The Marocharim Experiment

Up the Ironies, c. 2002

Dulce Et Decorum Est Pro Stefano Mori

By on July 12th, 2009 in Entertainment | Leave a Comment

To paraphrase Wilfred Owen: “My friends, you would not tell with such high zest, to fans ardent for that desperate glory / The Old Lie; Dulce et decorum est, pro Stefano Mori.”

I’ve been getting quite a lot of comments and e-mails from that Stefano Mori entry I wrote some months back, most of whom are from Borj fangirls. If I were a mega-SEO ratings-happy blogger, I would take consolation in being number #12 on a Google search for “Stefano Mori.” Heck, I’m #1 on a Google image search for “Stefano Mori.” That has to count for something, right? See, there is a market for #stefanomori.

Nobody’s looking for Red Sternberg or Bojo Molina, and everybody misses Rico Yan. Yet in terms of “disappearing acts” in Pinoy showbiz, nobody – and I mean nobody – can top the public demand for the return of Stefano Umberto Mori.

I suppose I’m better off wasting weekend petiks resources on uncovering the whereabouts of Amanda Page, but the fans must not be disappointed.

We all know that Stefano is one-third of JCS with John Prats and Carlo Aquino, but while John and Carlo have been enjoying their runs with showbiz, it seems that Stefano just disappeared from the limelight. Stefano’s last appearance was in 2002′s “I Think I’m In Love,” opposite Joyce Jimenez and Piolo Pascual (his tandem was Nancy Castiglione, I think), and was never heard from again. Unless, of course, someone brings up his name during a conversation.

Some theories have been brought up on the whereabouts of Stefano:

  • Some showbiz pundits have pointed out that one of the things that may have contributed to Stefano’s “vanishing” from showbiz was his lack of marketability (although there are many Roni-Borj fans out there).
  • Many jokes have been made at the expense of Stefano Mori’s talent.
  • Many jokes have been made at the expense of Stefano Mori’s nose.

I sifted through a bunch of Facebook profiles (facepalm, it’s like… stalking or something) and found out that Stefano is now based in Texas. Post-showbiz life? Making other career and life options outside of the volatile world of showbiz? Or is this just a way to heighten the anticipation for his return. Or for the G-Mik reunion. You never know.

I take back everything I said about Stefano’s comeback making as much of a small ripple as it would if Dranreb Belleza or Jovit Moya would make their return. If the tone of the responses are to be believed (and they should), the return of Stefano Mori would be THE showbiz comeback of the year.

So here’s a public appeal to Ton-Ton… I mean, Stefano Mori. Your legions of fans are eagerly anticipating your return to showbiz. I can see it now: the return of JCS, autograph signings, being cast as the son of Christopher de Leon in a soap opera, movie deals, FAMAS. I’m highly doubtful about sex scandals, although I’m betting on tons of media mileage.

Would Stefano make his return, seven years after his last appearance on TV? We never know. At least I’ve been having more luck with that than, say, looking for the whereabouts of one Jograd dela Torre.

Shirt the Shocker

By on July 12th, 2009 in Life | 2 Comments

One day, you’ll understand.  One day, you’ll have kids of your own and understand why I did what I had to do.  The fatherly sermon translates almost immediately to Darth Vader versus Luke Skywalker… I am your father.  Search your feelings, you know it to be true.  It is your destiny!  Join me, and together we can rule the galaxy as father and son!

Rather than fall into a bottomless pit in the vast expanse of space, I found myself wearing the latest in fatherly fashion: collared polo shirts.

NOOOOOOO!!!

Dad disapproves of my “fashion sense,” because I come across as a grungy suicidal teenager in the throes of moral crisis.  “It’s too… you,” he says.  “You sometimes have to make compromises to succeed in life.  It all starts with presentation.  So cut your hair.”

I shook my head like a grungy suicidal dog making a choice between Kibble and its own poop.  “No.”

“Would you at least try… dressing up decently?”

“No.”  The response came from a guy who reported to his job interview in jeans, and can count the number of times he wore slacks in his adult life in one hand.  “What next, you expect me to wear creased jeans and carry my cellphone in a carrying case on my belt?”

“Well, yes.”

Shit, I said.  I can imagine myself 30 years from now with a combover, Lacoste polo shirts, Attitude slacks creased and folded at the bottom, and shiny leather shoes.  I’ll end up being the archetype of Every Dad on the Face of This Planet, raising my children to the taste of the Sunday Happy Meal.  Or getting that evil eye from my wife if she sees me ogling some lady at the mall.  Or reeking of the smell of Ben-Gay.  Or meeting a balding acquaintance, dressed in the same way as I am, and say, Oy, pare, kumusta na?  Long time no see, how’s the business going, partner?

My future just flashed before my eyes, and I don’t like it one bit.

“Dad, clothes don’t make the man,” I replied.  He looked at me with that particularly odd-bordering-on-disgusted look on his face.  Black shirt, faded jeans, boots, trench coat.  My hair was all right, if not for handfuls of shampoo and a pass with a plastic hairbrush.  That was “all right.”

“Would you just… get another jacket?”

I went back to my room and found my black fleece jacket.  “Okay, let’s go.”

“You look like an addict.”

“No I don’t, I’m just being me.”

“One day, Marck, you’ll understand the virtues of looking presentable.”

“No, he won’t,” my brother said, dressed in the same way Dad was.