Far From Neutral Notions - Philippine politics, culture and stuff

Madness Ensues

Please stand by as we try to make sense of the shitload of new files and features in the newest, spankiest, prettiest stable release of Word Press to date

EDIT: I’m sticking to the old layout for the time being, but I’ve screwed up the comments thingamajig because I’m *still* using my 1.2 templates. The site will be back in operation as soon as the new design’s finished If you need to get in touch with me just send an email to jorge.cosgayon at gmail.com and I’ll get right back to ya

EDIT AGAIN: Finally done with the base template… I’m still going to be implementing my old skin switcher, as soon as I come up with new skins that is. WP 1.5 is amazingly rich with features, but I’m lost in how everything works. For instance, I can’t figure out how I can set up a page that can call WP functions without resorting to the ‘Page’ feature, because the entire blog is run through the index file, which in turn redirects you to the templates. It was a lot easier with 1.2 when all you had to do was make a few function calls; maybe that’s all I need to do now too, but I can barely find the functions anymore

Anyway, the base theme is called ‘Bloody Rose’, which is obvious I guess. I’m on a goth trip, but these moods swing, so I might come up with another skin pretty soon. The funny-looking characters are alibata script, an ancient and almost-extinct Filipino letterform. A Gmail account to anyone who can tell me what the characters mean Here’s a hint: it’s a song.

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The sustain of a perfectly bent note. Getting into the reggae groove despite my trash-core leanings. Mixing Burnt Umber juuuust right. Poodle nibbling on my fingers. The first puff from my menthols in the morning. The letters mom and dad send me from time to time. Ice cold Red Horse. Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens. Cream colored ponies and crisp apple strudels. Like Barbara Streisand, these are some of my favorite things.

And in this day, in this age, the post-Jean era, where I get to do anything I want with juuust enough money to do it with, I find myself so incredibly empty. I amuse myself with incredibly inane jokes, glorify violence, wax sentimental over my grandmother’s passing and my loss… but I’ve never really plugged that gaping hole in my existence that used to be her.

Happy Easter everyone.

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Listening to LaunchCast roughly eight years later, I happen upon the intro song of the game that defined 1997 for me: Fallout II. Ahh, the good old days.

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It’s the Holy Week - Cuaresma or Semana Santa - a week dedicated to the contemplation of the life, death, and rebirth of our Savior Jesus Christ. That’s pretty significant, considering it’s the very basis of the entire Christian faith. And it’s strangely sad that I have nothing relevant to say about it.

My maternal grandmother got sick at around this time, last year, within weeks after her 87th birthday. I was working at a call center at the time, eagerly looking forward to my midyear bonus. Like most call centers, we work through the holidays, and I had to raise hell just so I could go home and visit for a couple of days. Lola was in the hospital, barely able to talk. She was as cranky as ever, though, and my mom suffered almost as much from that as from Lola’s condition.

Strangely enough, it was there, on the hospital’s ICU, that Lola gave me her blessing. “Do what makes you happy,” she whispered, her now-thin hands barely able to grasp mine. She was talking about my music, the heretofore primary source of tension between myself and the rest of my family. I’m what you’d call a black sheep, I guess; my brother’s a lawyer, my cousins are dentists, entrepreneurs, businessmen, successful. Where they are sophisticated, well-to-do and suave, I’m crass, unkempt and tactless. They were go-getters, ambitious and relevant. I just want to play my guitar. It’s certainly not how my parents raised me, and I think that’s what galls them the most.

Lola was the first to “offically” accept the whole package, and I will never forget that. My Korg AX1500G is named “Paz”, after her. And on that fateful day on the 17th of April, when she drew her last, agonizing breath on that hospital bed, her stiff, icy cold hands locked in rigor mortis, wrapped around mine, I remember breaking down. I remember losing control. But I also remember saying a silent prayer of farewell and thank you. Because by accepting me in full, she gave me the freedom to play my music.

And that’s something I will never forsake.

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You can almost smell the tension weighing down on everybody in the room. The silence is oppressive at times, but it was the last place for youthful irreverence; inane outbursts were not to be tolerated. Not now, 12 rounds into the epic “Coming With Everything” match between Pacquiao and Morales. Not now, with the homegrown hero Manny Pacquiao bleeding and needing a knockout to win. I think back to the pre-fight ceremony, and Lani Misalucha’s wonderful rendition of “Lupang Hinirang,” our national anthem, her words echoing in my mind. “Lupang hinirang, duyan ka ng magiting…” Then somebody types… “It’s over guys, 12th round decision. Great fight by Manny, but no knockout. Morales wins.”

That was the scene at a Yahoo! chatroom where a bunch of boxing fans got together, some lucky enough to get a live feed and giving the rest of us the play-by-play. Spread out by who knows how many hundreds of miles, we could only console each other through IM’s. Professional predictions and betting odds be damned, we rooted for Manny, and the loss was heart-wrenching. With a heavy sigh I part the room, knowing that the Mexican Triumvirate still stands, Manny with a win, a tie, and now a loss against them.

I suppose Morales just wanted it more; he had more to prove, and even more to lose. Overall, the fight (headbutt on the 5th round by Morales aside) was called fairly. “El Terrible” quite simply outboxed the PacMan, and at times, even out-slugged him too. With the win, Morales has cemented his place as one of the best pound-for-pound fighters in the world, among the ranks of his arch-nemesis Marco Antonio Barrera, Juan Miguel Marquez, and, arguably, Pacquiao as well.

It was a fight that could have gone either way, as both are very strong and very fast, experienced, and hungry. Something inside me would like to say it’s no shame losing to a boxer as gifted as Morales, but I wouldn’t want to be the one to tell Pacquiao that. Pacquiao came into the fight the consummate warrior. Twelve rounds later, bloodied and beaten, he stepped out a warrior still. The Rocky-esque ending certainly isn’t as satisfying as a win, but he did me proud.

Round Summary

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One man fights for redemption, the other for respect…
but which is which?

Some time ago, I mentioned that Manny Pacquiao may have lost his killer instinct when he came out with “only a draw” against one third of the dreaded Mexican Triumvirate of Barrera, Morales and Marquez. Of course everybody remembers the Barrera fight, where Manny took apart one of the best pound-for-pound fighters in the world. We also remember how Marquez exposed Manny’s limitations; how, after flooring the Mexican three times in the first round, Manny was unable to finish the job against a true boxer.

That’s what Morales’ team is going to focus on. Because while Manny has tremendous power and hand speed, he is (was?), ultimately, one-dimensional. He’s like Tyson or Foreman, only smaller. He can be out-boxed, and Morales may have the chin to withstand the PacMan’s blows. But while a very good boxer in his own right, Morales isn’t the boxer Barrera and Marquez are, and his tendency to lose his temper and go into a slugfest will play right into the lightning fast hands of Pacquiao. But Morales isn’t called “El Terrible” for nothing, either. He can be a demon if he boxes smart, and he has a height and reach advantage over Manny that may prove difficult if the PacMan hasn’t learned any new tricks.

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Why I Blog

This lastest incarnation of my blog, I’ve tried to be less opinionated… something that the erstwhile love of my life said I was very. Uncomfortably so. It’s a side of me she never liked; it’s no stretch to say it may have contributed to what happened between us, finally. So I kept my peace, I never blew my top and ranted (much) about anything. When bombs rocked the nation on Valentine’s Day, I did no more than (figuratively) shake my head in sadness. When the Abu Sayyaf held in a Taguig prison staged a near-breakout, I made no complaints against the ineptness of the government, no outrage at the gall of some in the Filipino-Mulsim community for saying that the policemen who died in the LIC died for the will of Allah, no disdain at a prison system that can let this happen. When close to thirty children died of food poisoning, not a peep. Not even to question the government’s persecution of the vendors, and not the farmers who used the pesticide on the cassava.

Well I did none of those. Not because she told me not to, but because I’d gotten used to keeping it in. To just let it go, and curb my argumentative instincts. To my shame, I’ve become neutral.

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SpongeBob SquarePants, the quirky sea sponge who’s long been suspected of being homosexual, came out of the closet yesterday, calling fellow cartoon character Homer Simson “one hot dude.”

During a press conference in a pineapple under the sea, a tearful SpongeBob described the everyday “anguish” of working - and thriving - with the cartoon industry a traditional redoubt of proud heterosexuals.

Read the Full Story.

And because I find this kind of insensitivity embarassingly funny, here’s some more.

Sorry! I can’t help what I laugh at…

In other news…

There’s been an email going around saying that Willian Hung killed himself in a massive heroin overdose. While funny and sad if true, it’s not, so stop with the emails already

Speaking of spam… to the guys comment- and trackback- spamming me, come on. How am I ever going to find a site about online poker even remotely interesting?

And oh, the horror…

This just makes me sad. But if it’s true, then how can this happen?

I think this is overly optimistic

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I didn’t have anything better to do, and since I’m always on their case for being mountain-climbing hicks (I’m sorry, I couldn’t even climb the Shaw MRT station…), this is my way of giving back.

It’s not finished yet.. maybe just 10% done, but this is fun

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