JB

1982, heard Jackson Browne's top ten single off the Fast Times at Ridgemont High soundtrack "Somebody's Baby" on the hippest radio station of my generation - 99.5 RT.

1983, Lawyers in Love was released. Purchased the cassette tape of JB's seventh offering at the then fledgling JB Music Store. When I asked a sales lady if they have Jackson Browne's latest album in stock, all the clueless young lass could utter was "You mean, Jackson Five?"

I lived and breathed Lawyers in Love in the past. It was my coming of age album. I played it to death, wore out a couple of copies, memorized every cut, air guitared to "For a Rocker," sang along to "Downtown" and at one time, believed every line of "Knock on Any Door," "Cut It Away" and "Tender is the Night" as gospel truth. 

Those days man, those days...

Cuba Libre

In 1997, guitar player extraordinaire and genre chameleon Ry Cooder flew all the way to Cuba to round-up and record an album with surviving musicians of the pre-Castro Havana club scene

The end result - Buena Vista Social Club - garnered rave reviews upon its release.

But an album sung entirely in Spanish? That's the big question mark. Well, for me at least.

Not anymore.

If I can listen to the ethereal world music of Enya and to the bossa nova of Antonio Carlos Jobim, then why not to some son, bolero and guajira?

I believe now that music has this unique way of touching the inner core of a listener regardless of genre, age and of course, language. 

So, what are you waiting for? Fix your favorite Cuban concoction, sit back, relax and enjoy the music! 

The July 16, 1990 Killer Quake

Image Source: cityofpines.com

The July 16, 1990 killer quake came like a thief in the middle of the night. It shook the Philippine archipelago and left many structures in ruins. It served as a reminder to all of mankind that we are all but helpless against nature's wrath. When it hit us, I was smiling at first but a few seconds later, that smile was wiped out and was replaced by terror.

I'll never forget that fateful day. I just came from a successful job hunting. My uncle and I were having a conversation about it when the wooden floors of the house started creaking. He told me to stop twiddling my feet. Told him I'm not. The ground beneath us appeared to be shaking, rising and swaying left to right.

I tried to stand up but to no avail. My uncle was able to grab the portable transistor radio but no one was on the air. I mean, under such circumstances, who'd dare to do a live broadcast? The anchors surely must have scampered outside their respective stations for safety.

We decided to stay inside the house because it's a lot safer we reckoned. It was an old house made of wood. As we all know, these structures go with the flow unlike concrete structures that tend to fight the impact thus making it more susceptible to collapsing. It could have lasted less than a minute but it seemed like an eternity.

I proceeded to an aunt's house to check out the news. There was no traffic, the streets were practically deserted. It was like a scene straight out of the film The Day the Earth Stood Still. My cousins and I were glued to our seats listening intently to the extended coverage of the quake.

I had a hard time sleeping that night for fear of another tremor. Thank God there weren't any. Still, I was unable to shake the fear off and practically stayed awake till the wee hours of the morning. I really couldn't wait for the sunrise to assure myself that a new day had indeed dawned.

The Waiting

The waiting is the hardest part...

So goes a line from one of Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers' most beloved hits. A line I can't take off my head after being put in the freezer the moment our biggest client pulled the plug on their brand awareness campaign.

The long break was full of uncertainty. I pondered on the kind of future (if there were any) that awaits this fifty year old worker. It was mentally draining to say the least.

Am I through with the industry? Is it time to start a business? Any other way to generate income? Questions, questions aplenty.

After thirty days of inactivity, I decided to hunt for another job. I'm done waiting. I reluctantly printed out a copy of my resume to try my luck with a prominent BPO company.

Fortunately, I passed the exam and interviews and was done after more than seven tedious hours of, yeah, waiting. The caveat though is they won't take me in unless I'm officially separated from my old employer.

With that in mind, I headed towards the direction of our office which incidentally is just a few blocks away. Somebody's usually in at half past eight. Perfect timing I said to myself.

I reached the building still with a few minutes to spare. To kill time, I chatted with the guards and again waited.

At around nine o'clock, I texted my co-worker and asked if he's still coming in. Got a response not long after but it turned out he's out on sick bay. Told him no problem, everyone's coming in after an hour anyway.

So I waited, yet again.

But at half past ten, I finally gave-up. There was no one in sight. Everybody must've been bitten by the the holiday bug since they were coming off the day after the Memorial Day celebration in the U.S.

The very next day, I was notified to come back to work because an old client of ours just renewed their contract. For how long, I really don't know. Again, all I can do is wait.

Wish List

A part of my ever-growing mini collection.

After a cursory glance at the eighty plus more titles on my CD wishlist, I couldn't help but feel discouraged for I have this gut feeling that it would remain that way - a wish list.

It also doesn't help that more and more titles have now joined the ranks of the elite. Yes, even albums I have scoffed at in the past - Nirvana's Nevermind, Pearl Jam's Ten and Radiohead's OK Computer.

If I were rich, eighty would be a breeze. There are, however, far more pressing needs that I have to prioritize i.e. supplies/groceries, home mortgages, monthly bills etc.

Lately, I've pared down my orders, avoided impulse buys and shied away from local sales or used CD fairs. Nowadays, I get everything exclusively via Amazon with the help of a couple of fellows I know from an audio and video forum.

And why not when you have Deep Purple's Machine Head and Made in Japan selling for as low as $3.99? It's definitely a no-brainer.

So the best way to go about this is to take it one step or rather one batch at a time. Having said that, I couldn't wait for the arrival of my latest haul!  

The Great Gig in the Sky

The throng was bristling in anticipation for what could be the mother of all gigs.

Renowned music critic Lester Bangs stood forlornly in a corner at press row. Casey Kasem, doing radio anchor duties for WHVN announced the arrival of Batch 2016-17 composed of David Bowie, Prince, Glen Frey, George Michael, Leon Russell, Al Jerraeu and Chuck Berry. "Wanna' have a good time? Brace yourselves ladies and gents for a whale of a ride!" howled Wofman Jack on the PA monitor.

Seen mingling with the crowd and fellow artists were Lou Reed and Nico. Both were dapper in their velvet suits given no doubt by fashion impresario Andy Warhol. Grunge meisters Kurt Cobain and Scott Weiland ditched their bandanas, flannels and corduroys in favor of plain white shirts and loafers. The duo looked surprisingly in the pink of health. Keith Moon and John Entwistle were huffing about probably wondering where's Roger and Pete.

Then, the lights went off.

There was a deafening roar that greeted pioneering guitar wiz Les Paul when he took the stage by his lonesome playing a haunting intro of the day's initial salvo. Jeff Buckley came up and everyone stood up to sing along to "Hallelujah."

After the second verse, he paused and said "Here's the guy who wrote this masterpiece, Mr. Leonard Cohen!" as he retreated backstage where father Tim is waiting.

Next up, a pair of Brits were testing their grooves - Jack Bruce and John Bonham. Jimi Hendrix joined the fray with a mournful sounding lead guitar part. Janis Joplin jumped right in to do the stirring vocals of "Summertime."

How about some horns? You asked for it, you got it with no less than Miles Davis, Canonball Aderley and John Coltrane alternating on trumpet and sax!  It was like the "Blue Note" era all over again.

Doors bandmates Jim Morrison and Ray Manzarek were jumping up and down. The quiet Beatle George Harrison was in near tears. The fifth and the sixth - Brian Epstein and George Martin nodded repeatedly in approval.

Muddy Waters and Johnny Winter had a reunion of sorts with a blistering version of "Hoochie Coochie Man" together with Duanne Allman on slide and Ronnie Hawkins on harmonica. Tim Hardin, Sandy Denny and Harry Chapin did a folk set, a prelude to Pete Seeger and Woody Guthrie's reading of "Turn, Turn, Turn."

Otis Redding and Dusty Springfield did a medley of their hits and a jaw dropping duet of "Respect." The King of Pop, Michael Jackson moonwalked to "I Want You Back" all the way up to the clouds while the Chairman of the Board, Frank Sinatra together with the Rat Pack had a showstopper capped by "Strangers in the Night." Elvis Presley, Johnny Cash, John Lennon with Bill Evans on piano solemnly closed the wondrous show with "Amazing Grace."

IceBorg

A Bjorn Borg hollow face

Do you like tennis? Asked Chris Rea from the title track of his 80's album Tennis.

But hey, I won't discuss the said album. I'm taking a breather from music this time. For this entry,  I'd like to take a look back at one of my boyhood heroes.

As a fourteen year old high school sophomore back in 1980-81, we didn't have cable TV yet. No ESPN, Star, and Fox Sports. In fact we only had five, I repeat, five channels on local television - 2, 4, 7, 9 and 13.

We tuned in most frequently to the last three channels for popular series like the Six Million Dollar Man, MASH and Buck Rogers in the 25th Century. The channel that had the lion's share of our viewing though had to be channel 9, then known as RPN-9.

They had movies, hit series, specials and most importantly sports programs. They were the first home to Asia's first pay for play league, the PBA as well as to the widely popular ABC's Wide World of Sports that aired in the morning right up till noon.

One of the many oft replayed feature was the classic 1980 Wimbledon finals between John McEnroe and of course, the subject of this entry, no other than Swedish tennis hero - Bjorn Borg.

It was a finale for the ages. Many considered it to be the greatest in the history of the All-England Club. The brash, volatile and then young upstart from New York aiming to dethrone the then four time champ.

It was also a study in contrast - fire and ice they were dubbed by many sports scribes. You have the temperamental hot headed Yankee on one end of the court and the mild mannered, reserved Swede on the other. Mac was all out aggression while Bjorn was always cool and calculating.

It was truly a championship for the ages.

The two combatants split the first two sets. Mac was so dominant in the opener. I can still vividly recall that wicked McEnroe serve. The angles he created and the speed he generated gave the champ more than he could handle. Borg, who has one of the best, if not the best returns in tennis finally got his groove back in the third set and was conceivably playing better until the middle of the fourth. There I was in front of our old Zenith black and white television set saying to myself that it's just a matter of time.

But lo and behold. Borg squandered a match point and McEnroe forced the now legendary tiebreaker. It was "the" tiebreaker that gave us more drama than what the most popular soap operas could offer. Momentum shifted from one player to another. Just when you thought it's over, one player saves a set or a match point. One great shot only to be followed by an even greater shot. And after what seemed like an eternity, we go to a fifth and deciding set.    

The fifth was another humdinger of a set but in the end as fate would have it, Bjorn Borg was able to whip that famous two fisted backhand pass and it sailed past a waiting McEnroe at the net for the win.

Bjorn then fell to his knees, fist pumped and shouted to the heavens. He has captured a then unheard of fifth consecutive Wimbledon championship! 
    
That year, I bought a shirt from Bjorn's clothing line for my Christmas get-up. A trading card of his was on the cover of my notebook. I tried to emulate his demeanor and style when playing badminton or hand ball pelota with my brother. For an informal theme in our English class, I composed "The Wimbledon Champion."

I had no inkling whatsoever that it was my hero's last hurrah.

I thought Bjorn Borg was unbeatable. My grandfather saw otherwise. He said the match indicated that Borg's reign was about to end and next year would be a passing of the torch. I argued of course.

A year later, I realized that a fifteen year old's biased mind was no match against a fiftysomething's wisdom.

True enough, McEnroe claimed his first Wimbledon title that very same year and then broke Bjorn's and my heart again later at Flushing Meadows where I thought Borg would exact revenge, return the favor en route to capturing his first ever US Open crown.

I was wrong and my grandpa simply said: "I told you so..."

A year and a half later, Bjorn Borg officially announced his retirement.

Perhaps, Bjorn saw the writing on the wall the way my grandpa did. More than anybody, he knew that his time was up and maybe, just maybe, he couldn't bear the thought of playing second fiddle to anyone.

After Borg faded into tennis oblivion, I lost the desire to learn the rudiments and the love of the game.

The Devil Inside

To buy or not to buy.

I'm still in a quandary on whether to start a vinyl collection or not. On a previous entry, I've already written about my vinyl roots and the reasons why I'm hesitant to tread the analog route.

Up to now, the itch remains unscratched, afraid that it might turn into a full-blown black wax addiction but like gravity, I'm being pulled down by some unknown dark forces to finally give in and join the growing multitude of analog returnees and converts.

These days, I'm desperately trying to save some moolah for an entry level integrated amp. The prominent brands being considered in order of preference are Marantz, N A D and Rotel. All three, incidentally, have that much sought after phono stage in their arsenal.

After buying an amp, I guess it'll be back to a steady diet of 7 Eleven coffee and leftover from breakfast pan de sals in order to raise funds for a decent turntable.

The devil inside me though is whispering rather convincingly:

"Your old amp's still fine. You can now buy a turntable, a phono preamp and some LPs at Cubao X and you're there. Go boyo!"

You little devil!

Tempting, really tempting...  

Video Killed...

The first music video shown on MTV was the Buggles' iconic and aptly titled single "Video Killed the Radio Star." From then on, the once fledgling channel would become the de facto visual arm of the music industry and in effect an integral part of pop culture. 

Michael Jackson, the late great King of Pop and MTV trailblazer, immensely benefited from the new medium and so did innovative new wave acts like Talking Heads, Duran Duran, and Split Enz. 

Sadly, MTV also had its fair share of casualties, most notably Christopher Cross and Billy Squier. Make no mistake about it, the two were no one-hit wonders at the time. Both were bonafide solo acts with million selling albums and hit singles to boot at the peak of their respective careers.

What happened?

Christopher Cross' self-titled debut album topped the charts, spawned three top ten singles and also won Grammy album of the year honors but by the time his sophomore effort Another Page came out, his popularity was already on the wane. 

With the advent of music videos, being "that" voice on the radio simply wasn't enough anymore. Then again, how can he compete aesthetically with the telegenic Brits led by John Taylor, Tony Hadley et al?

Billy Squier on the other hand suffered the same fate primarily due to an ill-conceived music video. If you want to know why, go ahead and watch "Rock Me Tonite." Whoever conceptualized that music video deserved to be hung upside down! For heaven's sake, the rock star and guitar hero lying on satin sheets, gyrating, prancing around in pink tank tops amidst a backdrop of pastel colors?

He would eventually go on record to disown the cursed video. Capitol Records' ploy perhaps was for him to gain more female following a la Rick Springfield. After all it was the 80's, right? Not!

Video killed the radio star. Video killed the rock star.

Pizza Hut Days Revisited

That's me in green shirt with fellow Pizza Hut employees.

Ermita was once considered as the premiere red-light district of Metro Manila. There were bars left and right like Firehouse, Superstar, Flames, etc. It's such an unlikely place to put up a branch of a then booming pizza chain but there it was, right at the heart of Sin City.

Before becoming an official Pizza Hut-Ermita crew, let me tell you first how I was hired by Progressive Development Corporation, hut's parent company.

The first step I took was an in-store interview, a second one at the home office and a written exam. Unfortunately, I didn't pass that last hurdle. I was crushed and sulked for a few days. After the initial shock subsided, I realized that there were other jobs out there.

A few weeks later, an ad appeared on the pages of the Manila Bulletin: The Araneta Group of Companies' security agency called Five Star was on the lookout for a new breed of security guards. The chosen few will be trained at the company's expense and will man select Araneta Center establishments like the Araneta Coliseum, Ali Mall, Farmers Market, Fiesta Carnival and of course Pizza Hut.

Since no licenses and extensive experience were required, I decided to try my luck. The screening was at the Aurora Towers, the same building where you can find the PH offices. I breezed through the written exam and passed it with flying colors. Only a few of us survived and made the cut.

My fortunes drastically changed during the interview proper. I don't know if I impressed the heck out of the HR rep but the lady did look at me with an approving eye. And as the interview dragged on, my fellow applicants couldn't help but wonder what's taking so long.

I felt that the said HR personnel had something in her mind and my hunch was proven right when she excused herself to confer with a colleague. She pointed to my direction and it was obvious they were talking about me. Upon her return, she asked if I'm really serious about this thing because if not, they can refer me to their fast expanding food business. Told her I am and that not too long ago my application with the latter didn't prosper.

Again, she excused herself and went into another room. It appeared they were pulling out old files. She came back with my previously rejected application and then asked if I'm still open to working as a service crew. It was a done deal the moment I said yes.

A couple of months later, I was still in limbo while waiting for that all-important call. Bored, penniless but nevertheless armed with a new found confidence, I went back to roam the city jungles hoping to land a job somewhere.

Lady luck smiled and I got a relatively easy gig at Plaza Fair, a popular but second-rate department store back in the day. I inked a mere five month pact but didn't mind because it was just a stopgap measure.

Barely on my second week of work as a sales clerk, I received a notice from the PDC administration office to attend the week long orientation for Pizza Hut new recruits!

The orientation was easy pickings for me but the actual training was hellish to say the least. I got my baptism of fire at SM City and hopped from one branch to another until the completion of our designated store.

On December 1990, I was among the pioneers who opened PH-Ermita.

Being a newbie, I was overshadowed by more experienced fellow crews at first but it didn't take that long for me to prove my mettle. Our acting store manager was more than kind enough to help me out. She took me under her wings and I didn't disappoint. I was subsequently voted as Crew of the Month twice in 1991 and then designated as crew trainor upon the new program's launch.

I was on the right track and had my sights on the ultimate prize: Promotion and become a part of the management team.

At that time, the compensation was quite lucrative. More than five figures in salaries and perks. It was really within reach and ripe for the picking until that unforeseen incident known as "The Anomalous Pizza Order Entry" came along.

The said brouhaha wherein a pizza was about to be delivered without an official order slip or docket as we called it triggered my transfer to another branch and eventual albeit unofficial resignation.

All that was required of me was to name the culprits and MTs here I come. I admitted to one thing and one thing only, I prepared the pizza order in question since I was stationed at the "maketable" and that was my only participation. I knew that a couple of my fellow crews were about to make some money out of it but sorry, I ain't no snitch.

Everyone involved, the CSR, rider/delivery guy and myself were questioned and we didn't wilt even under immense pressure. As a result, management couldn't prove a damn thing. No one was punished or axed. In local lawyer's parlance, "absuwelto," or so we thought.

In hindsight, I may have abetted a wrongdoing and should have sided with management. Maybe I was too naive back then. We all thought we could make a fool out of our superiors and still get rewarded in the end.

Things would never be the same again after that. Management started to crack the whip and showed us who's really in charge.

First, they installed a new set of managers in our branch. Then, they broke the core of our batch. Almost all of us were transferred to some other branches in rapid succession. Last but not the least, my quest hit a dead end and I had no other recourse but to leave and bid my managerial aspirations adieu.

Mystery Tune

A friend of mine from Guam once compiled a killer mixed CD for my listening pleasure.

As expected, most of the tracks were classic rock staples.Then, I heard this bluesy, chugging along little ditty that's unfamiliar to my ears.

I thought it was a Steve Miller track but my friend said it wasn't. For some reasons though, he can't remember not only the title of the song but the artist as well. "It's always on classic rock radio anyway." was all he could say.

The mystery tune? Listen and rock on!

The Lennon Masterpieces

Spotty as hell.

That in a nutshell was how critics described John Lennon's post-Beatles work and I couldn't help but agree.

Sure, Plastic Ono Band and Imagine were high watermarks, Lennon's yin and yang so to speak. What followed though was a series of mediocre albums that had sparks rather than sustained brilliance unbefitting of the man who once was the other half of arguably the greatest songwriting tandem of all time.

The stark soundscape of Plastic Ono Band gave it an enduring appeal. I'm more than glad the 2010 remaster retained that demo like quality because John didn't intend this to be an ear candy.

I remember the many late nights spent by this once pimply teenager listening intently albeit uncomprehendingly to this Dr. Janov's primal scream therapy inspired album.

The semi sacrilegious "God" and achingly tender "Love" stood out but I was more than shell-shocked after all those incessant screaming on "Mother," and "Well, Well, Well."

Many years later, I realized that this was a seminal work of a troubled and confused genius trying to come to terms with his past, present and future. It's visceral, raw, harrowing and even painful to listen to but once you get past that initial shock, you'd certainly be more appreciative of this album.

On Imagine, John's back with his sardonic wit, punkish anger and biting lyrics.

He allowed producer Phil Spector to apply just the right amount of production sheen to balance the inherent darkness of the songs. 

Don't be misled by the serenity of the ubiquitous title track, the vulnerability of "Jealous Guy" and the playful and at times nursery rhyme sounding "Oh Yoko" because he was spewing fire and venom on the scathing "Gimme Some Truth," and the anti-social "I Don't Want to be a Soldier Mama."

Reportedly irked by some tracks off Paul McCartney's album Ram, he didn't mince words on "How Do You Sleep," a stinging response and a ferocious assault on his former songwriting partner and bandmate.

A case can still be made that Imagine is John's best work ever. Never mind if it's sugarcoated in some ways because the personal yet universal message of peace and love still ring true even up to this day. It's timeless and not just some snapshot of a now forgotten era.

Changing of the Guards

The new man on the block.

I lost faith in the Philippine electoral system many years ago. 1992 to be exact, the first presidential election after EDSA.

The late former Senate President Jovito Salonga and his then running mate Nene Pimentel were my bets for president and veep respectively.

The duo offered an honest to goodness alternative to the political landscape back then and conducted their campaign based on issues and ideals. But still, they lost and lost badly. I was flabbergasted with the outcome and vowed never to vote again.

To this day, our party system remains a big joke. Truth is there's no real parties out there. What we have is merely a collection of fair weathered friends, old faces, soon to be "trapos" and turncoats. Heck, the candidates themselves can't even distinguish their party's platform from their program of government.

Yes, some twenty four years later, I still don't see any reason why I should reconsider my stand.

There's no need to state what's happening nowadays because I might offend the sensibilities of some relatives and friends.

After this administration, we'll have another changing of the guards then another and that's about it. Nothing more, nothing less.

An apathetic reaction one might say but that's just me.

Sunrise, Sunset

My niece, barely two years old then.

Got a bit misty eyed and overly sentimental when I saw a clip of my one and only niece belting out the lead parts of Bruno Mars' "Just the Way You Are" along with her co-workers on YouTube.

Yes, she's the same little girl who used to sing along with me to Paul Westerberg's "First Glimmer" and Alanis Morissette's "Ironic" all grown up now.

Reminds me of a song from the musical Fiddler on the Roof.

Sunrise, sunset
Swiftly fly the years
One season following another
Laden with happiness and tears...

Never cared for this song that much until now. Perhaps we all see things at a different perspective once we're older.

Oh, how time flies.

A Middle-aged Volleyball Fan

My wife and I enjoying the live volleyball game.

The moment Ateneo De Manila University Lady Eagles top gun Alyssa Valdez rammed that Season 76 championship clinching spike against the De La Salle University Lady Spikers, I was among the thousands in front of their TV sets to jump, fist pump, and shout as the Lady Eagles finally claimed their first ever women's volley title.

How come a middle aged guy with no affiliation whatsoever with the winning school was whooping it up?

Why would someone who once deemed the sport too unmanly in his younger years like it?

Let's go back and back and back...

As a teenager, I played hoops. I had a decent shooting touch, average passing and rebounding skills and a tremendous vertical leap. However, I couldn't utilize my left hand to the hilt and was way too slow to be a two guard.

My signature and much criticized fade away shot befuddled many defenders. I patterned it after seeing PBA legend Atoy Co's signature move hundreds of times but realized years later that it was more akin to that of Alvin Patrimonio's low post turnaround shot. No kidding, my younger brother can attest to that!

Basketball though wasn't allowed at school grounds. An old ten foot high backboard with no rim and net stood there by its lonesome as a silent witness to many fist fights among the students inside the campus.

Boys my age were then content to play "sipa" to while away their vacant periods. That too was eventually banned and I was even among those who were required to squat for an eternity as a punishment for defying the ban.

Not long after the start of my freshman year, a net was placed in the middle of the school grounds. It wasn't for tennis, not for badminton and definitely not for sepak takraw.

What's it for?

Well, what else but volleyball! The lone sport our school excelled in back in the days of side-outs, underhand serves and "balik-balik" brand of play. Our players were good enough to be champions in our town and reach the BULPRISA - the Bulacan Private Schools Association meet.

Curious to find out why the crowd was starting to swell, I craned my neck to get a glimpse of our bets. It was a mix of seniors, juniors, and sophomores. Among them is an aunt of mine who's quite tall and lanky. A perfect volleybelle specimen. The only caveat is she can't jump that high and neither were the others. Our team coached by my uncle topped the town tourneys up until my senior year.

Then there's those summer inter barrio leagues where our very own "kabarrios" played. Led by another aunt who is Mika Reyes' grandma, our girls played against the creme of our town's crop of volleybelles amidst chants of "daya" and "bunot" because we fielded in former Far Eastern University varsity players and  reserves who had seen better days. Be that as it may, they were still head and shoulders above this kind of competition. Their opponents simply didn't stand a chance.

Those were my earliest exposure to the sport that is now enjoying a huge following. That's how I came to love it even at this late stage of my life. Of course, there was a time I completely forgot about it much like my passion for basketball.

It eventually came back to my subconscious by the time a lovely Brazilian named Leila Barros hit Manila by storm. The interest was revived. Too bad, I wasn't able to watch her play in the flesh.

Fast forward to 2006. Studio 23 was showing a marathon replay of UAAP games. I was out of work and with nothing more worthwhile to watch, I was glued to the games and became familiar with players like my all-time favorites - Charo Soriano and Patti Taganas of Ateneo, the FEU troika of Maica Morada, Wendy Semana and Rachel Daquis, UP's Mela Lopez and UST's Venus Bernal, Mary Jean Balse, Angge Tabaquero and the gorgeous Denise Tan.

Again, I stopped following the games until the "Fab 5" of Ateneo came along. Their brand of play caught my eye and I instantly became a Lady Eagle supporter from then on. Why? Maybe because we Filipinos love to root for the underdogs.

As a sports enthusiast, it didn't take long for me to learn the intricacies of this discipline. I now fully understand what the various positions entail, the roles of each player on the court, the rotation, the formations, the rules and violations, etc.

Too old for volleyball?

Tell that to legendary UST coach August Santamaria and others like Roger Gorayeb, Nes Pamilar, Kit Santos or even Dulce Pante and to folks much older than me who love the sport and have recently rediscovered the game.

Greasy Beast

Presenting the Jawbreaker!

Out of curiosity, my wife and I one day decided to sink our teeth into the latest burger craze in town: Zark's extremely popular and humongous greasy beast known as the "Jawbreaker."

We arrived at the Archer's Nook a little past six in the evening. Before we could proceed to the dinning area, we were greeted by a long queue that we initially thought was for some job interview or something. It turned out these folks were also there for the burgers.

I never liked waiting and persuaded my better half to try Army Navy or Yellow Cab instead but she wouldn't listen. We approached the female crew member-cum-maitre d' and gave out our first names.

People were arriving but very few were leaving the now popular joint. I was getting very impatient, really. Five, ten, fifteen minutes, how long should we wait? A little over the twenty minute mark, our names were finally called. Now, we'll know what the fuzz is all about.

Zark's it turned out is never about aesthetics as the inside's almost bereft of any decorations. There's a flat screen showing an NBA game and some pictures and that was it. I couldn't care less because we didn't go there for the decors anyway.

Luckily, we found a corner table as I disliked those in the middle. A young gentleman handed us the menu. I browsed through it but we've already made up our minds. It's gonna be the "Jawbreaker" for dinner!

After ten minutes, give or take a few, it arrived. Three generous burger patties with lettuce, tomatoes, melted cheese, bacon and two slices of Spam on top. I dismantled the layer and feasted on the two burger patties first and then sliced the rest in four parts.

I've had my share of large meals in my life but this one's really something else. I was sweating profusely while eating. A combination of the taste and the not so cool surroundings. After finally slaying the beast, it felt like I won't be having another bite of burger in another month or so.

Don't get me wrong, it was good but what made the craving go away was the sudden attack of dizziness the moment we stepped out of Zark's. Was it the heat? No. I knew it but was still in a state of denial. Plain and simple, I had too much. An old man with stage one hypertension should've known better.

We had a minor detour on the way home and stopped at the nearest drug store to buy Catapres tablets. I put in underneath my tongue to dissolve and help lower my blood pressure.

This would be the first and last time for us to binge on the greasy beast a.k.a. the "Jawbreaker." A second serving specially for me might lead to hospital confinement and the result of which is gonna be one hell of a bank breaker!

Kung-Fu Kid

Bruce Lee

My dad and I used to follow Grasshopper's exploits in the western world via the immortal 70's television series Kung-Fu. It starred the late David Carradine. Yes, the same guy who'd resurface almost three decades later as Bill in Quentin Tarantino's fourth film.

Inside the dark Times theater in Quiapo, Manila, I sat still for almost five hours watching Bruce Lee's triple feature - The Big Boss, Fist of Fury and Enter the Dragon. Upon leaving the movie house, I can't help but imitate Lee's moves.

One late evening, my aunt and I watched The Prodigal Boxer starring Meng Fei on RPN 9 if my memory serves me right. It was way past my bedtime yet I was right in front of the boob tube cheering the lead character to beat the hell out of his tormentor played by Shoji Karada.

I was awed by the kicking mastery exhibited by Delon Tam in The Boxer's Adventure and from then on, I became biased to the northern leg style. Tam's student, John Liu also caught my fancy in The Invincible Armour as well as in The Dragon, The Hero.

I used to take long walks after school along Rizal and Claro M. Recto Avenue where you have this endless rows of movie houses like Cinerama, Roben, Main, Podmon, Hollywood and Avenue to check out movie stills and watch the trailers in those black and white television sets just outside the lobby.

I was that passionate with kung-fu during my elementary days.

But by the time Jackie Chan and Jet Li hit the big time, I was already a teenager and completely lost interest in this Chinese form of martial arts as music and basketball became my favorite pastime.

Through the years, I'd like to believe that my taste in cinema has profoundly improved but even up to now, whenever Jean Claude Van Damme's Bloodsport and Ralph Macchio's Karate Kid are on, I still watch them. Come on guys, wouldn't you?

Hiyaa!

Alanis

Alanis Morissette

I went to Alanis Morissette's Can't Not Tour Live in Manila gig as a favor to a reviewer friend. It was also for free so why not? But upon noticing the predominantly young people outside the venue, I had an afterthought. Honestly, I could've backed-out right there and then. I think we're out of place.

It was the 90's. It was the decade of grunge, Lilith Fair and angst ridden songs. My kind of music is already passe if we were to base it on the poorly attended A Spanner in the Works tour by Rod Stewart held just a few months earlier.

Needless to say, I stayed and it turned out to be the right decision. Besides, I didn't want to deprive my friend of his concert review.

Inside the big dome, it was hot and humid. The audience bristling in anticipation. And when the Canadian lass came out to almost no fanfare with locks swirling clad simply in shirts and denims on a sparse stage, the crowd erupted!

I felt the ground shook as the fans stomped in unison to the intro of "Hand in My Pocket," fist pumped to "You Ought to Know," (surprisingly even the males) turned somber singing along to "Ironic" and reflective all throughout "Head Over Feet."

Everyone it seems, except me, knew the words to all of her songs even that so-called hidden track in her album sung acapella.

When Alanis broke into the Beatles' "Happiness is a Warm Gun" for the encore, I smiled sheepishly like a young boy and said "She's an old soul after all!"

The following day after work, I went straight to the nearest record bar to snag a copy of Jagged Little Pill.

Talk about hang-over or to be more precise, impact.

No, Alanis Morissette didn't possess the elegance of Stevie Nicks, the towering presence of Chrissie Hynde, the iconic stature of fellow Canadian Joni Mitchell and the mystic of Grace Slick but at the height of her popularity, she was nearly as good as the aforementioned legendary rock goddesses.

Neil

One night, dad arrived with some new cassette tapes.

"For you," he proudly said as he handed over a shrink wrapped audio cassette tape.

Holy cow, Neil Diamond's 20 Golden Greats!

There's our man clutching the microphone, his right arm raised up to the heavens like some TV evangelist!

I said "What?"

Back then, I considered the guy a "baduy" crooner who appealed mostly to bored housewives and widows a la Barry Manilow.

That awful duet of his with Barbra Streisand? It still makes me cringe after all these years.

But I have to admit, the guy's a born showman. Like Elvis, he's got that deep baritone, sideburns, jumpsuits and flair for the dramatics. No wonder dad dug him instantly.

My favorite Neil Diamond tune? If you've seen Pulp Fiction, you'll know it right away.

Smokin'

I can quit you baby!

I started to smoke at the tender age of seventeen. Yup, I was barely out of high school and puberty.

Back then, a stick of my brand can be had for a measly twenty five centavos.

It was 1983.

Together with my grandparents, we moved in to an unfinished duplex house in the middle of that same year.

An uncle who grew up in Manila and just a few years older than me detested the fact that he'll be living in some barrio from then on. Maybe for many years or maybe for the rest of his life. Who knows?

The same barrio where you have the streets practically deserted by nine o'clock in the evening.

Aside from a handful of "barangay tanods" chatting while patrolling the streets, all you could hear are the chirping of crickets and the roar of motorcycles passing by intermittently. 

My uncle and I would reminisce and talk about a lot of things just to kill time because the days seemed longer and the nights endless.

He was also the one who taught me how to be a cowboy. If you're familiar with a particular commercial in the 80's, you'll catch my drift. The first time I dragged those fumes, there was a head rush. "Don't worry, it'll wear out later." he said.

But I never blamed him for introducing me to this vice. It's a rite of passage.

Back in my college days, cigarette vendors were allowed inside the campus. I mean they were practically everywhere - the catwalks, beside the cafeteria, in the front gates and along the corridors.

Times were different then. Smoking was still cool. Malls, movie houses and joints like McDonald's and Dunkin' Donuts used to have smoking sections.

As the years passed, the coolness that was once associated with this vice steadily dissipated. The medical profession became more aggressive in their anti-smoking drive and bombarded the media, both print and broadcast the dangers and perils of lighting it up.

Soon, the advertising community would also join the fray. Business establishments such as malls and restaurants gradually banned smoking inside their premises.

If you want to take a puff, you have to step outside. Well, it's not really humiliating but you somehow feel isolated, like you're stricken with some kind of a contagious disease or something.

In 2013, the sin tax measure was approved. The result? Unprecedented price increase on all cigarette brands.

The way things stand, it ain't gonna get cheaper. The vice will literally burn a hole in my pocket in the days to come.

Health wise, it's a no-brainer. The many years inhaling all those harmful smoke surely must have taken a toll now on this aging body.

Time to quit.

That's the hardest part.