Why I like workshops: nameplates.
Yeah, I’m Michael Scofield with all them paper cranes. Time for some bad photos from a lazybones traveller.
At the behest and invitation of the Philippine Center for Investigative Journalism, I’m here at Subic Holiday Villas – where everyday’s a holiday – to attend a seminar-workshop on covering automated elections. Again, like the Dumaguete workshop, that doesn’t make me an investigative journalist.
I’d like to think of May 10, 2010 to be the perfect opportunity to write anything other than the obligatory election post, but it seems that for now, my plans are foiled. Yet instead of 3-in-1 coffee to accompany my nameplate, I now have those cute widdle and annoying papew cwanes. Which probably befuddled and baffled the journalist-types who’ll be my companions for the next three days.
The place we’re billeted in is called “Villa Cecilia.” I imagine gardeners named “Alejandro” trimming the lawns, while middle-aged women overcome by lust and frustrated by impotent husbands – let’s call them by the token name “Cassandra” – watch the lawnmowing take place to the tune of totally slowed-down salsa music.
The restaurant/function room, though, was an amazing source of LOL. The theme was supposed to be nostalgia for music… muzak, whatever, but there were just amazing finds on the walls:
Like records from the Village People, for example. Seriously, I never understood the craze for them. And yes, I have the greatest hits of the Village People on my iTunes. Don’t ask, walang basagan ng trip.
Mom never had a thing for Rod Stewart (but she did have something for John Denver… ewww), but I wonder if the leather pants ever made him a Jim Morrison. Or, if he got Sting and Bryan Adams doing the chorus of “Hot Legs” at the reprise of “All For One (And All For Love).”
Ah, The Bee Gees: Dad’s second favorite band, second only to The Eagles. Falsetto-triggering action made possible by those tight white pants Barry Gibb wore in the music video of “Staying Alive.” Seriously, I’d like to post a ton of Bee Gees jokes: Robin the Singing Puppy and Maurice “That Other Bee Gee” Gibb, but there are a lot of jokes that are made in bad taste. Oops…
Ah, Air Fuckin’ Supply… the people behind the national anthem of the Republic of 7-Eleven. I cannot, for the life of me, remember a time where a 7-Eleven was all out of love, with two less lonely people in the world, and it makes you wanna turn around, before forever’s gonna start tonight, and you’ll be holdin’ on forever. The burnination can only be quenched by Slurpees.
Van McCoy: the original (shadada-dap) Mr. Disco. I remember my parents having eight-tracks of “The Hustle” – along with other disco hits of the 70s – on a swiveling cassette container which also includes Kenny Rogers and whoever sang “Let’s Get Physical.” My parents lived their lives in the days of disco, so at the risk of sounding obsolete, they tell me to stay out of it. Really, though, I don’t want to be caught dead underneath a disco ball, with my rigor mortis twitching to the immortal pose of Tony Manero.
Err… who’s this guy?
Anyway it’s gonna be a long day tomorrow, so I might as well snooze. Something tells me my Donna Summer collection is gonna rock the casbah.