomeness playing in the background), I’m going to hit that giant rat bastard where it hurts and who’ll be the bitch then?

MSI FX420X-i5545+ Review: Bang for the Buck

I am hardly what tech sites would call a “power user.” I don’t actually render videos or edit images, but I do have a habit of multitasking (read: I overwork computers to the bone) and working long hours. After my Acer AO751h (Acer Vergel) up and died on me and my desktop Old Faithful before that, I’ve finally decided to get a new notebook. I needed a desktop replacement that could still pass being called a mobile computer.  A preliminary online search boiled down to two contenders: the MSI CX480X and the Samsung NP300E4C-A01.

Once we stepped in SM North’s Cyberzone (which is by the way, one of my motherships), the game changed pretty quickly. We found two other contenders, the MSI FX420X and the Lenovo G480. The FX420X won both Remi and I over. Why?

MSI FX420X

The Specs Sheet

For its price, the FX420X-i5545+ specs were eye-catching. It has a second generation Intel Core i5 (2450 which packs a 2.5gHz punch with 3.1 Turboboost), 4gb of DDR3 RAM (16gb max), 500gb HDD, ATi Radeon HD6470M (with 1GB of dedicated video memory), THX sound, 2 USB 2.0 and 2 more USB 3.0 slots.

Design

The other MSI available, the CX480X had pretty much the same specs at the FX420X except for the GeForce video card on the former. It was cheaper by about a thousand pesos, but it was only available in white. The FX420X, on the other hand, had an “anti-fingerprint” textured pattern on the palm rest and lid. According to the manual, it’s also there to prevent scratches and general wear. Personally, I like the finish. It’s not brushed aluminum, but it does not look cheap and plasticky.

Performance

Officially, I’ve only had the notebook for a day and so far I’m impressed. It’s actually advertised as a gaming platform (I do plan to try out Skyrim on this rig) but I think it’ll do for an all-around notebook. I’ve yet to put it through the paces so I’ll maybe do another review once I’ve made it make it jump through flaming hoops.

At the moment, I’m feeling very good about this purchase and am actually tempted to call this rig “Bogart” or “Bruno.” Among the options I had, it offered the biggest bang for the buck. In case you’re wondering why I didn’t get the Lenovo, even though it had a spanking new third gen i3, it was because it’s still i3. No Turboboost. Plus, as a personal rule of thumb, chipmakers win over computer makers. 

Hitting age 29 and the subsequent after effects

Hitting age 29 (also known as two shakes away from 30) three weeks back was nearly the same as hitting 28 last year, except this year, I found myself looking at rent-to-own houses (just 8,000 for a two-storey house!?) and cleaning my “home office” desk.

Let’s start at the beginning. You can see the two previous birthday posts here and here. This year I celebrated without hoping for fireworks and all that hoopla. (Actually, I was on an oh-some vacation the weekend before the long weekend that my birthday heralded so there’s really no reason to complain. I even got two cakes!) My actual birthday was spent like any normal day, because really, there comes a point when you just fail to give a flying fart about it because you’re up to your neck in deadlines. However, there are certain signs about hitting 2-9 that need to be noted.

First, houses. Last week, Nanay was talking to me about Avida’s condo housing, in which she called 30 square meters “cute.” I told her that we (and all our belongings) would not fit in a cubbyhole like that, and thus I subsequently searched for houses that were substantially bigger and cheaper. Then I started looking for houses that fit my budget, with extra room I could convert to an actual home office. I caught myself about 10 web pages in, while I was wondering about down payment and amortization schemes for a 2-storey, 50 square meter house with a balcony and a garage.

Today, I looked at my desk, which normally looked like a tornado sucked up random shit and regurgitated it on the poor unsuspecting table, and put everything in order. (Family members typically don’t touch my stuff either because they’re afraid they’d accidentally throw away a vital scrap of paper with an important plot point or they’re simply waiting for me to clean my own shit, which never really happens.) Nanay had gotten a small multi-purpose drawer which I immediately swiped and I organized everything into it: bills, writing implements, various screwdrivers, camera stuff, and notebooks.

So yeah. The signs point to an aging sensibility and a warping set of priorities, but more importantly, I realized that I lacked the alarm that came with ‘God, I’m old’ epiphanies. I never really minded how old I was on paper as long as I was left in peace with my Legos, so there’s no “OMFG I’M MATURE LOLz” sort of reaction. I still got hit by the typical hoshit-I'm-29-and-have-nothing-to-show-for-it feeling, but overall, I like where I am and wherever I'm going, I'm going to get there eventually. (Midpoint of writing this paragraph, I obviously forgot what my point was.)

So anyway, 29. Camown mamown, lesdudis. 

Wanted: Kilig

Kilig is a tagalog word that doesn’t have an English equivalent. I like to think it’s because it’s such a beautiful and dangerous thing. The closest thing that can describe/define the word is butterflies in one’s stomach – it basically makes you all mushy and giggly inside.

My friend, Lei, is in want of kilig.

The first thing we need to discuss is why. I am a firm believer that everybody deserves and needs kilig in their lives. Seriously. It’s the stuff of magic (and procreation, but I’m getting ahead of myself) and dreams and unicorns and rainbows. The mere fact that it exists is a wonder in itself since let’s face it, a whole lot of people don’t need love or kilig to procreate. For some people, all that’s needed is alcohol and maybe some stupid notion that the world needs their offspring. Lei is a perfectly pretty, smart, and capable woman. (I’ve said this before, but I’ll say it again: Had she been born a man, women would be flinging themselves at his feet, begging for him to sire their children.) It’s a wonder however, that she keeps encountering rat bastards and until about a year and a half ago, we had been making Spinster Contingency plans together.

Her heart has been broken several times, and seriously, this shit has to stop. Her most recent heartrending adventure involved a guy who was okay on paper. He’s moderately successful, not married, and was sufficiently smart enough to keep up. My friend had again fallen victim to good packaging.

Do you know why chips come in those shiny packages? We’re drawn to pictures on the outside of the bags, barely paying attention to the helpful nutritional information at the back, because fuck calories, you’re already sure that crispy goodness awaits inside.

We’ve all fallen victim to this wretched thing. We take the bag of chips to the checkout counter, happy until we get home and discover that roaches had beaten us to the punch. The classic mistake is that we hold on to the bag.

Wait, I’ve digressed. Obviously, I have a whole slew of things to say about this, and not all of them I can say aloud in front of my mother, who will wash my mouth with muriatic acid. And believe me, my Nanay has an entire shelf of patience for me and my foul mouth.

The last rat bastard she dated, who we shall call Not-Derek Ramsay, slept around because decency is apparently too much to ask. (If decency is something that you feel you can’t provide, then by all means, say so. If you can’t be decent, I hope to Batman that you can be fair because for all you know, that’s what you’d wish you had been once you’re staring at the undercarriage of my car after I’ve run you over repeatedly. Sorry, Hulk mode.)  

Anyway, like I said, my friend Lei needs kilig. She’s great, but you’ll need to deserve it. You need metaphorical balls (not just the anatomical appendages) to date her, because seriously any woman with a good head on her shoulders will require you to possess balls of solid steel.

According to my friend Mabie, it’s a tall order. “It’s hard to find a guy with his own set of those when the girls have emptied the shelves long before,” says the woman with a self-awarded Ph.D. on Heartbreak. “What we need is a guy whom we can entrust our own balls of solid steel for practical use and safekeeping. We have a uterus already for crying out loud!”

Lei, in addition to having in her possession a set of metaphorical balls and a uterus, has a career, cares deeply for her family, and can give you all the happiness in the world. I want for her to realize that she doesn’t deserve a roach-infested bag of chips. She deserves a lot more. And I think that’s the fatal flaw in all of us. We tolerate what we think we deserve, not realizing that we deserve the world, we deserve fidelity for heaven’s sake, and we deserve respect.

So again. My friend is in want of kilig. She REQUIRES kilig. No, not that shallow idea of having somebody she can have coffee with or can have sex with. She deserves somebody who will give her kilig for the rest of her life.

P.S. Can you help me find kilig for my friend? Or better yet, can YOU provide kilig for Lei? If you feel you can, then please say so in the comments below. You'll need to prepare a Certificate of Singleness, a certificate from a psychiatrist that you are of sound sanity, and a 1000-word essay about why you deserve somebody as awesome as Lei.

Tales from the Trenches

*Caveat: In case you haven’t noticed, I bitch a lot. It doesn’t mean I abhor what I do or anything like that, it’s just that sometimes a Bitch Break is all that’s needed to move forward.*

At around 5 AM today, I finished the first part of a nightmare. There are approximately 8 or 9 more parts to this nightmare so at the rate I’m going, this’ll be ready by the end of the next century. I need it sooner than that, of course, and I’m looking into cloning and also time travel.

Officially, this is the first time I’ve ever done this kind of thing, as I knew that it is a major soul sucking endeavor and I would have to be crazy to even attempt it. All the other writers will understand when I say this: It feels like I’m slathering shit upon a page. I feel like I’m back in high school again – writing stuff that sucked so severely that they didn’t merit saving.

At one point, I considered deleting the draft and never looking back. Seriously, I don’t even know how Remi can put up with me when I’m in this state. It starts with a feverish bout of maniacal writing, then the steam goes kaput and I go into a downward spiral that ends in a pit that’s as shitty as my writing.

Actually, no. If you want a more eloquent explanation, check out what Libba Bray has to say about The No Good, Horrible,Very Bad Writing Day.

Still though, I whine but at the end of the day, I have to bust out the drums and sing The Battle Song of the Storyteller (by Chuck Wendig). Sing with me:

I don’t know what the fuck my story is.

But I know that it is more than ink on a page.

It’s blood. And spit. And sweat. And milk.

The story is whatever I want it to be.

Anything at all. Open season. Empty page. Tabula rasa. Solve-for-X.

I am a storyteller and I swim in possibilities.

I am a storyteller and I command the ideas to get in line and march as I say.

I am a storyteller and the audience belongs to me as much as I belong to them.

I am a storyteller and I will nail this narrative to the wall.

I am a storyteller and I will write the tits off this motherfucker.

I am a storyteller and this is my sexy party, yo.

I am a storyteller and I am the story told.

I am a storyteller and I will finish the tale I am telling.

Wreck-It Ralph trailers

Personally, I avoid videogame movies or crossovers like the plague – or at least, I wait for them to be shown on free TV or cable. However, Disney’s newest animated offering Wreck-It Ralph piqued my interest since Remi and I first caught the trailer. Come on, I’m a videogame geek (actually, we both are) and how can we resist seeing all of those videogame villains in one epic movie?

Judging from the trailers, the movie centers around Ralph, the villain in the game Fix-It Felix, Jr., is sick and tired of being the bad guy and thus seeks to find approval. Well, of course, shenanigans then ensue. The cast is pretty solid with John C. Reilly as Ralph, Sarah Silverman as Vanellope von Schweetz, and Jane Lynch as Sergeant Tamora Jean Calhoun.

How to Know If You're in a Pinoy Horror Movie - A Flowchart

There are times when you might feel like you’re in a horror movie, especially that time when you were walking along Balete Drive and you see a lady in white just standing out on the street presumably waiting for a cab. Or that time when you had to wear your undies inside out because you kept passing by the same patch of creepy road. Don’t you sometimes wish there was a surefire way to know if you’re in a Pinoy horror movie?

First, take a good look around you.

Volks Chronicles: FrankenBeetle

Mo Progress Report:

1. Kuya Mancio broke two of my new brake linings while attempting to rivet them to the brake shoes.
2. Got 1L of brake fluid (as I understand it, the lines need to be bled first then topped up. I could be wrong of course).
3. Got 5 feet of battery cable, because apparently, I own a 1972 Volkswagen FrankenBeetle. According to Kuya Mancio, the previous lines installed were cables that are used for houses.
4. Since Kuya Mancio broke two, I had to take the remaining linings and brake shoes to have them brake bonded. I've left them to the hands of the Mafat shop which is coincidentally beside Funeraria Filipinas, where Mo used to be parked.
5. I wasn't to take pictures of Mo this time because they were spray painting another car.

At any rate, I'm clinging to the hope that Mo would be up and running by November. Frankly, the overhaul and repairs have gone over budget and over and beyond the target date but I'm still hoping to be able to drive the car before the Mayan calendar ends.

Volks Chronicles: Woes and Holes

Today I bought a fuel float (the thing that sits in the gas tank, it floats over the oil and pulls a cable that connects to the fuel indicator). I talked over the few remaining issues to be tackled with the mechanic, Kuya Mancio. After the starter and the fuel tank problem, the problem now lies in the fuel injector. It can be repaired, and I'm leaving it up to Kuya and Batman to fix it. Apart from that, the engine works and after the the fuel injector is fixed, the brakes will be taken care of. It sounds tedious, I know, because IT IS tedious. We're troubleshooting as we go, and I'd rather we shoot down the trouble before Mo hits the road.

While I checked the car, I turned my attention to rot. I don't know if I've mentioned this before, but there's a hole in the driver's side. Earlier, I found that there's a bigger hole right under the front hood -- where the spare wheel should be. The rubber seals around the engine compartment has also rotted through so I'd need to have that taken care of, most probably next year.

Engine compartment seals

I meant to take more pictures but I'll get back to you on that next week. In the meantime, I'm checking my options on how to fund further repairs. Stay tuned.

Volkswagen Beetle -- Wheeler Dealers

Over the past few weeks, I bought brake linings, brake shoes, an advancer distributor, adjusting screws for the rocker arms, a fan belt, a few liters of gasoline, a distributor rotor, a starter bushing kit, and 9 feet of 1/4 copper tube. Needless to say, I’m broke. Therefore, I needed inspiration. These past few weeks, I've been checking out different shows that feature Volkswagen Beetle restorations.

I found Beetle Crisis, the Discovery Turbo five-part show about two enthusiasts restoring a 1971 VW Beetle for a car show. Another show I caught was Wheeler Dealers, a British series that basically saves iconic cars from the crusher. In one episode, they resurrected a 1960 bug. If you’re restoring your own bug and you find yourself a little short on hope, like I am, check out the videos below.

Movie Review -- Tiktik: The Aswang Chronicles

At first glance, Tiktik: The Aswang Chronicles has the makings of a kickass movie. It’s the first ever Filipino movie to be shot on green screen, it has Erik Matti at the helm (writing and directing), and it has featured impressive copywriting (the tagline Ang Pelikulang May Puso, Atay, Bituka, at Iba Pang Lamang Loob should pique your interest, even if it’s just a little bit). As I sat in the cinema though, I found myself rooting for no one – I was planning to root for Team Aswang, but even the love of folklore didn’t help me appreciate these movie monsters.

Where it started to go horribly wrong
As I and the PR copy mentioned before, Tiktik starts with the bad boy Makoy (Dingdong Dantes) pissing off a family of pig farmers in a sleepy, creepy village. The pig farmers turn out to be aswangs and lays siege to Makoy’s girlfriend’s house. Did we mention that the girlfriend, Sonia (Lovi Poe) is about 12 months pregnant and is about to spawn a baby? If you’ve been keeping up with your Philippine folklore, then you’d know that aswangs consider unborn children as a sort of delicacy – in the movie, one of them even referred to the fetus as “balut.”

Tonight, I whine in Hell

Rejection hurts like a son of a bitch. If criticism feels like getting hit with buckshot at less than ten feet,  rejection feels like getting dropkicked in the face by a person wearing spiked cleats.

Let’s back up a bit.

Last month, I wrote a story and submitted it somewhere as writers are wont to do when seeking to get published. Then I waited. I have submitted things before this, and all of those instances were like sending stuff into oblivion. It’s no use waiting when you do this, since you will never hear back if you didn’t make the cut. (I’m not sure why I – and people like me – keep doing this to myself and for what? That smidgen of validation?) This time though, I was assured that I’d hear back on October 15^th and I did.

Creature Feature: Erik Matti’s TIKTIK

A few posts back, I mentioned Erik Matti’s upcoming movie TIKTIK: The Aswang Chronicles which caught my eye because of two things: a. Erik Matti and b. green screen. Erik Matti has had some hits and misses, but he co-wrote Magic Temple (which my 14 year old self will always love despite the subsequent sequel with Anne Curtis) so he has a “rep” for me. The second part is interesting simply because shooting a film purely on green screen has never been done before in the Philippines (yes, other countries have been doing this for ages).

What is TIKTIK: The Aswang Chronicles about anyway? Well, according to the blurbs, the trouble starts when the douchebaggy Makoy (Dingdong Dantes) manages to piss off an entire village of aswang. That’s never really a good idea if you like your innards where they are. In Makoy’s case, this is a severely bad idea since his girlfriend Sonia (Lovi Poe) is very pregnant. As mentioned in the Aswang (1992) article, aswang will gladly consume a full grown person but what makes their tongues itch, so to speak, are babies.

Where Mabie's friendships go to die

So last night, I went on an “araw-araw Friday” night out with Remi and Mabie to the place where Mabie’s friendships go to die – Conspiracy at Visayas Avenue. How this place became the Death Valley of Mabie’s relationships is a bit of a long story (masalimuot, I think, is the most apt description), so let’s not get into that. Anyway, when she invited us to the test of friendship site to watch a gig by the awesomely named Bullet Dumas, I have to admit that I had some apprehensions.

Doesn't look all that scary, right?

Volks Chronicles #4: Beetle Crisis

Okay, so the overhaul really is over and Mo’s engine has been put back together again. In fact, some of his engine parts have been painted and I’m guessing that’s what made the sight of it infinitely more awesome. The fuel tank’s going to be cleaned and it’ll get a fresh coat of paint and rust proofing. I bought the wrong sized fan belt last week, so I’ll have to bring it back and get a longer one (also, I learned that Volkwagen Beetles do not have timing belts, only fan belts. I panicked when I saw “Timing Belt” written on the fan belt’s packaging and thought that Kuya Nards had given me a wrong part.). In the meantime, I’ve been learning things about the Beetle – reading up its wiki page and trolling the VWCP forums, among other things.

One lazy Sunday evening, we were channel surfing and stopped abruptly at Discovery Turbo when we caught sight of a Beetle project (UY! BEETLE, BEETLE! BALIK, BALIK!). Upon further investigation, we learned that we’d caught the 4^th episode of a 5 part restoration series called Beetle Crisis. Check it out:

Winner Quote of the Day (and I think it’s something that fellow VW addicts would agree with): Normal. I wouldn’t call this obsession normal.

I’ll follow the series (as you can see, YouTube has it too) and write a review/what I learned today report once I’ve caught all five episodes. Stay tuned.

Grey's Anatomy S09E01 Recap: Going, Going, Gone

[SPOILER ALERT, I REPEAT, SPOILER ALERT.]

The episode starts with Meredith saying, “Dying changes everything.” and I thought, “Uh-oh.” Not only did we get a death in the last season finale, but everybody had been buzzing about another death coming up and more trouble to come. So we all waited through the break and finally the new season has come. We’re transported to 30 days after the crash – or at least 30 days since Mark Sloan fell into a coma.

When we last left our “Seattle Grace Mercy Death” doctors, they were stuck in the woods, with Meredith Grey and Cristina Yang sharing one stick of gum and the wind blowing out their last match. So where are they now?

Mark Sloan – Well, as mentioned, he’s lying in a coma and his very specific DNR states that if he slips into a coma and after 30 days there are no signs of improvement, then his proxy (who was not specified, but it’s either Callie or Derek) should then pull the plug on him. Throughout the episode, we see snippets of his life in home videos. Derek’s wedding where he was the best man, Callie and Arizona’s wedding where he admits on cam that the love of his life was Lexie Grey, a surgery with Avery who he mentors with his usual swagger, a “video” of him and Callie in bed, and even a video of him with his co-parents. It’s sad actually, and I personally didn’t want to see him go, though seeing the send off the character got warms the heart (as opposed to say, getting a large part of the airplane landing upon you and you die).

Volks Chronicles #3: Volkswagen Beetle Roadworthiness

The overhaul is over! Well, technically it is. Mo’s engine has been put back together again, with spanking new gaskets, seals, cam followers, and engine oil, among several other things. Now the focus turns to other concerns of the mechanical nature. Kuya Mancio (the mechanic) texted me to get the following: advancer for the distributor and rotor, adjusting screws for the rocker arms, and a fan belt. Kuya Clark of VWCP.org gave me additional tips for general roadworthiness:

Spellbound Trailer: Enchants and Scares

A lot of stuff can ruin a budding relationship – hence the need to put-your-best-foot-kidney-limbs-forward. Forgive the quote, but Dr. Sloan of Grey’s Anatomy said it best, “This thing [with Julia] is young and fragile, there’s a lot of pressure.” So yep, lots of pressure and dating really is never easy. So what do you do when the girl you’re dating is perpetually haunted by ghosts and said ghosts occasionally attach/cling to you as well? She even tells you that you’d need to get insurance with full coverage to date her (I guess so you won’t need to be broke when you break a leg or something while fleeing ghosts).

Volks Chronicles #2: Suggestions from the VWCP

As previously mentioned, the Volkswagen Club of the Philippines (vwcp.org) is probably the most trustworthy and reliable resource when it comes to anything related to Volkswagens. I personally know two members of this club, namely Kuya Eric (from whom I bought Mo, the Volkswagen Beetle) and Kuya Clark.

There’s an “it’s a small world after all” story to how I met Kuya Clark, and it all started with a Kharmann Ghia. When I found Mo posted for sale at the VWCP forums, I asked Rem and Mabie to come with me to check it out. A conversation about said Kharmann Ghia led Rem to ask if the “Clark” to which Kuya Eric was referring was the same Clark she worked with during her practicum-er days. As it turned out, it was.

Anyway, Kuya Clark has since given me bits of advice, which I will share here.

Volks Chronicles #1: Overhauling Your Volkswagen Beetle

When I first bought my bug, an orange 1972 Volkswagen Beetle that shall henceforth be referred to as Mo, it was in good running condition. It was being used as a daily car, and was thus maintained lovingly. Unfortunately, things didn’t go as planned (I got laid off, I was broke, and I was stupid) and therefore the poor bug was stuck for three years. In the course of those three years, the problems piled up and can thus be divided into three major categories: Mechanical Problems (general engine and mechanical problems), Aesthetic Problems (body work, upholstery, and other problems that have to do with looks), and Paper Problems (transfer of ownership and renewal of registration).

Volks Chronicles: At dawn, look to the East!

So the other night, I spent (hah) about 3 or so hours looking deep into my finances. I had my expenses spreadsheet laid out and showed it to my unofficial financial adviser. The outlook was bad at the onset.

This story starts 3 years ago, around September 2009, when I bought an orange 1972 Volkswagen Beetle. I bought it in spite of three things: a. I know how to drive, but I do not have a driver's license, b. the vehicle's registration had been expired for two years at that point, and c. I had only been employed at my then very comfortable position for about a month. I loaned from a couple of friends, and drove the bug home without a concrete plan.

See where I went wrong there? (Anong English ng kahunghangan? Oh, right. Idiocy.)

So today, I went to the salon.

I’m sure that isn’t an alien a concept for you as it is for me and that is entirely acceptable. You see, I grew up in a house with a no-nonsense mother, a manly father, and an even manlier brother. Anyway, I grew up thinking that all I really needed from the salon are the periodical haircuts I needed whenever my mother was too busy to cut my hair herself.

Back in the salon, my right foot was propped up on the attendant’s lap as she aggressively but gently scrubbed my foot. I could hear my callouses screaming in absolute horror as they fell, one by one, on the attendant’s towel and apron. The attendant seemed to have a personal vendetta against the gunk on my feet, like they – the gunk – had gone to her house the night before and gunned down her family.

I paused from watching her lather a cream on my feet and calves and studied my surroundings. I sat on a plush chair with a print design that suggested royalty. Each chair had a matching footstool in the same upholstery and was separated from the other chairs by thin, lacy curtains.

Mabie would love this place.

Meanwhile, the attendant gave my feet another massage, popping my toes as she went. ‘It feels quite nice actually,’ I thought as my reputation screamed in sheer agony at the back of my head. It’s actually too late to worry about my rep, as the attendant had started using small, sharp implements on my toes. I can’t bring myself to watch. There are a lot of things that I am deathly afraid of, and I discovered, while sitting in that cozy chair, that pedicures are one of them.

While I typed on my phone, another attendant came along and took one look at me and said, “Pati kamay, ma’am?” (The hands too?) I shook my head vigorously.

I have to draw the line somewhere right?

Twenty Years Later: Aswang (1992)

After a convo with a friend that went from the upcoming Erik Matti movie about Tiktik to the 2011 movie Aswang, and ended up on the original 1992 Aswang, I busted out the Google-fu to find the said movie (because video rental shops have long since died around these parts) and thankfully found a copy. Personally, I found the original movie terrifying, as all children of the 90’s probably were – and it wasn’t just because I was in grade school when it was first released.

Aswang stars Manilyn Reynes as the faithful yaya/nanny Veron, mini-Aiza Seguerra as the mischievous surot Catlyn, Aljon Jimenez as the token tall-dark-and-handsome-good-guy Edgar, Berting Labra as awesome driver and aswang deterrent Mang Dudoy, and Alma Moreno as the titular Aswang. Alma Moreno is gorgeous in this movie, and aptly has an “I can seriously bite your face off to get to that tasty liver of yours.” ominousness to her. Lilia Cuntapay, the queen of Philippine horror flicks, also makes an appearance.

Ikaw, pag nakain ka ng aswang, kukutusan kita.

Re-watching the movie 20 years later is an enjoyable, if surreal, experience. With that in mind, here are some notes:

• In local folklore, aswangs are creatures that are similar to vampires. Except they a. will eat you and not just drink your blood, b. can shapeshift into a whole zoo of animals, c. will roost on your roof and use its very long tongue to eat the baby in your womb, d. have a weakness for fresh liver (i.e. YOUR fresh liver), e. have an unhealthy and probably fattening fondness for children, and f. don’t sparkle.

READ MORE: http://www.yuppieuniverse.com/blog/tv-movies-and-music/twenty-years-later-aswang-1992/

So today I'm fixing my phone contacts

… and I have to admit, I have this urge to just delete everybody and maybe start fresh. The people in my phone contacts can be classified in perfectly definable groups. First is the Ohayou! Group. This is the group I feel should be greeted with a good morning at least twice a week. They’re basically people I like to keep close - wait, let me rephrase. They’re people I like to keep close who subscribe to the same telco as I do (I don’t have an unlimited budget for load, you know). Then there are the Casual Contacts, people I have business with and people who remember to contact me every once in a while. Next are the People-Who-I-Have-Not-Seen-Or-Heard-From-In-YEARS; needless to say, and I have to say this in tagalog for impact, mas madalang pa sila sa multo magparamdam. Hmm. Maybe I should clean up my phone book every couple of years, I feel I have way too many outdated (and therefore wrong) numbers on me.

But where to start? 

Make good art

Make good art

In an effort to just shut up and write, I rummaged my proverbial attic (read: my email inbox, gdocs, and my hard drive) for the stories I’ve written/have a digital copy of. I’ve posted what I’ve found in my website, so they’re all in one place and I can find them easily (and shake my head and let out the little voice in my head that says they all suck hairy rocks). As an additional note to self and for easy access, I’ve inserted all the links to my Tumblr page called Free Shit, a page that was created because of a highly presumptuous notion that anybody would want to read them.

They’re a curious mix, I realize as I re-read them while posting. There’s the juvenile fiction, the experiments, the works in progress, and the creative exercises. They’re not much, and I think this motley collection explains why I need a break and why I need to go back to square one. 

Anyway. Are you bored? Free Shit.

Neil Gaiman: Reposted as something that can be reblogged. ON WRITER'S BLOCK.

Neil Gaiman: Reposted as something that can be reblogged. ON WRITER'S BLOCK.

neil-gaiman:

I’ve seem to be hitting writer’s block far too often now. My grade in my creative writing class is suffering because i don’t turn in anything because i’m never really satisfied with anything i do. all my good ideas seem to turn into bad ones once i write it down. How do you get pass writers…

Yuppie Travels: Cebu-Bohol

Yuppie Travels: Cebu-Bohol

I’m back on my desk, back to work, and back to breathing Metro Manila air so thick that on some days, you can almost touch it. I’ve just come back from a week-long break in the hopes that I’ll be able to leave my stress on a baggage conveyor belt at NAIA Terminal 3. 

It does help, to be a writer, to have the sort of crazed ego that doesn’t allow for failure. The best reaction to a rejection slip is a sort of wild-eyed madness, an evil grin, and sitting yourself in front of the keyboard muttering “Okay, you bastards. Try rejecting this!” and then writing something so unbelievably brilliant that all other writers will disembowel themselves with their pens upon reading it, because there’s nothing left to write.

Neil Gaiman, On Writing (via neilgaiman)

the reader's firestarter

While poking around Neil Gaiman’s Tumblr, I stumbled on one question somebody asked him: Hello, I’m new here. I heard a lot about your tumblr from my friend. She told me about your books etc. but honestly I didn’t read any of it yet. I just want to ask you, which book I should read first? Maybe it’s a stupid question but well I’m just curious. :D

His answer started with “I have no idea.” It had me wondering, what books got me to maniacally seek out my favorite authors’ books? For Gaiman, it was Good Omens, the Gaiman/Terry Pratchett collaboration about the Antichrist, the Four Horsemen, and the Apocalypse in general. The next thing I picked up was Sandman (thanks Eya!).

Confession: Every time I read something written by Neil Gaiman I feel the need to write. Sometimes I do – one of which I recently submitted. That last story was actually written after reading a Sandman wiki-page.

I first picked up Sue Grafton’s detective series with Kinsey Millhone at G is for Gumshoe, which I find apt. Stephen King at Pet Sematary (or was it The Green Mile?), Diana Wynne Jones at Howl’s Moving Castle (which I read after watching Hayao Miyazaki’s film based on it), Libba Bray at The Sweet Far Thing (Rica recommended it, at the recommendation of another friend), and MaryJanice Davidson at Undead and Unwed (sorry, guilty pleasure, read it at Lei’s recommendation).

Next up, Stieg Larsson!

Neil Gaiman: The World Book Day App Announcement

Neil Gaiman: The World Book Day App Announcement

neil-gaiman:

The World Book Day App will be available for iPhone, iPad and iPod touch coming soon to the iTunes store and for the low, low price of absolutely free!

This brand new App features exclusive new short stories from Malorie Blackman, Neil Gaiman, Charlie Higson, Anthony Horowitz, Sophie McKenzie…

This is a good time to be an Apple fan person. I hope they offer e-books or something for the non-Apple peeps though.

just shut up and write

I’m in my pajamas (the most comfortable pieces of clothing known to man) and sitting in front of my computer to write. I’ve decided to take care of a few things, to go back to square one and find something I’ve misplaced. I’m going back to the basics, to just writing for the sake of writing. Well, as it happens, I’ve come across a random link that took me to another and another (needless to say, I was caught up in another productivity-eating Internet vortex of doom) and ended up in Chuck Wendig’s website, TerribleMinds.

Chuck Wendig is the author of delightfully twisted books like Blackbirds, Double Dead, and Mockingbird. He also writes short stories which he gives away as Totally Free Shit.

In said website, Wendig dispenses writing advice that definitely perked me up on a particularly shitty night. Here are the parts that felt like somebody with cleats is repeatedly dropkicking me in the face while another douche is punching at the general area of my kidneys:

(If you want the complete version without any annoying side comments from me, check it out here: The 25 Things I Want to Say to So-Called “Aspiring” Writers.)

A Thousand Times Yes: The (Obligatory) Valentine’s Post

I have very few personal traditions, including staying up the entire day for my birthday (which I have decided last year that I am too old for that shit) and writing something for Valentine’s Day.  Today is February 14^th and for the first time in years, I have been caught unprepared. I figure though that it’s not too late to tap the inner bitch/cynic for the occasion.

First, I took a look back at the documentation. I’ve been posting yearly Valentine’s articles on my website, ranging from examinations of the suspension of disbelief and of how Disney screwed us up severe to stories of momentary lapses (or a total lack thereof) in judgment. Here are a few clips:

It’s that feeling of crawling under your skin, of inadequacy, of frustration, of crashing. It’s that need to smoke until you get a migraine, to smoke until the nerves settle which they never do, but still you continue to light up until you realize you’ve consumed a pack in a few hours. 

It’s that Hocrap! feeling you get when you wake up late for an appointment, or wake up from an unscheduled nap. There’s a moment of wondering where you are, then the realization hits - you are fucked up severe. Everything is sideways afterward and just wrong. You can’t put your finger on when the wrongness started, hence you don’t know what you need to fix. You decide, as you lie wide awake at 5 am, that maybe staying still is the solution. Nothing may fix your nothing problem, and maybe when you wake up, if you manage to go to sleep, the world will have righted itself.

Happy Anniversary TAC!

Okay, so tonight I am waxing sentimental. On this day exactly one year ago, while driving to Candon, Ilocos Sur, Remi told me two things: a. that she had a semi-hangover from a drinking session with Tats, which spawned the idea for The Antithesis Collective; and b. that she was getting me (and Rica, then sans .5) as resident writer and Editaur, respectively. Today, just having come home from a lunch date with the TAC members – Eya, Mabie, Tats, Remi, Rica, and Rica’s .5, I’ve realized how much has changed since that exchange while driving on NLEX.

We’ve weathered a storm (several literal and figurative ones, actually) and have gone through personal revisions. We’re not quite done yet, and though we’re a work in progress, we plan to see things through. And we’ll be here even after the everything.

Hold it with the rotten vegetables for a minute! What I’m trying to say is: Happy Anniversary TAC! To celebrate this day (and to somehow wash off the bitter taste of sappiness and overindulgence above), I’m going to give you the unofficial shortlist of writers included in our next collection, After the Everything. Here they are, in no any particular order:

Arvin Santos (Burr, Belat)

Raynier Avecilla (Sanib, Estidi)

Charlie Anne Espiritu (Brick Wall)

Maricar Virtudazo (The Plan)

Rosemarie Urquico (Boys, After the Everything)

Anamer Menguito (Before I Do, The World Ended Last Night)

Maebelle Alagbate (Fact.Fiction)