A Tossed Salad of Links

In lieu of a coherent entry, allow me to offer up a smattering of what passes for food for thought in the little corner of the universe that I represent:

Easter Mysteries

For many precocious children, the real mystery of Easter is how bunnies can somehow produce eggs. Precocious children of a slightly more mischievous inclination would extend this mystery to how bunnies who miraculously produce eggs seem to have strewn them all over the place. Ah, to be young and concerned with bunnies, eggs, and the miracle of sharing!

While most adult Christians would insist, and rightly so, that the true miracle of Easter concerns the Christ who rose again from the dead, may we never lose the spirit of discovery and wonder that allows us to meditate on the incongruity of bunnies that lay eggs, and the Christ that celebrates such hunts with joy and laughter.

Happy Easter everyone!

What We Read, We Celebrate!

In lieu of my usual ramblings on issues close to my heart, allow me instead to share with you an experience that lies at the very heart of the season we celebrate.

We read in Luke 1:26-27,

“In the sixth month, the angel Gabriel was sent from God to a town of Galilee called Nazareth, to a virgin betrothed to a man named Joseph, of the house of David, and the virgin’s name was Mary.”

What we do not read, but celebrate is that Mary, the mother of our Lord, was born in a town called Nazareth, and that this town was so obscure, the first recorded use of the word “Nazareth” was in the New Testament.

Nazareth, in our Lord’s time, was in all likelihood the pre-Christian equivalent of Hicksville.

We read in Luke 1:28-33,

“And coming to her, he said, ‘Hail, favored one! The Lord is with you.’ But she was greatly troubled at what was said and pondered what sort of greeting this might be. Then the angel said to her, ‘Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. Behold, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you shall name him Jesus. He will be great and will be called Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give him the throne of David his father, and he will rule over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.’”

What we read, but do not celebrate often enough is that the Angel Gabriel reminds Mary that there is no need to be afraid. Whether this is proof that angels are beautiful beyond belief, or something else, is beside the point. But there is no need to be afraid. Unless to you, looks are everything. In which case, fear would be the least of your problems.

We read in Luke 1: 34-38,

“But Mary said to the angel, ‘How can this be, since I have no relations with a man?’ And the angel said to her in reply, ‘The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you. Therefore the child to be born will be called holy, the Son of God. And behold, Elizabeth, your relative, has also conceived a son in her old age, and this is the sixth month for her who was called barren; for nothing will be impossible for God.’ Mary said, ‘Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord. May it be done to me according to your word.’

What we read, but do not celebrate often enough, is that after a series of startling revelations, emphasized by the altogether terrific news that Elizabeth has conceived a son despite her barrenness, is Mary’s simple reply: ‘Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord. May it be done to me according to your word.’

And so, in the spirit of Christmas, we celebrate the wonderful assent that led to the birth of our Lord. That from a hick town in Galilee, visited by an unearthly being of either surpassing beauty or surpassing something, despite a series of surprises that smack of what we would call fantasy or science-fiction, Mama Mary said “Yes!” to the will of the living God.

And so, we have Christmas. Let us continually remind ourselves that some of the most beautiful things in life happen when we find the courage to say, without qualification or adornment, "Yes!"

Acknowledgments:

Readings are from The New American Bible.

Angels and Demons

Dan Brown, one of the most accomplished storytellers of the 21st century, is also the author of some of the most poorly constructed opening sentences in publishing history. To wit:

Renowned curator Jacques Saunière staggered through the vaulted archway of the museum's Grand Gallery.

Physicist Leonardo Vetra smelled burning flesh, and he knew it was his own.

Death, in this forsaken place, could come in countless forms. Geologist Charles Brophy had endured the savage splendor of this terrain for years, and yet nothing could prepare him for a fate as barbarous and unnatural as the one about to befall him.

As linguist Geoffrey K. Pullum noted before in his highly informative and snarkily entertaining post , "The simple fact is that if you are ever mentioned on page 1 of a Dan Brown novel you will be mentioned with an anarthrous occupational nominal premodifier ('Renowned linguist Geoff Pullum staggered across the savage splendor of the forsaken Santa Cruz campus, struggling to remove the knife plunged unnaturally into his back by a barbarous millionaire novelist'), and you will have died a painful and horrible death by page 2, along with several curiously ill-chosen clichés and mangled idioms."

In literature, one can judge the worthiness of novels by the artistry and economy of their opening sentences. Who can forget, for example, the profound simplicity with which Gabriel Garcia Marquez begins Love in the Time of Cholera? "It was inevitable: the scent of bitter almonds always reminded him of the fate of unrequited love."

But what is true of literature is not quite true when one considers public perception: truly, he who laughs last, laughs last. And it is with the full, bitter regret of scented almonds that I lament the painful and horrible beating that the Filipino people has taken due to the brutal inhumanity of the perpetrators of the massacre in Maguindanao.

The sublime artistry with which Manny Pacquiao dispatched Miguel Cotto? Forgotten.

The overwhelming generosity of spirit with which Efren Penaflorida shares the best of himself and by extension, the Filipino people, with the urban poor? It's almost as if Penaflorida's courageous selflessness never happened.

Instead, we are left with the grim reminder that man is a killer angel, whose sometime, lamentable descent into barbarism stems from a fatal misunderstanding of Hamlet's observation:

What a piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how
infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and
admirable, in action how like an angel, in apprehension how like
a god!

It is only when we act as if we are gods that we cease to be human.

We lament what happened in Maguindanao. But let us remember what also happens whenever we recall that our lot in life is not simply to be the authors of tragedies. Mother Theresa once said, "Do not think that love, in order to be genuine, has to be extraordinary. What we need is to love without getting tired." This guy does not tire. Neither should we. Hope floats. And with hope, truth.




Photo Credits:

Picture comes courtesy of Gulf News

Sometimes When We Touch

By now, I suppose everyone has seen the video of Manny Pacquiao serenading a worldwide audience with his interpretation of Sing-Along-Kot staple, Sometimes When we Touch. Just in case you haven't, please click on the embedded video below.



Many Filipinos of my acquaintance are quick to voice their reactions to Manny's performance on Jimmy Kimmel Live. Most negative reactions range from "Don't give up your day job" to "He's an embarrassment to the Filipino people." It is to those who belong in the latter extreme that I address this blog entry.

Conrado de Quiros once observed that "I’ve seen athletes turn from ferocious to meek when interviewed after stunning victories, finding the task of organizing their thoughts or expressing themselves in another language far more daunting than the challenge they had just faced. Pacquiao was not one of them. He was as fearless facing his interviewer as he was facing Ricky Hatton."

Manny's boundless confidence in himself led de Quiros to postulate that perhaps it is this hard earned self-assurance, this certainty in both his talent and his self-worth, that is Manny Pacquiao's biggest strength. To jaded eyes, it seems that majority of social structures in the Philippines are designed to reinforce a sense of inferiority, or at the very least, a limited and limiting understanding of "one's place" in life. Manny, like most world-class Filipino talents, refuses to see himself in those terms. As, de Quiros once again pointed out, "Though his answers were humble, his demeanor was not. He was unfazed by the crowd, he was unfazed by the cameras, he was unfazed by his English. They were merely of the order of facing another foe, not unlike the one in the ring, and vanquishing them."

Perhaps we should be less concerned about Manny's perceived inability to do justice to a sentimental old love song. Instead, maybe we should consider that we have the privilege of witnessing a world-class Filipino talent, by proving that he can fail at something, rectify an injustice deeper and more insidious than annihilating the opus penned by Dan Hill: that our understanding of ourselves as a people, and our supposed self-worth, is determined by how others perceive us.

Once again, Manny has done us proud. Even in supposed failure, he remains, unreservedly, Manny Pacquiao. Sometimes, we should be touched.

Weekend Delights!

One of the reasons why I look forward to long weekends is for the opportunity to reacquaint myself with the more idyllic concerns of family and friends. As I am still hung over from the generous amounts of rest and recreation that I wallowed deliriously in over the weekend, allow me to resort to using bullet points as opposed to coherent paragraphs in order to give an adequate summary of what transpired:

Saturday!

Ralph Lumo and the rest of Singles Encounter#6 hosted their reunion at Megatent. A reunion, especially in the context of Catholic charismatic communities is not precisely a celebration of talent. But it a celebration, of sorts. Pictures may be seen here. The video of Ralph dancing to Nobody by Korean pop group Wonder Girls may not be widely distributed due to the incendiary elements of Ralph's choreography, but a copy may be seen here.

Sunday!

I took my kids to Esteban School, where I played football with some old friends. There's nary a shot of me playing, but here's one of my lovely little princess, Lucia!


Monday!

My sister Therese came over and we watched Up. Lovely movie, and such an appropriate title. For those who have yet to watch this delightful little snowflake of a movie, please try to catch it at the nearest cinema. Carl and Ellie share only a few minutes of screen time, but they will nestle in your heart close to forever.

How About Some One-Hit-Wonders?

I must confess. The reason why I was not able to blog at all last week was due entirely to Mafia Wars, Superhero City, and Yakuza Lords. I just recently got into Facebook gaming, despite my better judgment, and was pulled into a suburban version of The Godfather Part III:



To begin my blogging week, allow me to share a link that will allow the uninitiated to make a reasonable assertion as to my true age. Ladies and gentlemen, here are 35 One-Hit-Wonders of the '80s.

My all-time favorite? It's too hard to choose. But my favorite video to wake up to? See for yourself. Enjoy!

Remembrances: Tributes to Tita Cory

One of the few consolations afforded by grief has something to do with the nature of grace: the more heartfelt and powerful the sense of bereavement, the more sublime the remembrance.

Inasmuch as we all deal with a profound sense of loss, we are also blessed by a profuse outpouring of paeans, each more stirring than the last. It is remarkable how many people share the same story. Before the death of Tita Cory, there was largely apathy, a miasma of unfeeling that mirrored the detachment and underlying despair of the contemporary Filipino. After her death? Sweet melancholy, but not, with apologies to The Smashing Pumpkins, a sense of infinite sadness. Rather, there seems to be a poignant, gentle sense of hope stirring in the wind.

Here are some of the best tributes I have come across. Many thanks to Vince Sales and the lovely people at Techie.com for getting me started.

Tributes penned:

"President Corazon Aquino is dead, and with her dies the last shreds of civility in our public life. She was a good person. Say what you will about her administration, the illusions dashed and opportunities missed, but she was decent to us. She never mocked us, made fun of our hopes, or knowingly insulted our intelligence. Born to privilege, she never acted the spoiled brat. President Cory defended the Constitution from those who would twist it to their own ends. Here was a woman who rejected the temptation to perpetuate herself in power.

She was a lady, a rarity in this day and age and especially in this political system. She tried. We miss her like a limb. In mourning for Tita Cory we’re really mourning for ourselves and what could’ve been."

by Jessica Zafra, Tita Cory

"I wondered, like someone who had come back to where he started and saw the place for the first time: Maybe colors are there to unite us more than separate us. Maybe red is just the blood that pulses in the veins in love and war. Maybe yellow is just the pages of a letter from a loved one that magically bring him back to life. Maybe blue is just the sky, however cloudy, when looked at through the bars of a prison cell. Maybe green is just fields promising plenitude. Maybe black is just the tangle of our fate, the twists and turns of our life, as we grope our way forward. Maybe white is just the grace to push on, amid the darkness.

I wondered with the wisdom of innocence and the naivete of age: Maybe we’re divided only into good people and bad people. How people are so, or become so, I’ll leave others to divine. Maybe they are just born that way, maybe like scorpions they sting because it is in their nature to sting. Or maybe they are made that way, as much by the circumstances that mold their character as their character that molds their circumstances. But bad people are there; we know that only too well. Just as well, good people are there too; we know that even more so.

We know the latter because we had someone walk with us who was so. Someone who was so disinterested in power she accepted it gravely as a matter of duty and gave it up gracefully as a matter of trust, for which she remains an awesome force even in death. Someone who, while she lived, showered not very small kindnesses on others in their hour of need or bereavement, having known bereavement herself and the comfort of empathy as much as the empathy of comfort, for which she continues to live with us even in death. Someone who proved once before as Joan of Arc and who will prove once again like El Cid the terrifying and wondrously prophetic vision of her faith: The exalted shall be humbled and the humble exalted.

In life and in death, Cory has been—pardon my French—one damn good person."

by Conrado de Quiros, One good person

And tributes sung:



Have a blessed weekend. Please remember Tita Cory and the Filipino people in your prayers.

Photo Credits:

Picture of Tita Cory comes courtesy of The EQualizer Post.

Dante and the Cosmos of Illumination

In an interview with the A.V. Club, Roberto Benigni enthused about his current project, TuttoDante, a one-man show about Dante Alighieri and The Divine Comedy. Interestingly enough, despite the fact that he never thought that his show would have an audience other than Dante scholars and 3rd year UA&P students taking Medieval Literature, he found himself playing to audiences of up to 10,000 people. Here are some excerpts from the interview:

Because Dante Alighieri has the most glorious imagination of modern poetry. So it’s talking about us, it’s concerning us. Everything in it conveys sentiment, emotions. He is really the greatest poet ever. So I am really very proud to present the shining pearl of Italian culture around the world. And also because Dante sometimes is very difficult and incomprehensible. But we need to talk sometimes about incomprehensible things. It’s very healthy...

...You don’t need also to understand Italian or to know Italian, because when Dante’s writing, when we recite Dante out loud, it explodes a cosmos of illumination like to recite music, a symphony. And it is very modern and ancient at the same time. It’s like a cross between Beethoven and Jimi Hendrix. Bach and Janis Joplin. It’s jazz, Duke Ellington, everybody, Wagner. It’s music.

The idea that The Divine Comedy is one of the finest examples of the ability of poesy to transcend simple apprehension is nothing new. My good friend, Paul Dumol, insists as much whenever he teaches Dante. But Benigni's wonderfully stilted exclamation "...when we recite Dante out loud, it explodes a cosmos of illumination like to recite music, a symphony" is worth reading through the entire interview.

Dispatches from the Sanctity of Home

After what was quite possibly the most hectic work week I've had in recent memory, I've been luxuriating in the ordinariness of home. There truly is something to that lovely throwaway line in The Napoleon of Notting Hill: When the chord of monotony is stretched most tight, then it breaks with a sound like song. The ordinary, the humdrum, the occasionally redundant...ah, sweet domestic bliss! I could change diapers all day, and you'll still find me sporting the goofiest, tired grin this side of the equator.

I'm just catching up on my family, and my reading, in that order. Should anything awe-inspiring strike me within the quiet of this holiday season, I'll do my best to post it. But till then, I wish you the best of times this holiday season. Peace to one and all!

Dispatches from the Fortress of Solitude

While sitting around waiting for my Clark Kent job to start, I normally relax by catching up on my favorite forms of entertainment. In the interest of preserving the, ah, providers from whom I source my entertainment, please allow me to be sufficiently cryptic regarding the origin of my leisure materials. While comic books remain a staple in my Fortress of Solitude, I also enjoy watching television series from the comfort of my MacBook.

If you haven't already, please take the time to check out The Middleman while you still can. While it is difficult to pigeonhole its appeal, those who hold fond memories of hard to categorize, but easy to love cult classics such as The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai should definitely give this quirky, and recently cancelled series a shot.

Another series which people should check out, and which has the additional benefit of being very much "uncancelled", is the "so underrated it's on the verge of being overrated" delight that is Chuck. And yes, I know that the lead character works claims affiliation with a group called the Nerd Herd. I've long accepted the full mantle of nerdhood, and no longer feel the need to hide behind more typically masculine pursuits.

Uh-oh. My Clark Kent job beckons. See you later!

Photo Credits:

Picture of The Middleman comes courtesy of Daemon's TV.

Ramblings on the Nature of True Genius

I just read an interesting article on Slate about how Barack Obama should surround himself with geniuses. Jacob Weisberg observes that while George W. Bush tended to politicize all policymaking due to his inability to quash his feelings of intellectual inferiority, Obama seems to suffer from no such deficiencies. He writes:

But it makes sense for Obama to give greater weight to intellectual acumen and subject-specific knowledge than his recent predecessors have, both because of the depth of the problems he faces and because of his own style as a thinker and a decision-maker...He is intellectually confident, enjoys engaging with ideas, and inclines to pragmatism rather than partisanship.

I've noticed that intellectually confident people with advanced social skills seem to be more successful in achieving their goals and some degree of happiness than their socially handicapped wunderkind brethren. As I reflect on the ways in which I would like to raise my children, I've come to the realization that their education should include not only a practical facility for algebra, but a more comprehensive understanding of the "calculus" of human interaction. The more we rely on machines to go about our humdrum lives, it becomes more important to keep people at the center of everything we do. Otherwise, whatever do we do things for?

Point Taken

My good friend WillyJ, of Random Thoughts and Musings on a Narrow Road commented on the position paper “A Call of Conscience: Catholics in Support of the RH Bill,” that the 14 Ateneo professors wrote in support of the RH Bill. Essentially, WillyJ contends that the learned professors are missing the point:

The professors seem to imply that their well-formed conscience, probably developed over the last few months, trumps more than 2,000 years of Church history and teaching tradition. Primacy of conscience does not guarantee rightness and the objective TRUTH in one's subsequent actions. As is usually the case, when one finds himself in conflict with the Church’s teachings, the problem is with the person and not with the teaching, a direct consequence, naturally, of a selective reading(?) of Catholic (social ?) teachings.

While the professors continue to think more along the lines of “well-formed consciences”, they might consider not dragging the Ateneo name the next time they feel an irresistible urge to voice out their personal opinions. It would also do them well to read the Compendium of the Social Doctrines of the Church (all 361 pages, with NOT A SINGLE PAGE of it expounding on the PRIMACY of CONSCIENCE); study NFP first DILIGENTLY, without making “impossible” conclusions; rethink their concept of ROOT CAUSES; ask a succession of “WHYS” on the problems of women at hand; and investigate more deeply the real meaning of “WELL-FORMED CONSCIENCES”.

I probably would disagree with WillyJ concerning the recency in which these esteemed professors formed their consciences. I took classes under some of the professors who wrote the position paper. I have nothing but the highest respect for their unwavering commitment to sapientia et eloquentia.

But I concur with WillyJ that the professors' advocacy for the RH Bill seems to fly in the face of a properly Christian, or even rational conception of Man. They seem to have misappropriated the term "rational animal" and applied it hastily to our nation's poor. Do the less fortunate give in more easily to their impulses? Does their poverty prevent them from making rational decisions?

What about man's capacity for self-improvement and transcendence?

I also think that people, when considering the different alternatives for reproductive health, however it is conceived, should consider the merits of the Natural Family Planning (NFP) method. As WillyJ pointed out some time ago, NFP is different from the Rhythm or Calendar method. Rather, NFP is based on the Billings Ovulation Method (BOM). BOM has often been assailed as being difficult to implement. However, as this study asserts:

It is interesting to note that in one field trial, most failure cases had a relatively high cultural level (two university graduates and two lecturers). They all felt sorry and admitted that since they considered the method was simple and easy to master, they had paid less attention to the teaching course and had not strictly followed the rules. The consequence was use-related failures. On the contrary, the illiterate women were generally very attentive to BOM teaching and rigidly stuck to the rules, and failures were very rare. This experience gives us the following elicitation:

3.1 The BOM is simple and easy to comprehend; almost all the women, including the illiterate, can successfully learn the method and identify their own mucus symptoms.

3.2 During the training, special attention should be paid to the intellectuals and professionals. The method seems to be too "simple" to them and they could not get hold of it without strict supervision.

Perhaps instead of turning our attention to the lack, perceived or otherwise, in our nation's poor, we could focus on ways in which to liberate them from the conditions which prevent them from exercising informed choices on reproductive health.

Ah, but I digress...

It's amazing how many people have taken it upon themselves to discuss (with passion, verve and intelligence) the RH bill. But while I go sift through the different valid points that have been raised in the discussion, let me make several announcements:

As you probably know by now, mainly through Chuvaness, my wife has recently given birth to our 3rd child, and 1st princess, Lucia Consuelo. She came into the world as 7 lbs, 7 oz of pure joy, and despite measuring a mere 19 inches from head to toe, Lucia has already taken our measure and found us wanting. I would like to remind everyone that fully half of her DNA comes from me, so if you would like to throw any compliments my way I will acknowledge them with as much grace and tact as I can muster.

My family and I were also featured in this month's Baby Magazine. The wonderfully written feature, "Of Dirt and Roses" was penned by Nicole Bautista and photographed by Ralph Alejandrino. The story of my blissful family life, however, continues to be written by my lovely and patient wife Tina, my two sons, Juan and Manuel, and now my little princess, Lucia Consuelo. Baby Magazine is the number three best selling magazine in the country. My good friend Diana Uichanco deserves a hearty round of applause for bringing a magazine about the babies to a position where they can challenge magazines that serve up a never-ending procession of babes.

Lastly, I would like to thank my parents, Johnny and Tere Borra who, along with my sisters Papot, Therese and Joanna Puzon, so graciously volunteered to take care of the kids while Tina and I were in The Medical City waiting hand and foot on our little princess (I never seem to tire of that nickname!) Lucia. Thanks for the wonderful costumes and all the love and affection that you have lavished on the boys. They look forward to hanging out again with you guys and cousin Miguel. Imagine the havoc all four of them will wreak when Lucia comes of age?

Fertile Ground: Intelligent Discussion on the RH Bill

Lately, I've been participating, with varying degrees of erudition and grace, on discussions concerning the Reproductive Health bill. Thanks to committed bloggers such as Dean Jorge Bocobo and blackshama, I'm slowly developing a more informed position regarding the RH bill. While I am reluctant to articulate my position against the RH bill, I am certainly not shy about sharing the thoughtful insights that I've come across in the aforementioned blogs. If I happen to offend anyone whose replies I have thoughtlessly absconded with, my apologies in advance.

Allow me to begin with blackshama, who, by writing on the logical fallacies of some parties against the RH bill offers some thoughtful advice to the anti-RH bill groups on how to formulate their arguments:

The proper application of ethics lies in the proper application of reason. Thus your statement that THE END DOES NOT JUSTIFY THE MEANS is at best propaganda. What should justify the ends is reason.

Let me give you how the pro argument strategy should be stated. The Catholic Church’s argument that the RH bill is immoral is very much defensible in grounds of morality. Thus Catholic arguments against the RH bill should focus on the weaknesses of moral and cognitive relativism. There are both theological and philosophical ways of demolishing the arguments of the RH bill’s supporters. I will leave that to you. However Catholics who think they are apologists by muddling the argument with faulty thinking by citing half-truths do much damage to the Catholic position. These Catholic apologists fall into the same trap of relativism.

This does no credit to the Catholicism I live for. This is the Catholicism of the Venerable John Henry Cardinal Newman. Since Newman is a Saint and if he does come down from Heaven, Newman wouldn’t tolerate the kind of arguments I have shown as examples in my post.

Dean Jorge Bocobo raises some interesting points regarding the "superiority" of Science as opposed to "religion and Theology" in the comments section of the debate regarding the Catholic Magisterium on Contraception.

I have never believed that theology is bereft of, or even lacking in Reason. Indeed, the crafts of logic and rhetoric were perfected by theologians, mainly Christian and Jewish theologians.

Many of my own writings express the observation that Science evolved out of Religion.

But what religion and theology are missing which Science has and which made it superior to them, in my opinion is its honest devotion to evidence, observation, experimentation and the scientific method. So even as Science inherits the logical and rhetorical tools of Religion, it evolves to higher state of intelligence by adopting the attitude of accepting only as valid hypotheses those that can be falsified. Whereas Religion has lost its way with such profound vanities and self-aggrandizement as infallibility and dogma.

Evolutionary science is indeed a “religion”–but only in the sense that homo sapiens is also a hominid like Cro-Magnon or Neanderthal.

If you enjoy intelligent discussion, please join the debate and develop an informed understanding of what YOUR position on this very important issue should be.

Reconsidering the Reproductive Health Bill

I was reading my friend Nicole's blog, Drawing Lines, when I came across a link to this petition against the Reproductive Health Bill.

Before I used to think that the authors of the RH Bill, while horribly misinformed, could at least be charitably termed "well-meaning". While I still hold to my original position, the upcoming birth of my 3rd child (and 1st daughter) Lucia Consuelo is making me reconsider my position.

It's not enough to be sincere. Lord knows, I've been sincerely wrong on a number of occasions. However, it is our duty to always consider whether what we believe in is true. There are some things which are grounded in human fact, and these are important to consider. I daresay that the contestants on Are You Smarter than a 5th Grader, such as Kathy Cox would rather know what the airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow is lest they meet the fate that befalls all bridge keepers who can't distinguish between the African or European variety. And yet human fact pales in comparison with human truth; and human truth is but a pale reflection of a divine truth that makes all these facts and truths make sense.

So please take time to consider your position on the RH Bill. I know that, given both the facts and the truths that inform my understanding of these facts, I am.

And for all those who enjoyed the reference to Monty Python and the Holy Grail, here's how one can go about Estimating the Airspeed Velocity of an Unladen Swallow.

Back from Cebu!

It was a weekend that was drenched in good cheer. From the tearfully joyful union of our good friends Mikkel Gutierrez and Tippy Sala in the sacrament of matrimony to the cheerfully irreverent reunion with friends who have long threatened to drop out of our social periphery but never seem to do so, to the overwhelming generosity of some kind-hearted souls who let us end our Cebu sojourn, appropriately, draped in the beauty of a summer sun and submerged in the relaxing waters of a summer swim, I spent four wonderful days surrounded by family and friends.

Praise God for these little miracles!

Photo Credits:
Picture of Plantation Bay comes courtesy of Joey Puno.

iLove my iPhone!

Following my previous entries, I would love to blog about more important matters such as the need for spiritual renewal and how this renewal should manifest itself in even simple acts of charity, but allow me to indulge the vanity of my inner geek and proudly announce the newest member of the Borra household.

iLoveit!

Photo Credits:

Picture of iPhone comes courtesy of Mobile Tracker.

Pacino's Way

Unlike De Niro, cineastes have been kinder to Pacino. According to our wonderful friends on Fametracker, which, sadly, is still on hiatus, the reason for that is simple. Read on:

How many actors of Pacino's stature still work so hard to entertain you? Wait a second -- how many actors are there of Pacino's stature, period? Only three Method giants survived the '70s unhobbled: Pacino, De Niro, and Duvall. All inarguably brilliant, each now following his own path. For Duvall, that means writing, directing, and starring in his own small, interesting films, such as The Apostle (with the occasional paycheque cameo in Gone in 60 Seconds). For De Niro, that means Rocky and Bullwinkle -- i.e., a long and leisurely retirement spent doing the same tics and twitches in about fourteen films a year, his rent-a-behind now firmly situated on his laurels.

Pacino, however, is working harder than ever. He works so hard, he spits. Think about it -- he's actually ramped up the energy since he started. His breakout role was as the near-somnambulant Michael Corleone, a guy who barely raised his voice. Fifteen years later, the older Pacino was tearing through every part like the hyperactive love child of the Tasmanian Devil and Cosmo Kramer.

I, for one, continue to hold out the hope that precisely because he works so hard, eventually good old Al will eventually come around to producing quality stuff. Till then, we ought to sit back and relax. He might not be hitting a very high percentage, but one of the hardest working actors of his generation remains one of the singular entertainment acts of all time. Let me leave you, therefore with another excerpt from our sadly inactive friends at Fametracker:

One of the more curious footnotes to the career of Al Pacino is that he was offered, and turned down, the part of Han Solo in 1977's Star Wars.

Now take a moment to imagine this: the young, pouchy-eyed Pacino reclining in the captain's seat of the Millennium Falcon, enjoying a moment with Chewie. Or the young, pouchy-eyed Pacino shouting "Hoo-wah!" as he zips like a frenetic elf up the ramp of the Falcon, trading blaster shots with attacking stormtroopers. Or the young, pouchy-eyed Pacino flying in like the cavalry in the film's climactic battle and, just before sending Vader's TIE fighter spinning madly into space, screaming, "Shay jello to my wittle vrend!"

Now, we're not saying that this would have been a better movie. But it sure would have been a more interesting one.

Which, really, is the best thing you can say about the very, very great Al Pacino. Or this: If you had to choose the films of one modern actor, and only one, to take with you into desert-island exile, whose oeuvre would you choose?

We submit Al Pacino. Here, you get cinematic art (the first two Godfathers; Dog Day Afternoon); you get high quality, high-satisfaction treats (Glengarry, Glen Ross, The Insider, Donnie Brasco) and you get delicious, delirious cheese (Scarface, The Devil's Advocate, City Hall). What more do you and your volleyball companion need? And, though we haven't seen every single Al Pacino movie, we are confident in asserting this: There's not a boring frame among them.

Enjoy!

The Search Goes On: De Niro and Pacino

My good friend Ella Ampongan mailed me an article in the Los Angeles Times which chronicles the thespic fall from grace of both Robert De Niro and Al Pacino. Now, much like many Filipinos' morbid fascination with vehicular accidents, the descent, by two of the finest actors of their generation, into crass commercialism and unbearably ponderous vanity projects, is something I can't stop writing about. Before I embarrass myself by asking if longtime readers of this blog remember the times when I lamented the fate which these fine gentlemen seem to be hurling themselves to, let me just move on and provide links to fellow cineastes who can't help themselves as well. Here's an oldie on from the wonderful people at Fametracker on Robert De Niro:

When did Robert De Niro stop acting? And when did he start saying yes to everything?

Granted, he's never terrible. In fact, that seems to be his biggest problem. He can show up, do his schtick (the squinting, the shrugging, the head bobbing from side to side), collect his check, and head home.

But when was the last time he surprised you? We don't mean surprised by his choice of role - as in, "De Niro's in Rocky & Bullwinkle !?!?!? Really!?!?!" - but surprised by what he did with the part.

Sam Rothstein in Casino was just an echo of Jimmy Conway in Goodfellas -- which was itself an echo of better work in Raging Bull and The Godfather Part II. Ditto for his parts in Cop Land, Heat, and Jackie Brown. He was intense as Dwight Hansen, the menacing stepdad in This Boy's Life, but hardly revelatory. How about Max Cady, the tattooed psycho in Cape Fear? Or maybe Stanley of Stanley & Iris?

Folks, those roles were more than ten years and twenty-five films ago. Yes, you read that right. Twenty-five films.

Or have you forgotten Backdraft, Sleepers, Night and the City, Mad Dog and Glory, Analyze This (and, while you're at it, That) Heat, The Fan, Great Expectations, Men of Honor, Meet the Parents, 15 Minutes --

15 Minutes (!?!) --

The Score, Ronin, Showtime --

Showtime (!!?!!)

City by the Sea, Godsend, and, finally, the just-opened Shark Tale.

Excuse us. We need to sit down and catch our breath.

It's some kind of testament to De Niro's -- what? Longevity? Reputation? Savvy? Greed? -- that he's managed to make more bad movies in the last decade than most actors have made movies, period. And we know what you're thinking: Those movies weren't terrible, with the exception of Showtime, 15 Minutes, and a few others. Meet the Parents? Funny. Heat? Thrilling-ish. Ronin? Downright serviceable.

Yes, sure, fine. We concede that. We like to see an urn full of someone's mom's ashes smashed in the fireplace and then sniffed at by a fuzzy cat as much as anyone.

But don't you remember when Robert De Niro showing up in a movie was an event? When it meant something? We're not even talking about his heyday as a live wire in the '70s, when he crackled with such committed intensity that he fried every other actor on the set. (Joe Pesci has a made a whole career out of the simple ability to appear onscreen with De Niro and not get sizzled to charcoal.)

We're talking about the 1980s. Hell, even the early '90s. We're talking about a time not that long ago. Back when you'd hear about a film like, say, The Untouchables, and think, "Hmmm." Then you'd hear De Niro was playing Capone -- and packing on the pounds and shaving back his hairline to do it -- and you'd think, "Hey! De Niro! Now that's the stamp of quality!"

Robert De Niro is no longer the stamp of quality.

There's something undeniably ironic about the fact that a generation's most famously committed actor -- the guy who got fat for Raging Bull, the guy who'd self-inflict any physical degradation in the name of his beloved Method -- should spend his retirement as, arguably, the laziest and most formulaic movie star in Hollywood.

To Ate Cecile: yes, I realize that the picture above has nothing to do with the post. And yes, I'm doing Pacino tomorrow. Enjoy!