Holy Week reflections (sort of)

Done with my Holy Wednesday shift, which means it’s the end of the workweek for me and many others. Although I still have to clock in my nine hours on Good Friday (because we at the news business have no real breaks, yo), it will be from home, so no biggie. I picture myself on our balcony, the netbook in front of me, perhaps a tall glass of orange juice beside it, fucking around the Internet more than working. Unless something big happened, of course. God forbid the president chokes on a fish bone that day and be rushed to the ICU.

On Maundy Thursday, however, I chill. TV, books, bike rides. Except for quality time with my girls, all are existential pleasures. So the question: How to attain such near-bliss — if not total bliss — on a spiritual level? The Adam Yauch tribute in Rolling Stone, which I had the pleasure of reading yesterday over lunch, seems to hint it’s by taking the Buddhist path (many Kerouac books also say the same thing). Henry Miller in The Air-Conditioned Nightmare suggests it’s by abandoning the city (and all the things it stands for) to the simplicity and beauty of the countryside. I see their point, and I believe them; I just don’t have the balls for such life-altering adventures for now.

For the meantime, I listen to Lux’s “Northern Lights” and daydream about the ocean.

Sunset photo here.

December

It’s that sad sack Adam Duritz.

It’s a couple of minutes shy of midnight and I’m here on our balcony listening to the Counting Crows, an old song about a long December. It’s Adam getting melancholy over the smell of hospitals in winter and holding on to moments as they pass. Sigh. Words like that make this icy breeze seep deeper into the bone.

This should not be the case. December, after all, has rolled in with all its attendant promises: some extra cash, cold nights, parties and reunions. I look at my schedule for the next three weeks, and my head hurts. Bacchanalian shindigs to attend to, friends to hook up with, places to go to with the family, not to mention gift-shopping and grocery and all that domestic Yuletide stuff. There’s also a plan for an out-of-town swing. My Singapore-based sister-in-law will be in town for a week-long Christmas romp, and she wants adventure.

And yet.

Curse you, Adam. Curse you and your voice to hell.

December has always been a favorite. It’s a month I consider my own. It’s when I sit down and relax and be thankful for the year’s blessings. It’s also when I assess the past 11 months for mistakes committed and lessons learned. A month for celebration and introspection, December is.

With the aforementioned schedule, there will be little to no time to blog in the coming days. But I owe this page my “best of” post. Two of them, actually: one for music, one for books. If only I’ve all the time in the world. We’ll see. For the meantime, I sit here on our balcony, alone under cold December stars, enjoying this moment as it passes.

J.Lo’s ‘big break’ & a big-ass snake

In the 1997 film Anaconda, Jennifer Lopez’s character, co-leader of a crew shooting a documentary about a long lost Indian tribe on the Amazon River, quips: “This film was supposed to be my big break, now it has turned into a disaster.” Or something like that. Whatever.  The first thought that came to my head was, my god, she might as well have been talking about the movie.

Anaconda is as good (or bad) as any generic monster movie can get: A giant creature that seemed to have slithered out of the dark depths of the House of Representatives is wrecking havoc on a hapless film crew; eventually, of course, despite fatalities, the humans prevail. Simply that and nothing more. The movie is as predictable as tomorrow’s sunrise. And yet why did I spend one fine Saturday morning watching it? Was it to enjoy Jennifer Lopez long before she became J.Lo and American Idol and a string of forgettable pop songs ruined her for me? Was it my morbid fascination with stupid people getting chewed up by CGI monsters? Was it Kari Wuhrer, who was late-night love and entertainment in those long-ago years of raging hormones?

None of the above. I watched because of one thing: nostalgia. I remember many after-school hours during my high school and college days when I would while away time inside a movie house, alone, getting lost in the worlds offered by randomly chosen movies. (Those were pre-Cineplex days, so I stayed in the cinema for as long as I wanted, sometimes just dozing. Yeah. Life was sweeter and simpler back then.) Anaconda was one of the countless movies I saw that, for some crazy-ass reason neither Einstein nor aliens could probably explain, made an impact on my young impressionable mind. So I spent Saturday morning in front of the boob tube trying to be that kid again to relive the feeling. It was a pleasant experience.

Last night one of the cable channels was showing The Big Hit, another blast from the past. Although I caught only the first 20 minutes of it, what it — and Anaconda — reminded me of was clear: that once upon a time, happiness was a quiet afternoon movie date with myself after school.

Friday, 2:23 a.m.

“I fake it so real I am beyond fake…”

Tired, sleepy and beaten by the heat. Yet I must write this before the moment passes…

Here’s a picture of me punching out for the last time as deskperson for GMA News Online. The dejected look was as fake as a politician’s smile on campaign period, but that didn’t mean the departure was not without sadness. I left the building with a heavy heart.

Truth be known, quitting that gig was not easy — I’ve been there four years and three months, and there were people there who were worth treasuring as friends, and I kinda like its free high-speed Internet — but an offer came and I blinked at it and ultimately had to say yes. After all, I’m at a point in my life where I don’t want to be held hostage by my comfort zone. Or free high-speed Internet, for that matter.

Sigh. So next week will be the start of a new chapter. I’m equal parts nervous and excited. Adjusting easily to a new environment, after all, has never been one of my strong points. But what the hell.