Archive | January, 2012

Journ this way

31 Jan

The ubiquitousness of personas like Boy Pick-up (and their characteristic, love-and/or landi-laced banat) have led some people to suggest that crafting pick-up lines is this generation’s counterpart to the balagtasan of yore.

I’m not out to discuss the academic merits of such an observation. But I’m inclined to believe that whatever activity forces us to think outside the box –and make associations where none were previously established — is healthy for the mushy pink organ between our ears.

As far as pick-up lines go, the more far-fetched generally elicit more positive reactions. For this to happen, however, one condition remains nonnegotiable: the tie-back has to be smooth, and the punchline has to be so deceptively simple, anyone could have thought of it.

Last night as I wondered what we’d be doing for today’s Newsroom Management class, my consciousness wandered from the left cerebral hemisphere to the right. And from my head sprang forth an idea for a pick-up line, which my fingers promptly translated into a facebook status.

But what started out as a facebook status evolved into a whole-day, journalism-related pick-up line spree in my head. Fair warning, though: There’s a reason this is posted past midnight, when the more innocent among us are presumed to be soundly asleep, and the less innocent are conversely preoccupied.

If you’re prudsqueamish about innuendo but would like to have your daily dose of G-rated, romantic-ish punchlines, well, there’s always 9gag Thought Catalog But if the needle in your spectrum of humor often skirts around the green zone, then be my guest.

‎”Headline ka ba?”


“Because you’re the first thing that catches my eye.”

“Eh ikaw, featurized lead ka ba?”


“Kasi you always leave me hanging.”

“Kung ganon, source ka ba?”

“Because I’m hard to get?”

“No. Because I like to keep you close.”

“Alam ko na. Advertorial ka.”


“Kasi ang hilig mo mambola.”

“Hindi, ah! Byline ka ba?”

“Kasi ayaw mo nang may ka-share sakin?”

“Hindi. Kasi gagawin ko ang lahat, maging akin ka lamang.”

“Pano ba yan, masthead ako.”

“Bakit? Kasi meron kang date?”

“Hindi. Because I like it on top.”

“Then if I were the EIC, you’d be the draft of tomorrow’s newspaper.”

“Because I’d be hot off the presses?”

“Close, but not quite.”

“Then why?”

“Because I can’t wait to put you to bed.”



23 Jan

Papa: Angeli, could you please edit a video of me?

Me: I can edit, but I don’t have the software. What do you need me to do?

Papa: Could you make me more handsome?

Me: *tumbling*


(while playing Pinoy Henyo)

X, person in the hot seat: Lugar?

Us: Oo!

X: Napuntahan ko na?

Us: Oo!

X: Motel?

Some of us: Pwede!


Nothing quite like this day. :>


Once upon an internet post

16 Jan

Commenter 1: I really think they should get together.

Commenter 2: I second emotion!


GO ATE. Dami mong emotions to spare, eh.

Of Prayers and Devotion: A Prelude to the Feast of the Black Nazarene

8 Jan

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

The Feast of the Black Nazarene every January 9 is among the most celebrated liturgical feasts for Filipino Catholics. At least one million people from all over the country come together to commemorate the translacion, or the relocation of the original image of the Nazarene from Luneta to the Parish of Saint John the Baptist, more popularly known as the Basilica of the Black Nazarene or Quiapo Church.

Devotees of all ages flock to the image of the suffering Christ to seek the fulfillment of their personal intentions or to express their gratitude for answered prayers.

In an interview with CBCP News, Quiapo Church rector Msgr. Clemente Ignacio views the devotion to the Black Nazarene as a testament to the empathy of Filipinos: “The Filipinos see themselves in the image of the suffering and struggling Black Nazarene.”

“If you will notice the Black Nazarene is a snapshot of Jesus rising again after the fall… we will see there the resilience of the Filipinos, they never lose hope,” he added.


Our photojourn prof assigned us to cover the Feast of the Black Nazarene, but a morning class and prior commitments would keep me from joining the throng on Monday. To make up for it, I headed to the Basilica yesterday with my friend Raine, hoping to squeeze in a few shots before sunset.

Because I arrived two days before the main event, I expected to find only a handful of churchgoers, the image of the Christ, and if I were lucky, a photogenic candle or two. But from the time we saw a row of sidewalk vendors flaunting their Poon memorabilia and a parade of about a dozen replicas of the Black Nazarene, it was clear that there was more to be beheld at the premature coverage. It surprised me to see so many young devotees — teenagers, gradeschoolers and even toddlers. There was even a pregnant lady and a cripple in the crowd.

I haven’t joined a religious procession since high school, so yesterday’s foray was a refreshing experience for me. Among the people we met was Ka Ed. He had been boarding the andas or the base of the statue’s carriage since he was 7.

Now 49, he carries on his devotion by pioneering and leading the Anak ng Poon ng Nazareno (ANPON), an organization of volunteer-devotees who provide manpower — think of them as bouncers, if you will — and maintain the peace in the Black Nazarene procession.

Ka Ed

He and an ANPON comrade, Ka Jojo, helped Raine and I find the best angles with the least amount of risk. They advised us to ask the Poon‘s permission as we took photographs of His image. Even under unfavorable conditions, they said, the Nazarene grants the prayers and desires of devotees with the resolve to sacrifice and unwavering faith in Him.

We left Quiapo a little past dusk with muddy shoes, maxed out memory cards and new-found appreciation for the seminal spiritual experience that is the Feast of the Black Nazarene.

Love and Loss in Rendition — Dulaang UP’s Noli Me Tangere: The Opera in review

4 Jan

Photo from the Dulaang UP's Noli Facebook page.

Since its publication in 1887, the novel Noli Me Tangere by national hero Jose Rizal continues to reinforce itself as a tour de force in the local literary tradition. Its story revolves around the lives of townsfolk from San Diego, a fictional Philippine municipality at the turn of the 19th century. Rizal’s central characters, who have made their mark in the national consciousness, are Crisostomo Ibarra – a gentleman who leaves for Europe in his youth to study and returns toSan Diego an orphan – and his childhood sweetheart Maria Clara, the illegitimate daughter of the abusive clergyman Padre Damaso.

The novel and its sequel El Filibusterismo are credited for inspiring Filipino revolutionaries to take up arms against the Spanish colonization. Due to its artistic and historical significance, both texts lend themselves well to adaptation in other art forms, particularly the performing arts. In reworking Rizal’s novels for the stage or for the screen, directors and screenwriters have followed one of three traditions: faithful adaptation, vignette and contemporaneity.

Renditions like Gantimpala theater troupe’s Noli and Fili, which most high school students in Metro Manila are required to watch, are more literal in their adaptation. The same can also be said of the 1992 TV series Noli Me Tangere, a project of the CulturalCenter of the Philippines (CCP) which aired for a total of 13 episodes. The scripts of all three productions fed extensively on passages from the novels, and neither the chronology nor the characters were tailored or modified to suit the director’s vision.

A number of directors, artists and writers saw potential in the “untold stories” of Rizal’s dynamic, multi-layered characters and went on to employ their artistic license in the plots and presentations of their own productions. In his 1951 film Sisa, starring Anita Linda in the titular role, director Gerardo de Leon played around with the Noli’s plot and male characters to create a past for and explore the psyche of the iconic madwoman ofSan Diego, whose family misfortunes ultimately drove her to insanity.

This vignette tradition is especially strong for the novels’ female characters – particularly Maria Clara; Salome, the lover of Elias; and Sisa. All three women were the subjects of Kutsilyo, Pamaypay at Yantok, a play in three acts which alternately parodied, magnified and dramatized their relationships with the men in their lives.

Meanwhile, recent productions like Philippine Educational Theater Association’s Noli at Fili Dekada Dos Mil – written by Nicanor Tiongson and directed by Soxie Topacio – allow audiences to review and appreciate the national hero’s classic masterpieces in the light of current socio-political realities. This was achieved by adding contemporary tweaks to the plot and “relocating” the novels’ characters to present-day, poverty-strickenManila.

The latest Noli adaptation to have graced the thespic scene is Dulaang UP’s Noli Me Tangere: The Opera. Composed by National Artist for Music Felipe de Leon alongside librettist Guillermo Tolentino, the production debuted in 1957. The DUP restaging ran from November 16 to December 4, 2011 to coincide with the yearlong celebration of Rizal’s sesquicentennial birth anniversary and to prelude the centennial of de Leon’s birth. The premiere staging of de Leon’s masterpiece was well-received, garnering the distinction of being “the first truly Filipino opera.”

In order to effectively evaluate the success of DUP’s adaptation, it is important to note the components and traits of a good opera performance. The art of the opera harks back to 16th centuryItaly, where it was initially performed for the nobility. For centuries, opera has been regarded a “high” or even “elitist” art form.

An opera is essentially a story set to music, rendering both the vocal and accompaniment elements of music are of paramount importance. The score of Noli Me Tangere: The Opera is laudable for employing rich, local musical traditions such as the kundiman (Maria Clara’s “Kay Tamis ng Buhay”) alongside the standard aria of Western operas (Sisa’s “Awit ng Gabi”).

The score was bolstered by excellent showings from the ensemble – composed of both veteran and burgeoning opera singers – with the guidance of musical director Camille Lopez Molina. Standouts include soprano Myramae Meneses and contralto Jean Judith Javier, who played Maria Clara and Sisa, respectively. Even the child actors Gerald Kristof Diola and Jhiz Deocareza, who essayed the roles of Basilio and Crispin, delivered strong theatrical and musical performances.

The ingenious and indigenous set design heightened the impact of local color in DUP’s production. Production designer Gino Gonzales used bamboo for partitions, risers and walkways onstage; inabel cloth from Ilocos was also incorporated in the period costumes.

One thing that didn’t strike a chord with me, however, was the use of stark-white face make-up to identify and highlight the Spanish characters. The over-application of make-up was characteristic of Doña Victorina in the original text, as in the more literal adaptations. Having the friars, Don Tiburcio and even Maria Clara’s suitor Ynares don the same look was an unnecessary distraction from the pretentious donya, whose largely unsuccessful attempts at speaking and looking Spanish was meant to bring comic relief to the narrative.

It is interesting to note that Rizal himself received flak for writing his novels in Spanish, the language of the educated and the elite. This move, said his critics, rendered the texts far removed from the masses who he was supposedly writing for. However, this appears to have been a case of misguided audience attribution.

His choice of language had an intended cause and effect: writing in the language of the colonizers was his own way of disproving the ignorance and indolence that offensive Spaniards were only too willing to attribute to Filipinos. Rizal, then, wasn’t directly writing for the masses; his deliberate use of Spanish could well be construed as the epitome of the phrase “if you can’t beat them, join them.”

Operas are characterized by their high propensity for tragedy and melodrama; most plots revolve around central characters’ personal crises and how they manage (but more often, fail to) overcome them. The internal and external conflicts of characters in Noli and Fili reflected the hardships and struggles that Filipinos of yesteryears were subjected to. Their stories brought to fore the socio-political situation of Rizal’s time – not the other way around.

In the opera, important scenes and characters in the novel were reduced – if not completely scrapped – because the plot’s historical context played second fiddle to the romance of Maria Clara and Crisostomo. Scenes involving the star-crossed lovers – among them their reunion at Kapitan Tiyago’s dinner feast and their forlorn farewell in Maria Clara’s room – were expanded, and even fitted with corresponding musical numbers.

By contrast, only two minor scenes involving Elias, the demoralized revolutionary who sacrificed his life for Crisostomo, were included in the opera: the first when he kills the crocodile along the Pasig river, and the second when he helps Crisostomo escape from Spanish authorities.

The iconic confrontation between Elias and Crisostomo on the merits of staging a revolution versus investing in the youth’s education is markedly absent from the score. Also among the bypassed scenes was the maltreatment of the deranged Sisa by Doña Consolacion – the foul-mouthed, whip-wielding Filipina wife of the Spanish lieutenant.

While the DUP restaging of de Leon’s Noli remained faithful to its operatic medium, I felt that it did so at the expense of the source texts’ treatise. Elements and themes central to the narrative of Noli were lost in its transposition from the page to the stage.

The tone of desolation on both the individual and social levels was not lost, but the focus on the tragic love story betrayed the opera’s inclination to melodrama and clearly delineated from the more historical milieu of the novel. This is not to say, however, that the production is faulty for yielding to the performance medium. Rather, DUP’s Noli Me Tangere: The Opera is a testament to the breadth of the Filipino artists’ aesthetic wingspan, establishing itself as an adaptation both inspired and instructive.