Monthly Archives: March 2008

My Mysterious Job

Posted on by Marocharim
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A lot of people are asking me, “What exactly is your job?”  Whenever I say “writer,” my friends back home ask a rather interesting follow-up question:

“What exactly do you write about?”

I’m tongue-tied: but I have signed a confidentiality agreement with my current company that I really can’t divulge anything about what I do.  I can only speak of my job in vague, metaphorical, mysterious-sounding terms that serve to romanticize my cubicle, carpal tunnel syndrome, and dividing my big one-hour break into convenient 15-minute mini-breaks.

I can’t help but think that by some stroke of sheer luck, I have a job that I am actually getting very addicted to.  I’ve never been this addicted to anything since cigarettes, Coke Light (not Coke Zero), and lately, the Ken Lee video at YouTube.  My workmates are very friendly, and I have yet to meet the human equivalent of Catbert.  I don’t have to whine and moan and complain about high noon in Manila because I work in airconditioned comfort.  I actually look forward going to work, save for those freaking MRT rides from Quezon Avenue to Ortigas or Shaw.  Or waking up at 4:30 AM.

The only misgiving I have so far about my job is that I have to commute.  I could, if I wanted to, devote an entire site to how much I loathe and despise the MRT, U-turn slots, and Bayani Fernando’s glamour shots that, again, makes him the perfect spokesman for Kotex (move over, Heart Evangelista).

Other than that, I prefer to keep my job description a mystery.  Unless I get really stressed out one day and have my own “I hate work” story to tell you.

Meat the F*ckers

Posted on by Marocharim
1

Going vegetarian, to me, is synonymous with Armageddon, culling the sinners and the saints, and Kingdom Come.  “Vegetarianism,” like every “-ism,” is an ideological apparatus meant to make cabbages and toge (bean sprouts) the supreme masters of the world.  I won’t have any of it.

But I had to, at least for last night.  Me and a friend went to eat at this vegetarian eatery at Katipunan, just at the edge of UP Diliman.  It took me about 30 minutes to finish off a plate of potato curry and a seafood wrap made out of canned vegemeat.  Thirty minutes is far too long, considering that I can wolf down a McDonald’s cheeseburger and fries in seven minutes flat, which gives me a minute to go up the office elevator and take a seven-minute cigarette break.

When you have a one-hour break for eight hours of cubicle work, you start to divide everything into 15-minute intervals.

I won’t be found in a queue for meals at vegetarian restaurants anytime soon, but a change of diet is just what I may need.

I will never understand vegetarians: back in Baguio, Oh! My Gulay and Bliss Café seem to detoxify you of everything (which basically includes something as toxic as money).  I’ve had the distinct displeasure of eating more than my own fair share of vegemeat before, as well as mushroom burgers in UP Los Baños that supposedly “taste like meat.”  When someone uses the a subordinative conjunction, like the word “like,” it’s a poor substitute for figurative language.

Consider the phrase, “Tastes like crap.”  I think you get the picture.

On Gloria Arroyo and "Anonymous" Posters

Posted on by Marocharim
26

Anonymity breeds, at least in me, contempt.

I’ve been blogging for three years, and save for being known as “Marocharim,” I have always used my real name.  I put my reputation on the line simply because I stand by everything I say.  I’ve been ridiculed for it, like say, in “Patriots4Truth,” who has this to say about poor old me:

Oh btw, Marck Ronald Rimorin, only stupid people publish their real name on public forums like this one. This is not friendster or multiply. It is tantamount to riding a train full of strangers with your name written on your forehead with a permanent marker.

Just be sure that intelligence can be associated to your name. Drop the “taga-UP ako” egotism dahil madami kaming taga-UP dito.

Marck Ronald Rimorin, you think you’re brave for daring us and saying “damn you?” *CHUCKLES* or should I say LOL, that is all you get from the ANONYMOUS me … :)

Hmmm… guilty as charged.  So what can a stupid real-name-using person like me say about this whole fiasco?

Let me reiterate my stand on the issue: Jun Lozada’s testimony is not the reason why GMA should remove herself – or be removed – from office.  The Presidency – as well as every public office – demands transparency, accountability, and responsibility.  “Who should replace Gloria” is out of the question: “who” has never been an issue in the ethics of political life.  Plato is explicit about it: “The ruler should be the best.”  The fact that GMA is not the best person to rule this country right now, in the eyes of some, means that she is not the best.  The fact that we already have a concept of “an alternative to Gloria” means that we, as a people, have already lost confidence in our leader.

The concept of the social contract, as explained by Rousseau and Locke, and to a certain extent even Rawls, is not a question of a person subjugating the people: it is a question of the relationship between sovereign and subject.   “Who will replace Gloria” was never the question in the first place: in fact, it is irrelevant to the debate.  Somebody out there will replace Gloria, and it behooves him or her to ensure that the welfare of the people is the highest concern.  This is a “plain and simple” issue of justice, not personality politics.

*     *     *

Which brings me to “anonymous” posters.  Yes, I happen to agree that there is a perceived “stupidity” for people, like Marck Ronald Rimorin, who use their real names in a public forum.

I’m proud to be one of those stupid people.  I have worked with the school press for 11 years,  blogged for three years, and I make my living as a writer.  Not as “Sexyboy69,” not as “EmoM00n,” not as “tHuGLiFe_187.”  I’m reminded of a certain passage in the blog of Mr. Gerry Alanguilan:

I really don’t put much stock and credibility towards anyone who doesn’t tell me who they are online. Their opinions are just OK, be they praise, criticism, or insult. I can’t deny that these opinions don’t affect me, but it’s just a little frustrating because their thoughts would be of much more worth to me if I knew who they are. I don’t take them seriously, and for the most part, I don’t really make much effort to discuss weighty issues with them, unless I find an opportunity to talk about matters where I perceive my words to be misunderstood, or as jumping points for matters I’ve always wanted to talk about, written for the benefit of everybody, anonymous or not.

An anonymous blogger contends: “It’s not important who I am, but what I say.”

I’m sorry, but for me, that is a load of CRAP.

I have to agree: I admire bloggers like Manolo Quezon, Shari Cruz, Karlo Mongaya, and even Teo Marasigan (whom I have had a few online scuffles with) who use their real names, and in a way they have inspired me to put my own real name in conspicuous places on my blog.  It’s not about having intestines or testicles, but it’s about injecting just a little bit of credibility in writing stuff.

*     *     *

It’s just so damn easy to say something online with people not knowing who you are, isn’t it?  Or hide under the guise of anonymity.  Like, it’s so easy to write down a cheque under the name “Jose Pidal.”  Or it’s so easy to call “Garci” and then end up on national TV years later and mention calling up “a COMELEC commissioner” and say, “I’m sorry.”

Konsepto ng Pila

Posted on by Marocharim
1

   Maiba naman tayo: pagpasensyahan niyo na ang balu-baluktot kong Filipino.

   Sa aking pagmumuni-muni sa mga napag-aralan ko noong kolehiyo, naisip ko na mahilig ang isang sosyolohista o antropologo sa malalalim na dahilan ng mga problemang panlipunan.  Ngunit ang mga sopistikadong pagkakahulugan sa mga problemang panlipunan ay karaniwa’y hindi ang tamang pagkakahulugan.  Kungsabagay, madali lang naman sisihin ang “Sistema” sa lahat ng problema natin: di rin ba tayo sistema?  Istruktura na lang ba ang nagdidikta sa atin?  Sadya na bang ganito ang krisis ng ating pagkatao, na wala tayong kinalaman sa problema ng ating sariling istruktura?  Biktima na lang nga ba tayo lagi?

   Hindi ko yan kailanman matatanggap, ke sosyolihista ako o manunulat.

   Di ko rin matanggap na walang disiplina ang Pilipino.  Hindi ba disiplina ang magising nang maaga, mag-overtime sa trabaho, o magpuyat sa pag-aaral?  Sa akin lang naman, wala lang tayong konsepto ng pila.

   Gasgas na linya, pero yun nga yung masaklap, yun yung masakit.  Wala tayong konsepto ng pila.  Noong Lunes, nagkaroon ng welga ng mga pampasaherong sasakyan.  Payag na sana akong mahuli sa trabaho dahil walang sasakyan, pero meron namang MRT.  Kaya lang naman ako nahuli ng ilang minuto – at minu-minuto ding kaltas sa sweldo iyon – dahil walang konsepto ng pila sa MRT ke may welga o wala.  Walang diretsong pila, walang bangking na pila, walang pila.

   Kanina, pipila din sana ako sa may ATM para mag-withdraw ng pera.  Dalawang daan lang naman sanang ilalabas ko dahil sa katapusan pa ako susuweldo, at kumakalam na rin sikmura ko sa 12 oras ng trabaho.  Nakapila na ako’t lahat lahat sa may ATM, pero biglang may babaeng sumingit.  Ayun: bigla na lang sumingit lahat.  Nawala na parang bula ang puwesto ko sa pila.

   Natanong ko sa sarili ko: Pilipino pa rin ba ako dahil may konsepto ako ng pila at dahil pumipila ako?  Parang masakit yung tanong, pero gaano nga ba ka-totoo iyon para sa aming may pasensya at respetong natitira sa sarili para magkaroon ng espasyo?  Mas masakit na tanong: ano ba talaga ang pila?  Bakit ba kinakailangan pa minsan na lagyan ng mga pang-harang ang mga lugar na dinadaluyan ng tao?

   Minsan naiisip ko kung talaga bang problema natin ang NBN-ZTE, o kung meron pa ba tayong pag-asang manalo sa Miss World.  Kumpara sa malaking problema na wala tayong konsepto ng pila, parang mani-mani rin lang pala ang kurapsyon sa gobyerno.  Kung ang “pila” ay nangunguhulugang “disiplina,” sus, ang laki ng problema natin.  Di talaga tayo uusad bilang isang bansa.  Bakit, kailan pa ba tayo gumawa ng masama para bigyan ng “disiplina?”

   Sabi nila, sa kangkungan na pupulutin ang Pilipino.  Mga kapwa ko Pinoy, may pila din po doon.  Sana doon, malaman na natin ang halaga ng pila.

Consumable Yellow Liquids

Posted on by Marocharim
2

Yesterday, me and a few friends went for a night out at Gateway.  For one, it’s Jamie’s birthday.  For two, me and Erik have literally been hustling Cheryl twice over to NAIA only to realize that her flight was scheduled for 1 AM; apparently, airports use a 24-hour notation.  For three, we all wished we were at the Incubus concert, but lo and behold, they came a few days ahead of payday.

Since it was a coffee session that ended up with five of us drinking three buckets of beer, I find that coffee is not exactly something I’d be drinking a lot of while I’m here.  If there’s any place built for the massive consumption of brewed coffee, it’s definitely my hometown of Baguio City.  Manila, in contrast, is a place built for the massive consumption of cold drinks.

My “optimism” and “perkiness” irritates Che a bit: I’m not the kind of person who would cheer someone up, whether it’s a missed flight, a second prostate, a third nipple, or the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.  I blame this all on energy drinks: Extra Joss, Sting, Cobra, Bacchus, V-On.  Not without side-effects, though: save for being a happy jackass, I threw up my lunch this afternoon.  I called up a friend, who said that I only have my happy sachets and bottles of “energy” to blame for hurling out a Crispy Chicken Burger and bringing me a step closer to a stomach ulcer.

“So what do you recommend?” I asked.

“Stay off the caffeine and drink some damn water,” he replied.  “Better yet, buy a sports drink.”

Freaking hell, I hate MiniStop.

Drops of Jupiter (A Brand of Enema)

Posted on by Marocharim
2

As you may have already guessed, this entry is all about trains.  This entry runs on two beliefs:

  1. That “enema” is a good metaphor for the Metro Rail Transit (MRT), and;
  2. If a man makes a negative remark (even in passing) about the opposite sex, he is automatically a “sexist chauvinist pig.”

The MRT is the most convenient way for me to get anywhere: by “anywhere,” I mean stations between North Avenue and Shaw.  In a previous entry, I described the MRT as such:

The Metro Rail Transit, or what I call the mechanical enema of Manila’s public transport system, is meant for people who are already familiar with it.  The MRT is one fast piece of shit, but it’s still pretty much a piece of shit when it comes to passenger comfort and convenience.

Let’s start with Point #1.  Me and my new workmates were discussing the possibility of writing about enemas awhile back, then it hit me: I hit the nail right on the head when I described the MRT as “enema.”  The MRT was supposed to cleanse the congested bowels (metaphorically) of the Metro Manila transport system, but it effectively became the bowels (figuratively) of the Metro Manila transport system.  It’s mechanical enema: it’s hard going in, and it’s a bit hard going out.  Holding it in is different from expelling it.  To get in is torture: to get out is relief.

Not that I’ve had an enema before, but this feeling was explained very thoroughly and in graphic detail by my dad, who had an enema before his urologist examined his prostate.  No offense, Dad.

*     *     *

Which brings me to Point #2: any critique, constructive or otherwise, will be perceived of by a closed-minded feminist bitch (not beeyotch, not biatch, I definitely mean “bitch”) that I’m an enemy to womynkind.  What I observed is that a crowded cab in the MRT is not necessarily caused by the volume of passengers, but ladies cramming themselves into the rear passenger cabs.

The problem is rather obvious at this point: the front cabs of the MRT are designated for the elderly, children, and female passengers.  We male passengers ride at the back cabs.  An elementary school analogy would suffice: woman = front, man = back.  Now before you start wrongfully accusing me of being a deluded civil rights activist who demands equal opportunity for marginalized men, this is a simple issue of comfort.  The other day, I was crammed into the MRT (as usual) when this woman beside me started muttering about how crowded it was and why the men weren’t yielding their seat to her.

Like… yeah, right.  The back cabs of an MRT, my lady friends, are a man’s world.  This is where sexist and gay-sounding figures of speech like, “Man-to-man” and “It’s a man thing” apply.  Chivalry died with Launcelot and Guenevere.  Deal with it, and go ride out front.

“Chauvinist sexist pig?”  Well, oink to you too.