Obamarama claims victim

This news report cracked me up.

Friend stabbed dead
over Obama debate

By Guy Lorenzo Lao

An argument over United States President Barack Obama lineage led to a death of a 36-year-old farmer last Monday afternoon.

Erlinda Revisa, 49, an owner of a ‘sari-sari’ store in Marilog proper, told PO3 Rolando Mitran of Marilog Police that neighbors, Narciso Amban, 36, and alias ‘Toto’ Rondia were drinking when their topic turned towards the new US president.

The police officer said Rondia and Amban argued whether Obama had a Muslim blood. Amban allegedly insulted his friend in the middle of their argument which prompted Rondia to pull out his hunting knife and stabbed Amban in the chest.

Rondia left the scene while Revisa called help from the Marilog Police. Responding members of Central 911 declared the victim dead on the spot due to a single wound on his chest.

Mitran said they are still tracking down the suspect while Amban’s body now lies at St. Peter Funeral Parlor in Calinan.

A simple solution

For most of us, it might be difficult to understand the reason for the downward spin of the global economy but it boils down to overproduction and speculation. While we can point to the highly-excessive US economy and its neo-liberalist policy, which makes it vulnerable to abuse by some enterprising multi-nationals with a lot of grease money to make sure the market forces are artificially stable, we can also cite some countries (led by China), flooding the world with cheap goods and imitations which makes it virtually impossible for small businesses to compete.

Of course, free market forces adhere to the maxim that supply creates demand. What is happening now, however, is not the lack of supply but production is not meeting the demand of quality in products. To put it simply, it’s the case of putting the cart before the horse. There are too many cheap products of the same design but nobody is buying after hearing too many horror stories of toxic poisoning in children, breakable products, and unreliable warranty.

This distrust towards cheap products is further aggravated by the economic downturn which creates a vacuum of demand for non-basic products, which leads to retrenchments and profit loss. It’s no wonder therefore that China is badly-hit by the global recession since it forces nations to cut down on imports and develop local products.

You have the richest family on the block, which becomes the envy of the neighborhood because the parents, who were savvy entrepreneurs, always had the most beautiful cars and clothes, the kids had the latest toys and gadgets, the mansion covers nearly half the block with a 24-hour security detail.

One day, the rich father showed you how he devised a system through maximized use of credit cards, subprime mortgages, and manipulating the market to keep profits soaring. You tried it and saw your bank account expand, you get a new car, renovate your house, send your kids to exclusive schools. Finally, you’re living the American dream.

So what happens when you notice the cars of your neighbor missing one by one? When his kids are now taking buses to school or even transferring to another cheaper school? One day, you see furniture and appliances being wheeled out of the mansion and rumors have it that they are being pawned off. The pool dries up, the dogs stop barking, the security guard goes missing.

You know something is wrong but you’re not sure what. Then you start hearing rumors about banks foreclosing properties, loans getting rejected, markets falling, your friend getting fired from his job, and your center of balance start spinning. You hold on to your valuables and hard-earned money hoping to weather the difficult times. But you know in your heart it’s only a matter of time before you get what’s coming to you.

At work you hear whispers, softly bouncing off walls at first but it gets louder and more persistent. You are next to go.

What do you do?

Our lawmakers found a solution: just add another P2 billion to the pork barrel.

I hope he can

It’s it amazing how just barely 54 years ago Rosa Parks refused to yield her seat in a bus to a white passenger in Montgomery, Alabama and sparked the modern civil rights movement? With that act of defiance, her name is now forever etched in history while the driver of the bus who threatened to have her arrested will forever be relegated to small script and annotated by an asterisk. The driver’s name, by the way, was James Blake.

Nine years earlier, a lesser known act of courage was shown by Irene Morgan, who was jailed in Virginia for refusing to give up her seat to a white person on board a Greyhound bus. She was just 27 years old.

I don’t even remember what I did at that age.

And here we are. Standing behind the podium on the steps of the US capitol, a rather lean man in red silk tie. Barack Hussein Obama. The first black president of the most powerful country in the world.

The storied candidacy of Obama from a virtual unknown to the 44^th US president has been well-played by the media. Obama knows his history and the significance of his victory. For some, he has ceased to be an individual but became symbol personified. It is to his credit that rather than run away from the overwhelming expectations, he welcomed it. This is evident on his speech, which was filled to the brim with symbolisms, as he weaved from one era to another in the history of America in a preacher’s deep voice.

I was impressed by his eloquence but then again, I think part of the reason was watching George W. Bush mangle the English language for the past eight years. That doesn’t take away from Obama’s command of the language but we have to admit, any politician with an ounce of charisma and articulation will sound like Einstein standing next to Bush (I’m not looking at you Newt Gingrich). Anyway, no sense to step further on already flat shit. Moving on.

Throughout his speech (here’s the full text), Obama peddled hope, freedom and responsibility like rare gypsy’s potions. I sat in front of the tube entranced, as I watched the crowd cheer while hanging on to his every word like giddy girls over Edward Cullen pasty-white smile.

Yes, I’m even willing to suspend whatever misgivings I had before about how he dropped his pastor, Rev. Jeremiah Wright, over his controversial sermons that did not sit well with white America and choosing instead ultra-right Pastor Rick Warren (who himself made inflammatory rhetoric against homosexuals) to deliver the inaugural prayers.

I guess that’s the peril of being a president, you have to please each demographic.

At this point, I really hope he can make good on his promise to reclaim the lost faith of the rest of the world on the capacity of America to lead and erase the image of a bully that wedgies school nerds on a whim.

I wonder though, throughout his speech, did anybody notice the color of his skin other than white, red and blue?

Tatak K…

…is not vitamins I assure you. In fact, too much dosage is probably bad for your health.

Tatak K is the television (he calls it public service, but I doubt that) program of the de facto congressman of Davao City’s first district. The de facto was his father’s words, not mine. His father, by the way, is the House Speaker. The number four most important man in the country. And I ranked what, 88,999,999^th out of the estimated 89 million Filipinos? I think that’s only because I have a skewed sense of self-importance.

That means, ladies and gentlemen, 88,999,998 others are more worthy to swallow his spit.

Tatak K is the brand to sell the son. I would not even guess his political agenda but the word magnanimity was never associated with the father, maybe the son is different? What was the old maxim about the fruit never falling far from the tree or was it shit from the ass?

Tatak K is just the latest venture. There are other indications that the son has a personal agenda. How about his face emblazoned on the side of the multi-cabs donated to the communities in the first district, for example. Or could it be that he inherited his father’s penchant to put the family name on projects built “through his own initiative.”

My, my… kids do grow up so fast.

Another indication: the anointed son visited out office one day wanting to write a column. He hobnobs with the boss so no surprise there.

He was introduced to the people at the office. When the name of our chief editor was mentioned by our boss, he said: I don’t know her. Okay, how about the managing editor?

“My father doesn’t know him.”

Ah.

When my name was mentioned. Well, you could guess the answer. I generally avoid the press conferences they organize like the Black Plague.

Anyway, his request to write a political column was declined. We offered him to write a lifestyle column instead. We all shook hands, I managed a wry grin. Awkward. How about that lifestyle column?Sure, sure, he said.

We never heard from him since.

There’s a word associated with the letter K that any self-respecting kolehiyala can blurt out effortlessly.

Kainis.

Added burden

I wonder why the number of interns have been dwindling?

Before we used to get as many as five interns for training at the same time. Now, we hardly get one. Personally, I prefer it that way because it’s not easy to break a student on the realities of working as a journalist on the field and that job falls on me, being the lowest ranked supervisor on the team.

The hardest part I think is how to sustain student interest in print journalism because it certainly lacked the appeal and luster of being seen on TV or heard on radio. And make no mistake about it, it’s harder to get your copy published in print because it is more demanding when it comes to grammar, accuracy, and accountability.

The professional part of me, however, wishes there were more students who show interest in pursuing a career in journalism. It is a thankless job, especially more so for community journalists who, ironically, are constantly preyed upon by unscrupulous publishers and broadcast station owners. I think we have one of the highest ratios in terms of labor violations than any other industry: that includes non-payment of wages or benefits, long hours, overtime pay, labor contracting, etc.

Exactly how do you hope to attract new graduates to try their hand in journalism without offering a competitive salary package? And because it is difficult, it would be a better investment for the company to take care of employees because pride is the only thing that prevents writers and editors from going the route of the call center industry, where the dearth of competent agents gave rise to pirating employees from rival companies.

This rivalry thing is so ingrained in us that we wouldn’t want to get caught dead working for a rival company that has been the subject of constant ribbing and criticizing during weekly meetings. Right now, however, pride is a luxury that’s quickly waning by the minute. An additional P2,000 to your present salary sounds very appetizing especially when your monthly bills mount or your family expands.

The growing popularity of independent films also changed the whole landscape. More and more students now want to become filmmakers and schools have been prodding them even if the teachers do not posses the filmmaking background to impart knowledge while the equipment and machine leave much to be desired. With all those odds, I reckon the chances of success for a budding filmmaker to break the mainstream, where the moolah is, is one in a hundred thousand.

Now I’m not saying the trend is a bad thing, but it does impact on the number of students who want to be print journalists. That burden, however, is on us. As if my monthly bills are not a burden enough, tsk.

Entitlement

Communist rebels finally released 1^st Lt. Vicente Cammayo on Tuesday after nearly two months in captivity when he went missing (the military version said he was abducted; the New People’s Army claimed he surrendered) in Monkayo, Compostela Valley on November 7 last year.

But I’m not going to write an entry about the circumstances behind his release so for a full report, read here. However, there were some observations that warranted this entry.

We had a correspondent cover the event and it was an interesting experience for him. The coverage was no problem since we had full confidence on his capacity to write in intelligible form whatever transpired during the turnover of the captive soldier from the hands of the NPA, to the International Committee of the Red Cross and finally, to government authorities.

At the Eastern Mindanao Command headquarters, Cammayo was wheeled towards the waiting throng of journalists, government officials, military officers and hangers-on for the ministerial press conference.

During the brief interchange, a military official distributed copies of the NPA statement and being wet behind the ears and because nobody knew him from Adam, our writer was naturally excluded. When he asked for a copy from the writer of a rival paper, he got snubbed instead.

There’s something to be said about entitlement. Our correspondent is certainly not entitled any favors from a rival writer. It’s their nature to compete and to out-scoop each other. In the same vein, the public is entitled to whatever information that NPA statement might contain. I could not blame the writer for his actions and in the same vein I also could not chide the newbie for his reaction. These are the kind of things he will learn along the way.

We all go through these initiations and there’s a good side to that: whatever respect you get later, you are sure you earned it. I just hoped things like these should be taught in schools to fully prepare would-be journalists for what should be expected once they are thrown into the fire, so to speak but how can you expect students to learn when the teachers have not burned a single candle to learn their craft outside of classroom walls? Oh well, c’est la vie.

Novel Idea

Joining trade exhibits could be very difficult. With all the preparations needed to put up a – from lighting materials, banner stands, furniture and refurbishing the booth itself – just where do you begin?

Fortunately, there’s Camelback, a one-stop shop where start-up companies and even A-listers

can scour for everything they could possibly need when they intend to join trade shows, exhibits, expositions, or hold concerts and special events for product exposure.

Consider their display trusses for example, which features aluminum and steel structures that could be customized according to the client’s needs: be it modular, orbital, or box-type. The lightweight materials can also packed into special cases for easy delivery. The store also offers regular or retractable banner stands (which could be set up in seconds!) for outdoor and indoor needs; or life-sized cutouts that will surely catch the attention of potential clients and buyers. How cool is that?

Touchy-feely

Is it just me or something is off about how Richard Gomez is hosting the Family Feud? I know I have better things to do than criticize the hosting style of some actor but I’ve watched several episodes now and the way he practically jumps at the women contestants still makes me uncomfortable.
Maybe I have a dirty mind but it’s like watching somebody being exploited on primetime.

If anything, doesn’t his “touchy” style of hosting must be putting girls at a disadvantage? If he has to be a fair host, shouldn’t he also hug and kiss the guys while they were guessing their answers?

Apparently, this is is first time to host a game show and he auditioned for the role, according to GMA News. I wonder who he had to kiss to get the part?

I mean, common people! Did the original host of Family Feud, where Richard’s gameshow was patterned after, invade the space of the contestants to reduce them to giddy little girls?

I have to stop now lest I’ll be accused of being envious. Just would like to say though I grew up on the original show and the old (dead!) guy, Ray Combs, was much better.

Flu schmoo

This sucks. My throat is feeling dry, my body is sore and I think I’m coming down with a flu. The cans of beer in my freezer this morning beckons and I still have tons to do. I expect the next few days to be pure torture as I tide this sickness over.

I know I need a lot of bedrest but I have a bad case of insomnia so sleeping early is out of the question. In fact, this flu was probably triggered by several days of only two or three hours of sleep each day. Today, my nose started to run. Tomorrow, or the next day at the most, I’d start coughing and the ensuing discomfort would likely rob me of much-needed sleep.

It’s a Catch-22 situation: I don’t sleep, I get worse; I get worse, I can’ sleep.

There’s another problem, I can’t swallow a pill. It’s probably psychological but I’d like to think it’s genetic since my mother is pretty much the same. What we do is drink lots of liquid and, in her case, catch up on sleep.

But what the heck am I thinking? There’s beer on my freezer courtesy of San Miguel Beer (thank God for friends holding strategic positions). As always the case, when you got all odds stacked against you, have beer. It won’t probably help my situation and more than likely weaken my immune system some more but hey, in a liquor-laced stupor, nothing else matters.

Talking cock

I grew up around chickens. I don’t mean the cowards, I’m referring to Col. Sanders’ favorite pet, the one with feathers and go clucking at the first sign of trouble.

My father was a hobbyist breeder and very passionate about roosters, so much that he refused to eat any of the chicken that we brought home from cockfights (hey, each battle has its spoils, some get women or gold but we got dressed and muscled cocks instead). Since my father’s fighting cocks were quite good, every Sunday was a feast since we always get Tinolang manok for dinner aside from the two liters of Coke. Growing up poor, those things were a luxury.

Mornings and afternoons were torture. I was assigned the task of feeding the cocks and the hens at 7 a.m. and 4 p.m. on the dot. Failure to do so earned me a licking. All the cocks insisted on being the top dog of the coop and fight whoever (dog, cat, me) entered that godforsaken, turd-infested (they’re not called fowl for nothing) box. The hostility magnified during breeding period when the cock was all juiced up from pent-up horniness, like the Tasmanian Devil on crack, and any shin or leg was fair game.

And man, you couldn’t believe how some cocks got Kung Fu down pat. If you were lucky, you get only a few welts or scratches but there were cases when my leg was pockmarked by sharp talons and beaks. Though we weren’t really told to not kick or pummel them to death, it was common understanding that a boy always runs away when confronted by a cock. That maxim holds true on both literal and figurative sense. Unless the boy likes cocks and that’s just gay.

As a kid, I did my assignment begrudgingly. I wasn’t passionate about chickens. In fact, I thought the only thing they were good for was when they were covered in barbeque sauce. But when I discovered gambling, cockfighting opened a whole new world for me. Good thing my father was such a sport about his sons gambling. My father was never a heavy gambler. I think he gets more kick of his cocks winning only because it’s a testament to his methods; just like how gambling was a testament to my madness.

It took me years to rid that vice but last New Year’s Day, I went to my first cockfight in years. All the usual suspects were there, the Kristos, bookies, wasted bums, liquors, the adrenaline rush, and even the enterprising man who rents out the metal spurs (also called gaffes or tari in visayan) for a few pesos, and it’s like I never left. It’s amazing how they put up the cockpit that fast when it was just a few months back when authorities raided the placed and booked a few gamblers.

My father brought along one gamecock. So in keeping with the new year, I wagered P500. I thought that was just enough to scratch a nagging itch but not too much to nag at my conscience for falling off the wagon. As luck would have it, the fight was a draw. I wouldn’t have mind losing the money, anything but a draw. I got my P500 back but I was still pissed off. When I handed that money to my father, I already written that off as a lost asset since I learned a long time ago that adopting that mindset helped take the sting off losing. To scratch another itch, the P500 never had a chance. We spent it all on food.