Tuesday, February 28, 2006

What is Punk

Cordillera Intelligence. Lesson No. 46: What is Punk?

This is not the National Punkista Army

This is an NPA couple

This is the Mids, a punk band

These are cultural workers of NPA

This is punk tattoo. NPA regulars do not wear tattoo because that is similar to branding. Maybe they want to be punks later.

The eleven punkistas who went up to Sagada which you arrested for being the NPA regulars who raided a police station in Buguias are punkistas. You failed in this lesson. Shame on you.

Resign Calls from all over

What is Proclamation 1017 to us youth documentary filmmakers? It is a proof of panic now made crystal clear to the whole nation. Arroyo has something to fear. It is not terror ism because it is she who ordered the violent dispersal of peaceful assemblies and threatened to takeover media institutions that have existed to report facts. What Arroyo fears is the truth: that she has stolen the people's money and collaborated with high-ranking officials to win the election, that she misused her power to implement anti-people economic programs that is preventing our country from developing; and by suppressing the right to _expression, that she has abused power to stay in power.

From UP Roland Simbulan:
Ironically, as if trying to repeat Marcosian history, President Gloria Macapagal Arroyo's Proclamation 1017 suffocates democracy to ostensibly defend democracy against the alleged "Leftist" and "Rightist" threat. Peaceful assemblies, rallies and freedom of _expression are being mute d; newspapers are being threatened with closure should they cover the activities and views of the opposition.
This great university of the Filipino people has survived Martial Law and many challenges and threats to its academic freedom of _expression and freedom of assembly -- the very foundation of its relentless search for truth and new knowledge.

From UP Unseat:
We, the U.P. Community, declare our defiance to Proclamation 1017. A philosopher once said that “the history of the oppressed tells us that the state of emergency is not the exemption but the rule”. We therefore proclaim this University to be a STATE-OF-EMERGENCY-FREE-ZONE where militant struggle is not an exception but the rule.

From the Visayas media:
Sin profecia el pueblo sera disipado. (Pro 29:18 RV09)
Without a vision, the people perish. (Pro 29:18 KJV)

From NUJP:
With 10 journalists murdered in 2005, the Philippines is second only to Iraq as the world’s most dangerous country to practice the profession. To say this government does not inspire confidence in the realm of interpreting “responsible exercise” of press freedom would be an understatement.
Philippine media is not infallible. Journalists in the country have had to struggle with a dearth in opportunities for skills improvement, not to mention harsh and unjust work conditions. There have been many instances of irresponsible, unethical practice of the profession.
These, however, are not sufficient grounds to tamper with a basic democratic right. There are enough laws to ensure a system of redress for those who see themselves wronged by an irresponsible press. Journalists who use their profession to commit crimes are not exempt from the country’s laws.

From all of us:
I am not a streppers. My brother. Is not. A pig (see below)

From Zhazha Zaturnah:

Benny the Piglet

Oh my God, did I speak too soon about the downswing career of Benny Agbayani. A friend emailed me that Benny of Hawaii is doing great in Japan (despite that ball on balls). "On October 26, 2005, Agbayani and the Chiba Lotte Marines swept the Hanshin Tigers in 4 games during the J-Series. This is the Marines' first title in 31 years. On November 13, 2005, they won the Asia series after defeating the champions of Korea, China, and Taiwan, and Agbayani was named M V P" he said. I scanned the upcoming Major League Baseball's list of players and there is no Agbayani. Here he is kissing a pig in Hawaii.

Monday, February 27, 2006

Where Have You Gone, Benny Agbayani

Glorious June of 2000, a New ly acquired New York Met named Benny Agbayani (30th round draft pick), a Fil-Am from Hawai'i made omeruns in five consecutive games.
But I think his shining moment was the National League Division Series. Benny Agbayani's home run in the 13th inning gave the Mets a 3-2 victory over the Giants in the NLDS, allowing New York to take a 2-1 lead in that series. For the Mets, it marked the fifth consecutive postseason victory attained in their last at-bat.
Then during the Subway Series against the New Tork Yankees, he almost made his team win wiht his bat. He eventually got his own theme song at the Met's Shea Stadium. "Benny and the Mets" from "Benny and the Jets" by Elton John.
So where have you gone, Benny and the Mets. The nation turns its lonely eyes to you. Hu hu hu. Then it was downhill since then. He was traded to the Rockies and then became a viajero (e used this term somewhere in an interview) in the J-League (with the Chiba Lotte Marines, I think) in Japan. This hurts.

GMA, Read the Signs on the Wall

But What About Sam Milby

Sam Milby I saw in Intramuros during the Ilocos Week. What was he doing there, I don't know except he sang and accompanied himself with his guitar. Sam Milby (blue stripes) was a replacement of the past Pinoy Big Brother. Here he is with Uma (Thurwoman) and Alipio Fernandez of Immigrations because the two were supposed to be foreigners working without a permit in the Philippines. Now They are big in the Philippines. Sam cut an album. One time, I heard him sing on the radio a remake of The Platter's Only You. He sang,

You're my dream comes true

Wha? He is a Fil-Am from Ohio! They have good grammar there, di ba? At least with Keanna, she's just a streppers.

Keanna Grows on You

This is Keanna's alleged Friendster profile.
These are her pictures. This is her life:

Gender: Female

Interested in Meeting People for:
Relationship Men and Women, Dating Men and Women, Friends, Activity Partners

Status: In a Relationship

Age: 86

Location: Philippines

Hometown: pook pook town
Schools: sex school
Occupation: pook pookccupation

Companies: sex club

She has 6,000 friends.

This is Boy Abunda. Unexplicably, his is the first image (Filipino) you would see when you google for Keanna. Why? Mystery of Life indeed.

Keanna Reeves in Pinoy Big Bra

Keanna Reeves entered showbiz through the hearing on escort girls. This is a woman whose community chest is definitely bigger than her cerebellum. She was chosen to join the Pinoy Big Brother Celebrity to add "libog" to the show. But now we realize that she could be very funny accidentally.

Keanna (in fury): Sinabi ko bang ipagtanggol mo'ko? Lahat na lang ng mga housemates kailangang mag-adjust para intindihin ka. Ang hirap kasi sa'yo napaka-KFC mo........ KSP pala."

Keanna: "Di ko alam na pinag-uusapan ako kasi ba't naman ako nila paguusapan?di ko naman bertdey"

Keanna: "Andami kong pimples wala kasing moisturizer eh"
Rico: "Ano ?"
Keanna: " Bakukang..andami kong bakukang(pertaining to her pimples)"
Rico: " Anong bakukang?"
Keanna: "Insekto..(wipes her cheeks)"

Keanna" "Buti na lang pinaligo na tayo, akala ko kasi sa Sabado papuwedeng maligo. Paano kaya sila matutulog non?"

Keanna to the Big Brother: (About not taking bath) Pakiramdam ko po kasi hindi na ako FRESH.

Keanna: "Rustrum!!"
Roxie: "Rustom hindi Rustrum!"
Keanna: *deadma mode" pakealam mo? mayaman ako sa letter R!

Keanna: (habang nagwawalis) "Hindi ako makatulog na madumi ang bahay kasi. Tapos mahilig pa kayong magkape. Gusto ko tuloy kayong paluin"

Keanna: Ang hirap kaya mag-dishwasher

(Keanna posing in front of housemates)
Keanna - "Dapat pala ay mag-pouch ako"
Housemates - "Pout hindi pouch( tapos halakhakan)"
Keanna - "Eh ano yung pouch past tense"

(RULE: Bawal galawin ang furnitures ng wala akong pahintulot)
Keanna: E di bawal pala gamitin yung rocking chair? Kasi gagalaw yun

Keanna: "John Prats! John Prats! Kunin mo nga yung chicken."
(hahhahahahh! Full name talaga? )

Keanna: (reading the rule book) si big bra.. brother ang magbibigay
sa inyo ng mga kakailanganing gamit...(thinks)... e bat di natin
ung kamay ni big bradir eh sya pla magbibigay...

ZANJOE: Yung kapatid ko ZANDRO...
KEANNA: Lahat kayo start sa 'S'??

Keanna: "Ay naku wala na pag-asa tayo mag-modern times. Ito pa din
ang toothbrush...Talagang back to BISIKS tayo

Keanna - "Streppers ako" (stripper)

Sunday, February 26, 2006

Happy Panagbengay

Click on this.

Saturday, February 25, 2006

Simula Na!

Ka Crispin Beltran arrested. Beltran, along with his wife Rosario and four other companions, were accosted by a certain Maj. Rene Corpuz and another unidentified person, both reportedly from the CIDG, at the gate of Francisco III Subdivision in Muzon, Bulacan around 10 am today. Daily Tribune padlocked. "I was tipped off yesterday that they [the government] were out to get me and my name was on a list of people to be arrested. No one said when," the Tribune's editor and publisher, Ninez Cacho-Olivares, said. "I left the office as I normally do around 9:30 pm and just after midnight police entered our offices and confiscated papers and documents. They sealed the offices and posted police at the front door," she added. "We view the raid on Tribune, an opposition newspaper, with alarm. It appears to signal the start of a crackdown on media organizations," Newsbreak magazine editor in chief Marites Danguilan-Vitug said.

I've been thinking....

Help a man when he is in trouble and he will remember you when he is in trouble again. Complex problems have simple, easy to understand wrong answers. Alcohol doesn't solve any problems, but then again, neither does milk. Forgive your enemies, but remember their names. The number of people watching you is directly proportional to the stupidity of your action.

Baguio is Cheap. Kung Alam Lang Niya...

Juny La Putt, webmaster even during the Vietnam War time, came home from Hawai'i to watch the Panagbenga. Here's his notes:

Most probably some of you would be interested to know something about
the cost of living out here in the City of Baguio. I did look around
and tried a few things myself. Here's a sampling of how inexpensive
things and services are out here in the city:

$3.28 - dinner (grilled tanguigue with rice & vegetables plus a can
of San Miguel light beer) at Veniz Grill. Tanguigue is a fish
which is known as "ono" in Hawaii.
2.40 - breakfast buffet at the Veniz Hotel (eat all that you can
and drink as much juice and coffee)
0.77 - blood sugar test
0.19 - to check your blood pressure
1.63 - cost for a bowl of beef or chicken noodles at Luisa's Cafe
1.62 - lunch at Betty's Restaurant (grilled tilapia with rice,
salad, and a glass of coke)
0.76 - student's budget lunch (rice with two dish choices) at the
basement of Maharlika Livelihood Center.
3.50 - taxi ride from Baguio to Fort Del Pilar & back (about 25 kms)
5.85 - aircon bus fare from Manila to Baguio (250 kms in 6 hrs)
1.35 - haircut and shave at a barber shop along Gen. Luna Road.
3.65 - one hour of whole body shiatsu massage at the massage center
located at Camp Allen ($7.70 if done in your hotel room)
0.05 - cost of a single piece of sweet banana
0.67 - cost to have a new pair of pants altered by a tailor.
0.39 - the hourly cost I pay to go online at the Faith Internet Cafe.
0.10 - to use a public bathroom

Back in Honolulu, I usually give as much as 10% up to 15% for tips when
eating in a restaurant. Out here, most people just give us much as 20
to 40 U.S. cents and some don't even leave a tip at all. For my haircut
at a barber shop in Kapalama, I pay $10 for a haircut plus a $2 tip
while out here I can have a haircut and shave for just $1.35.

I took a quick tour of the Baguio Public Market this Friday afternoon
and took a lot of pictures of what are sold in the market. You will get
to see the pictures when I post these later ... and you will be
surprise to see how cheap the vegetables, fruits, fish, poultry, and
various other commodities are.

From a local newspaper ad, I saw a 2-story, three-bedroom homes being
sold at prices ranging from only $23,077 to $28,846 and this already
includes the lot on which the home is constructed. There is no doubt
that the dollars you earn in the United States will go a long way if
spent here. I guess this is the reason why so many who have lived
abroad have came back to retire here. And this is not typical among
Filipinos alone. There are a lot of foreigners who have married
Filipinas and who have decided to make Baguio their home too.

Brokeback Mountain (Burnham Version)

A correspondent sent me this touching story of the Brokeback Mountaineers.

Out of Burnham Park
By Isak Denizens

I had a trick in Burnham Park. He came from out of the blue lake into the bike rentals and proceeded to the hill where once stood the mini-train ride of my youth. ETCHING! Enough of this romanticizing. Yes, Burnham Park is still major cruising ground for locals and visitors alike. The Hetero or homo or metro kind. Like all parks of major centers, Burnham Park is fodder for predator and prey alike. Think of Central park in New York or Trafalgar Square or heck, the old Mehan Garden of Manila. Luneta and Paseo not withstanding.

By day Burnham Park is tourism-picture-perfect. Sunshiney, pleasant and all abloom. Parents and children wander about with souveniers and snacks in hand. By dusk, the park casts a not-so-innocent demeanor. Young lovers in groups catch the tail end of the boat rentals. Giggling their testosterone and estrogen levels throughout sunset. The splashing of water made by their paddles add up to the sexual cacophony. Intermngling with these are the sounds of the vendors shouting ‘Baluuuuuut!’, ‘Maniiiiiii!’ uhm, ‘Putoooooo!’.

And so we come to ‘putos’. They carouse in tight shirts, tighter jeans, and the prerequisite soft, dark, olfactory leather jacket. They pounce on ‘sashaying’ tourists or lone men and ask the quintessential question: “Service?!?” with a smile. ‘Service’ being you-know-what and from hereon it’s tiangge divisoria-style. Haggling is not only permissible, it’s the only logical step to follow. It’s the old economic tenet of supply and demand. Customer vis-à-vis product exchange. Satisfaction guaranteed and no-your-money-back guarantee. At least one gets to know or expect what he’s paying for.

Peak season sees the whole caboodle of ‘servicemen’ plying the park all the way to Session Road. This time of year sees the rise in ‘service fees’ as tourists abound and are willing to pay ‘manila rates’ for a good time in the city of Pines. (I hear the female counterparts are in Magsaysay district). The ‘servicemen’ are enlisted by senior ‘officers’ or relatives or simply out for a good time themselves and extra cash to be able to pay for their entrance or drinks at the latest concert or gimik place. Thus ‘freelancing students’ abound specially after exams during this period. Or make that even before exams. Go figure.

Oh but this happens in every corner of Luzviminda. Here’s bad news to the moralist, the oldest profession in the world is here to stay. The best we can do is regulate it and come up with a comprehensive health program for ‘them’ or to designate a red light district that will be easier to monitor and control. It’s useless to fight them, they will only go underground and wreak more havoc, health-wise. With monitoring, at least they may be someday taxed for their profession. Oh enough…

So what else is there for the pinoy gay to do up in Baguio. The usual tourist trappings do not discriminate against the homosexual. Any tourist in Baguio equals much needed revenue for the city. Hence, the tolerance for homosexuals – flamboyant or not – is prevalent in this city. Hotels, restaurants, bars, theaters, parks, activity centers are open and friendly to gays. And such, these places are prime ‘cruising’ grounds for gays. While it is still illegal to perform lascivious acts or behave in a scandalous manner, much of the negotiations appear out in the open. With monetary gains or not. Gays have much taken to the internet and thus most alliances are formed in the chat rooms and the eb’s are the final touchdown. From hereon, budding romances may flourish to full-blown relationships. Or they wither into yet another vacation fling in the diaries (or PDA’s) of the modern pinoy gay.

Baguio is no stranger to such encounters. What is strange is that the few gay bars (as in macho dancing) in the outskirts of the city cater to… tada!!!...the female market. The first time I heard of a gay bar in the city was from my female friends who out on a whim drove over to Naguillian Road on a weekday and found themselves in the company of more females. The only gays around the bar were the employees/gro’s. While the matrons or young female executives are the constant habitués of these places, the gays in Baguio City prefer the more mainstream entertainment. Like their metropolitan counterparts, they roam the malls shopping to their hearts’ and wallets’ delight. They frequent their favorite bars, restaurants, etc. in the hope of meeting someone they eventually will…’whatever’ with.

Stranger even is the tolerance up north. In the mid-90’s my friends and I went up to Abatan, Benguet for a wedding. Weddings up north are events for townsfolk to get together in what could be a three-day to a full-month event. Depending on the stature of the host family. Traditional butchering of cows and pigs were present in this wedding. The first night we ventured into the main highway in search of a bar to drink the night away. We stumbled into one by the roadside and entered with glee as the place was packed with prospective males. Like peahens we sat coyly and ordered our drinks and waited for the Benguet Cowboys to strut their stuff. In less than 10 minutes, one cowboy goes to the jukebox, plays a slow tune, approaches our group, este, moi, then asks for a dance. I oblige feeling like a colegiala in her first soiree and as we dance a slow drag, the rest of the cowboys approach the rest of my ‘sisters’ and follow suit. We all danced to two songs, exchanging pleasantries as our arms were wrapped around each other. A decent space was observed though between our bodies. All the while I was thinking how pleasant the experience was. Not only because it was terribly ‘pa-girl’ but also because it was refreshing to encounter males who had no biases or phobias regarding gays and were similarly out for a good time if not to do their hometown duty of entertaining guests from the city. In retrospect, the Benguet Cowboy apparently has its own version of Brokeback Mountain. Too bad text messaging or email was not yet around. Who knows I could’ve been Laura Ingalls to their Cowboy persona.

Going further back, as a kid I remember the Grand Canao Celebrations of the late 70’s. Different tribes would gather at the top of Session Road in full regalia and instruments and ‘pattong’ their way down the road. I remember one distinct assembly at the top of the road when the parade was about to commence. A few minutes into the start, there were about 6 or 7 participantss in their late teens huddled together to keep them warm. They were all naked but for their g-strings and they hugged skin-to-skin to keep warm. They were all smiling and cavorting with no-holds-barred abandon. How pure their male camaraderie was. And how oh so homoerotic. Today I shake my head in frustration at why the westerner has imbued us with their malicious ways as we now frown on male public displays of affection. Remember when it was not uncommon to see two ‘pards’ walking down Session Road with their pinkies locked in friendship? Ay, Apo…

Friday, February 24, 2006

From GMA to G MArcos

This person either has too much sense of irony or no sense of history. In the 20th year of People's Power Movement which is a peaceful demonstration of nonviolent takeover of a government, our PRESIDENT decided to enforce emergency rule. Her Proclamation 1017 called for padlocking of the media, warrantless arrest and ban on rallies. Most of all, she is for bringing in the military to quell suppression.
Soemwhere in the dictators mind and outside her Arlegui residence are “elements in the political opposition (who) had conspired with authoritarians of the extreme Left represented by the [National Democratic Front-Communist Party of the Philippines-New People’s Army] and the extreme Right, represented by military adventurists -- the historic enemies of the democratic Philippine State -- who are now in a tactical alliance and engaged in a concerted and systematic conspiracy, over a broad front, to bring down the duly constituted government elected in May 2004.”
And then "the claims of these elements had been recklessly magnified by certain segments of the national media.”Meaning. We can all be arrested anytime now.
Before they do so. Let us say our piece as we did with Marcos more than 20 years ago: YUCK FOU GMA!!!!!

Thursday, February 23, 2006

EDSA and Nostradamus

Did Nostradamus predict EDSA?
Here's the complete annotation on Century X-22

Por ne vouloir consentir a divorce
Qui puis apres sera cogneu indigne,
Le Roi des Isles sera chasse par force
Mis a son lieu que de roi n'aura signe

For not wanting to consent to the divorce, which then afterwards will be recognized as unworthy, the King of the Islands will be forced to flee, and one put in his place who has no sign of kingship

W. This refers to when Marcos was ousted from the Philippines. The one put in his palce who has no sign of kingship was, of course, a woman. The first part of that quatrain means that he didn't want to give up what he had going for him - because power corrupts, and he was in control of quite a bit of money

D: That's what it means by "not wanting to consent to the divorce."

W: Yes, not wanting to give up everything he had

D: which then afterwards will be recognized as unworthy

W: Of course, because he got what he had through corruption and control

D: The King of the Islands will be forced to flee

W: Which he was

D: And one put in his place who has no sign of kingship

W: Because a woman can't be a king, and she would not even normally be considered as a leader. This is the way Nostradamus thinks.

D: In the book I'm reading from, they say this quatrain refers to king Edward VII of England when he married the divorced woman and gave up his throne

W: It could refer to that. But the first impression I got was about the leader of the Philippines.

D: Does he think that the present woman leader of the Philippines will remain in power?

W: There will be trouble, but yes, she will remain in power for a time

D: Will Marcos cause her power?

W: (This was translated before his death) No. There's always a revolution. It will be caused by the people who live in the Philippines. They will rebel against the government.

D: Then he's showing you that the people will revolt against Aquino?

W: She has support form outside the Philippines. As long as that support continues, she will be in control.

Would Karl Marx Have Blogged? No. Waste of Time

At the close of 2002, there were some 15,000 blogs. By 2005, 56 new blogs were starting every minute. As I type this sentence, there are, according to technorati.com, 27.2 million blogs. By the time you read this sentence, there surely will be many more

Tuesday, February 21, 2006

Two to Join


Paanyaya sa lahat na magsumite ng mga kuwentong binubuo ng 100 salita (walang labis, walang kulang, maliban sa pamagat) para sa isang antolohiya ng isandaang kuwentong tig-iisandaang salita.

Kahit ano, basta’t magkuwento! Sandaang salita ang laan sa ‘yo!

Sa ngalan ng pagtitipid sa gitna ng krisis, isang daang salita lamang para sa bawat manunulat. Bawal ang madaldal. Gamitin ang WORD COUNT ng MS-WORD para sa mas siguradong pagbilang ng salita. Pagkasyahin sa 8 1/2 x 11, doble espasyo, maaaring sa Ingles o Filipino. Lakipan ng bio-sketch ng manunulat. Huwag kalimutang isama ang cellphone number, landline, e-mail address o alin man dito. Ito ay bukas sa mga
umuusbong na manunulat ng bansa.

Ipadala ang mga kuwento (dalawang kuwento maximum sa bawat manunulat)kasama ang inyong bio-sketch sa:


o sa,

Dadaaning Pelikula
Filipino Department,
4th Floor William Hall,
2401 Taft Avenue, Manila.

Samahan ito ng kopya sa diskette na nasa MS-WORD format, 12pts., font
type: Times New Roman

Huling araw: Kung maaari ay ASAP pero kung gusto ninyo, bago matapos
ang buwan ng Pebrero 2006

Panitikang Piling-piling Pelikulang Pilipino

Tulaan si Nora. I-chika si Darna. Uriratin ang Himala. Isama si Val.
Si Val, si Val, lagi na lang si Val, ang walang malay na si Val!

Mga kontribusyon para sa isang antolohiya ng mga sulatin ukol sa/may alyusyon sa pelikulang Pilipino. Maaaring isulat bilang kuwento, tula, sanaysay, kung anu-ano pa basta’t itampok ang pinakamamahal nating pelikulang Pinoy. Ito ay bukas sa mga umuusbong na manunulat ng bansa.

81/2 x 11, doble espasyo, maaaring sa Ingles o Filipino. Lakipan ng bio-sketch ng manunulat. Huwag kalimutang isama ang cellphone number, landline, e-mail address o alin man dito.

Ipadala sa:


o sa,

Dadaaning Pelikula
Filipino Department,
4th Floor William Hall,
2401 Taft Avenue, Manila.

Samahan ito ng kopya sa diskette na nasa MS-WORD format, 12pts.,
font: Times New Roman

Huling araw: Kung maaari ay ASAP pero kung gusto ninyo, bago matapos
ang buwan ng Pebrero 2006

Monday, February 20, 2006

Love Story in 1000 words

Do you have a love story to tell? Enter it in Gather.com's
Greatest Love Story Competition! Email work of 1000 words
or less (fiction or nonfiction, photo optional) by 2/28/06
for a chance to win a 4-night stay for two in beautiful
Jamaica! Gather.com is *the* place for writers to publish.
Details: http://www.lovestories.gather.com/index.jsp?ref=sa9

Life is short. The short story is too long. Here are some links that can help you with Brokeback Mountain.


New Yorker used to have it in their archives but they pulled it down. Good for them. You need to subscribe to them to download. The short story won the O. Henry Awards, by the way.

Brokeback Mountain Part II (The Dirty Part)

They got the big tent up on the Forest Service’s platform, the kitchen and grub boxes secured. Both slept in camp that first night, Jack already bitching about Joe Aguirre’s sleep-with-the-sheep-and-no-fire order, though he saddled the bay mare in the dark morning without saying much. Dawn came glassy orange, stained from below by a gelatinous band of pale green. The sooty bulk of the mountain paled slowly until it was the same color as the smoke from Ennis’s breakfast fire. The cold air sweetened, banded pebbles and crumbs of soil cast sudden pencil-long shadows and the rearing lodgepole pines below them massed in slabs of somber malachite.

During the day Ennis looked across a great gulf and sometimes saw Jack, a small dot moving across a high meadow as an insect moves across a tablecloth; Jack, in his dark camp, saw Ennis as night fire, a red spark on the huge black mass of mountain.
Jack came lagging in late one afternoon, drank his two bottles of beer cooled in a wet sack on the shady side of the tent, ate two bowls of stew, four of Ennis’s stone biscuits, a can of peaches, rolled a smoke, watched the sun drop.

“I’m commutin four hours a day,” he said morosely. “Come in for breakfast, go back to the sheep, evenin get em bedded down, come in for supper, go back to the sheep, spend half the night jumpin up and checkin for coyotes. By rights I should be spendin the night here. Aguirre got no right a make me do this.”

“You want a switch?” said Ennis. “I wouldn’t mind herdin. I wouldn’t mind sleepin out there.”

“That ain’t the point. Point is, we both should be in this camp. And that goddamn pup tent smells like cat piss or worse.”

“Wouldn’t mind bein out there.”

“Tell you what, you got a get up a dozen times in the night out there over them coyotes. Happy to switch but give you warnin I can’t cook worth a shit. Pretty good with a can opener.”

“Can’t be no worse than me, then. Sure, I wouldn’t mind a do it.”

They fended off the night for an hour with the yellow kerosene lamp and around ten Ennis rode Cigar Butt, a good night horse, through the glimmering frost back to the sheep, carrying leftover biscuits, a jar of jam and a jar of coffee with him for the next day saying he’d save a trip, stay out until supper.

“Shot a coyote just first light,” he told Jack the next evening, sloshing his face with hot water, lathering up soap and hoping his razor had some cut left in it, while Jack peeled potatoes. “Big son of a bitch. Balls on him size a apples. I bet he’d took a few lambs. Looked like he could a eat a camel. You want some a this hot water? There’s plenty.”

“It’s all yours.”

“Well, I’m goin a warsh everthing I can reach,” he said, pulling off his boots and jeans (no drawers, no socks, Jack noticed), slopping the green washcloth around until the fire spat.

They had a high-time supper by the fire, a can of beans each, fried potatoes and a quart of whiskey on shares, sat with their backs against a log, boot soles and copper jeans rivets hot, swapping the bottle while the lavender sky emptied of color and the chill air drained down, drinking, smoking cigarettes, getting up every now and then to piss, firelight throwing a sparkle in the arched stream, tossing sticks on the fire to keep the talk going, talking horses and rodeo, roughstock events, wrecks and injuries sustained, the submarine Thresher lost two months earlier with all hands and how it must have been in the last doomed minutes, dogs each had owned and known, the draft, Jack’s home ranch where his father and mother held on, Ennis’s family place folded years ago after his folks died, the older brother in Signal and a married sister in Casper. Jack said his father had been a pretty well known bullrider years back but kept his secrets to himself, never gave Jack a word of advice, never came once to see Jack ride, though he had put him on the woolies when he was a little kid.

Ennis said the kind of riding that interested him lasted longer than eight seconds and had some point to it. Money’s a good point, said Jack, and Ennis had to agree. They were respectful of each other’s opinions, each glad to have a companion where none had been expected. Ennis, riding against the wind back to the sheep in the treacherous, drunken light, thought he’d never had such a good time, felt he could paw the white out of the moon.

The summer went on and they moved the herd to new pasture, shifted the camp; the distance between the sheep and the new camp was greater and the night ride longer. Ennis rode easy, sleeping with his eyes open, but the hours he was away from the sheep stretched out and out. Jack pulled a squalling burr out of the harmonica, flattened a little from a fall off the skittish bay mare, and Ennis had a good raspy voice; a few nights they mangled their way through some songs. Ennis knew the salty words to “Strawberry Roan.” Jack tried a Carl Perkins song, bawling “what I say-ay-ay,” but he favored a sad hymn, “Water-Walking Jesus,” learned from his mother who believed in the Pentecost, that he sang at dirge slowness, setting off distant coyote yips.

“Too late to go out to them damn sheep,” said Ennis, dizzy drunk on all fours one cold hour when the moon had notched past two. The meadow stones glowed white-green and a flinty wind worked over the meadow, scraped the fire low, then ruffled it into yellow silk sashes. “Got you a extra blanket I’ll roll up out here and grab forty winks, ride out at first light.”

“Freeze your ass off when that fire dies down. Better off sleepin in the tent.”

“Doubt I’ll feel nothin.” But he staggered under canvas, pulled his boots off, snored on the ground cloth for a while, woke Jack with the clacking of his jaw.

“Jesus Christ, quit hammerin and get over here. Bedroll’s big enough,” said Jack in an irritable sleep-clogged voice. It was big enough, warm enough, and in a little while they deepened their intimacy considerably. Ennis ran full- throttle on all roads whether fence mending or money spending, and he wanted none of it when Jack seized his left hand and brought it to his erect cock. Ennis jerked his hand away as though he’d touched fire, got to his knees, unbuckled his belt, shoved his pants down, hauled Jack onto all fours and, with the help of the clear slick and a little spit, entered him, nothing he’d done before but no instruction manual needed. They went at it in silence except for a few sharp intakes of breath and Jack’s choked “gun’s goin off,” then out, down, and asleep.

Ennis woke in red dawn with his pants around his knees, a top-grade headache, and Jack butted against him; without saying anything about it both knew how it would go for the rest of the summer, sheep be damned.

As it did go. They never talked about the sex, let it happen, at first only in the tent at night, then in the full daylight with the hot sun striking down, and at evening in the fire glow, quick, rough, laughing and snorting, no lack of noises, but saying not a goddamn word except once Ennis said, “I’m not no queer,” and Jack jumped in with “Me neither. A one-shot thing. Nobody’s business but ours.” There were only the two of them on the mountain flying in the euphoric, bitter air, looking down on the hawk’s back and the crawling lights of vehicles on the plain below, suspended above ordinary affairs and distant from tame ranch dogs barking in the dark hours. They believed themselves invisible, not knowing Joe Aguirre had watched them through his 10x42 binoculars for ten minutes one day, waiting until they’d buttoned up their jeans, waiting until Ennis rode back to the sheep, before bringing up the message that Jack’s people had sent word that his uncle Harold was in the hospital with pneumonia and expected not to make it. Though he did, and Aguirre came up again to say so, fixing Jack with his bold stare, not bothering to dismount.

In August Ennis spent the whole night with Jack in the main camp and in a blowy hailstorm the sheep took off west and got among a herd in another allotment. There was a damn miserable time for five days, Ennis and a Chilean herder with no English trying to sort them out, the task almost impossible as the paint brands were worn and faint at this late season. Even when the numbers were right Ennis knew the sheep were mixed. In a disquieting way everything seemed mixed.

The first snow came early, on August thirteenth, piling up a foot, but was followed by a quick melt. The next week Joe Aguirre sent word to bring them down-- another, bigger storm was moving in from the Pacific -- and they packed in the game and moved off the mountain with the sheep, stones rolling at their heels, purple cloud crowding in from the west and the metal smell of coming snow pressing them on. The mountain boiled with demonic energy, glazed with flickering broken-cloud light, the wind combed the grass and drew from the damaged krummholz and slit rock a bestial drone. As they descended the slope Ennis felt he was in a slow-motion, but headlong, irreversible fall.

Joe Aguirre paid them, said little. He had looked at the milling sheep with a sour expression, said, “Some a these never went up there with you.” The count was not what he’d hoped for either. Ranch stiffs never did much of a job.

“You goin a do this next summer?” said Jack to Ennis in the street, one leg already up in his green pickup. The wind was gusting hard and cold.

“Maybe not.” A dust plume rose and hazed the air with fine grit and he squinted against it. “Like I said, Alma and me’s gettin married in December. Try to get somethin on a ranch. You?” He looked away from Jack’s jaw, bruised blue from the hard punch Ennis had thrown him on the last day.

“If nothin better comes along. Thought some about going back up to my daddy’s place, give him a hand over the winter, then maybe head out for Texas in the spring. If the draft don’t get me.”

“Well, see you around, I guess.” The wind tumbled an empty feed bag down the street until it fetched up under his truck.

“Right,” said Jack, and they shook hands, hit each other on the shoulder, then there was forty feet of distance between them and nothing to do but drive away in opposite directions. Within a mile Ennis felt like someone was pulling his guts out hand over hand a yard at a time. He stopped at the side of the road and, in the whirling new snow, tried to puke but nothing came up. He felt about as bad as he ever had and it took a long time for the feeling to wear off.

In December Ennis married Alma Beers and had her pregnant by mid-January. He picked up a few short-lived ranch jobs, then settled in as a wrangler on the old Elwood Hi-Top place north of Lost Cabin in Washakie County. He was still working there in September when Alma Jr., as he called his daughter, was born and their bedroom was full of the smell of old blood and milk and baby shit, and the sounds were of squalling and sucking and Alma’s sleepy groans, all reassuring of fecundity and life’s continuance to one who worked with livestock.

When the Hi-Top folded they moved to a small apartment in Riverton up over a laundry. Ennis got on the highway crew, tolerating it but working weekends at the Rafter B in exchange for keeping his horses out there. The second girl was born and Alma wanted to stay in town near the clinic because the child had an asthmatic wheeze.

“Ennis, please, no more damn lonesome ranches for us,” she said, sitting on his lap, wrapping her thin, freckled arms around him. “Let’s get a place here in town?”

“I guess,” said Ennis, slipping his hand up her blouse sleeve and stirring the silky armpit hair, then easing her down, fingers moving up her ribs to the jelly breast, over the round belly and knee and up into the wet gap all the way to the north pole or the equator depending which way you thought you were sailing, working at it until she shuddered and bucked against his hand and he rolled her over, did quickly what she hated. They stayed in the little apartment which he favored because it could be left at any time.

The fourth summer since Brokeback Mountain came on and in June Ennis had a general delivery letter from Jack Twist, the first sign of life in all that time.

Friend this letter is a long time over due. Hope you get it.
Heard you was in Riverton. Im coming thru on the 24th,
thought Id stop and buy you a beer Drop mea line if you
can, say if your there.

The return address was Childress, Texas. Ennis wrote back, you bet, gave the Riverton address.

The day was hot and clear in the morning, but by noon the clouds had pushed up out of the west rolling a little sultry air before them. Ennis, wearing his best shirt, white with wide black stripes, didn’t know what time Jack would get there and so had taken the day off, paced back and forth, looking down into a street pale with dust. Alma was saying something about taking his friend to the Knife & Fork for supper instead of cooking it was so hot, if they could get a baby-sitter, but Ennis said more likely he’d just go out with Jack and get drunk. Jack was not a restaurant type, he said, thinking of the dirty spoons sticking out of the cans of cold beans balanced on the log.

Late in the afternoon, thunder growling, that same old green pickup rolled in and he saw Jack get out of the truck, beat-up Resistol tilted back. A hot jolt scalded Ennis and he was out on the landing pulling the door closed behind him. Jack took the stairs two and two. They seized each other by the shoulders, hugged mightily, squeezing the breath out of each other, saying, son of a bitch, son of a bitch, then, and easily as the right key turns the lock tumblers, their mouths came together, and hard, Jack’s big teeth bringing blood, his hat falling to the floor, stubble rasping, wet saliva welling, and the door opening and Alma looking out for a few seconds at Ennis’s straining shoulders and shutting the door again and still they clinched, pressing chest and groin and thigh and leg together, treading on each other’s toes until they pulled apart to breathe and Ennis, not big on endearments, said what he said to his horses and daughters, little darlin.

The door opened again a few inches and Alma stood in the narrow light.

What could he say? “Alma, this is Jack Twist, Jack, my wife Alma.” His chest was heaving. He could smell Jack -- the intensely familiar odor of cigarettes, musky sweat and a faint sweetness like grass, and with it the rushing cold of the mountain. “Alma,” he said, “Jack and me ain’t seen each other in four years.” As if it were a reason. He was glad the light was dim on the landing but did not turn away from her.

“Sure enough,” said Alma in a low voice. She had seen what she had seen. Behind her in the room lightning lit the window like a white sheet waving and the baby cried.

“You got a kid?” said Jack. His shaking hand grazed Ennis’s hand, electrical current snapped between them.

“Two little girls,” Ennis said. “Alma Jr. and Francine. Love them to pieces.” Alma’s mouth twitched.

“I got a boy,” said Jack. “Eight months old. Tell you what, I married a cute little old Texas girl down in Childress -- Lureen.” From the vibration of the floorboard on which they both stood Ennis could feel how hard Jack was shaking.

“Alma,” he said. “Jack and me is goin out and get a drink. Might not get back tonight, we get drinkin and talkin.”

“Sure enough,” Alma said, taking a dollar bill from her pocket. Ennis guessed she was going to ask him to get her a pack of cigarettes, bring him back sooner.

“Please to meet you,” said Jack, trembling like a run-out horse.

“Ennis -- “ said Alma in her misery voice, but that didn’t slow him down on the stairs and he called back, “Alma, you want smokes there’s some in the pocket a my blue shirt in the bedroom.”

They went off in Jack’s truck, bought a bottle of whiskey and within twenty minutes were in the Motel Siesta jouncing a bed. A few handfuls of hail rattled against the window followed by rain and slippery wind banging the unsecured door of the next room then and through the night.

The room stank of semen and smoke and sweat and whiskey, of old carpet and sour hay, saddle leather, shit and cheap soap. Ennis lay spread-eagled, spent and wet, breathing deep, still half tumescent, Jack blowing forceful cigarette clouds like whale spouts, and Jack said, “Christ, it got a be all that time a yours ahorseback makes it so goddamn good. We got to talk about this. Swear to god I didn’t know we was goin a get into this again -- yeah, I did. Why I’m here. I fuckin knew it. Redlined all the way, couldn’t get here fast enough.”

Sunday, February 19, 2006

Boodle Fight

A boodle fight is now a photo op of the military officers eating with the president or media or whoever is there. They usually lay down banana leaves, fill them with food and eat with their hands. This is my cousin, Gen. Roy (the handsome one) in a boodle fight.

This is the real boodle fight.

Why Japan is Losing in the Ski Jump

Four years ago, they were the best in skijump because the Winter Olympics was held there. Now they are losing big.

Because they sent their biggest player.

Friday, February 17, 2006

The Governor Vanishes

The Agbayanis of Pangasinan are famous in the local art scene as singers and filmmakers. The MTV of "Viktoria" could attest to that. Her awardwinning MTV was made by her brothers who were legendary in the local short film history. Now one of the young Agbayanis is the governor. Gov. Victor Agbayani (Yes! Their names revolve on the Victor) is, unfortunately, a victim of photo manipulation. This is the original setup of the opening of the PRISAA Meet a week ago.

This is the original caption of Inquirer photographer Ray Zambrano: President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo(3rd from right) graces the formal opening of the Private Schools Athletic Association(PRISAA) national games last Monday at the Don Narciso Ramos Sports and Civic Center in Lingayen,Pangasinan. With the president at the front row(from left) are Pangasinan Reps. Generoso Tulagan and Amado Espino,Jr., Gov. Victor Agbayani, Dr. Emmanuel Angeles, PRISAA national chairman, and Health Secretary Francisco Duque III.
This is what came out in the Philippine Star Sports section. Notice that Braganza jumped places to be with PGMA. Or rather the "head" jumped to Agbayani's body. There's no byline.
Braganza in the first photo was two rows behind. He was the one wiht his hand on his face. He has an ID card on his shirt. In the "manipulated" photo, the ID wasn't there.

Our source said that Braganza did not go down for a photo op. Notice in both photos that the same people beside the president were in the right places except for Braganza/Agbayani.
The Philippine Star had two photographers in the opening but not one of their phtoos were used. The Pangasinan correspondent even texted Bragfanza but did not get a reply. Star was also informed but there was no reported action. They were informed that the Star knows what to do in such cases?! But we have yet to see an erratum.
Agbayani decided to be silent on the issue, our source said. His wife was the first to notice and asked him where he was during the opening.
I was beside the President, he said.
No, you weren't, she answered and showed the photo.
Agbayani's Face/Off moment. Yeah, that was my body. Was I wearing sunglasses???
The weird thing was that Braganza used to be PGMA's Press Secretary. Did he allow these things to happen then? He was also member of the Spice Boys, PGMA's favorite boytoys.
Braganza is reportedly interested in Agbayani's job. Hmmmmmmm. This is the first step?
This reminds me of David King's book, "The Commissar Vanishes" which is about photo manipulation during the time of Stalin in Russia.

Original photo included from left to right: Anippov, Stalin, Kirov, and Shvernik. Taken in Leningrad in 1926, celebrating the defeat of Zinoviev's anti-Stalinist opposition. The photo of three reveals the disappearance of Antipov [the chandelier has also been eliminated]. Antipov had joined the Bolsheviks in 1912, chairman of the Petrograd Cheka in 1918, and later prime minister Molotov's secretary. Arrested and sent to prison where he was the last Stalinist cadre to be shot in August, 1941. In the next picture, Shevernik was erased when the photo was used in 1949 for a short biography of Stalin. Finally, an oil painting by Brodsky based on the original photo. Stalin the executioner alone remains.
This is what David King wrote: "Skillful photographic retouching for reproduction depended, like any craft before the advent of computer technology, on the skill of the person carrying out the task and the time she or he had to complete it. But why was the standard of retouching in Soviet books and journals often so crude? Did the Stalinists want their readers to see that elimination had taken place, as a fearful and ominous warning? Or could the slightest trace of an almost vanished commissar, deliberately left behind by the retoucher, become a ghostly reminder that the repressed might yet return?"

Tuesday, February 14, 2006


Sunday, February 12, 2006

Si Nita Balibalita: A Poem

Interesting names interest me because I believe that your name affects your destiny. That is why during the aftermath of the Ultra stampede, I instinctively looked for an interesting name among the dead. I found two: Nita Bali-balita (first spelling) and Norma Book. Book was spelled Buok in another newspaper.
Bali-balita, however, is a name I disbelieved at first. It was, like, "Anong pangalan po nito?" "Nita. Balibalita ko lang ha." "Ows?"
And that Inquirer came out with a tidbit on her life. Somehow I was stuck with her name. While watching Zha Zha Zarurnnah, the idea of the poem came to me. I hope you know the contests in Wowowee. Biga-10. Talon at Sagot. Pera o Bayong. Laksa means 10,000. And so here it is:


Balibalita si Nita,
Isa sa pitumpu't isa.
Nita Balibalita

Nagbale ang asawa
(Na di naman daw asawa)
Nagbale ang asawa
Ng P200 para kay Nita

Panghapunan sana nila
Ng buong pamilya.
Pero pinambaon na
Ni Nita sa Ultra.

Magiging bahay at lupa
Ang pambaon kay Nita.
O dagdag P100 pa
Kung may pampatawa.

Alam na ni Nita
Ang gagawin sa Ultra.
Kung tama ang hinala,
Tumalon na lang bigla.

Maging Biga-10 kaya
At makinig sa masa
Kung ano ang tama
Sa bayong o pera.

Nakapasok na sa Ultra
Si Nita Balibalita
Nang nagkagulo bigla.
Naging dagat ang masa

At nahagip si Nita;
Nabuwag ang pila
At naulanan ng paa
Si Nita Balibalina.

Si Nita Balibalita,
31 gulang, taga-Marikina.
15 taon nang "mag-asawa"
At apat na ang anak niya.

Balibalita si Nita.
P200 niya'y naging laksa.
Biskwit, kape kasama
Sa napanalunan niya.


Thursday, February 09, 2006

Philippines is no longer the texting capital

During China's New Year, each of China's cell phone user sent 30 messages a day. Guess how much that amounted to? $148 million!!! That is 12.6 billion messages.

And we think we are still the texting capital of the world??? According to Ericsson, 200,000 text messages are sent daily in the Philippines. (actually that rate is wrong I learned later, it should be 2 million from 16 million cellphone users). That figure for China was made only in eight days. And the news was that two years ago, the figure was 200 billion.

More than 300 billion text messages sent last year in China. They have about 400 million cellphone users in China. How many??? Every Filipino must have at least five cellphones each to beat that.

Other blogs are still saying that Philippines is still the texting capital of the world. These idiots are just that. Blogging idiots. Quote me.
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