HEY HO

I couldn't resist... It's Christmas Time!!!

Quotient (?) Quotables

"I look like a luchador, I need a mask. Bato-man!" My dad, when he tried out the bike-suit I got him for Christmas. 

"God make the world round. There is no corners. That means everything must be fair." My mom, arguing that she's entitled to change the channel to Filipino TV because she allowed me to eat the tamales our neighbors gave us. 

"We got a remote control caddy for Christmas and you put it next to TV because it looks nice. Doesn't make sense." My sister, as she sat down on the couch and found out all the remotes are all the way over there. 

'Tis the season

Walk Hard

More like Walk Suck. Greatly disappointing.

Paladin Skrempfs +13

Zombie Apocalypse

I've decided after watching I am Legend (other than putting the book it's based on on my winter reading list) that wherever I live in the future, it better have booby traps with bombs, a sequentially planned security system that isolates and eliminates intruders, a bomb shelter with 1 month's worth of preserved food complete with shotguns and grenades hidden in key locations, an escape jeep with said supplies and arsenal ready at an undisclosed location connected to my house through an underground tunnel starting from said bomb shelter, and finally, a female Dogo Argentino guard dog (a guard lion would be too independent to protect me from zombie dogs and other zombie domesticated animals). I'd also need all of the Shrek movies. And some o' them Pixar movies, too.

We all have to be ready for the zombie apocalypse.

Sweat Lodge Ceremony

I went to a traditional Native American Sweat Lodge Ceremony this morning, I guess I just wanted to sweat it out. It was really a surprisingly humbling experience. I was appointed to be one of the firekeepers for the ceremony because I was early (wahh waahhh) but it was tight because I got to play with the volcanic rocks. (The medicine man Samuel told me the rocks were a race of beings, so I was to be gentle with them.) 

The fire oven used to heat up the volcanic rocks 'till they were glowing was on the east pointing 
directly to the west, and the entrance to the sweat lodge, which was basically a dome-shaped 
structure covered with a bunch of blankets and tarps. The last layer were really colorful woven 
quilts. Samuel even thought of putting one of those pretty quilts as the first layer so we'd have 
something pretty to look up to. The ceremony went underway, and there were four sessions that gradually added 7 more rocks to the pit inside the lodge. 

All's I got to say is, shit's intense. Physically, emotionally, and spiritually. So intense, that the water that they had to drink between sessions tasted soooo good.

But afterwards, the family that hosted the ceremony fed us some menudo, burritos, fruits, and juice. I was hella hungry. After getting my fill, I felt really good. Like I-wanna-run-hella-fast-and-do-a-not-so-long-long-jump good. There's a lot of other things that I should write about, like how the fire oven and the lodge was arranged to symbolize man's passion and the woman's womb. 
There's some other cool things like how the ceremony was really the re-enactment of the creation story. And how I felt that I saw a real difference between adults and young people at the lodge. It is all about experience.

In the meantime, there's finals to knock out.  

Soto's Picture

Dark rooms are fun

COMPRESSSSSS

I got a new camera!

Oh I guess

I asked my mom
to fix the hole in my backpack once
because the stitches I tried to make myself
tried to bring two sides
that refused to stretch
She used a red velvet patch
but that fell off too
As I stared into the hole
I stood back
And realized I was looking at a blanket
with no start and no beginning
So then I went looking
for the corner
because I like chewing on that part

Story of the Doomed Man

Once upon a time
There was a man drifting on a boat
sailing forever in the dark
following the ever dimming glow ahead of him
Who just found out
He was going blind

MY BUDDY EARL

SUPERSTAR

Ya-Hoo!

I've finally left the welt on the seat I've been sitting on for the past month and a half. It feels real good, and I hope I can keep it running for a while. I just have to have them red shells around me at all times. I feel like I have to mark this milestone with something, and thus, I've been thinking of getting plugs for not one but both my earlobes. It's definitely a deliberated decision, and if I do make it (which I hope I do) I'm gunna have to face the fam when I get home. I don't think it'll be too much of a big deal, but I worry about what this may imply to them in their heads. This mark has to be a compromise, because it is that time for compromise, but in the end I have to do this for myself. 

It is written and it shall be done.

Read/Write/Read

Jarrett Bato

ES100 – Final Paper

May 10, 2007

An analysis of Galang’s Figures and Gary of Okada’s No-No Boy: Hyphenated Identities in Characters who are Artists

Authors writing from a hyphenated identity are frequently viewed less as artists and more as victims narrating their lives largely due to the brooding, narcissistic, or sarcastic tones embedded into their prose. This is explicitly shown in the short stories of M. Evelina Galang and the novel, No-No Boy, by John Okada. However, within the somber prose exists critical social commentary as these authors skillfully demonstrate the largely internal existential battles that their vividly sculpted and complex characters constantly deliberate over. Questions of identity closely follow rigorous existential reflection and both Galang and Okada’s stories are able to extensively explore the frontiers of identity that are available to Japanese-Americans and Filipina-Americans. The interactions of these complex characters with their immediate American environment continuously implies their degree of involvement, or a measure of Americanness, to the accepted way of life in the United States. The deliberation of whether to maintain the strand they still have connecting their characters to their native culture is relentlessly tested and deftly portrayed in the seemingly quotidian imagery Galang and Okada employ. Specifically, it seems these authors both agree that the space occupied in the hyphen is explicitly defined when a hyphenated identity like Filipino-Americans and Japanese-Americans decide to identify themselves as artists. In Galang’s story Figures, an aging woman finally accepts that she is only fulfilling the stereotypical individualism by identifying herself as a painter. Even though she felt that a unique identity meant becoming an artist, she also finds that the artist mindset necessarily pulls her away from her family and the possibility of her starting one of her own. Okada presents a similar character in No-No Boy, an artist who of his own will decides to paint signs for the local rehabilitation center, thinking it as simply a way for him to exist in America while he pursues his artistic goals in his own time. He does not seek help for his mental problems in the rehabilitation center, and yet cannot find any other place that can, with no questions asked, accept him for who he is. Okada and Galang present these characters as individuals who are critically aware of the prejudice attached to the color of their skin; therefore, they ultimately choose the role of the artist as something they can call their own. Though, the fates of these characters imply that Okada and Galang still feel that these roles don’t completely liberate hyphenated identities, and not only will they fail in attaining a comfortable sense of themselves in America, the authors imply that the individualism attached to what the characters conceive as “being an artist” separates them from reality, and more importantly, the importance of family and one’s past.

Okada presents the artist, a character named Gary, late in No-No Boy as a final test of logic for the main character, Ichiro. After contemplating his situation in jail for willingly denying the draft in U.S.’s participation in WWII, Ichiro has been searching for answers of how he may be able to truly live among Americans, Japanese veterans who now think themselves as Americans, and the Japanese who simply live in America. Apparently, Gary represents one of the last living evidence of this compromise, now that Kenji, a veteran who served as Okada’s literal symbol of compromise, had passed away. Ichiro had heard of Gary living well despite being a “No-No” boy himself, and decided to see for himself how he is able to make that compromise and live. Gary explicitly describes his experiences as he talks about how he deals with the relentless mental battles that Ichiro now experiences.

“It was good, the years I rotted in prison. I got the lead out of my ass and the talk out of my system. I died in prison. And when I came back to life, all that really mattered for me was to make a painting. I came home and said hello to the family and tried to talk to them, but there was nothing to talk about. I didn’t stay.” (Okada 223-224)

Gary talks about an artist consciousness that was born out of the mental stress in dealing with a hyphenated identity. But instead of critically exploring the available options as Ichiro was doing, Gary extinguishes his natural tendency to talk “about life and sex and philosophy and history and music and real art” (223) and vows to direct that energy to the creation of art. However, given the chance to work with Gary at the rehab center, Ichiro ultimately decides to turn down the job. Seeing that Gary is alone and without familial support is not the future Ichiro wants. Gary is even hinted to be a little paranoid when he “[lives] on borrowed time… Makes one a bit anxious, of course, but there’s a peace about it that takes away all the ordinary fears of getting hurt or dying.” (226) This implies an escape rather than a substantive answer to Ichiro, comparative to the fast life that another character, Freddie, upholds. Okada describes Freddie’s life akin to “being on a pair of water skis, skimming over the top as long as one traveled at a reasonable speed, but, the moment [Freddie] slowed down or stopped; [he] was to sink into the nothingness that offered no real support.” (201) Okada thus includes commentary about the mental individuality attached to the role of an artist that detaches oneself from one’s past in an effort to liberate identity. Rather than becoming a painter like Gary, Okada shapes Ichiro into a character that ultimately has the strength and faith to strive for a better life in America while still holding on to his Japanese past.

In Galang’s short story Figures, an artist named Ana is a character similar to Gary, but embodies a more critical perspective like Ichiro. Ana is a Filipina-American nude painter coming out of a failed relationship who finds herself increasingly anxious of what seems like the smothering of her artistic lifestyle at the onset of her developing relationship with her new boyfriend, Harold. Galang similarly provides commentary on the individualistic lifestyle of an artist because Ana is a painter who tends to keep to herself. In contrast to Ana’s sister, who has already started a family, Ana would rather put off having to sacrifice the time she would have to herself creating her art. Ana’s sister would say “sometimes it gets frustrating, but that’s part of family life… [they’re] always here.” (Galang 101) when all Ana could do is shudder in contemplation of never having time to be alone. Galang first shows Ana’s anxiety when she decides to draw Harold while he’s asleep. “In the morning, she realized that the drawings looked nothing like Harold. She had drawn him out of proportion.” (100) This shows how her artistically driven mind doesn’t see Harold in the same way she feels about him. The artist inside Ana finds the need to exaggerate or de-emphasize certain features of Harold to fit a certain artistic perspective. This perspective was also beginning to control how she viewed the world. Galang then forces Ana to critically analyze her fear of settling down with the viewing another artist’s nude photograph gallery. Ana’s conversation with Geni, the photographer, would reveal that she “only shoots couples. [She] styles the bodies together like they’re props.” (104) Given that, Ana is spurred to finish her long term project of her own nude self-portrait, “but she was often so upset, the lines and colors of her canvas body would slip from her control – grow ripe in places meant for slender lines, and areas that required shading, depth and light, grew static, two-dimensional. The portrait went nowhere.” (105) Galang shows that Ana’s attempt to draw herself in a way that would satisfy her artistic taste would clash with the reality of her actual self. Eventually, she would have an epiphany.

“She imagined [her and Harold] lying side by side, touching bone to bone, joint on joint, her spine to his stomach. They were a perfect fit. Breathing brought them closer together. She remembered them in tandem. All night long, in tandem. She remembered hearing the eternal tick of a clock and feeling palpitations.… She imagined they were one of Geni’s portraits. She tried to remember the last time they were together, was it the way she remembered it, or was this memory like those night time drawings of Harold?” (105-106)

This quote accurately portrays the binary of imagination and memory that Ana had to cope with in order to compromise the idea of “settling down” and her artistic life. Her memory gives her plenty of reasons for her to settle down and abide to her mother’s voice in her head saying, “You are not trying. You must try.” (103) Galang then portrays the intense tension between first and second generation Filipinos with Ana’s role in Figures. Her inner artist has chosen a creative life in nude paintings, and yet her personal life is muddled with a break-up that she continues to think about during her new relationship and her honest desire to settle down much like her sister. The fact that her mother’s voice still resounds when considering leaving Harold signifies how she longs to still keep family close even in pursuit of art. Galang thus stretches the ability of her characters like Ana to pursue very American pursuits, such as art or love, while simultaneously struggling to preserve the values that inherently stem from family, and consequently her Filipina identity as well. In this case, Ana goes as far as living the artist’s life but necessarily returns to her roots once she begins to consider the importance of her personal relationships.

Figures and No-No Boy may evoke brooding feelings, but they are feelings nonetheless, despite being perceived as mere victim narratives. Instead, Galang and Okada produced their stories with a purpose to preserve a saturated memory of time and emotion; thus, their novels reflect less an example of artistic ability and more a piece overflowing with historical meaning. This meaning preserved the harsh reality that a hyphenated public identity wrought on the Japanese-American or the Filipino-American, but mostly provided hope to readers of similar backgrounds to an existence that is unique and is in the process being forged and expanded. The Filipino-American and Japanese-American identity is strengthened with the growing appreciation of these novels. Showing that hyphenated identities can embody more than artists with the characters Ana and Gary, Okada and Galang also portray the tensions between first and second generation immigrants as inherently American. The conflict of first generation’s dreams in America with the reality of the second generation rebelliously flaunt gave rise to a new identity, whose story is documented in Okada and Galang’s prose. What sets these authors apart is how they were able to predict the tensions encountered by a role that is most comfortable in his or her environment: the Filipino-American and Japanese-American artist. Thus, these stories imply liberation from a public identity without sacrificing the historical and cultural facets that built it up in the first place. It implies that in the so-called land of opportunity, the pursuit of happiness doesn’t demand a detachment to history. Additionally, a measure of Americanness does not imply submission to a status quo, but a deep faith in possibility and hope.

ECHO

I guess I should put up a post since whenever I'm in this mood, the frequency of blogging degenerates to monthly. EH whatever. 

I wish I had a life coach. We'd have tea together at 7p.m. and talk about our progress in reaching nirvana. I got Nirvana's album Nevermind today, too. It brings back memories, haha. 

Don't Call it Music

What KanYe is doing right now with Graduation is is the definition of Hip-Hop. It actually is supposed to be fun.

Floetry

I went to see Floetry at the Independent in SF last night, and shit, I guess they split up sometime ago, and now the 'Floecist' is someone different. Not that I'm complaining, she's hot. Anyway, 'twas a dope concert, albeit a crazy mature crowd. I recommend highly.

For what it's worth

I just got back from a pretty gnarly crash next to the police station across of the Jamba Juice in Bancroft. I did a super wide turn while a dude in a grey car pulled up to the stop sign. I thought for a split second that I could make the turn and I would just be cutting it pretty close, and at the least I would look pretty cool. But I didn't.

My handlebars took most of the hit, so now there's a gash in the underneath part of my grips. The stem was also torqued a little bit, so I had to straighten it out a little. I spun my front wheel to see if it was warped, and there was a very small wobble, but the hubs were spinning straight still. Of course, for the aesthetics's sake, I had to check the frame for scratches. Thankfully there weren't any more scratches than usual.

Finally, I checked myself, haha. (My priorities were tested...) There's a bruise and a cut on my right wrist, and I scraped my knee. Nothing a spartan cannot handle. (Paul bought the DVD!)

But this post is dedicated to the nice girl who walked her bike next to me for a couple lengths to make sure I was alright. (She was pretty cute, too) The dude in the car was also concerned about me and I was just happy he didn't press charges, cuz it was totally my fault. There was a policeman who saw the whole thing and was staring at me. I figure I should get moving before the sugar in his donuts kicks in. I guess the po-po starts to feel existential whenever something bad happens and the people involved settle it themselves.

I hope I don't disturb my karma by doing this, but that was really the nicest possible bike crash that could ever happen.

Like Kanye, I need Daft Punk right now.

God if there's anything I regret more than anything right now I don't know how I'd feel. I'm so frustrated that I hadn't had the foresight to buy tickets to tonights Daft Punk concert at the Greek Theatre three months ago when I actually had the money. Man, my frustration actually drove me to try to simulate a similar experience by playing Grid Wars and listening to Human After All at the same time. Nope. It can never equal the greatness that is Daft Punk.

MAN I missed out. 

I promise. I will never miss out on another one. Kanye, Common, Roots, Clipse, be ready. I'ma rock yo' concerts. HARD.

H-O-R-S-E

It never ceases. First a hummus sandwich to start the day, then a trip to Amoeba to pick up a random DVD and a random CD for five and one dollar, respectively. Then a chili-cook-off where I tasted the most delicious chili called "Hair on your Chest." It had the most delicious pork in it. Did you watch Ratatouie? The scene of the grumpy food critic happened to me. Tasting that pork in the chili reminded me so much of some good ol' home cooked menudo. I was reverted back to the time I ate all the pork but my mom was yelling at me to eat my vegetables. It was that good. Then I watched Hairspray. (I don't even know what to say about this movie. I mean, what the hell John Travolta?!) Then I listened to a folk band and meagerly contributed on the bongo's. Then I was presented to an assortment of ici flavors.

All resulted to hella farts. I mean I need Gas Triple X for this shit. I have exceeded my methane quota for at least a month. I'd probably see a hole in the ozone layer above my house on Google Earth.

Oh man.

Thanks so much Patrici!

Sorry, Mr. Internet.

I apologize to anyone out there reading this blog for not posting. I'm getting terribly lazy with things, and I was trying to light my pants in fire but failed miserably. I was too lazy to switch computers because google somehow didn't work on the lappy. Yearsh, right?

Anyway, I just want to post real quick on some things that are worth saying, I think.

Live Free or Die Hard is a sneaky summer smash hit. I loved it.
Transformers could do without the disney love story but I guess it's necessary. I very much enjoyed the giant robot tomfoolery.
I have been fasting from the bike and it's been downright ridiculous the things I'd do to avoid moving around because I don't have a bike for easy travel. The bus really sucks. But Tuesday will change all that. Glamour shots to come, hopefully.

I have some big plans. I hope to stick to them. (Crosses fingers)

And it shall begin...

The Banatao Retreats have a way of lighting a fire under my butt. I love it and it makes me want to grunt HOO HAH. What is my profession? Definitely not a potter.

I would cut my hand off and outfit it with a chainsaw

The situation is tense.

The madman who invented the bestselling Nintendo DS game, Brain Age, has inadvertently created an unstoppable zombie generation made up of upper middle class children and young adults. Armed with lightning fast arithmetic skills and photographic memory, these zombies are nerdy, but they are still slow and it has been confirmed they will die if one shoots them in the head or groin. Actually, reports say one just has to challenge them to a game of Wii Sports because zombies suck at moving around.

Fight with chainsaws and shotguns, and insult their specialized knowledge in something nobody really cares about. Looks like this Zombie Armageddon needs to bring it to my house. Actually, I'd rather not.

Because then I'd make like hockey sticks, and get the puck out.

Cuts that I Crip My Walk to...

psst click for the sounds of the city

I'm being spied on.

IndieClick effectively targets the seventy-five million savvy young Americans, 16-34, who spend in excess of $200 billion each year on DVDs, CDs, iTunes, clothing, music, shoes, magazines, books, movie tickets, accessories, beverages, food, liquor, cigarettes, autos, bicycles, iPods, travel and more.

Our Audience: Demographics

Age: 16-34
750 million impressions each month
28 million uniques
65% male
Avg hh income $72K
18% own a mac
68% college student or graduate
Avg purchase 6 CDs and 5 DVDs each month
Download 13 songs online each month
Avg 10-15 hours television each week
Avg 19.5 hours online each week
Member of 3 community sites each
Three apparel purchases online each month
View 3-7 new movies each month
89% Trillian, Skype, AIM, Yahoo IM, and MSN IM messaging
Average Influence: 6.8 purchasers

Photos

I think high contrast digital photos look good because online photos in context always have a background, something framing it. Therefore, these high-contrast (or shadowy) photos always look more realistic, like a bright room leaking light into dark outer world framed by the borders of your pictures. It could be the generic white background when you put a search query in Google Images, or it could be the classier white background with subtle gray fonts of Flickr. It could just be a window when you click it on your desktop, or it could be your profile picture on Facebook. It makes me just want to reach into the picture.

Get Knocked Up

Everybody who cares about someday looking back and remembering the good times needs to go see "Knocked Up." It's going to preserve everything that we now live with and just how much life has changed because of that. It's also a really nice and heartwarming story. I think the best description I've seen online is that it's the best date movie. True that.

"Do you want to do it doggie style?"
"You're not going to fuck me like a dog."
"It's doggie style. It's a style, doesn't mean you're a dog. We don't have to go outside or anything."

I need to save up for some diamonds.

I think I'm going to find me a wife on Last.fm. I'm serious. Last.fm is such a well-thought Web 2.0 social networking company. It can only get better from here on, and it just started in 2002! I think I just might try to find a job in these here websites...

Hi again Professor Freud...

Casino
To dream that you are in a casino, signifies the risk-taker within you. If you are a reserved or passive person, then the dream suggests that you should take a chance. If you are not, then it implies that you need to make a more informed decision instead of relying on fate.

Magic
To dream of black magic, represents that you have obtained your wishes and wants through underhanded tricks. It also symbolizes evil and treachery.

Wallet
To see a wallet in your dream, symbolizes financial resources or self-identification.
To dream that your wallet has been stolen, indicates that someone may be trying to take advantage of you.
To dream that you lost your wallet, suggests that you need to be more cautious and careful about your spending and finances. You need to be more responsible with your money. Alternatively, it indicates that you are losing touch with your true identity.

What can I say? I had a really elaborate dream last night, and it even has an aftershock. I'll try to describe it as best that I can. It started with me and my sister somehow knowing how to conjure up creatures, a la Pan's Labirynth. The setting was just as cryptic and somber as the movie. Then somehow we got found out and run out of town, where my sister must've split up from me. Then I got involved in trying to hustle a casino. I don't exactly know what the hustle was, I just know we got caught, and the casino was doing everything in its jurisdiction to kick our ass. They were blocking all the entrances, and most of my dream was trying to figure out a way to escape to the parking lot and to the car. There were scenes of Scooby-Doo close calls in elevators and empty hotel rooms, which was actually pretty fun. There were scenes where I thought changing clothes a lot would confuse the cameras watching so I could continue to be in the same place (Naturally, to think of a plan since in this dream I'm conveniently not Daniel Ocean) and not have to keep moving. I got split up with my team and I managed to to sneak into a theater to rest and continue to find a way to escape the casino. Then people from my team came into the theater like, "Hey they know you're in here already, so you should get out, cuz we're already busted." I sat there stunned for a moment, and then maybe watched the movie with a deep sense of futility for a little bit before I got up out of my seat. Somehow during that time, my friend Kelly asked for my wallet and I gave it to her. I forgot about it and walked out, but just as I was about to step out, I remembered my wallet and asked it back from Kelly. I got it back, but she was just holding the plastic photograph holder, and not the rest of my wallet. (I don't have a plastic photo holder in my wallet, oddly) I asked her where it was and she said she must've dropped it back there. I went back and found it, but my bank card and driver's license were missing. She said she didn't touch them so these things just vanished into thin air. Naturally, I got really frustrated, because even in real life, I get really pissed off when I lose things of varying value. (And by value I mean they have more than a sentimental attachment to me, like important things you need in daily life) That's when I found out I was asleep so I just woke up and cursed to how my mind can trick me so, since I felt that was so real. I proceeded to take a most pensive piss.

The End

JAM!

So Professor Freud...

Parade

"To dream that you are watching a parade, indicates that you are being sidetracked or distracted from achieving your goals. For fear of failure, you may stop yourself from even pursuing your goals and desires. Alternatively, the parade symbolizes cycles, passage of time, or a special event in your life. Consider also the symbolism of whatever figures/animals/floats are in the parade. They may reflect a need for you to possess or control those attributes."

Story of my life. I totally understand that I'm distracted, but it's getting really difficult for me to recognize, or maybe just be honest with myself, to what these distractions are, or what they look like. Like when I was studying meditation, the mind is really tricky, especially when it's tricking itself. Recently, I've only begun to recognize distraction after it's done its damage, even though I'm under the impression that I've been diligent in looking out for things that get me sidetracked. (Especially when you realize that sometimes you do need to get sidetracked once in a while and it's healthy.)

Fine, let's do this.

Weather forecast looks cloudy

I'm feeling a storm coming. I need to prepare my survival kit or else I won't make it.

UCLA SPCN 2007

I just woke up after driving all night after the 7 PM show at UCLA. Man that drive is vicious. The 101 is hypnotizing when you stare at it too long. Then you do the wake-up face-shaking sequence best described by Lightning McQueen's trailer when he was taking him to the big race.

Anyway, the show was overall pretty good. Clocked in about 4 hours with intermission, the cast accomplished a lot with their time onstage. To give you an idea of how the show was organized, the overlying theme was Balikbayan (which means "returning home"), and they cleverly broke that theme into three skits that portrayed different aspects of the Filipino experience. First was a story of US immigration dodging, second was a story set in Lebanon during a war, and third was a romantic story of a journalist and a filmmaker documenting political killings in the Philippines. They all explored the character's notions of "home" and it was heartwarming. I liked how they brought it all together at the airport, where the characters had nary the thought that their fates were intertwined. (Aww...)

However, one critique I would have is their use of dance to evoke emotion in between scenes. At first, I really didn't know what was going on, and when I did, I felt it disrupted the flow of the show, even though the connections can be read in the given programs. I felt their actors did a great job showing emotion, and the one good segue they had was in the play set in Lebanon, where the main character (my sister, Angelica, who did a great job by the way. Only in the internet will I admit that I did cry, which doesn't really make a lot of sense. But whatever.) was in prayer and it segued to a song with their choir in the background. That was really nice! I mean, the solemnity of prayer was given strength as the harmonized voices echoed off the walls, giving the impression that for the main character, faith and prayer implies courage rather than a loss of reasonable hope. The cast had some great actors (it is LA!) so I feel their use of dance to evoke an emotion of the play instead disrupted it.

Given, it is really hard to figure out a way to mix dance and skits, and I think it has been the quest for every campus that has a PCN. Shit, Filipinos have written papers on that in the past. Flashbacks, TV shows, interpretive dance...

But, more importantly, UCLA is famous for Samahang Modern. I should talk about that.

DAMN. (followed with some stuttering, blubbering, and incomprehensive jibber-jabber)

Modern really tore it up last night. They really showed that within Filipino American culture, there's a reason why Filipinos gravitate towards dancing. IT'S BECAUSE THEY'RE REALLY GOOD AT IT.

Their first set was alright, but little did I know that they were just playing with the haters in the crowd with that set. The second set, called "Hypnotize" was the definition of dope. They got me off my seat while I was sippin my champagne, smoking my cigar with a suede jacket and a monocle on, to krump my clothes off, just go dumb. Their music choice, choreography, formations, was all perfect, and I really just want to watch it over, and over, and over, and over, and over...

It even made me think of choreographed dance as something Filipino's could call their own in the sphere of arts within "Hip-Hop." It's something that is well represented in many campuses versions of "Modern," and dance companies do exist with a lot of Filipino's represented in it. Seeing one of the best perform (pardon me, do their thang) really does put everything in perspective.

Phew. I worked up a sweat there. Overall, I really had a great time at UCLA (minus the drive back to Salinas at 12 AM) and it was even sweeter when the tickets were FREE.99. And here's my mandatory yell at the internets through my mic (or maybe just a rolled up piece of paper) : GREAT JOB, CAST AND CREW OF UCLA'S SPCN 2007!

R.I.P

I know it's five days late, but Happy Belated Birthday, Lolo Ando. May you rest in peace. Rest assured, your mark in this world will continue through me.

Stay classy.

Credits

When someone makes a movie so good that they think of how long the credits should run, then that's baller.

"So how long do you think the credits should be? I think the audience should have at least 5 minutes to think this movie over. "

DAMN

Milestones

Today I have 1985 unread emails in my inbox, the same number as the year I'm born.

[Waves hands in voodoo motion while making ghostly sounds]

KRAVMAGA

Jean-Benoit Dunckel and Nicolas Godin are Modernists. This doesn't mean that they walk around damp Parisian streets wearing parkas and listening to The Who. Air embrace the new. Each album is a move away from the last and journey towards something else. Their music is intellectually stimulating and empty-headedly simple; elegaic and triumphal; beyond pop and yet resolutely of it, too.


So that was an excerpt off Air's website. Pretty much a good description of their music.

I went to their concert last night at the Nob Hill Masonic Center and it was pretty much mind-blowing. This was my first time seeing them live, and I kinda just started to listen to their music. My favorite track was "Run" and they played it. I was 'bout to get up and take a jog that song got me so nutty.

But throughout the concert all I was thinking was ROCK ME HARDER. Yes, I had some high expectations, so instead of my mind being blown to the row behind me, I wanted it to be blown to the balconies. Given, Air was playing at the Masonic Center, and I don't know if you have seen the immediate vicinity, but it smells of yuppie. I mean, the venue had assigned seating, and the extent of what Air was thinking was probably, "Is the crowd diggin' us? I can't tell cuz they're sitting down and it's dark in here."

But they probably got the hint after the encore.

So they started a bit off, the band was off beat, and playing slower than the album versions, but it picked up as soon as Air saw the sea of head nods. All I'm going to say now is that I need to see Air in their natural habitat. I want to see them truly rock out.

UC Berkeley PCN 2007

This year's Pilipino Cultural Night was a production masterpiece.

Kevin Asuncion and Jade Bradfish (PCN 2007 co-producers) were able to take the formula of Skits + Traditional + Lyrical + Modern and create something that didn't even seem like it had anything to do with skits, dance, or the tradition of Berkeley PCN's. It felt so fresh.

The traditional dances were something else though. This is where I felt this year's PCN really took a step forward. They were able to show an audience that tinikling wasn't just people trying not to get their ankles to' up, but it was a dance that is able to develop along with the growth of Filipino-American identity. Traditional Filipino dances often drew the line in Filipino-American memory to distinctly define what was old and what was new. Although the costumes and the bamboo evoke a I-think-I-can-only-see-in-sepia-and-I-shouldn't-smile-in-photographs kind of feeling, the dance really felt like "Hey, I think I hear a Neptunes beat in that bamboo."

The skits were also great. Saturated with political commentary, it was also sensitive to many filipinos who comprehend "Philippine Politics" in entirely different ways. I like that. Owen Javellana's skit was fire. It was basically a thought experiment of a moon colony with a population that can barely fill a bus, and yet still have to deal with identity politics. Genius!

Well, I'm tired, hung over, and tired. Thank you PCN 2007 for a great show!

No wonder!

I have been wondering why art history is defined with such stages. Where are the artists that define the 'now'? Do they shun the pompous attitude of those who claim they've found a definition of a time period and proceed to create in the name of it? I swear they're just hiding on top of a skyscraper or somfin', drinking and laughing at the rat race below. While painting on a wall of course. Or mixing some music on the tables.

Fluxus

1. Fluxus is an attitude. It is not a movement or a style.
2. Fluxus is intermedia. Fluxus creators like to see what happens when different media intersect.
3. Fluxus creators like to mix things up. They use found and everyday objects, sounds, images, and texts to create new combinations of objects, sounds, images, and texts.
4. Fluxus should be simple. The art is small, the texts are short, and the performances are brief.
5. Fluxus should be fun. If it isn't fun, it isn't Fluxus.

"Do you know what I found without looking to see?

I found some sounds. Each sound that I found is in my Sound Station. "

Quoted from track 12 of DJ Teeko off his album My Soundstation (I really hope I spelled his name right, I shall correct later) that Gina (Gina Rosales of Funkanometry SF) put me on last night. [Dope party, by the way. I'm guessing a good party = good food + mixed beer + space fuel + good music + (apparently) an extra large and extra violent game of Spoons + another card game called Lucky Motherf*cker (look it up it's fun)]

I will put more research into this newly discovered (well at least I discovered it, for myself) fusion of funk and DJ'ing, and I'll get back to you. I'mma just say that I really really REALLY like what I hear.

"What's the difference between me and you?

It's that I'm real kind show, this rap shit, I'd really do it
My whole life man is really music
Through my bass line, I'm livin' through it
Another expression of life, I couldn't live without it
I like my music pure, not watered down
DAMN!, it felt good to fulfill the dreams of gettin' out the hood
Kept me busy, gave me a chance to stop sellin' drugs
Spinnin' time in the basement kept me from actin' up
Zonin' out, wishin' Dre. could check it out
I'm here now, I can't believe it, Proof in the puddin'
Everything happened for a reason
Through this music I'm able to feed the family
When I'm stressed out, it's my insanity
It's a life style, all in the streets and in Hollywood
Music in my DNA, it's my livelihood.. music"

- Hi-Tek, on Music For Life, Hi-Teknology 2

Speed...I am Speed...

HOKAY

Earl Abon, master Filipino marathon runner, says breath in through yo' mouth and out through yo' nose.
Breath in...
Snort out...

Ready?

What do you want to do?

All I wanna do is ride around shinin' while I can afford it
Plenty ice on my neck so I don't get nauseous
Float around in the greatest of Porches
Feel like a chuck wagon cuz I'm on twelve horses
And the three behind mine (uh)
They be the click
So much ice in they rollies, the shit don't tick, man
Winter through the summer
Care less what it cost me
And while I'm shoveling the snowman
Call me the Frawsty, lova

I really do believe the Clipse makes truly contemporary rap because of these reasons:

• Their cadence, voices, rhymes are straight-up undistilled fire.
  
• They know what gangsta rap means. They have endured the hustle, and their lyrics show that in the end they want to advance the state of their community by setting an example. Their deeper allegories and symbolisms are essentially religious, harking from more conscious gangsta rappers like Biggie, Tupac, Nas, Az Izz, and one of my favorites, Scarface.
• They're honest. They are cunningly nonchalant and admit that once and again they make mistakes, too. And they do admit that hey, we are "young, black, and just don't give a fuck," so they party like they're "young, black, and just don't give a fuck."
  
• They straight up like to fuck with you on stage in concerts. When you're an artist, you can't help but be a sociologist, too, so they know what gets you begging for more. Those openers for the recent Clipse concert in the Mezzanine in SF were sociologists, too. They know how to get the crowd absolutely still. (Cricket chirps.)

Check out a Clipse concert sometime, and stand in the vicinity of college and post-college aged folks dressed in faded jeans, tastefully multicolored sneakers, shirts with a clever play on words, and New Era hats. (And maybe a bandanna or Arabic head-dress around their necks.) Once Pusha and Malice comes on, they won't be the only ones spittin'. I swear, Clipse concerts with a good crowd are really churches, where the lyrics sung are laced with the grime and grind of the streets.

Ears thirsty?

The WILD. The NUTS. The CRAZY.

That's what this album evokes in me. Once and again I like to go on a music-hunting excursion. Usually I find some attractive specimens, but in recent days, the hunt resulted in the capture of pretty subdued music. Smooth and easy to track, this music is necessary to woo the romantic in your soul, but sometimes I need it rough, and through a much more tactical approach to the hunt, this is what I found. Funky DL is real, homes. Give it a listen.

(Click on the album cover for a link to DL it on the DL. Shhhhh)

Oh Noes!

I just found the bike of my dreams being sold in Craigslist. I was so mad, I wrote in my book that I really have to start saving money. No joke.

1990's Cannondale Track Bike - $1350 (palo alto)

1990's Cannondale Track Bike - $1350 (palo alto) 54cm X 53cm, 31" standover, hooked-up!
Goodies include: PhilWood/DeepV's, Sugino75, Nitto, Flite, Thomson, MKS
Too small for me! Sell as a complete for $1350 or sell as frameset only for $550.
Prices are FIRM and cash/local pickups only, no shipping, no parting out, leave your phone number, be serious, thanks.