Mister J.

First a short introduction:

I know that some blogs do resort to song lyrics as fillers for those dull days, when there's nothing to write about, or even if there is, it's just too monumental a task to be un-inspiringly hurried up due to the cramped schedule of business. Admittedly every blogger, including yours truly, will suffer this slump, but to be fair to the readers, I will endeavor to bring some value added to lyrics posted here. One of which is so that the English speakers of the world would at the very least finally understand all the fun or drama or whatever stuff Pinoy music sings about.

Moving on, without further ado, I present to you Mister J.

Guess which song I translated this from. And yes, if you know, you can sing it using this English translation.

Mister J.

When the sun sets to a dim
Creatures unleash their horror grim.
They are the enemies of our liberator*
And out they go to gather en masse.
In the evening dim
You won't see an iota
'Cept for their eyes lookin' at ya;
Such a fearful thought,
Specially when colored yellow,
That even ghosts will be terrorized too

Help me! Help me! Oh please do!
We need a savior, please, will you?

(Chorus)
Mister J., Mister J.
This superhero's open for contract hiring.
He moves too as have Daimos** done,
But afterwards he'll show you his billing.
Mister J!

(Repeat from the start)

(Coda)
Nguyasen daro
Nakuhama tei**
Dude please help me,
You're the hero Mister J!

Footnotes:
* Translated from the word "tagapag-ligtas" which was sung as "tagah-pagah-ligah-tas-ah"; thus, liberator should be sung as "lig-ah-ib-ah-ig-ah-rate-ah."
** Daimos is a giant robot in a Japanese anime of long ago (Seventies?) with the same title. Too bad I can't translate Nihongo. Who can help me with "Nguyasen daro / Nakuhama tei"?

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Drifting Thoughts 02

Superman started flying again in theaters everywhere today, spreading a message of hope, and blanketing everyone with his protective light. I, however, felt inclined to brood and over-analyze just like Batman, which, by the way, is my favorite superhero. It didn't help that I felt signs of an onset of colds when my nostrils started getting itchy. It didn't help that I'll further subject my poor nose to the ravages of rush hour pollution later in my commute home. It didn't help that I stumbled upon a college friend's blog, got updated on her life after college, and felt a tinge of bitterness. Perhaps, it was not just a tinge, only that I suppressed it and prevented it from growing. It's a complex situation (damn, if this was a diary, I'd tell all); what I could tell is that I just felt left out.

It was raining when I left the office. Talk about being dramatic, but drama was the least of my concerns when the rain and winds strengthened, drenched my pants and socks, and weakened my already embattled immune system. I felt stuck in a trap, but unlike a Joker-ensnared Batman who would coolly think of a way out, I acted like a kryptonite-caged Superman who is helplessly weakened, waiting for intervention (preferably from Lois, so she can comfort me too) or luck (like Lex, whose brilliance is eclipsed by his megalomania, throwing the key within my visual range then leaving me alone, allowing me to think of a Batman-like escape).

Okay, I was starting to exaggerate.

-oOo-

Speaking of friends, the discussion topic for the "Bottom Three" night show in Magic 89.9 FM tonight was the worst thing one did to a friend. One listener texted, "the worst thing I did to my best friend was to marry her." My first reaction was to crack up. Thank God there's Magic to give me a break from brooding. On the other hand, the text message seemed like a warning message. I know, the ideal is to be friends first and then let the luhve grow into the picture. But one blunder would destroy everything in the worst possible way. The synergy of love and friendship is a very powerful positive force that emanates from, unites and maintains the relationship. Yet that same powerful force could also do the opposite to the couple. Yep, the texter said they eventually separated. Now that's hard. I mean, when you lose a lover it hurts, but it's still fine; you can still be friends. However, if you lose a friend (and I don't mean a casual friend), the pain is more gut-wrenching, the loss more profound. I guess this is what happens in bad break-ups: you lose a lover and friend.

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Civic Duty

The following anecdote would be my Independence Day contribution.

It happened in the late seventies, more than a decade before it was my turn to play and learn in grade school, which in turn was more than a decade ago today. Back then there was this principal whom they call as Mister Badong. It must had been a strange name for a principal even during my grade school days, but maybe not during the seventies. Or maybe kids really didn't find it strange, and it was just me and my supposedly adult pseudo-sophistication. In fact, in this story the kids would be the one teaching a lesson they had learned from Mister Badong.

The seventies, as the oldies allege, seemed to be the time when this grade school deserved to be called the premiere elementary school of the city. The educators were very serious in their duty and teaching as a noble professions was the reality and not just as an utterance of the ideal. The present local political and business leaders, whom some have gone national or international, trooped to this grade school for their basic education. (Okay, some of them had gone corrupt, so the school was not that much of a premiere school eh. Then again, there had been other influences in the community, so...)

Mister Badong is one of those serious educators of long ago. He was into the observance of civic duties and other Boy Scout basics. He trained the little men on tying knots, starting fires and other fun survival techniques. In flag-raising ceremonies, he would be very particular about a certain line in the Lupang Hinirang, "it's sa langit mong bughaw, not mo'y!" he would repeatedly point out to the student body (I imagine him grabbing the microphone immediately after the National Anthem and speaking in a stern voice).

Mister Badong died in the seventies, but his influence lived on for quite a time. This was made evident one gray morning a few years later. The kids were lined up in the open field for the daily flag-raising ceremony. In the middle of singing the National Anthem, there was a sudden downpour. But, having been taught respect for the Flag by the departed principal, the children remained standing with their right hand over the left chest. They sang until the last note, then and only then did they run for cover.

Mabuhay!

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Toxic

The metro atmosphere is toxic. Aside from the ambient air along EDSA, JP Rizal, Kalayaan and C5 being filled with abnormally and sinfully huge amounts of particulate matter and pollutants, my nightly commute is punctuated, first with an olfactory barrage from the garbage of Guadalupe Commercial Complex. The stink is most profound around 10pm when they are shoveling their trash into a dump truck. Every scoop of the shovel releases more hidden smelly terror, making the air around the alley where the jeepney passes sourer than a thousand sweaty armpits. The second brutal nose assault happens along C5 Palar. Their own version of smelly garbage makes me wonder how food vendors nearby can still sell their contaminated wares. Every time I pass these biohazard areas, I hold my breath rather than cover my nose, which the other passengers would do. I hold my breath like in diving since I consider it useless to merely filter the air with cloth since this would be akin to using the same cloth to filter out water to breathe under the sea. Yes, that's how bad the air is here. I feel like acquiring lung cancer or some respiratory disease even though I don't smoke.

As if the atmospheric abuse can't get worse, somebody was burning tires big time one night ago. Noxious tire fumes spread out over such a large area that I was gasping for air like a fish out of the water. As if burning tires wasn't against the law. But what the heck is the use of such a trivial law as the Clean Air Act in the Philippines? If the crime isn't as immediate as murder or rape or robbery, Filipinos normally won't give a shit. Yeah, we'll die just like the frogs that fail to realize that the water temperature in their pool is slowly being raised to fatal levels.

For once, I wish the law of the real jungle would prevail in this urban jungle. This is natural justice: if you do one thing, another will surely follow. A disruption in the circle of life will return to the culprit. Unfortunately, in this artificial world, catastrophe can be delayed unnaturally, giving humans complacency. But with the damage remaining unchecked, catastrophe will come. There might come a time people would just drop dead because of the poisonous air. Buildings, statues and other monuments would have accelerated corrosion.

I am just talking about the air, but the water and the land have their share of pollution. Somehow I feel like welcoming this environmental Apocalypse that we would bring upon ourselves. Hopefully, I'll be watching the end of Metro Manila unfold via TV in the comfort of my provincial home.

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Drifting Thoughts 01

Notice how owners of computer shops around the corner would randomly insert or substitute the characters "@" or "." to some techno-sounding word or phrase to create a name for their shop? Thus we have "Netopi@" or "All@ns.c@fe". Furthermore, notice how they prepend a hapless word with "e-" or append it with ".com" or ".net" or ".org"? This would yield "G@meShop.net" or "e-Ch@t". Others would pay tribute to their feature game like "City Strike". Lastly, some may even force the letter "x" to appear out of nowhere like in "NetAttaxx" (one "x" short of pornographic!).

If I would have to name my computer shop, maybe it would be "e-@$#!" (pronounced as "e-toooot", yes, like the audio beep censor) with the tagline "Kung gusto mo ng mura..." or something like that. Catchy. Perhaps this might sell.

-oOo-

Hard Drive. Now that sounds like the perfect title for a testosterone-overloaded TV series. Cyber-sleuthing and techno-babble over some sci-fi hocus-pocus go side-by-side with daredevil driving of cars, trucks, trains, boats, ships, planes, robots and spaceships. Perhaps there's the occasional suicidal martial arts duel or a dirty game of basketball. And don't forget a liberal sprinkling of rough, steamy sex once in a while. Ohhh yeahhh... gotta do the Hard Drive.

-oOo-

My boss has for a birth date June 6, 1966, which has the numerical form 06/06/66. He will be having his 40th birthday tomorrow, 06/06/06. With the number four meaning completeness and 666 being the number of the Beast in the Book of the Apocalypse, does this mean a "completeness" of evil? Nah, not my boss, he's the nicest in a company of nice bosses, and his looks make him the crush of women even half his age (meaning, women my age). On second thought, like the character Damian of the movie The Omen that will show the premiere of its remake on the ominous date of June 6, 2006, evil may start out as something nice, cute and loveable. Whatever it is, it looks like we in the team will be the boss’ minions one way or another.

-oOo-

My seatmate in one of my nightly jeepney commute happened to be this pretty lady. Her hair was fragrant, her eyes bright, body voluptuous. Her voice was sing-song lovely. However when I glanced at her hands, they were rough like an older woman's hands. My malicious mind pictured these hands caressing old gnarly skin of ancient men's faces. The hands grew older faster out of sympathy to those men who were appreciative of these gentle hands and their seemingly caring owner. But that was just me, my dirty mind, and my desire to write down some dramatic prose. Perhaps she was just doing work that took its toll on her hands.

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