So when was the last time I did something for the first time? Two weeks ago, I went cycling around campus with a colleague and friend. It’s the first time I hit more than 20km, in any mobile exercise. Just yesterday we hit 19.5km. Both accounts were first time for me. The fastest freewheeling downhill glide measured approximately 45kph. Yes it was scary. It was also another first.

This season is also the first time I’ve been asked handle this much work for our Department. I’m not complaining at all. but the responsibilities bestowed upon me can sometimes be so overwhelming. Given these situations, I surprise even myself for pushing forward, as best as I can. The road’s not yet finished though, but it seems I’m on the right track.

I could think of several other “first time experiences” that fall within this evaluation period, but things are happening fast that I can’t piece the recent stories properly, not just yet.

What I’d like to share, though, is that it is the first time in years since I’ve had an new perspective on things.

I’ve felt this before, but not in a long time. The direction-altering forks I’ve previously mentioned play a big role in this new vantage point.

What is this perspective? I’d rather not explain here. These beans can be spilled to a select few.

Is it good? is it otherwise? Perhaps it’s too early to tell.

It’s a new mystery, and I don’t want to pretend to know all the answers.

Or perhaps I already do? Perhaps I knew the answers to these questions a long time ago.

Maybe I just didn’t want to admit that I did.

In the meantime, I’ll just just enjoy the (bike) ride.

Years later, a friend of mine gave me a list of all these sappy songs. I waited for them on the radio with my record button trigger finger, and eventually made myself what we called “the torture tape.” It amazingly got me through challenging times whenever the songs were applicable. I’d play that TDK C90 mixed tape on an old Sony transistor radio by my headboard, and I always hoped that the deck won’t eat the tape (it did, lots of times, but I was always successful in saving tapes). These were times when David Pomeranz wasn’t trying to be a Filipino yet, times when artists like him were cooler for being shrouded in nostalgic mystery.

When CDs got big, I played them loud and proud on a Sansui 5-Disc Carousel. Through live stereo, Hall and Oates and Toto wailed their rants in melodic genius. This was musicality embedded inside declamations of failed romance. Earth, Wind and Fire would ask reasons. Yes,” the reasons why we’re here.”

Most people I know take guilty pleasure in these songs locally classified as “senti” (what is the official genre of songs like these anyway?) Initial preferences don’t usually matter. I for one, am a sucker for solid rock, but even Deep Purple and Black Sabbath need to make space when Steve Perry sings of his foolish heart — in times when we feel ours beating the same way.

Screw emo. Senti was always there.

There’s a big difference, however, between knowing what to do and the actual performance. The plan laid down in front of us, and the audacity to start the action. It is this gap that renders all of us living the way we do. We carry on by solving one problem at a time, some being a little bit more difficult than others.

To make things more challenging, surprises may hit us every once in a while. Like mean twists at the end of a long movie. Something from far left field perhaps, or an experience so unique that we could bet all-in that not a single letter was written about it in anyone’s life scroll. How do we deal with these then?

We are adaptive. We are resilient. Because of this, we do get through the snags eventually. Our survival, of course, remains to be seen. One thing’s for sure though: once it’s over, the story is considered written.

Perhaps someone else would come across this new story. If it helps just one other person, it would have been a story well played.

I was lucky enough to catch them while they played as a quartet. Jeff Cabal’s crooning remains to be missed, but the group left behind is still quite a solid tripod. None of them exude the raw power of rock, not like Louie Talan does, or even Nathan Azarcon for that matter. In fact, it’s easy to conclude quite the opposite. They look like geeks, and an old Pulp magazine feature about them even shamelessly plugged that they are. Nerd Punk, as they were labeled, but I disagree. Nerd? Yes. Punk? Far from it. Hilera, now that’s punk, albeit unadulterated. These guys are more College Rock (the genre) more than anything else (think Weezer, only better). Much like the Heads’ legendary ‘UltraElectro’ and the original Maya’s sophomore effort ‘Trip,’ the recording of their albums can arguably be improved. However, just like the poorly recorded, critically acclaimed Heads and Maya albums I mentioned, I couldn’t care less. The songs speak for themselves. I recall a Barbie Almalbis interview back in her Hungry Young Poets days. She mentioned that in her album, the songs take the spotlight more than anything else. ‘Yung kanta yung bida,’ she quipped, and the same thing can be said about Ciudad’s contributions.

Most of their songs have the knack to grow on you. The melodic sensibilities imply a deep well of diverse influences. ‘Malalim ang pinaghuhugutan,’ a friend once agreed. You’d just know these musicians had impeccable taste. There’s a bit of jazz in there, a pinch of samba at times, and a lot of Mitch’s Foo Fighting beats, over perhaps, a playful pop melody. The songs did grow on me. The band did.

So what’s bad about them? They can tend to overdo silly stage antics. Mikey Amistoso’s voice does crack. If you’re looking for tough guy rock, you’re stepping on the wrong stompbox. A close friend of mine hates them. Another one’s not interested at all. But see, even if I’ve witnessed band perfection in live acts like Urbandub so many times, it just took several tape flips for me to know that I’d watch Ciudad over the others, any given Friday.

Hello, how are you, Mico, the happy bear?

I had a cassette copy, and after 10 years I got a free CD from the album anniversary gig

I gave a Technology Seminar to a bunch of promising highschool kids just yesterday, and much discussion took place on how tech simplifies things that were inconvenient, or more so, things that were thought to be impossible.

Some of my friends’ whereabouts were often unknown. Now it’s all there, thanks to Twitter.

It used to be hard to keep in touch with my sister in New York. Thank you Facebook.

I used to update this blog on a turtle’s pace. Now there’s WordPress mobile.

Faster blogging? We’ll find out

For now, it’s all about the new look.

My old banner reminded me of this graphic novel

“Goodburgers” boasts of grilled chicken and veggie patties mixed in with creative add-ons (i.e. bacon and mozzarella, or three-cheese variety, etc.). It is located just beside Mexican Express, home of an excellent burrito. It was a windy afternoon on one of my favorite streets. It was good just being here.

Mexican Express as seen from Good Burger, Maginhawa St.

After having judged myself as sufficiently productive, it was time to ride my Ateneo-colored bike home (there seen on the left side of photo). Free-wheeling on my turf, I paused and took another panoramic.

As with all the places we label as “home,” the Madasalin Street path is a spring of memories.  A lost playmate, neighbors that have come and gone, walks to and from the Betamax shop, to name a few. Struggling against a thunderstorm on a high-school afternoon and a nice photowalk are two of the more potent ones. Perhaps I will elaborate next time.

A nostalgically familiar path, panoramic style.

I do understand the Henry Rollins perspective, though it would be a hypocrisy on my part to say that I don’t feel good whenever I get one of these things. To think that awards revolve around the kudos is rather shallow. In contrast, I view that the congratulatory nature of the process is outdone by the recognition that an awardee can receive for a job well done. It’s all about being recognized, about being respected for a certain act of rigor, as opposed to just simply basking in a shower of back-pats.

So there are big awards, and there are small awards. I must admit that browsing through them feels like a time-machine ride of sorts. The actual plaques take me back to the hurdles I had to jump through, and the solutions that led me to little successes.

I just happened to come across old certificates and tokens while tidying up my table this afternoon. I guess that’s where I got the inspiration for this entry. I would like to note though, that in spite of the unearthing of several items reflective of achievement in both academe and career, it was this award that made me smile the most:

There were awards that I’ve received, there were the ones that I’ve missed.  Most elders around here will say that I’ve let pass some of the more important ones, the awards that matter. They’d say that this toy blackboard trophy was given in humor, a reminder of something relatively insignificant.

So I was not a Latin awardee back in college (I had too much fun), and I did not get 1st place in that science contest back in grade school (Harold Luy was better). But this award here has got to be my favorite. Yes, it’s a toy trophy, but for me  this is one of those that count the most. This one matters. This one simply rocks.

One of the shallower (much easier to write about) tidbits  of my 2010 that’s noteworthy for me is the opportunity i had to play in a band again. It was fun enough that I got to play after a long hiatus. I missed the jamming, the vibe of the rehearsal studio, the crunch of guitars piped through big amps (really big ones), the fat bass sound and the raw noise of an unamplified drum kit. After the highschool bands I got myself into, I used to spend a lot of Saturdays in the original Sabio garage with a college band, but that was a long time ago. We rotated our roles, and it was more sheer fun than anything else (we thought we sucked).  I had two more opportunities post UST : a serious rock band with younger friends I got to know when I took my postgraduate course, and an acoustic set-up back in 2004. I did vocal chores when I was in HS, and was the axeman for the later groups. Just weeks ago I got to do it all over again, but this time I got to be the official drummer (hehehehe). Now that was fun.

Rehearsal clip! (poor lighting)

So it’s the end of that cycle. The coaster’s prepping up for the next, fresh take-off. Let’s hope the next one’s just as good, if not better. Let’s learn more and grow and knock ourselves out with as much fun we can handle. Let’s hope and pray we do the right things. Let’s hope and pray we survive.

Thank you 2010, and all the characters in it.

Happy new year to everyone

She still belly rolls today as she did when we had our nightly phone convos. She still raises the bar on thoughtfulness. She still regrets not attending ballet lessons as a kid, and makes up for it nowadays by attending strange dance classes ( I still say that those jazz classes involve some form of crazy doo-wop finger snapping). She’s still the physical manifestation of what most people would call “care,” perhaps the costume she’d wear in a values-themed Halloween party. She still thinks that beer could be better. She’d still add sugar in her SMB if she had the chance.

This morning, I incidentally noted that everything evolves, and perhaps she has too (besides the hair).  She’s a supermom to my very cute god-daughter. She now runs a portion of an organization that involves raising fingers to officemates. We were kids when we met, and now we are far from it.

However, even after losing things like college years and letters, we still are, without a doubt,  excellent friends.

I took the site name of this blog from a song that could have well  been written by her.

I was always hard to keep up with. I think I never said thanks.

I know you’ll act as a clever medicine.

with Jeng and little Akia