Oh Debbie: Queen of the underground

I love Debbie Harry or “Blondie” for that matter. She´s one of the few singers who seem to live in an era where a lazy or carefree way of singing doesn´t sound bad at all. An era of punk rock when the emotions are too strong, the power of the voice naturally comes out. No lozenges, no special Chinese ginger-candies, it’s just rock & roll bliss.

I guess the reason why I’m writing this is that (so far) no pop song released nowadays has actually electrified me (Aside from the very few notable ones such as Amy McDonald’s “This is the Life”).

For those unfortunate souls who haven’t heard of Debbie’s music, here’s a mini-videography for you. I wish the pagans in Summerisle who only listen to the weeping Willows will finally realize what they are really missing.

Enjoy the music.

“Heart of Glass” Blondie”s first hit in 1978

“Call Me” Blondie’s 1980 hit, used in films American Gigolo and that sex comedy Deuce Bigalow…

Other Blondie hits that I love: One Way or The Other (Used in Cayote Ugly); Denise Denise; The Tide is High (ruined by Atomic Kitten); and Rapture.

“French Kissing In The USA” Debbie’s succesful hit as a solo-artist. As a child, I remember hearing this song from the 80s retro movie “Troop Beverly Hills” which featured Harriet (Emily Schulman). Remember her? That red-haired, freckled-faced, girl with a Sailormoon haircut (with bangs and all) that’s bugging Jamie (deceased former child star Jerry Supiran) in the classic TV sitcom Small Wonder. Gosh I’m only 26! Hehe

“Maria” Blondie’s new material for their 1999 Greatest Hits Album. At 63, she still sounds her rockin’ self unlike Elton John nowadays, whose voice became way too low because of aging vocal chords. (no offense to Elton John fans, hehe).

“Debbie” by The B-52s. One of my best-loved American New Wave Bands acknowledged Debbie Harry as a legend. In 1998, they included this tribute song for their Greatest Hits compilation: “Songs For a Future Generation.”

Debbie Gibson (the original Britney) once sang:

“The next generation…Inflation, Flirtation, Relaxation, Elation Generation of An electric youth!“ – From the song Electric Youth

I couldn’t agree more. It seems the songs from the past speak so well about the future

Video: Electric Youth by Debbie Gibson. Hmm… I do have to say that the dancing in this video deserve some electrocution

China Cry!!!

My Friendster became Chinese… Why? WHAT’S HAPPENING!!! I don’t understand this! HEELLLPPPP!!!

“Denial” tone

I can’t grasp the idea why many artistic bloggers and so-called “mass communicators” bash the call center generation. What is it about a career in the call center industry that many of you find totally unacceptable? From what I’ve read, you address this issue as if taking phonecalls is a worse fate than being unemployed. As if until now, you’ve never heard of Reality Bites.

A case in point: I was alarmed when a former schoolmate of mine attended the Alumni homecoming at our university. In every reunion, one could expect to be asked “how are you?” or “what keeps you busy?” My friend genuinely told them she’s working at a call center. The response was less than appreciative. “Call center?… Sayang ang skills!” (in English: You’re wasting your skills)— a dehumanizing remark matched with an ultra-sarcastic tone. When my friend narrated the story to me, I told her you should’ve snapped, “Your salary is just my tax!”

I had worked in a call center before for one of the biggest financial institutions in the world. Contrary to your tainted belief, it was in the call center where I lived and breathed the “Communication Theories” which I studied in school. It was a more fulfilling experience than being stuck in an archive room, rewinding stacks and stacks of Betacam tapes during my internship at a TV station.

For the benefit of your ignorance, the only script I had as a call center agent were product knowledge and vital protocols such as “This call is monitored or recorded for quality purposes.” The rest was actually a flowchart. A graph showing an impressive communication model, much like the constructivism theory (if you will). The same pattern of rhetoric used by David Fisher (from 6-feet Under) whenever he sells an expensive coffin to a customer that’s grief-stricken, blowing thick mucus on a Kleenex.

Mind you, it’s not an easy task my friend. It actually requires tremendous SKILL.

Let me ask you: Why label such working class as living under delusions of grandeur? I urge you to tell that to my *CSA sister who’s independently rearing her two young children and paying the mortgage of her OWN house. Tell that to an undergraduate who knows that flipping burgers could never pay for his college. Tell that to a housewife in her 40s who’s only chance to be a career woman is to step into the call center “bandwagon”. Tell that to those competent souls whose proffessional niche lies in “sales and marketing” and were so good in handling complaints, they got promoted within a year. Lastly, tell that to the “Brahman” graduates from the five reputable schools in Manila, who all queued up into a call center job fair because they can’t stand the idea that their education is more expensive than their salaries.

Why are you so bothered by the fact that these people are working and earning money to support themselves? Why are you so disturbed that they party all night when in fact, it’s their hard-earned money. Why all these negative retort about people who do work for a living?

The only answer I can think of is because you’re in DENIAL TONE. You’re actually the one who’s engulfed with delusions of grandeur. You can’t accept the miserable fact that there is limited demand for your mastered philosophies and schools-of-thought. You can’t accept the fact that the background of your study has no practical use in the third world country where you are born. You feel cheated—cringing in the reality that your glamorous image is anything but monetary.

I know a lot of people like you. People who fill their social networking sites with pictures of celebrities and politicians, but reports to work with no specific job description—only waiting for somebody to command you to skillfully make coffee. I know people like you whose faces grace the Primetime news, but sadly earns a wage, not income. People who had the highest honours in a fantasy world called school but had less than impressive portfolios compared to working students who got “real-life” corporate connections.

I, myself, is a graduate of Mass Communication. With what I’ve seen and experienced, I refer to my bachelor’s degree as a “calling”. I was introduced to the painful reality that I have to start rewinding Betacams or erasing casette-tapes using a special vibrating box if I want to be part of the much coveted industry. An industry that’s only a handful in Manila, not-enough to be of service for the multitudes of fresh graduates. If I could turn back time, I would instead study robotics. The reason is not just about lack of demand, but because many Bachelor of Science graduates can also write, edit films, animate a storyboard, speak well… Oh yes, it seems my com. arts major is merely a hobby. so the best thing I can do is improve myself. Try to score some money to take a crash course at Meralco Foundation, perhaps study programming over there.

Speaking of self-empowerment, during my job interview at the call center, the *HR representative asked me this question: “Aside from the pay, can you give me a reason why you wanna work here?”

My answer was: “The pay is exactly the reason because if I have enough money, I would have enough resources to support my own self-improvement.”

Guess what… she said “great answer.”

Dear Mass Communicators and artful bloggers: Before you criticize again call center agents, ask yourself—What good will your criticisms bring to you? So far, nothing. Perhaps just repolishing the popularity you have had in your school where your comfort zone really belongs.

Of course why would you agree with me? You’re so intelligent. In fact, you believe you’re under the order of changing the world.

Best of luck to you then.

“…So I don’t know where that leaves

us. I’m not sure how much more mileage

I can get out of continuing to submit

it. I think it’s one of those

unfortunate cases in the business

right now — a fabulous book with no

home. The whole industry’s gotten

gutless. It’s not about the quality

of the books. It’s about the

marketing.”

– from Alexander Payne’s film Sideways.

-----------------

*CSA is an acronym for Customer Service Associate

*HR means Human Resources

Please click image for photo credits.

Still Another Beating

July 8; 9AM: It was raining hippopotamuses and elephants when I visited my tutor for another two hour Dutch language lessons. I usually bring my bike with me, but since the ice cold rain was pounding too hard on the cobblestones, I decided to take the tram. I believe I made progress with my lessons because during my time as a tourist, I could only hear garbled words whenever the computer announced the tram’s wherabouts. Now, the words to me are as clear as a whistle: “Volgende halte Vreidespeleis” (Next station Freedom Palace).

But I was nervewhacked—not because I’m not prepared to meet my tutor—but because I never got through his lessons without making a mistake. Whenever he taught me Dutch, it was so easy to comprehend. At home, I finished the homework, studied the rules and answered his workbooks again and again. Yet, my tutor always managed to place some tricks in his tests. Tricks that made me think twice about rules which I thought I already mastered. This is precisely the reason why I was nervous. I had been served another mental whiplash.

Mr. Felix (that’s his name), is a retired language teacher and a Pianist extraordinaire who once taught in that famous Mondriaan school. He is a well-mannered man, sophisticated in all aspects and always cheerful. He never hollered at his students. Yet, there is something about him that puts me in shame, and they are called his other students. Whenever I fell on his traps, he told me stories of his other learners who never made a mistake. An 11-year old pupil from Bulgaria who can now write an essay after just 3 weeks worth of lessons. Dragos, his former Romanian student who suddenly can speak fluent Dutch after completing his workbook and is now studying Russian.  After just two months, Mr. Felix was able to teach a Chinese girl to speak Dutch with the use of pictograms. All are success stories of students who never faltered in one of his tricks. And there I was, crumbling like a sand castle, knowing that I made mistakes again. I knew first/hand that his stories were real and not just an exaggeration from an old man. Reminiscent of the film Big Fish, I met all of his exceptional storybook characters when he celebrated his birthday… .

Oh my, it´s been a month and a half and after many attempts, I am still the labrat who can´t solve the Dutch language maze .

He told me this morning, “I can keep you busy for a year” which for me, isn´t a compliment at all. Now, I have yet again another 6 days interval before I see him. It was easy to learn the basics, but to actually speak Dutch language requires intense conscious effort.

To give you a taste, here´s the three advanced grammar rules that drive me nuts:

• They have an inverted sentence construction whenever they speak of time, place or when the question word “how” is answered:

ex: Iedere dag ga ik met de auto naar mijn werk.

Literal English translation: Every day going I with the car to my work.

• They have prefixes that split from the verb and are placed at the end of the sentence.

ex: Hij was de borden en de glassen af.    He washed the dishes and the glasses.

the original verb is afwassen (to wash).   Another verb like this is aan kleden (to dress/put on).

ex: Ik kleed mijn shirtje aan.  I put on my little shirt.

• Their reflexive pronouns have partnering verbs.

In English, we only add reflexive pronouns like yourself, himself, herself (among others) in a sentence. In Dutch, they have actual verbs for it plus their very own reflexive pronoun conjugation:

ex: the Dutch verb “zich schamen” (to shame yourself)

I shame myself——— Ik schaam me.   You shame yourself——- Jij schaam je.

He/She shamed him/herself—— Hij/Zij schaamt zich.

We shamed ourselves——- Wij schamen ons.

You (plural) shamed yourselves——— Jullie schamen jullie

They shamed themselves———- Zij schamen zich.

By the way, they also have their own conjugation for possessives. It´s not as simple as adding apostrophe `s`.

Combine all these rules, plus a million of their strong and soft verbs; Plus their inverted sentences; And bask in the fact that progress in language is measuerd by fluency; Then I have an oral and written exam which is comparable to brain hemorrhage.

For me, it´s deppressing to see a staggering progress especially when I see other foreigners learn it very fast. Moreso, when I view the profiles of my favorite CNN reporters like Hala Gorani who is fluent in French and Arabic; Or Atika Schubert who is fluent in Bahasa; My Dutch tutor is fluent in Spanish, German, and English (not to mention piano notes). Even the nicktoon Wild Thornberries can talk to the animals (nah, not a good analogy).

It´s excruciating now, trying to skew my English to learn Dutch. But a third language is really just the icing of the cake if I want to survive here.

Besides, here´s one of the most famous Dutch sayings: De wonderen zijn de wereld nog niet uit”

Translation: The wonders haven´t escaped the world.

P.s.

Just an announcement, I must triumph next week so I really can´t blog hehehe

I´m not kidding!

Friend of Diablo Speaks Out!

Video: “Leave Diablo Cody Alone” written & directed by Mark Banker

Quotable quotes:

“How fucking dare you attack Diablo Cody!”

“Why is everybody all Gin Blossoms hey jealousy about Diablo?”

“…It didn’t take her 20 years, slaving over a hot laptop!”

“Well I bet she stashed more one spots in her coin slot...than you made in two thousand zero zero…party over-hoops out of time!”

“…if you don’t stop messing around with my Diablo…”

“You’re like Blacula, only white!”

“You say her writing is trite, affected and contrived…and that she’s the unfortunate product of a fine, tenured PR machine…and that her whole pseudo-punkrock, ex-stripper, suicide girl light act is about as real as her name… “

“She’s Tiger Words, and you don’t deserve her… you don’t deserve Diablo Cody!”

“By the power of Greyskull… I command thee to leave Diablo Cody alone!”

“I swear to blog, I swear to blog!”

does the underlined phrases sound familiar to you…?

The Real Coño

Disclaimer: I recently discovered that coño in Spanish is a woman’s vagina or a slang for easy lay. The coño in this piece is the “pinoy” lingo that pertains to anyone who acts like a socialite. Bug me if you have other definitions

I fell down from my bicycle more than two weeks ago while roaming the village of the ambassadors.  I was having so much fun talking to Mr. Policeman, in a British accent, when I failed to notice that my bike wheels are too close to the pavement. I literally skidded on top of the rough cobblestones, and my hands and knees are the shock absorbers.

Yeah it’s an embarassing thing to happen for a guy my age. But angels are still lurking this Earth. A woman walking with a horse ( yeah the animal) said, “Are you alright?” In my case, falling like that doesn’t hurt because it was sort of reflexive for me to stand-up at once and pretend (at least) that I’m fine.  “Can you feel your bones?”, the woman inquired. I told her I’m OK. Mr. Policeman (who was with me when it happened) praised me for being brave (touched my heart, but I’ll spare the sappiness in this post).

But haha….not my brother.

We had a good laugh over at Skype when he said, “hahaha nakakahiya… ano ba yan“. Honestly, the kind of concern which I got during my biking mishap was something I’m still trying to get used to (until now). I try to imagine the same scenario in my hometown and (really), the last thing I’d expect is someone telling me “Can you still feel your bones?” Instead, there will be people laughing like “Mangkukulams” (voodoo witch) in front of their palayok (clay pot)—especially those who laugh after finding a place to hide.

Then, I ask myself… Is bad attitude a culture?

It does make a lot of sense that we seem to be used of seeing things that are exponentially worse than my stupid bike fall. If you ask this to the Dutch, they’d say “It’s just what’s polite” (which is correct). Most of the time, they wouldn’t pass by a stranger without talking about something (like the weather). In our case, we’d rather shut our mouths if there’s really nothing interesting to talk about. Just a simple “hi” is fine, then we keep moving. As if being snobbish is really a kind of chic.

If you are a guest in a Dutch house, expect to be asked a million times if the food is delicious—-this doesn’t exempt coffee! Though the level of hospitality is almost the same in the Philippines, it’s for me almost a norm to quantify the food I consume that’s served by the hostess. I make sure that what I eat is less than the quantity of food the other guests are eating. We have artful dodging cliches: “I already ate”; “I’m on a diet”. Yet all this shananigans are futile if someone chews his food with so much longing.  Is this behavior existing because of the Filipino meme that it’s embarrassing to look hungry? Of course, I’m excluding being a visitor of someone you already knew so much.

It’s embarrassing to look hungry. It’s embarrassing to ask for the 50 cents or one peso change in jeepneys. What’s worse, it’s embarrassing to complain about matters that can be linked to financial status quo. We act as if the rich people are not pathologically stingy.

When I was a call center agent, the internationals complain about the slightest cent that is due to them. “That’s too expensive!” I even saw foreigners heckling in boutiques (can you imagine?)

Just a month ago, in one of the beach restaurants here in Holland, I was drinking Prosecos with three Dutch-Filipinos who ordered steak. One of whom didn’t finish her fine meal because she complained it was medium rare. I told her, “You can call the waiter and have it treated.” She said, “Nevermind, I already lost my appetite.”

It’s actually “I olredi lost my apetit” because her Badyao accent was UNMESTIKABUL.

…and all the while I thought travelling improves ones mind grapes and ones perception of life.

Oh wells, I have to stop now before this storytelling conduit AGAIN offends somebody, somewhere who goes forth and Multiply.

I’m happy to say though that my wounds have healed now.

Go figure.

June 22 is “Tear It All Down” Day

A friend of mine said, “The homophobics  have beaten the gays.” No offense, but the Dutch team have played with yellow, “Queenie” legs in their quarter-finals match with Russia (June 21).

For the first time in every Netherlands football game, the silence in Scheveningen, Holland was overwhelming because there’s no reason to celebrate. In the first half, I could see that the Russian offensive was so strong. Reminiscent of the NBA, the Russians perform a lot of “double team”. Sometimes even “triple”. They don’t hesitate to steal the ball from a Dutch player and the Holland players, quite disappointingly, looked passive.

It was far from Russian roulette, more of a Russian bullying. But the Russians—amidst the many kick attempts—failed to penetrate the Dutch goal guided by prized keeper Van Der Sar (same keeper from the Manchester United Club).

Tensions ran high and the Russian fans joyously performed their trademark claps when volatile blonde, Plyuchenko (Plushenko), scored the first Russian goal in an impressive rightward nudge/kick. With so much time wasted on both Russian offense and Netherlands defense, the suspenseful quarterfinals plot thickens. Luck gave Netherlands a chance when Van Nistelrooy (from the Dutch team) gained the rightful spirit to finally score the first Dutch goal in this very important game. I have to say that Snijder (also from the Dutch team) really sucked. He’s regarded as one of the star players here, most famous with his kick that surely placed the French team to shame. Unfortunately, his feet seemed to have gone cold. It’s not hard to miss that Snijder (the Ajax star player) wants to repeat his “one-man goal glory” because there are times when he kicks the ball too far from the goal.

Where’s Robben? He’s another Dutch player who made an unbelievably impressive kick from the French game. Robben was upsettingly warming up the benches due to an injury. With all these disappointments, Van Der Sar did very well. However, the Dutch seem to have forgotten being used to offensive goal keepers because their former competitors Romania, Italy and France have keepers that are like soft picket fences. Akinfeev (the one-man blockade) is like Russian’s own Van Der Sar. He’s also a walking wall to reckon with. He was able to block many Ruissian goal kicks without any sign of fear. There was even an instance when Akinfeev scolded his own flustered teammate who was so close in executing the mortifying mistake of kicking the ball into their own goal.

The road to Quarterfinal climax became too tense when the time ran out and the extra 30 minute tie-breaker took place. The Dutch fans in Switzerland are in for more disappointments when the Russian team apparently can still play with much agility and can make too many unsuccessful goal kicks which translates to more chances of scoring. It was a game where the Dutch seem to cling on luck alone and seem to want to watch their own demise. A nearly impossible yet a succesful kick was done by Torbinski from the very far side of the Dutch court, which flew past Van Der Sar but was nudged into the white line by another Russian player. This was a great shot by the Russian team—so good, it almost looked choreographed. The Dutch team seem to have immense difficulty fighting off a Russian stampede of footballers. The expected fate of the Orange team was realized when Arshavin was able to insert the ball with between Van Der Sar’s legs, resulting to a score that’s virtually untimely for the Dutch. The Russian fans clapped and clapped while the Hollanders didn’t smile for the TV cameras anymore.

The clockwork orange stopped ticking when time reached its limit. The Russian coach shouted in glee and his players hugged in total elation as the Russians owned the game 3-1.

This time in Scheveningen, no fireworks shot in the sky. None of my neighbors in orange clad shirts strutted their stuff in the street. It was a silent defeat for the Dutch people in the neighborhood. The Russian coach Guus Hiddink (a Dutch native) expressed in a post-show interview that he has mixed feelings because the Netherlands is his hometown. Yet, heritage or not, it was clear he trained the Russians so well. I am guessing the word “over-confidence” will resound among the Dutch citizens here. Perhaps, with consecutive wins, the orange team became too comfortable and shamefully cannot control the match. Would you agree?

Anyway, the Dutch players (overconfident or not) really have no reason to be sappy. The people greatly affected by their disappointing loss are the Dutch fans who traveled to Switzerland, and paid for over-priced coffee and hotel services in the name of “Oranje” (orange). I guess the businesses here are sad as well. The day is now June 22. With the Holland team eliminated, it’s time to tear down and keep all the “Oranje” merchandise. All the football paraphernalia are not in fashion anymore. These things have got to wait again for next year.

I guess what’s also disappointing for the Dutch is the fact that they failed to reach the possibility of competing with their soccer nemesis (the Germans).  It was at this time, in 1988, when the Dutch beat the German “Krauts” 2-1. Hmmm… the Germans are not really in the finals yet, they still have to deal with Turkey. Though a wild turkey surprise is expected, I really believe it’s rather a cold turkey. From what I’ve seen, the Turkish players seem to depend on miracles. I believe they don’t have a chance from Germans. It would be interesting for me to see the Germans Vs. The Russians in the EURO 08 finals. It’ll be like World War II, minus Hitler and Stalin hehe

Better luck next time Cristiano Ronaldo (Portugal)… whatever happens, you’re still cute

Short Story # 5: Madhouse

The Concept : A lowly clown receives news that both his parents committed suicide just minutes before his performance.

“The clown is here!” yells one of the socialite mothers to her cliques when she sees Wiley standing beside his weird suitcase, holding a mobile phone. The clown gave an approving gesture to the lady who saw him. A snickering crowd of kids and adults can be heard from the huge garden. “Mr. Wiley Wagner?”, asks the voice from the other end of the line.

“Yes”, replied the clown. “…and you’re also cashing-in on my cell phone load, unfortunately.”

“Sorry to disturb you Mr. Wagner. My name is Phyllis and I’m calling from the Berks Memorial Hospital. I resent to be the one to tell you that both your parents committed suicide.”

As Wiley gripped the phone tight, a laughing Woody Woodpecker sounded off from his fat pink gloves.

“Hello? Mr. Wagner…? Are you there?”

Wiley quits the call, lifts his suitcase and walks towards the crowd. The politician’s garden where he’s going to perform is so vast and colourfully decorated. A huge birthday cake for a ten-year old sits at the centre of the socialite’s arena. Gifts are stacked one after the other on one corner of the stage. His phone is ringing again.

Everybody in the crowd braces for something funny that Wiley might do. But without glancing at the crowd, Wiley walks straight to the stage. He adjusts the microphone and a nasty feedback starts yelling at the crowd. The kids fixated on him with a bizarre stare. The parents stare at each other, discombobulated whether this clown is just doing his antics or plainly lost.

The feedback stops and Wiley starts out with a question, “So… where’s the birthday boy?”

The kids kept silent. The phone kept ringing. “Is that your phone Mr. Bozo?”, asked one of the mothers. The other spouses burst out in suppressed laughter.

“Let me show you a magic trick kids…”, Wiley ignores the question. He advances to one girl and in a theatrical fashion, steals from her the glass of soda pop she’s gripping with her two hands. The kids applaud with excitement. The clown raises his ringing phone and presents it to the crowd. He then introduces his magic trick. “This phone is mine and it’s ringing.” He then throws his ringing phone and establishes the gesture that it will fall into the glass of soda pop. With a quick stroke, he pulls out a chequered handkerchief and flicks it over the falling phone. The kids watched in wonder as the falling cell phone vanishes behind the handkerchief but the ringing can still be heard.

The kids cheer in excitement and many of them got off from their seats and knelt just below the mini stage where Wiley performs. The clown opens his suitcase and continued his magic tricks; each illusion is rewarded by much admiration. Yet, Wiley’s lips never smiled and the vanished phone kept on ringing somewhere. Finally, Wiley once again asks the question which wasn’t earlier addressed by the crowd. “So where’s the birthday boy?”

A young boy in his tuxedo raises his right arm.

“Can you come over here please”, Wiley beckons the birthday boy to step on the stage. With a less amusing face, the birthday boy walks toward the stage and stops beside Wiley.

Wiley then asks him, “What is your birthday wish?”

The boy belts out, “I didn’t want a clown in my birthday, clowns are for kids!” His politician father raises his wineglass and declares, “My boy is too smart for Bozo.” The crowd agrees with a gleeful smile.

“What do you want for your birthday then?” asks Wiley.

“I have everything, maybe just to get rid of you”, another laughter from the audience.

“So you really insist that you’re a big boy now”

“Yes, I am a big boy. The magic tricks are cool but this show of yours delays the opening of gifts. For me, you’re really a waste of time.”

“Like father, like son!” his father exclaims. Laughter pours and the cell phone keeps ringing from nowhere.

The clown opens wide his suitcase and inside lies colourful toy pistols.

“Hahaha”, the boy laughs. “This is lame.”

“I know, you’re a grown up now”, Wiley softly tells him with a Monalisa smile.

The boy picks up the bright yellow pistol and tests the trigger. A carnival accordion sound broke out from its barrel and the gun’s handle lighted up like a fluorescent tube.

“You want me to shoot you with this kiddie gun so you can go away.”

“If you think clowns are for kids.” The clown challenged him while the phone still rings from nowhere.

“Haha Okay.” The clown kneels and the boy points the bright yellow barrel. The clown directs the group to speak: “OK kids, in the count of three…”

The children yell in unison, “one,two,three… .”

The ringing stops and a dial tone followed.

Laughter turned into screams when the clown’s dead brain lay scattered on the stage. The boy sits in shock, trembling in the bloodbath with the yellow pistol in his hands. Like a baby, he shrieked so loud “Mommy, mommy… I killed the clown!”

“I killed the clown!”

———–

Other short stories by jamestoned:

short story # 1: Victor’s Grip

short story#  2: James, I Told You to Close Your Eyes so You Won’t Have Trouble Sleeping.

short story # 3: The Same Boring Bus Ride

short story # 4: Angles

The Hague Festivals 08

The so-called Dutch Delight is not just about the current football craze…

Sunday— I decided to leave the house with Mr. Policeman to score some drinks, smoke and just enjoy the sunshine that extends until 10 PM. I was surprised to discover that the Hague Festivals officially commenced that day. Too bad I have some more important things planned on that night. Looks wild, funky and crazy at the light of day… how much more at dusk.

We sat near the huge bandstand and gulped and gulped some beer. I gulped more by just staring at the funky and colorful sights. It’s all so Bohemian. Wish you were here.

By the way, “The Hague” refers to Den-Haag, a major city in South Netherlands. These pictures are taken at the center (near the Parliament). Yes, same place where Joma Sison is being tried…

For more info… check out the official The Hague Festivals website.

The Real Death Note: Suicide Recipes in Japan

The smell of death has reached an all-time freshness in Japan. I’m talking about detergent suicide recipes wafting throughout cyberspace, killing those motivated to stage a Jonestown of their own. Scientifically, it’s called hydrogen sulfide gas poisoning which some geek simply achieved by mixing detergents with bathing salts. The geek did the unthinkable by sharing his discovery on cyberspace. (comparable to those do-it-yourself Jihad bombs)

CNN reported this issue 3 days ago. In my own search, I realized most of the sites and forums that offered this deadly recipe have been pulled down—but not all of it. (if you know where to look).

This fad alarmed the Japanese government because the hydrogen-sulfide fumes can also endanger nearby citizens. Many sites mentioned that this is so easy compared to carbon-monoxide poisoning. There’s no need of setting up charcoals and tending a fire. Besides, it’s obviously a cleaner way to die.

I believe that the censorship of information (such as these) wouldn’t really stop this trend. I mean, there is always a way for the very motivated. As a TV addict, I can tell you for real that there are sensitive information shown by documentary channels which the mentally-ill can use for their own sick agendas. Like one day, I stumbled upon this documentary about women killers in history. They have strange methods such as steeping fly paper while boiling tea. The death nurses of Vienna had successfully killed elderly people without suspicion by just using paper and water. There are even “cumulative poisons” which means, “put the poison today, and the victim dies after a month.” Oh yes, with proper research, they’re available in your home improvement store.

Sick people can find sick methods.

If you really want to die, you don’t have to mix detergents, just drink the whole bottle and surely you’ll meet the freedom you’re looking for in the afterlife (which I doubt exists).

Aside from obvious historical references, what is it about Japan that makes suicide a common phenomenon? Many said that competition there is so intense, people easily fall prey on severe deppression. Just days ago, a 25 year old Japanese guy went on a stabbing spree and told police he’s had enough of life (ironically not killing himself). I felt that the film Babel, touched the issue of Japanese depression in their subtext. Then, there’s this movie called Jisatsu Sakuru (Suicide Club). It’s a film that showed the harrowing scene of schoolgirls simultaneously jumping to their deaths at a subway train station.

If you think suicide hotline is just plain humor on MTV’s “Dead Man on Campus”, think again… Japan’s suicide hotline is for real. The website of the Federation of Inowi No Denwa has a list of many suicide prevention call centers. There’s even a Tokyo English life line.

If I were to work there, I’d tell this to the Japanese emo:

“Are you sure you want to do this?

There are Filipinos out there who are required to wear make-up, skirts and stilletos. Yet, they only work as an elevator operator. It’s a very boring and intellectually degrading job. They sit there eight hours a day, stopping on almost all floors and have to deal with office workers who have a very high regard to themselves.

Now that’s sad, isn’t it. Many people from the third world countries have to save money for many years just to visit Japan. You live in a country where even street sweepers can afford to visit the top Philippine destinations.

And you wanna end your life? …Seriously?

So what’s your struggle…oh by the way, is your Macbook on, I want to send you a picture…

(Kevin Carter’s 1994 Pulitzer-Prize winning photo)