A man named Fundador

Faces from the past leap from nowhere and bring instant nostalgia. Sometimes they come in neat little packages, like this excellent piece of showbiz journalism here.

The writer used to be one of my bosses, back in 2000, when I was working as a translator in a Tagalog broadsheet that had long since gone the way of the dodo. I remember him for bringing “big time celebrities” to our Christmas party that year, namely the couple Dingdong Avanzado and Jessa Zaragosa who, during the event, both tried their best not to look like they were having an out of body experience. Can’t remember if Jessa treated us with a song number. Perhaps she didn’t. But I remember Dingdong giving a very meaningful and moving Merry Christmas speech that lasted for about 10 seconds. Then they were off into the night. Fundador Soriano must’ve felt like our prince for those two awesome guests.

I also remember “Ka Fundy” for sending dishes and glasses flying in our canteen one day because they made him sit at a table that hadn’t been cleared yet. Those dumb clueless canteen people! They should’ve known that the sun rises on Ka Fundy’s ass. If he doesn’t fart in the morning, then we’ll all be in darkness.

So much for nostalgia.


Entombed night

1:49 a.m. is Internet and Boracay Rum and Entombed’s Clandestine album blaring from the speakers. Can’t go wrong with old-school Swedish death metal on days when you feel like breaking things and smashing faces. I just had one of those days, and this midnight rain isn’t helping at all.

I knew from the moment I lost my hankie on my way to work that the day had turned upside down. See, I’m OC about my hankies. It troubles me no end every time I lose one. Carelessness never cease to make me feel bad about myself. Losing a hankie means I let my guard down for a moment. Someone could’ve attacked me on that moment and I won’t be writing this now.

Just think: James Bond would never lose a hankie. So there.

Entombed thinks you're all a bunch of pussies

Anyway, that seemingly trivial event was just the proverbial tip of the iceberg. Some minutes later, at the office (my own personal Hotel California), I got embroiled in a nasty top-level brouhaha that has the makings of a major king-hell bummer. Much that I want to rant about it here, I cannot because I’ll be violating company policy if I do. Let’s just say that it was the mother load of everything that went wrong in my life in recent months, and it has something to do with this dude here.

When it rains, it really pours. As if that was not enough, I also learned today that I didn’t win anything, not even a fucking consolation prize, in the writing contest I joined last October. WTF! I sent my best fighter for that particular battle, man. Oh well. Put ‘L’ for loser on my forehead, baby, because that’s exactly how I feel. No amount of pep talk can change the truth: losing sucks big time!

I hope Wednesday will be a rebound.

I’m on Google+

Because I can’t stop peddling myself on these social networking sites.

In other news, I skipped work today. The weather is still foul and it has turned my nose into a miniature Niagara Falls. Also: it’s Monday. Very few good things happen on a Monday. I have 15 years of school experience to back that up. I guess I’ll just stay in bed and juggle Chuck Palahniuk’s Fight Club and Edogawa Rampo’s Japanese Tales of Mystery and Imagination since I’m not allowed to go near my daughter anyway, for fear that she may catch the virus. Which sucks, of course. What’s an extra day at home if I can’t spend it with her?