TOPAC TOPICS

Topac Topic#1: cbsreview of MILLIONS

Here's a simple question: What will you do if you discovered a bag with a quarter of a million pounds (British currency) falling from the sky (or from a train)? Will you turn it over to the cops? Will you spend it for yourself? Will you share it with the needy?

You bet (hopefully not with that money) it is not that simple. And the conflict does not yet end there so I'll further complicate. What if the money is product of a heist and the mob is out to get it at all costs? Will you still turn the money over to the authorities and disclose yourself to the mob for the kill? Will you keep the money instead, under the rule of finders-keepers, and spend it in a way you deemed best for society?

You'll spend the money, you say, For the poor, you might add, Gradually, you assure, So the mob won't notice.

But there's a further catch. Pound Sterling will be replaced by Euro in seven days, which means, there's no way but to spend the money lavishly (for how do you spend all of a quarter million pounds gradually, discreetly, within a week's time) otherwise you'll end up with something of no value. Or why not end up being dead?

Here's more. You're either 9 years old and a braggart in school, or 7 and talk to dead saints who advise you of what to do with the discovery. So, what will you do?

Director Dan (Trainspotting) Boyle came up with a fantastic movie, Millions, so you can find out what 2 lovely kids will do if they were you.
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Topac Topic #2: The Idiot and the Idiot Box

This is probably why I don't get to watch tv that much - we are of the same pole. But sometimes I get to endure its company and view life at its unrealistic best (please people, I don't mean reality tv, spare me the insanity). I remember ER's breakthrough moment when they acted out on tv the same way they would have otherwise done on stage, live. There were two things difficult about this very revolutionary idea. First, for that particular show they had to perform twice, one for the East Coast audience, the other for the West's. Second was the scoring. How do you put musical scoring for a tv show done live? Twang! The idea was great. They put a Rastafarian guy (probably acting as a companion of a patient or something, or was he a homeless bum?) who kept on "drumming" the hospital walls with his drum sticks. The tempo and the beat coincided with how the story was flowing.

And then one time I caught David Duchovny being interviewed by Dean Lipton on his show before the latter's studio audience of film students. I heard about Mr. Duchovny's penetrating mind but it was hearsay, the opinion being of other people's. The tv show called something like The Actor's Studio was my first chance to hear him from outside a script. I listened. The man, for sure, is pure genius as he talked about his Masteral Thesis at Yale (or was it Princeton?) entitled The Magnetism and Magic of Modern American Fiction.

As said, TV gives away some lesser-known but interesting facts about movies and movie people. From the Charlie Rose interview of Sydney Pollack I learned that this great film director used a creative vanity under the category of entertainment trivia: There is one line, a completely catchy sentence, which he used in four of his films, as spoken by a specific character under different circumstances. From Conan O'Brien's interview of James Spader, viewers came to know that Spader's zero inhibitions (a great plus if you're an actor) was largely due to growing up in a household dwelled in by people (parents, siblings) who were always in the nude.

But if I really missed something on tv, and quite recently, it is the CSI's final show of the season. Two hours. Directed by Quentin Tarantino. Bummer.
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Topac Topic #3: A Short History of Suckers

There is a sucker born every minute. Whoever coined this must have had a lifetime of suckerings, and boy, can I relate. If I looked at the NY Times Book Review Section right now, one fact will baffle me as always: how can a book as terrible as Tuesdays With Morrie continue to remain on its bestsellers list? Deja Vu all over again, where years ago this horrible goo called The Bridges of Madison County (O dear Shakespeare, my mother's favorite book!) enjoyed the same status, written by a similarly clever writer who probably knew too how to laugh - if callously so - all the way to the bank while saying, Suckers unite, let us declare, the world is huge, there is space for one more, any kind, every minute, who will have to read my book!
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Topac Topic #4: My Internet Route

Since I don't chat and don't want to know, my Net Path is very easy to trace. I simply read my e-mails and foom!, off I go to my path that barely breaks, my sense of direction being worse than bad. First, of course, is my own blog to find out if Jobert finally came to senses and left my single readership. Then I'll hop on to Angela Solis', who will lead me (link me, da) to Tekstong Bopis', who will lead me to Freude, who will lead me to Jet David, who will lead me to Belleloved, who will lead me to Jobert, who will lead me to sin...

Of course the path sometimes breaks, as in real life where a road detours, and then I get lost and can't find my way home...

Sometimes I jumble, parang lotto...from Tekstong Bopis, who will lead me to his Team Angas, who will lead me to Kanto Girl, who will lead me to ex-art student (who's so cute and delightful, "I did went" notwithstanding) or to Ursula Lear (who writes like a scholar from Sorbonne)...

from Jet David, who will lead me to QuietRivers or to Kiwipinay or to APO Jim Paredes or to Durgaspeak - who will all lead me to great things big and small...

from Jobert who will lead me to Markahanmomukhamo (O ayan, minarkahan ko na po muka ko po, 65, bagsak).
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Topac Topic #5: Bounty

U, where are u? u-hoo...

TELL ME A STORY

In this world we live in, everyone is potential storyteller, and every storyteller is a potential Scheherazade. Know her, the queen from the Arabian nights tale who challenges Fate through the sheer power of storytelling? Here's the, uh, story told in short: King Sharyar is a man with terrible fear. Since he fears that every woman to become his wife will commit infidelity against him, he ends up killing his wives after the first night. Everyone, actually, except Scheherazade, a great storyteller with whom he enjoys 1,001 nights of storytelling. With her power to cook up a tale she conquers the fear of the King and, in the process, with each story, is able to postpone death - her death - one more time.

Allow me to be a Scheherazade to your King Sharyar so you won't kill me for whatever reason, a crime of passion in the making if you're that horribly passionate. So here's a short story which you may want to read between the lines.

Once upon a time they lived happily ever after.
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I love short stories. Shorts are a manna from heaven dousing the fire that is my attention deficit disorder. In my novel-readings I do this: An anthology of shorts must be by my side so when the novel-going gets tough, I pick up the anthology to calm me down. But this I learned. The biggest thing that grabs my attention away from the novel is the short story itself.

I have read hundreds, if not thousands, of short stories by writers from around the globe, and each time I read a beautiful story I discovered something vibrant in myself. They are my favorite literary form because, as Charles Baxter speaks of their quality, shorts are on many threshholds, between poetry and fiction, story and sketch, prophecy and reminiscence, the personal and the crowd.

Of those I read, these are few that continuously dazzle my memory, forming part of myself: Journey Back To The Source by Alejo Carpentier, a backward travel in time cleverly told in active (instead of passive) form, as in describing the furnitures to be growing instead of the character shrinking; A Country Husband by John Cheever, a not so distant cousin to the movie American Beauty; The Ledge by Lawrence Sargent Hall, the most melancholic I have read, about the death of two boys while on a hunting trip with their father/uncle; The Things They Carried by Tim O'Brien, which tells of a Marine officer's romantic struggles while leading his men out of harms way in Vietnam;

The Lost Regiment by Italo Calvino, a most ridiculuously hilarious flash fiction from this master fabulist; The Writer's Model by Molly Giles, a story brimming with women power in a masculine world with totalitarian atmosphere; Bulldog by Arthur Miller which I will briefly describe as a narrative on sensation, literally, figuratively; Blue Bouquet by Octavio Paz, a horrifying tale about an accidental meeting between a blue-eyed tourist and a deranged local who collects blue-eyes and forms them into a blue bouquet;

Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been by Joyce Carol Oates, a most terrifying story about teenage seduction, an excellent attempt at interplay between dialogue on one hand, and time/space at the other, an everyday tale about two kids where the potential victim moves closer and closer to her predator seducer as the story progresses; A Pie Dance by Molly Giles, a wonderful love story between a woman and her dog;

Then there are the twin stories about chicken, My Brother's Peculiar Chicken from the Philippines, and Jakob's Chicken from The Czech Republic (the authors' names I unfortunately forgot), both light in treatment but heavy in characterizations; and of course, the greatest woman shortstoryteller of them all, Flannery O'Connor, whose three works form part of the greatest I've ever read: A Good Man Is Hard To Find; The Artificial Nigger; and, Everything That Rises Must Converge.

I could go on and on and on and on. Still and all I will summon you for help to advise me of any one or more that I may have missed reading. This way we can postpone not just death but bad life in celebration of our very own 1,001 nights.

sali2la

napakahirap ispelengin ng buhai, i mean bujai, ay bujay, sana ang aking kakornihan ay panumandaling mag agaw-buhay (ay, nadale din!) pero talagang mahirap...

bakit kanyo? eto: hindi ako dating palasulat sa tagalog pero parang ayoko na magsulat sa inggles, tinatamad ako, di ko naman kasi maabot ang lebel ng pagsusulat ni jm; sabado ng gabi nga emcee ako sa isang dinner-dance na me kulang-kulang (hindi ng guests kundi bilang ng guests) 170 katao, malaking porsyento ang puti, pero pinagtatagalog ko sila kasi nga napakahirap ispelengin ng buhay, ibig kong sabihin e ang buhay di ko maintindihan kung san patungo at pinagtatagalog ko sila kahit pa katakut-takot na rehearsal ang ginawa ko sa salitang inggles tapos yumpala pag-apak ko sa lectern e a, mano ba! kung di nyo maintindihan e itanong nyo na lang sa pilipinong katabi nyo ang pinagsasabi ko...

mahirap maintindihan ang buhay kasi kahit stressed out ako nitong buong weekend e masaya ako; mantakin nyo nag-usher ako sa 1st communion ng sangkatutak na santo-santitong bata sabado ng umaga tas yung mga demonyong magulang nila na huling dumating ng mga 25 minutos e nagpupumilit pumasok sa simbahan kahit nag-uumpisa na yung seremonyas at ayaw makinig sa paliwanag ko na maiistorbo yung ritwal kung papapasukin ko sila, tas yung isang bruha sabi sa akin e ako daw ang magiging dahilan kung paaatrasin nya yung buong lahi nya na pumisan sa aming simbahan at lilipat na lang sila sa iba, sabi ko, sori mis sinusunod ko lang ang utos sa akin pero kung gusto nyo pong palipatin ang buong lahi nyo ng mga tuod e goodluck na lang po sa paglilipatan nyo, pero kwidaw, sinabi ko yun ng punong-puno ng magandang disposisyon, yumbang ang ngiti ko e simbango ng bagong bayong pinipig; tas yung isang matandang insulares na lalake naman e pinag-eespanyol ako, ako namang si gago e puro que? que? gusto ko na ngang sabihin e que que quezon? tas e sumapo-sapo at humagod-hagod sya sa dibdib nya na parang nag-iinarte't aatakihin, gusto ko ngang magdialogue, tatang, plis, wag ka naman ditong magshower show...

nakangiti ako habang nag-iignorante ang tindera nung bumibile ako sa supermarket sabado ng tanghali, a pound of boars head corned beef, sabi ko sa kanya; sweet ham?, tanong nya; corned beef, sabi ko; ah, spiced ham, sabi nya ulet; no corned beef, sigaw ko habang labas na ang gilagid ko sa pagngiti; ah, i got it, sabi nya, turkey breast!

angsarap-sarap ng pakiramdam ko kahapon kaya nung andun ako sa dinner-dance sabado ng gabi, para akong ewan, basta ang sarap-sarap ng pakiramdam ko na para akong natutulog sa kamang bagong palit ang kobre-kama; o nagtatampisaw sa malamig na tubig ng ilog sa kainitan ng tanghaling tapat; o humihigop ng pho ga matapos lumaklak ng 4 na bote ng presidente beer; o nagpapasalamat sa sarap ng pagwetat paggising sa umaga at sumisigaw ng yess!! yes!!! na parang si meg ryan sa when harry met sally; at lalung-lalo na na parang yung bata sa maikling kwento ni artur miller na "bulldog" na matapos makipagniig sa isang matandang babae sumeduce sa kanya e bigla ba g tumugtog (pagkauwi sa bahay) ng piano kahit hindi naman sya marunong mag-piano kaya nagulat na lang yung nanay nya sa pagkaganda-ganda ng musikang sanhi ng pagtugtog nya, tanong sa kanya, hoy unggok kelan ka pa natutong mag-piano, pero anuba e sa sobrang saya nya e talagang lumandi-landi yung daliri nya sa tiklado na para bang me kung anong hiwaga ang bumabalot sa buo nyang pagkatao...

ganun po ako ngayon, kahit katakut-takot ang problema ko e pagkasaya-saya ko, hindi ko alam kung bakit, para akong sinasaniban ng mga nag-uumulol na engkanto...

palagay ko e malapit na ang kaparusahan ko at sinasabi ng mga engkantong taga quezon, hoy unggok, mag-inggles ka na lang muli kesa sa mag aiii buhaiii ka jan...

salitula
(isang paggaya-gaya sa poem-talk ni david antin)


puto-maya ang dating pero anuba sa trip kong mangulimbat ng ibang istrokis na kaartehan, hatid mula sa new york ng isang di-kilalang kaartehan parang si ador habang pumipipi sa isang kubeta sa manhattan, nasanay sa kaeklatang pamahiin at di-kilalang kaartehan "tabi-tabi po", sabi nya, habang tumatagos ang pinrosesong beer sa kanyang tite "what???", tanong nung katabing puti sa kaeklatan ni ador, "what the hell are you murmuring about?"

hayy, ador, di magtatagal sa new york ang iyong sinasaludar na nuno sa punso pinag-apak apakan na sila ng mga nagmamadaling paa sa makabagbag-damdaming times square, at isa pa, walang umiihi sa pader dito

umpisahan natin sa simula, sabi nga ni john cheever, let us begin at the beginning (bos john, kundi ka lang matinding nalathala maaari kong sabihing tulad mo si ador) pero anyway, hemingway, you the muhn, walt whitman, kahapon (kahapon ang simula) bumili ako ng bird feeder at inimbitahan ang mga kalapating mataas ang lipad nasa patio ang feeder, tinititigan ko, walang kaiga-igaya, walang dumarating lecheng buhay to! kung nasa pilipinas lang kayo pinagbabalatik ko na kayo

maya-maya me dumapo, hummingbird yata, sabi ko habang naka-krus ang mga daliri at nakasilip sa patio, "c'mon tweety tweety tweety, peck them sunflower seeds, tweety, tweety, tweety" tas ang lecheng ibon e napatingin sa akin, titigan kami panumandali tas binirahan nya ng lipad sa direksyong pa-downtown sabi siguro ng pasimundot na ibon "i tote I toe a pootie tang"

sa pinas may david and goliath kaya lang baliktad, ang higante ang may tirador, tinitirador ang walang muwamg na david, pronounced duh-veed, habang lumilipad-lipad sinong bata sa pinas ang walang armas na tirador sa kanyang pagra-rite of passage, on to manhood robin hood, sabay ng pagtagpos sa extension ng kanyang tite e ang pagkitil nya for the first time sa buhay ng isang robin sa neighborhood (pero maya ata yun?)

naalala ko rin sa tindahan nila lonlon, meron silang alagang ibon na mukang uwak, nagsasalita, matatas, mas matatas pa magsalita sa kapitbahay nilang si sonny na binansagang bembol dahil sya'y isang bembolol syempre sa tindahan ang kalimitang tawag e "pagbile, pagbile" ang resulta e panay ang trip ng tinamaan ng lintek na ibon at maya't-maya'y sumisigaw, "pagbile-pagbile", ang miserableng tindera tuloy nina lonlon, hahangos mula sa loob at paglabas sa tindahan e malalaang wala namang palang taong bumibile ayun, isang araw, wala na yung ibon, pinasya ng tatay ni lonlon na prituhin na lang si uwak look-alike at in the extreme spirit of humanitarianism e ipinakain ang deep-fried ibon ke bembol

namfutchang buhay to, sa sobrang dami ng oras ko e kung anu-ano na ang pinaggagawa ko sige na po, hanggang dito na lang at wawakasan ko na itong aking postmodernistang kaururan kita-kita na lang sa ikatlong matang nananalaytay sa kaduluduluhan ng aking hintuturo pero bago ang lahat e pakipaliwanag na lang sa akin ang tinuran ni antin that phenomenological reality cannot be exhausted by its representation because its representations modify its nature

KUNG ANU-ANO LANG

Sabado ngayon, mag aalas-dyes ng umaga pero andami ko nang nagawa. Nakapag-tennis na ako at inalipusta ko ang laro ng kalaban kong si Kim (Koreana, kaya nga Kim ang pangalan, har, buti na lang di amoy kimchi ang hininga nya, har ulet) 6-1, 4-1 ang score, di natapos ang second set kasi pinalayas na kami sa court at magte-tennis camp na ang mga bagetchi. Tapos nag-almusal ako sa Barnes & Noble ng toasted bagel and cream cheese, tsaka kape, habang humihigop ako bigla kong naalala yung mga brod ko nung nag-overnight kami sa Malvar, Batangas, nag-aalmusal kami ng sinangag tsaka tuyo at pritong itlog, tapos yung isang brod din na taga-Lobo bigla ba namang binuhos yung kapeng barako sa sinangag nya, e di nag-uumapaw ang plato nya sa galak, lap, lap, lap, sabi ng brod ko na parang baboy-damo, isip ko naman, huwaw, hayup, kinapehang sinangag, ala e onli in batangas, apo gadang...tas daan kami sa isang brod sa Tanauan, lintek nanood kami ng sine, merong nag-uusap sa loob, yung isa nasa balcony, yung kausap nasa orchestra, tumatakbo na ang pelikula noon, ha, tas habang nakaupo kami at kino-contemplate ko yung pelikula ni Myra Manibog yata yun, merong nagpapasintabi at dadaan sa harap ko, sabi, Ala e makiraan na po, lintek yung mama, dumaan sa harap ko me dalang bisikleta, lintek talaga, tapos eto ang da best, me nagtitinda sa loob ng sine, tok-tok-tok, Ala e Chiklet! Yosi! Mani! kayo riyannn!

Pagkagaling B&N dumaan na din ako sa flower shop at bumili ng mga bromeliad. Alam nyo ba yang bromeliad e pamilya ng pinya, ang prutas na maraming mata...

Tanong: Kung bibigyan ka ng ikatlong mata, san mo gustong ilagay ito? Karamihang sagot e sa likod ng ulo. Que barbaridad. Anong kahindik-hindik na hitsura ang kalalabasan nyo kung meron kayong mata sa likod ng ulo. At ano ang silbe ng mata sa likod ng ulo? Para alam nyo kung me sumusunod sa inyo? Grabe na talaga ang paranoia ng mga tao, please people, don't, just because you are paranoid doesn't mean others are not out to get you.

Ako gusto ko sa ikatlong mata e malagay sa dulo ng aking hintuturo. Para kung halimbawa e me butas yung dignding at gusto kong masilayan ang nasa kabilang ibayo ng kamunduhan, isusuksok ko na lang ang daliri ko sa butas at ako naman e magbabasa ng libro. Multi-tasking at its best.

La-la-la. Wala lang. Kagagawa ko lang ng entry kagabi, eto na naman ako. Sinisipag kasi akong magsulat kahit wala akong maisip sulatin. Pano na kaya kung ayoko ng magsulat, this is it, brothers, ayoko nah! Sabay-sabay siguro kayong mag-rerespond: Halleluya!

Napapadalas ang sulat ko sa Tagalog. Hindi ako dati nagsusulat sa Tagalog, except mga tula na pinapublish sa school organs. Prose? No way, hoe-say, di naman kasi ako marunong mag-construct at magconjugate sa tagalog, pansin nyo siguro mali-mali (actually maski nga sa Inggles mali-mali din e, malay ko ba).

Eto na naman ako at nagpaparang Marcel Proust. Tungkol sa pagsusulat, ano kaya't matuklasan ko na ako e me lahing Vandal. Vandal: tribo sa Italy nung araw na walang written records ng kanilang kasaysayan kasi hindi sila naniniwala sa pagsusulat. Sabi dun sa isang istorya na nabasa ko (The Liberation of Rome ni Robin Hemley), me isang studyante na ayaw kumuha ng exam nya sa Roman History kasi daw e Vandal sya, dapat lang daw na ma-exempt sya kasi tradisyon nila ang wag magsulat. Galeeeng. Tapos nag-disappear sya, just like the great Vandal tradition na nag-disappear din sila. Galeeeng. Kaya yung mga tinatawag na Vandals dahil nagsusulat sila sa pader, mali ang description sa kanila. Hindi nga nagsusulat ang mga Vandals e, ano ba kayoh?!!!

Pero hindi, hindi ako Vandal.

Nakarecord kasi ang kasysayan ko.

Ako si Tamulmol, Hari ng Korokan.

PEOPLE WHO TALK OF PEOPLE ARE THE LOWEST KIND OF PEOPLE, I DO, THEREFORE I AM

Am not.

M.

M Nacht!

Great minds talk of ideas, sabi da. E kung ang idea nila e pano gunawin ang mundo, great minds sila? Magsalita kah!!!

Oo naman, sabi mong dakilang terorista, these great minds are the heroes of this tech. Lintech.

Nuninunini, sabi ni U.

Konti lang ang nakaimpluwensya sa aking pagsusulat. Si James Joyce. Si Saramago. Si JM Coetzee. Si Enteng Mag-gaggraffitti. Ang los enemigos. Si U. Actually, yung naunang lima ang impluwensya. Yung panghuli e influenza. As in v-roos. Nakakahawa. Eto nga't hawang-hawa na ako.

I-quote ko si U para malaman nyo ang influenza nya. Titi ng Ama.

Hoy, U, galit na galit na ang Nanay mo, bat daw yung sa asawa nya lang ang ine-express mo...Oy vey!

Oy vey. Parang kanta nung Singsing nung araw. Oy vey, isang ngiti mo lahahahahang...

Kilala nyo ba si U? Isa syang propesor ng Humanities, gradweyt ng school of darkness (Diliman), tinuturo kumbaga ang pagkakaiba ng piksyon sa impeksyon...

Gusto kong magturo. Ulet. Nagturo ako nung araw, kabataan ko, mga 4 na taon (ibig sabihin e 4 na taon sa pagtuturo, di 4 na taon nung nagturo). Sa post college. Ibig sabihin e tinuruan ko yung mga taong walang natutunan sa buhay. Merong nga akong binagsak, 4 na beses, bale 2 straight na taon, 4 sems. Yumpala, asawa sya nung co-faculty ko. Bilib ako dun sa co-prof, laglag ang lesson plan ko sa kanya, kahit ni-ha, ni-ho, ala syang sinabi, Bok baka naman pwede mong ipasa si esmi sa pang-4? Wala, wala talaga...Kung sinabihan nya lang ako, e di sana binagsak ko pa rin si esmi, mas matalino pa nga dun yung blackboard eh.

Vudtriph. Quote pa rin yan kay U, titi ka talaga ng ama, U. Ang galing mo. Sa sobrang galing mo, pwede kong sabihin, Ang galeng mo. o

Dumadalang na ang nagpupunta dito sa site ko. Ibig lang sabihin eh...tagumpay!!!

Tarantado ka talaga Freude!!! Sinong me sabi sa yo na pwede kang main-love, ha, ha!!? Di ba kabilin-bilinan ni Haring Zeus na di tayo pedeng umibig sa mga mortal!????? Sumagot kahhhh bago mo kamutin ang singit mong makatiiihhhh!!!

Pakiramdam ko e me fungus ako sa pwet. Naupuan ko kasi yung twalyang basa. Pag nakita ni Miriam Santiago ang pwet ko sasabihin nya, You, cbs, are such a fungus-faced...

Kung dati e 5 yung bumibisita sa blog ko, ngayon siguro e kalahati na lang sila. And I'm referring to Cha. Har-har, biro lang miss...Tutuusin, ganto lang naman talaga ang nasa isip nyong 5 kayo:

jobert: makapunta nga ke cbs, baka magtampo e iumpog ang ulo sa dingding, sayang ang dingding
cha: makapunta nga ke cbs, baka andun si belle, mabati nga
belle: makapunta nga ke cbs, baka me pabati sa akin si cha
jet: makapunta nga ke cbs, kelangan kong mapagkatulog
ddb: makapunta nga ke cbs, matagal na akong walang naiinsultoh!