**Cue Theme Song**

The story behind the longest running in-joke is this:

One Saturday night about a year  ago, we were sitting in a van on the NAIA parking lot. My best friend was to pick up a client who had just flown in from the US and I for the lack of better things to do that weekend decided to tag along.

So the client arrives, a rather portly African-American lady who we were forewarned had a reputation of being a no-nonsense sort of person. Taking care not offend her sensibilities, I sat quietly in the back seat with my other friend.

On the drive to the hotel, my best friend being the perfect hostess makes small talk. Asks her how her flight was, tells her about Manila and all that good stuff. About half an hour later, the lady turns to the back seat and asks, “Are these your daughters?”

I held myself back mid-snort.

Mind you my best friend and I were literally born hours apart from each other. It must have been really dark inside that van. It’s either that or…

It didn’t help that our entire circle of friends already referred to her as Mama Bear.  It also didn’t help that I told everyone that story. Now even her older sister jokingly refers to her (rather explicitly and in public) as Mama, much to her chagrin.

In order to make up for unapologetically stoking the flames, I made this little video. I discovered this song while going through my obsessive Cass Elliot hunt. I thought it only befits this whole snafu of being mistaken for everyone’s mother.

**Just as a footnote, the great Mama Cass also sang a song called Jane The Insane Dog Lady which I thought was hilarious.

 

From The Philippine Underground

I’ve been meaning to post this for sometime. For some reason I never got around to it until now. I guess this is just as good a time as any considering we are at the wake of President Aquino’s passing.

The video is a little shaky but just listen to the song. This is an excellent rendition by Cynthia Alexander (she never gets old, at least not in my books). I always did like her version better than her big brother’s. Then again, I’m partial.

Dumaan Ako

Music by Joey Ayala.

Lyrics by poet/painter Maningning Miclat who unfortunately took her own life in 2000. She was 28.

Dumaan ako sa tahimik na ilog
Ang buong mundo ay parang natutulog
Kung may bunga mang sa tubig ay mahulog
parang ang puso ko itong nadudurog

Kung mag-isa ako ay huwag nang isipin
Sa dilim ay dapat pa akong hanapin
Habang may luha ay huwag pang ibigin
Sa pangarap ko ay huwag nang gisingin

Kaya kong maghintay sa mga tula mo
makinig sa awit mula sa kabilang dako
At sa paglalakad sa lilim ng mga puno
matutuklasan ang laman ng pusong malayo

At mapapanood ang sayaw ng mga tutubi
sabay sa indak at lipad ng ibong humuhuni
At hihinahon na itong hindi mapakali
at makakahimlay sa mapayapang gabi

Dumaan ako sa tahimik na ilog
Ang buong mundo ay parang natutulog
Kung may bunga mang sa tubig ay mahulog
parang ang puso ko nga itong nadudurog
Parang ang puso ko itong nadudurog

 

The Enumeration

A couple weeks ago I found myself in one of those drinking sessions where you and your contingent sit around racking your brains for your top five everything…Movies…Music…Books…Etcetera, etcetera. This morning I watched High Fidelity and that too involved a lot of top fives. Go figure.

Considering that this is the reoccuring theme of my life at the moment, I might as well lay down the top five songs my wee MP3 player has been playing in a loop these past few weeks. And kids, if you still have Avril and ’em Jonas peaches hitting your stereo, there will come a time when you will feel the need to exorcise your playlist. Give me a jingle when you do.  

So here they are. Eppie, I hope this answers your question.

1. Goodbye Stranger by Supertramp

2. Fake Plastic Trees by Radiohead

3. Driving Sideways by Aimee Mann

4. My Sharona by Knack – You can’t beat that scene in Reality Bites where they start dancing in the gas station. Classic.

5. All the Young Dudes by Mott the Hoople

Of course, this is subject to change depending on my mood. But, yes, if I were about to face the chair in this particular phase of my life, these are the last five songs I would want to hear.

Top five movies, books, etc. to come after a bout of serious deliberation.

 

Two Beers, A Bar, And A Ten-Track Songlist

Seeing as I am a self-confessed disciple of Cynthia Alexander’s music, I once again find myself sitting sheepishly at the Conspiracy Cafe on a Saturday night, slack jawed. And of course falling pray to the wiles of a CD purchase I cannot afford but have been thoroughly justified by the signature of the guitar guru herself.

This is the version of me I’ve never managed to come to terms with. When I admire someone’s work and I am endowed with rare privilege of meeting that person, I turn into this gibbering idiot. The worse thing about it is that I never get a chance to redeem myself because A) the icon in question will not likely remember me after the encounter (thank goodness!) and B) all those who will remember said encounter are my friends with a penchant to taunt me until I shrivel up and fade away.

I can be eloquent, dammit!! I just have all my brilliant ideas dawn on me hours after that point in time when I actually need them. Much like when somebody throws you an unexpected curveball and instead of an instant quip to return the insult, you stand there looking completely stunned. Not until much later when you’re done being flabbergasted do you say to yourself, “What the hell is wrong with me?! I could’ve zinged her!”

Anyway, I’m just venting. I’ve run out of reasons to accost Cynthia for anything else because I have all her records. Next time, I will simply sit at the back, consume whatever alcoholic beverage I happen to be holding and be all ears.

Again, pardon the pun.

                                             **picture by Lili Estoesta.

 

I Met My Druid…

Last night at the Conspiracy Café which fulfills my short term goal. To clarify, there are no forthcoming ploys to turn into a stalker/groupie.

The thing we went to could hardly be classified as a gig. It was more like a living room jam session and we were there as weird furniture with ears. Pardon the pun. 

The advantage being that you get more attention from the artist than you would have been prepared for. She even egged me for more song requests and I couldn’t remember what the damn tracks were called (what the f@*% is wrong with me?!!). I managed to spew out two titles and relinquished the hot seat.

Anyway, l’m documenting the event as a rare suspension of Murphy’s law. I got (the much hunted) Rippingyarns as a gift and Cynthia Alexander signed it with a little note that said, “For everything a reason.”

My hernia has healed. And I am very close to forgiving that record bar sales lady who called her Cindy.