On the day I was born, the number 1 song in the Billboard American Pop Chart was ‘The Morning After’ by Maureen Mc Govern, the theme song from the movie ‘The Poseidon Adventure’, a disaster movie which starred a slew of big Hollywood stars such as Gene Hackman and Shelley Winters. This song would eventually receive an Academy Award for best original song the next year. Ms Winters also received an Academy Award as best supporting actress. After 2 weeks, Diana Ross’s ‘Touch Me In The Morning’ wrestled the number 1 position from Ms McGovern.

album cover

A milestone marked the 1973 Academy Awards, which was held months before my birthday. Tatum O’Neal became the youngest actor ever to win an Oscar, at 10 years old, as best supporting actress for the movie ‘Paper Moon’. This record has yet to be broken. The closest was when Ana Paquin received the same award in 1996 for ‘The Piano’, at age 11. After more than 20 years, Jack Lemmon received his second Oscar as best actor for ‘Save the Tiger’. He won over much-favoured nominees Paul Newman and Robert Redford. In the FAMAS awards in my country, ‘Nueva Viscaya” was awarded best picture. Jun Raquiza was best director. Ramon Revilla and Gloria Sevilla were best actor and best actress, respectively. Eddie Garcia and Suzette Ranillo bagged the supporting acting awards.

tatum with her oscar

On the week I was born, the number 1 Hollywood movie was ‘American Graffiti’. This was the first full-length movie of George Lucas, who would release the now-classic ‘Star Wars’ five years later. Semi-autobiographical in its story, this movie would become one of the classic coming-of-age movies. Films about young people that happened in one day would continue to come years later, such as ‘Ferris Bueller’s Day-Off’, ‘Go’, and ‘Jologs’.

poster of 'american graffiti'

On the month I was born, the number 1 best-selling book according to The New York Times was ‘Breakfast of Champions’ by Kurt Vonnegut. It is a story of mental and psychological breakdown set in an unspecified time in urban America. Many critics and readers considered the novel an indictment of American greed and self-proclaimed superiority. They loved it. This was made into a movie in 1989 starring Bruce Willis, which was universally panned by critics, immediately joining the (long-ish) list of critical & commercial flops of Mr. Willis.

first edition cover

About 2 weeks before I was born, a Filipina was crowned Miss Universe for the second time. Maria Margarita Moran’s poise and elegance also won her the Ms Photogenic award. Although the Philippines is not the first Asian country to win the crown (Japan and Thailand won in 1959 and in 1965, respectively), it can claim the shortest time between 2 wins compared to Japan and Thailand, which stood at 4 years after Gloria Diaz first won in 1969. Thailand won 23 years after its first win (1988) while Japan waited for 48 years before winning again in 2007.

margarita moran, miss universe 1973

1973 would prove to be a watershed year for Filipinas in international beauty pageants. About 3 months after my birthday, the Philippines would achieve its best performance in not just one, but two international beauty pageants. Evangeline Pascual placed 1^st runner-up in the Miss World pageant. The winner would be dethroned just 4 months later but contrary to common practice, the crown was not offered to the runner-up. Nanette Macapagal was also the first runner-up in the Maja International pageant. She also secured the Ms Photogenic award. Meanwhile, Maria Elena Ojeda placed 5^th in the Miss International pageant.

Ms Pascual remains the most successful among Filipinas who have joined the Miss World contest. The closest was in 1993, when Sharmaine ‘Ruffa’ Gutierrez placed third. Ms Macapagal’s feat in Maja International would be unequalled until 2004, when Margaret Ann Bayot placed second.

On the date of my birth, my country was into the first year of Martial Law, which was declared by President Marcos to retains his hold on the presidency. The 1973 constitution had just been foisted upon the country, turning the bicameral body of the senate and congress into a parliament. From what my elders told me, at the time of my birth, people were just starting to realize that in spite of the obvious benefits of the curfew on preventing petty crimes, the fact that most of Marcos’s political opponents have been jailed gave them an uneasy feeling.

This uneasy feeling was probably echoed by the citizens of my adoptive country. In the Cambodian countryside, the secret carpet bombing done by the US military was on its tail-end, bringing with it the end of the lives of members of the budding anti-government movement Khmer Rouge and tens of thousands of civilians along with them. Up to this day, the American position on this is that the carpet bombings prevented the fall of Phnom Penh in 1973. They refuse to acknowledge that the carpet bombings only drove the peasants into joining the ranks of the Khmer Rouge, thereby contributing to the fall of Phnom Penh only two short years later.

These things did not happen on the day I was born.

Nothing historic happened on my birthday.

I write like
Stephen King

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

A fun link I got from Jessica Zafra’s blog. No surprise here. The first grown-up book I read was a Stephen King novel that reinforced my childhood fear of clowns (including mascots) and had me wary of bathroom and sink drains for the rest of the summer before I turned fourteen years old. I think I have read most of Mr. King’s works. Which probably explains his influence and effect on my writing. He has a way of going inside the minds of his characters, be it a woman obsessed with her favorite novelist (Annie Wilkes of Misery), a child who is trying to cope with her ability to set the world on fire (Charlie McGee of Firestarter), even a gentle Saint Bernard driven mad by rabies (the dog Cujo from Cujo).

I should have been satisfied with the result (and relieved the program didn’t say Dan Brown or Stephanie Meyer). Still, I wasn’t able to resist putting my other blog entries into the program for analysis. I did it three more times and I got three different answers: lesbian writer Gertrude Stein, David Foster Wallace-who wrote Infinite Jest and killed himself at age 46, and H.P. Lovecraft, the man Stephen King himself called ‘the 20th century’s greatest practitioner of the classic horror tale’.

When I’m writing technically (meaning, writing for my day-job), I am fairly consistent in terms of tone. However, my (semi) literary excursions are affected by my feelings and mood. That I am not familiar with Ms Stein’s work is probably detrimental to me (but one that can be resolved in the future). I think, when I am at my most relaxed and writing at a reflective but visceral level, my writing doppelganger is Mr. King, no doubt my biggest influence. One might say that he’s not really a literary writer but I (and some people) will disagree. Mr. King’s stories sell like hotcakes in any form/ media but its literary value shouldn’t be overlooked. He writes compelling characters and stories. When I’m feeling blue, mad or introspective, my writing approaches the ironic pinnacle achieved by David Foster Wallace, it seems. At my most melancholic, my writing probably approximates a Lovecraftian bleakness and grimness.

But most often I write conscious of my words and tone. In these cases I try to emulate my literary idol Edmund White (The Beautiful Room is Empty). At his best, Mr. White’s writing tone is deceptively monotonous, whose gravity and melancholy are only revealed by his powerful evocations and language that is at once delicate and sharp.

What else can I say? Me and melancholia, we just go way back.

Living alone, I knew I wouldn’t be able to manage it. I was always traveling, and I didn’t want to unnecessarily burden my friends in taking care of someone.

I mean, it was too much responsibility. Much like owning a car, or buying a piece of real estate.

But now, near the end of my stay here in Cambodia, I found him. And I simply couldn’t resist taking him in. Blame my friend for showing him to me. Blame my fragile emotional state. I shouldn’t be making any major decision but I did.

Without paying any attention to what the future may bring, I plunged in. There’s no way he can come with me to Bangkok. And I don’t know how my family will react if I bring him to Manila. All I’ve managed is an arrangement with another friend, which will ensure that I see him whenever I visit Phnom Penh. This arrangement is not good for both of us, but it would have to do. For now. I have no choice.

I mean, if you looked at Bruce’s brown eyes, you’d feel the same. And you’d agree to anything. See for yourself.

If I didn’t blog-hop, I wouldn’t have seen this latest ad campaign for my uber-favorite Madonna’s collaboration with a fashion heavyweight, resulting in a line of eyewear. Like her the ad is cheekily erotic, her ‘partner’ a famous male supermodel much younger than she is (Nah, it’s not Jesus Luz). However, what I like most about this particular campaign is the branding that resulted from this collaboration. Let me digress. When Madonna showed up at the 1991 Academy Awards with Michael Jackson as her date, tabloids all over the world speculated on their relationship (they had none) and its implications. Some magazines even went to the extent of producing images of babies, morphed from photos of Madonna and Michael Jackson. The results were creepy, by the way. In the Philippines, this manifested in a comedy called ‘Michael and Madonna’, starring Manilyn Reyness and the late Rene Requiestas.

I don’t think this fate awaits this collaboration, though. I’m re-posting it here just to satisfy my egotistic joy. What do you get if you combine Madonna and Dolce & Gabbana? M + D&G = MDG! I just love my initials!

*Thanks to homotography for the image.

Still, there are other things that I’m also thankful for during the past holiday season: the gifts. Yes, you read it right. In spite of the general malaise that my prose has exhibited of late, when it comes to gifts (giving & receiving–but more on the receiving), I am still a big soft, fluffy monkey. Of all the gifts I received, these are the ones I like most.

What’s not to like about this gift? It’s orange, it has a cute chicken in front, and it’s a giant egg-shell! It’s adorable, and with no real purpose in life other than being beautiful (and yes, adorable). Scrump was given by another friend, who knows I sorta collect Lilo’s (Lilo from Lilo and Stitch, not LiLo the Lindsay Lohan) doll. I just put in there because of the great contrast in color.

I love books. Books as presents I love more. This book was given to me by the author himself. This self-published memoir chronicles his struggle at reconciling his sexuality with his faith. Some people might find the thickness of the book daunting, but I read it in one sitting, one cool evening. Ray writes such fluid prose, making the reading process easier. But this is not to say that it’s an unremarkable book. Some of the contents are bordering on the ’scandalous’–depending on the degree of one’s modesty (read: prudishness). As for me, there were some moments that made me blush. But all in all it is a compelling read. I promised Ray a review of his book in this blog. I will do a ‘proper review’ in the coming days.

And finally, the gift that made me tingle in excitement. Not really. I was just happy to receive it and pleasantly surprised that the guy who gave it to me remembered how I liked fashion illustration. I mean, I love the way Christian Lacroix illustrates his designs (more than the actual outfits). This is why I was ecstatic to see the exhibit at the Singapore National Museum last year. Among Filipino designer, I think Rajo Laurel does the most exquisite illustrations. They’re artistic enough to be framed, in fact. I’m not a fashion designer, but I like to draw dresses worn by models. I remember, as a boy, my mother would make me draw the dresses that she’d eventually bring to her seamstress. This book is indeed a treasure. I can practice and take up drawing again this year.

This isn’t technically a Christmas gift, but it was given to me by a good friend for my birthday last year. However, due to some unforeseen delays, I only got a hold of it in the last quarter of the year, stretching the gift’s eligibility to be considered a holiday gift. Hehehe. That’s my name, dear reader, written in the Khmer script–phonetic, but comprehensible to those who can read Khmer. Next step? I’d probably have one made in white gold as well.

Also, it took me quite a while… and after a seemingly long delay, caused by many things (procrastination, learning a new software in my macbook–goodbye, CorelDraw! deciding on which photo to use, which design to do, and what message to write, plus all the wranglings brought on by a simple yet brutal lack of inspiration), here it is finally: my holiday card for 2009.

However, something happened to me a couple of weeks ago. Without any real expectations, I entered a photo contest organized by one of Cambodia’s English-language newspapers. The contest was open to all amateur and professional photographers, with no real limits as to how many photos one entrant can submit in any of the 5 categories. These vague rules added to my apprehension but eventually my recklessness prevailed. To hell with all these fears and worries and dread, I said. And I shot photo after photo until my CF card couldn’t take any more.

In the end, I submitted 10 photos for 2 categories. Among the other entrants that I know, I submitted the least number of photos in the least number of categories. After that I went on with my remaining life here in Phnom Penh. One Monday noon I received a congratulatory text message from B. I asked, what for? And he said I won in one category. Winners for each category were to be announced daily–a fact that escaped me. And I couldn’t believe it until I saw the spread of the newspaper that showed, yes, I indeed won in that category.

I bought about 10 copies of that day’s paper, for posterity. I felt elated and, I must admit, happy. For the first time in quite a while. I was still competing in another category but I didn’t care anymore. I already won. To win in the other category would probably be along the lines of tempting the fates. Had this happened, I would’ve felt terrified of what the gods have in store for me, in return for such good fortune. During the awarding ceremony last week, I realized that most of the other first placers in the remaining 4 categories, plus the grand prize winner were all professionals. They either do freelance work or they have their own studios and they do work in travel, fashion, and advertising.

It made me a bit proud to be among these men. This hobby has been very good to me so far. Will I dare pursue this professionally? Maybe not. Yet. I don’t want to think about it. I just want to enjoy my prize (pictured below) a Canon IXUS point and shoot. I tried asking the sponsor to change the color but I’m glad they didn’t because I’m digging its color right now. I remember my first digital camera was a Canon IXUS too (750 is the model, if I remember correctly) which got lost by an irresponsible person about 3 years ago. In a pinch, I bought a Sony DSC N-2. I still have it, by the way. I’m trying to decide whether I will sell it or give it to my relatives in Manila. My DSLR is an Olympus E-520. But my dream DSLR is the Canon EOS 7D. I posted the photos I submitted to the contest HERE.

Lately, however, I found myself buying a lot of red stuff. Like this red Bally shoes I got from UK (okay, ukay-ukay!).

When I got my first DSLR camera in April, I bought a couple of camera bags for it. One I could carry on quick trips, and another that can house my MacBook as well. Guess what color these Crumplers are. And when I went to Saigon a couple of weeks ago, I planned to buy a replacement for my weekend bag that retired (broke down) on me months ago. And I also got a kikay bag I can bring when I go to the market or some other errand. Guess again what color these bags came in.

Even E.T., which I got from Japan Thrift Shop, is dressed in a red hoodie (as in the movie)!

Mother, if you’re reading this, I swear I didn’t plan this. Lately I seem to be behaving contrary to my usual behavior. I seem to be seeing red. All the time. And it’s rubbing off on some of my choices in things to own. The other day I spotted this really nice shirt at one shop. I tried it and it was a perfect fit. I made a mental note to come back for it. Guess what color it is.

Gawd!

Last Friday, I hosted a dinner party at home. Again, this is something I haven’t done in a long time. A friend who used to be based here came back for a visit and I thought a dinner party would be a good way to catch up with her. Along with her I invited some of our mutual friends–old and new. Working from the theme of ‘Recovering Alcoholics on Relapse’, I envisioned a night of bacchanalia that people will talk about for a long time (hehe). Virginia P and I shared the cooking duties: she did the fried chicken and okoy (vegetable fritters) and the corresponding sauces while I did the Pancit Bihon (stir-fried noodles) and Tokwa’t Baboy (Tofu and Pork). All the guests had to bring were the drinks to augment the bottles of vodka and red wine I already have. For dessert, we asked Donita E to make some Maja Blanca (a flan made of coconut milk and corn). Tiffany took charge of designing the porch to make it look more spacious than it actually is.

Learning from past experiences, I set the time of the party at 8PM to give us more time to prepare. Gwendolyn arrived just before 6PM because she had nothing better to do. By 7.30PM, we were ready. The last of the chicken and fritters had been fried, the noodles were sitting warmly in the pan while the tofu and pork were awaiting their final stir-frying. Virginia P and I took our shower–separately, of course (my house has 2 bathrooms, mind you). Guests started arriving soon after. Odette brought her MagicSing. Ray-ray brought her newly-emaciated body (having just recovered from a bout of food poisoning) and Mariposa was in her usual fag-haggy mood.

Everybody was asking me why I hadn’t started eating when they have been doing so (with great appetite, I noted). I told them I’d just wait if anybody would get sick before I’d start eating. To tell the truth, I really didn’t feel like eating (for a year) because I have gained the weight that I previously lost. This is terrible. I have regressed from my weight-loss program. I have a lot of excuses for doings so but no valid reason. But before I started saying any of these I realized that people were there to party, not to listen to my weight woes so I put on my biggest (and fattest) happy face and joined them.

Gwendolyn brought with her some happy meals and soon enough she disappeared into the kitchen to prepare them. One by one the fags followed her into the kitchen until the porch seemed to become quiet. So I went to the the kitchen and almost happy from the smell alone. The bitches totally forgot about me! Gwendolyn let me finish the happy meal she prepared and I walked back to the porch none for the worse. However, I soon became ravenous and totally ignored my earlier sentiments and started to eat. I didn’t touch the rice, though, for fear that I wouldn’t be able to drink as much if I am full.

To minimize the washing the next day, I decided on using plastic table ware and cutlery. To save further on plastic tumblers, I decided on writing the names of the guests on each tumbler so they would use only one tumbler the whole night. We were surprised to see Desiree’s name on one tumbler, one that she used in a party way back in 2007. Seeing that it was still immaculately clean, I let her use the same tumbler. She didn’t look too happy but agreed nonetheless (hehe). But of course, when it came to me I used a real glass–one that I had been using since the afternoon while I was cooking. This was a big glass, it can contain about 600ml. I mixed my vodka tonic in this glass. And for the whole night I think I had 5 glass of vodka tonic. Imagine that.

Well into the night the drinks flowed, 2 more happy meals were prepared, songs were sung on the MagicSing, and loads of laughter were shared by the guests. At times, I felt the laughter was just induced by the happy meals but more than that, I think people were really having a good time. Especially Virginia P, who seemed to be the most drunk and most happy in the night.

We wrapped up at half past 2 in the morning. Virginia P decided to sleep over as she was too drunk and happy to take the commute home. I wasn’t drunk, to tell the truth, but I was tremendously tired so I tidied up as best I could and went to bed after a quick shower. I woke up around 8AM, hearing my Yaya’s grumblings as she cleaned the remnants of our party. How astonished she must have been to find the house that morning. I slept again and didn’t get out of bed until 11AM.

Saturday evening was mostly a quiet one, with only a short interruption by a male visitor. I watched Duplicity and Watchmen on DVD, sober again.