Every Noche Buena, the dinner table is festooned with all sorts of food, from the finest queso de bola to an assortment of ham, prepared in different ways for the Christmas palette. The deserts and sweets are a buffet on their own. The tree is equally packed, the tree, hardly visible from the pile of presents stacked around it.
Everywhere we look, there seems to be a celebration of abundance. Stores decorated relentlessly, no spot left without so much as at least a poinsettia leaf.
The streets are packed as well, bumper to bumper and inching its way to every shopping mall and supposedly ‘cut-price’ sale. Whether that was done with the same tasteless decorative purpose in mind is just beyond me.
It’s hard to tell whether it’s just natural for us as a people to fill things to the brim or our way of hiding what’s empty.
This Christmas, despite the declining trust in the government, two recent typhoons which have shattered homes and the death of film star (call me cold but I’d rather not consider that last one a tragedy), we still manage to fill our table, our stomachs, and reciprocally, empty our bank accounts. At least the money’s moving through our economy. It travels from our passbooks, to our stomachs, and to liposuction or pulmonary bypass, whichever comes first.
It’s the only way we know of how to make all the pain disappear, how to, momentarily, forget that our country’s going to the dogs. It’s the one time of the year when we talk about politics to a minimum, when the president can spend lavishly without reprimand, when we actually force ourselves to put smiles on our faces, just for the sake of the season, when we have a Filmfest, banning all foreign films that reign in the box office and showcase ‘the best of Philippine movies’.
For once during the year, and, with the help of everyone else, we can actually forget how bad it all is. Come the end of the season. It’s back to normal, and our prozac of a holiday wanes into the cold shiver of reality. It’s amazing we all haven’t lost our minds yet, or at least, craved for another hit.
12.25.2004
12.18.2004
Why it's called the Boob Tube
These days, nothing is sacred. If people want to watch it, then it’s called television.
When I heard that FPJ had passed away, I was already expecting a massive outpour of emotions from the masses. Once again, the people will troop to the streets to escort the body of their languished hero to its final resting place. Once again, movie stars will be revered as gods and the world will see yet again, how pathetically shallow we are as a people. Not even Jesus ever had it this good.
What I wasn’t expecting was how low the opposition would sink, using even this, FPJ’s untimely death as political mileage. Nothing is sacred these days. And as expected, the media will once again blow this out of proportion, repetitively broadcasting images of Susan Roces, not distraught but furious over the media’s ‘abuse’ of her husband and his aspirations. The media, ‘out of a sense of duty’ I suppose, perhaps learning from the lessons (read: ratings) of Rico Yan’s death, has decided to capitalize on the flurry of emotions, dedicating non-stop coverage to the outpour of uninhibited, unintelligible, and irreverent human emotion (or so our very well trained actors make it seem). In the meantime, dozens more families are rendered homeless due to excessive use of Christmas lights. But we’ve all heard that story before haven’t we? Give us the REAL drama.
Hooray for the people! They’re simply enjoying the roller coaster ride. Call it irreverent but I found it humorous that people were taking photos of FPJ’s casket with their camera phones. At least we’ve managed to grasp technology. Apparently, it’s not as complicated as the intricate inner workings of local politics, showbiz and the lack of logic that flows in between.
Sit back and relax people. We’ve got ourselves another blockbuster this holiday season.
As for the children, we’ve only managed to teach them that the only future in this country is in the show business. Watch them, they’re already donning their miniskirts and tank tops preparing to be the next Sex Bomb Dancer and Ethel Boobas. After shamelessly pimping themselves as sex objects, they will move on to be leaders of the country. If there is one constance in the Philippines, it is showbiz.
Our economy will crumble, our debt will balloon, but by god, there will be movies!
When I heard that FPJ had passed away, I was already expecting a massive outpour of emotions from the masses. Once again, the people will troop to the streets to escort the body of their languished hero to its final resting place. Once again, movie stars will be revered as gods and the world will see yet again, how pathetically shallow we are as a people. Not even Jesus ever had it this good.
What I wasn’t expecting was how low the opposition would sink, using even this, FPJ’s untimely death as political mileage. Nothing is sacred these days. And as expected, the media will once again blow this out of proportion, repetitively broadcasting images of Susan Roces, not distraught but furious over the media’s ‘abuse’ of her husband and his aspirations. The media, ‘out of a sense of duty’ I suppose, perhaps learning from the lessons (read: ratings) of Rico Yan’s death, has decided to capitalize on the flurry of emotions, dedicating non-stop coverage to the outpour of uninhibited, unintelligible, and irreverent human emotion (or so our very well trained actors make it seem). In the meantime, dozens more families are rendered homeless due to excessive use of Christmas lights. But we’ve all heard that story before haven’t we? Give us the REAL drama.
Hooray for the people! They’re simply enjoying the roller coaster ride. Call it irreverent but I found it humorous that people were taking photos of FPJ’s casket with their camera phones. At least we’ve managed to grasp technology. Apparently, it’s not as complicated as the intricate inner workings of local politics, showbiz and the lack of logic that flows in between.
Sit back and relax people. We’ve got ourselves another blockbuster this holiday season.
As for the children, we’ve only managed to teach them that the only future in this country is in the show business. Watch them, they’re already donning their miniskirts and tank tops preparing to be the next Sex Bomb Dancer and Ethel Boobas. After shamelessly pimping themselves as sex objects, they will move on to be leaders of the country. If there is one constance in the Philippines, it is showbiz.
Our economy will crumble, our debt will balloon, but by god, there will be movies!
11.24.2004
Reborn
Yes, I moved to blogspot.
It was tedious, I'll miss my LJ friends, but like the very reason for my exodus so proudly proclaims, "change is inevitable. get an upgrade."
how apt.
It was tedious, I'll miss my LJ friends, but like the very reason for my exodus so proudly proclaims, "change is inevitable. get an upgrade."
how apt.
