UNDERMINING THE GIFT OF REAL LAUGHTER

(HAHAHAHAHA i.e. You Can't Win Over People With Happy Faces)

By: Iris P. Concepcion

Great things happen in the world when you walk around and wanted to buy crayons for small earthlings but couldn't because you have only 20 bucks in your pocket.

In a matter of minutes though, things get altered. You are shown hilarious pictures and anecdotes straight from God's kitchen. The recipes are great and worth the chow. Late to realize that you are surrounded in times like these with extraordinary performers. No, honest performers.

Why they are damn good, I'll tell you why:

1. It is very easy for them to own up. No masks needed.

2. They have good words even to their bitterest enemies without even cussing (astonished by the realization).

3. When they mimic the sensible people (like the proper English cadence with mouth projections-----it is like greeting Dan Akroyd "good morning" in person), it beats Chiquito in his most brilliant flicks. But they still praise : "She is really intelligent."

4. They go further when copied. Thus, conversant with all modes of music, they have tried Philippine dialects, Middle Eastern, Afrikaan (you must hear this: can inflame your funny bone in seconds). They are very difficult to copy when they do musical chameleons. I am sure they could leave this medium and perhaps try pantomime in the years to come.

5. They are frank, direct to the point, blunt.

Self-deprecation is not an option. When it is part of the ongoing parody, it makes life a little bit easier and fuller.

And yes, they are really goodlooking if only because they intone it fluidly.

QUOTES FROM A BOOK
By: Iris P. Concepcion

I start the entry, long overdue, about Rizal's almost impossible exploits as a fetus, a pistol man and a film prime suspect.

This is a book on Rizal with Bencab drawings that is authored by Bantug-Ventura.

On bringing his second novel El Filibusterismo to the Philippines:

"Some readers fooled the soldiers by disgusing the book with covers bearing titles like "Historia Natural" (Natural History) or Libro de Poesias (Book of Poetry). Dona Concha Leyva, Rizal's favorite aunt, had copies carefully buried in her garden, to be unearthed only when necessary. The original itself was kept inside a tampipi, a clothes chest made by rattan, upon which a housemaid sat, sewing calmly while the guardia civiles feverishly searched the house."

That is such a poetic celluloid depiction of El Filibusterismo's contraband quality.

Also here, Rizal was almost elevated to a supernatural being.

"His friends marveled at how he could imprint his name on a wall with the bullets of a pistol."

John Wayne would have blinked at this Filipino nation shaper at this juncture.

"Even before the infant Jose saw the light of day, he proved to be an unusual fellow. On the eve of his birth, he was heard crying in his mother's womb. Dona Teodora Alonso was waiting for her return at the confessional when the sound of the unborn infant's wail pierced the silence of the Church. An old woman approached her to ask why the child in her womb was protesting."

I think, at the back of my mind, I am truly looking for a book that will feature Rizal as a manicurist, haircutter or seafood eater.

Our hero is impossibly brilliant that he could speak 15 languages. He was marooned in a ship and engaged himself in verbal discussions via different languages. When he finally met a group of Filipinos, he was ashamed to know that he could not understand their dialect, knowing only Visayan and Tagalog.

His vision for a unified national language emerged from this encounter.

He must be proud of how our spoken tongue had evolved. Especially now.

On another note, I watched the press conference of the President on the recent hostage-taking crisis which killed the hostage-taker Ronaldo Mendoza. He was conversant with the questions thrown at him that I got a thorough explanation from him than all the confused and combined network coverages which sometimes bend on sensationalism. I surmised, he could have been a good editor of any news agency. I hope everyone can view his NBN press stint. It was very telling.

When he speaks directly to the press, he comes out better than any handler can possibly spin.

I point this to his savvy grasp of issues; his ability to parry head-on the unusually pointed questions and his saying straight to the point the "real" cause of these occurences. He cited historical moments to prove his point.

If people want to paint a rowdy condition that has often been the coffer for terrorist actions that often lead to backdoor extortions in these islands, real issues become too clouded. Hence, I am impressed by a President who tells it as is, from his unwooled eyes.

Like his inaugural speech, he spares no one; he does not court rhetorics. When he says it as is, everyone is better illumined. No follow-up question is even needed as he cuts through the dynamics of dramatics and hysterics that often do not help coverages of prime issues.

You must wonder though, why a tourist bus this time?

There could be something symbolic in that siege.

ON WORD HIBERNATION

By: Iris P. Concepcion

Nothing excites me more than discovering an often maligned group (young, allegedly inexperienced, i.e., fearfully brilliant and dreaded by the status quo) stage the impossible: a creative coup that blazes away their singing chutzpah in an otherwise hostile forum.

I recently heard someone with a degree in Musicology ( with honors, and yes, very competent, but that was before he had traded his melodic passion for a long travel itinerary---as I say, return to your roots) badmouth a young group of deeply-committed singers. The charge was : "they are here for only two days and they claim to be good already."

I silently laughed and prayed for the musical soul of this dead man's ward. That was exactly him putting his angst somewhere when he was just a struggling craftsman of notes.

Here is the thing. When he was busy badmouthing and hurling whatnots to the young group, this young group just turned up and asked a "space" for their musical wares to be heard.

The result was astounding to say the least.

The music was raw but soul-searching; it was not loud. It was brilliant.

As I often repeat here, when any craft is extracted from the heart and delivered through a discerning soul, the outcome is almost, always, a showcase of the world's best.

These guys did not say anything except express themselves through music.

There was a momentary hush. The loudmouthed has been had been clipped off his lyrical wings and it served him good to be advised on this mold: Heed not the call of those who dictate you to malign the latently gifted. Sooner or later you shall be smacked on the face by their best revenge: showing their best work that totally eclipses your output in a major, numb-inducing way.

They did not prepare for that and the best of their detractors could only muster a garage sound straight from an Amsterdam coffee shop.

Sometimes, it pays to shut up. I think his teacher had likewise counseled this arrogant guy's bad wave.

That was totally called for.

While at it, isn't it gret to see a President immersed in photography? I saw his face on the front page clicking away his camera on cars he said he could never own.

I was even more bawled that the Supreme Court justice also took this happy hobby as form of relaxation.

There is much beauty to Nature that should not be passed up. Politicians should take up this craft than frequent the night bars which are bad for the eyelids.

I am also hopeful of the turnout of events: economy is sturdy and is on its way to building itself a new leash of economic srength.

SPELLING IT OUT

By: Iris P. Concepcion

When I am absent from this page for two days, some kids on the playground thought I have already boarded a battleship bound for Saturn.

Actually, there is just much sleep that needs to be snoozed, for a better presentation of passages in this rite of thought-provoking "ideal" called Happiness.

Anyway, there are a lot of things to pass around and share and giggle about. A tot who could not string letters together to form difficult words (I insist on difficulty; them kids tackle them anyway with toothy grins) just because she is underage (only 5 years old), I had requested to write the word "rectangle".

She hated my constant nagging to do it well. After writing the letters "rec", she, instead drew a sticking-out tongue. I realized after, it is her "visual" letter representation of the word "tang" after the letters "rec".

How do you argue with that brilliance?

Let them be, I say. We have a Tom and Jerry gig presently honed to perfection over stuff using "salitang kalye" and not a few people had controlled their guffaws over this new semi-vaudeville act of ours. It is our way of thawing those who are "noisy" and "hot". To which a graceful lady said: "His job must be in hell."

You must pay attention though. When people not fit to chew beetlenut speak something like "nanginginig ako", over anger perhaps, there is comedy lurking in it.

On another note, there is much intellectual celebration over the lady appointee to the Supreme Court. Even the feisty, articulate Senator Miriam Santiago lauded the choice of the President. Expect better-written ponentias; there is much poesy in the world of law waiting to be scribbled.

I also saw an item where public officials, on their own accord, stopped the passing of telephone/cellular "loads" to private citizens via allotments given to them. I applaud that too.

To the guy who does not care whether or not you drive a Porche or a motorcycle and whose laugh could launch rockets, here's the message: the last time I spoke with your girlfriend, she still thinks the world of you. Like the round, earth, blue thing kind of affection.

She said, continue being correct and physically astounding. You are not jobless. You are jobmore.

That is her message.

FILIPINO (PILIPINO) IN MY TONGUE

By: Iris P. Concepcion

I was so inspired by the Pinoy word "tong-pats" that I sometimes use it in lieu of the more offending cuss word in situations of conflict.

I take steps to immerse myself in verbal brawls as observer (I am already a connoisseur of this kind) : I love it when the low-maintenance, german frankfurster person is engaged in stories about bruised elbows and knees "dahil nasubasob pag curve" and finds the one he is telling stories to, quite flushed on the cheeks.

Silently my brain claps like a silly bird, cheering on the man of the truly delighted street: "More, more, more!" Sooner or later, there shall be a flight, bruised ego, a teardrop, a torn dress, a shrilling voice, a missing article.

The flight usually takes in form of taking a fake phone call with the words "I shall be back!"Never have words been sharper than Spartacus' arrows (Kirk Douglas looks like David Spade: do not ask me why). They can silence even the loudest of the decibled clique.

I am quite stupid in that I enjoy this kind of conflict handling.

Another favorite word now is "tingok". I still have to ask the wordsmith what it means.

I am presently engaged in a writing cleaning up. Of course, the usual suspects had laready mastered this in such a short span of time. Trust me, they are truly good on this.

No, son, you can never forget. You might have limited your attention span to a little over point 2, but being an archivist is your option to quell whatever mocks your creative bent.

I am no longer worried sick over the Norwegian travails of the red blue and white stripes. Yes, 2teeeeee is a word that defies motion itself. I do not know what the hell it means though.

I passed by grubby kids with no slippers nor shoes on their feet drawing a "patintero"-like piece on the sidewalk. It looked like a happy house. When they saw me, they yelled: "Ate, ate, tingnan mo bahay namin, ang ganda!" They wore happy smiles on their dreamy faces: the structures are stuck on the drawing board though.

I controlled my tears. It would be an insult to myself to be crying when the object of this emotional stirrings are wearing such happy, fulfilled faces even in the absence of material freedom. I was on my way then to a multi-media center that aims to create innovativeness, creativity and pursuit of well, visual excellence. The widened chaff is a mind struggle. It is difficult to digest at first but upon returning to base, I exactly knew what it meant.

Somehow, the lustre of bars for videoke-singing dropped to the floating garbages on the water, a crushing sight but a reality to grapple with in these times of stupid excess.

I am enjoying the current reads since I personally think, they could contribute something to infusing fun to a traditionally perceived "|stale" subject.

I know Rizal could create lavishly seminal words of inspiration but I did not strike any of these words, redounding to the valleys of earth and important in these times:

"A dry leaf hesitantly flies

And snatched by hurricanes away,

Thus lives on earth the traveler

Without aim, without soul, without love for country

Happiness everywhere he anxiously seeks

And from him happiness flies away:

Empty shadows that mocks his eagerness

For it rushes the traveler to the sea

Impelled by an invisible hand

Away he'll roam from shore to shore;

The memories will keep him compay

Of loved ones, of a happy day of yore.

I failed to get its title but I would gladly name this, a "nationalistic flight."

There is Benigno Aquino who fled to fight for freedom and there are those who fly to lose their sense of freedom.

Look me in the eye and tell me you have not sold out on this one.

I grieve too for a country stolen of its decency to discern what is enough and what is excessive.

THE DAME FROM MY LIMBS

By: Iris P. Concepcion

Yes, Mommy did say "Ewwwww" at one point in her laughing life.

She was not prepared to see her beautiful child throwing balls at everyone in her unique way of throwing them.

How come, the mother pondered, she had felt responsible for the smiles that had stretched her children's mouths? They played like carrot tops on the loose---them who had chameleon-like features that are far more beauteous than all the heavenly constellations combined. I was worried sick where that vine might have been hidden, inside the towel, you brassiere-drawing decathlete (his main event: bench-sitting).

Of course, they are winners. They whined and dined and laughed and silently giggled least the sulky people in the crowd would not get them. The disdained could remove their eyebrows or get jealous on why they laugh so much and with such vigor and vitality! They are really squired. Understandable: they look good as their excellent rendition of their crafts.

My imaginary ascendant once told me, overboard, not to leave these rugrats when I walk. I certainly know the reason why. It is kind of damp when they are not around.

(The youngest is now complaining: does not like what's put on the radio and it is hilarious, this mutual discernment).

And there is this small lady with fanciful swipes described by my guide as " a thinking player". I have seen her somewhere, blossoming like a striker from nowhere. I have always admired her silent strength: a grace that sometimes does not need any affirmation as it simply arises like unique bursts of multiple sunshine. She has the most beautiful guffaw in this block.

Some people might think: she was always writing about these crazy males. In my world, they are more loquacious. The women, on the other hand, just stay........smarter.

LIBRARY

By: Iris P. Concepcion

There are only two places on Earth where I could imagine happily cutting my mouth off from my face.

Church and Library.

There is another book restroom/sanctuary that I had found revisiting; this time in a revised setting.

The UST Library (where I took my Communications course) is a haven of beautifully-torn pages (I was told by a regal and extremely gorgeous, petite woman that each page costs $200 to ship back to the country). The old pages fly, stand, float in the air of glassed structures; leaves hanging exactly like that: as leaves where words spill and spill and spill downward. It is architecture and excellent design rolled into one.

The letters here are massive; I mean in a classic, bold, extremely gigantic fonts that I want to sleep over them.

I told my companion I wouldn't be lost snoozing with these enchanting pages: the texture, and to my Self, the very essence of Life.

It surely looks expensive and important; like a fairy tale of sentences stuck in wonderland. I would like History seen this way. Our heroes' scholastic records (del Pilar, Rizal, Jacinto to name a few) were preserved. The most expensive book is a sight to behold, in its sturdy, glorious arrangement. I could look at it for ages and I wouldn't be lost.

Simply put, this place is majestic and beautiful. Miguel de Benavides (the name of the library) looks like someone you can have a chat with anytime. Cool guy, I suppose. His picture is up there with the expressive words, all large, opulent and inviting. No slaves are to be seen here; everyone is invited to live life as that: simply and by example.

There is a bookshelf filled with several editions of Don Quixote, all four layers of shelf. Above it is a painting by Luna with Cervantes on it. This is exactly worth the mind plough. One must listen to the tiny television sets that, I don't know, play banduria in a wicked, funny manner.

The famous John Updike once said about how he would like to be writing even for bottle labels if he were not weaving stories.

I am exactly with him in this twisted desire of mine.

In here, you see words in small, medium, large, extra large, extra extra large fonts and they look richly superb; in fact more stunning than today's pieces of haute couture.

They are also presented in several forms and languages. Words are given paramount importance; even the titles.

There is a book by Copernicus believed to be the same piece that Rizal had held for his book- writing forays later in his heroic life. He had studied Philosophy and Letters, then Medicine at this university.

I think everyone could immerse themselves in this jimmian, alternative views of looking at History. Why, this could be Stanford for all I care.

World-class, as everything must be.

WHEN CHILDREN DECIDE TO PLAY

By: Iris P. Concepcion

I have gotten myself tremendous pixels of kid shots that had made my Sunday a laughing blast.

I was clowning myself with a human dwarf (the usual contortion of faces; the gift of word jabs) and I said : "How about getting this on the phone."

Hence, I clicked it away.

What emerged was like a shroud straight off from a Gentile island (if ever that one exists). I guess these should be the facial elements of what my offspring would look like if my ovaries are working.

I muttered to myself: Ah, children of the corn. I could tell people that instead of being extracted from the womb, they arrived on Earth via a giant boil. That nasty, red, shining boil that is so hugely itchy you need a washing brush to scratch it. Instead of the slimy gangrene-like thing though, what comes out are these healthy, bouncing, obnoxious, loudly-laughing tots with sweet dispositions. Their first words: "Bathe us!"

Someday there shall be a collage visualizing why this word is still a livable testament to greatness.

The reason is this boil.

SEATING WITH THIRDIES

By: Iris P. Concepcion

When the headlines had been swept by tax raps and packages so astounding it keeps the gills off the fishes, you either do any of these things: sulk, holler and be so gay. You see them walking since they have been bumped off from their office seats. I think. The workers are inside their booths and no longer see me. I guess they are busy fixing the nation.

I have seen terrible posses today that I seldom had appreciated ridiculous stuff to a maximum. When you get tightened limbs though and these mimics consider it goodwill, it pays to talk back.

It does things in beautiful ways: I like them smothered in visually enticing pictures. The funds and donations meant for flooded people went straight to......swimming pools. Sometimes, you imagine those familiar faces. They cry (in their fiesta gowns and creamed faces; terrible and peeling off skin while people DIE in flooded areas), fidget, shout, yell and they are at the.......bottom. Pimple pricking over a child's shelter. Story of a loser's life.

They got madder and madder everyday. That is why there is Divine Comedy in that equation. We tend to look down not on our feet. We look down to their well-kept and groomed places.

And thus, they weep. And they cry. And they speak in tongues like kings finding themselves unclothed in greed. They really sound so stupid sometimes. They thought you'd fell for those things but at the back of your mind, you simply sing songs to God mumbling: they cut their ears and got a turtleneck picture in the Alps. I never bother but speak: why defer your truth over dying kids eaten alive by floodwater while they lasciviously break their knees and arms over a failed ski maneuver? That is CONSCIENCE in these days of "ako mismo".

And they do sound so unsexed. That is the reason why women drop them off on the streets I guess. When they can't, they go to the spa. I guess frustration to get to the top is a difficult thing. Losing another swimming pool and sportscar is a way to re-establish their humanity; assert themselves in a world of visionaries. God. The ski lanes must be laughing.

That is the worst crime.

Look at the mirror and you see them crawling in frustrated words. They wished they had the President on their pockets.

But he is in the conscience of everyone. Think about this for a while and listen instead.

KINDLING THE GREGORIAN CALENDAR

By: Iris P. Concepcion

There is actually a very strong connection between the word "fight" and the famous hairstyle of our present President, inserted in the dictionary as "tonsure."

Tonsure is listed as "a clipping off or showing/shaving off of part or all of the hair of the head, done especially, formerly, as a signal of entrance into the clerical or monistic state."

I have read some trite remarks about this "small", shaved part of the head as being "unsmart", or "clumsy" but we all know by now, sensing in a hairy way in fact, that the whole world knows this mane cult is growing huger and huger and its members are burgeoning not like mushrooms but extremely lustrous flowers insisting to be venerated.

I even saw babies sporting this "miraculous" patent of standing up, reforming of selves via productive innovations and ending severe wrath's trajectory.

Laban is even a word. In the Bible, he is the father of Rachel and Leah (Gen 29:16).

I have seen guys fanning themselves inside the train ride, the fan being an accessory to the cooling times.

We do away with scurrilous things this moment, basking on the lushness of Nature, the marvelous words pouring out, the beauty of everyday life, the company of kindred spirits, the necessity of affinity these times.

I have seen the fun side to this present leadership as he showed his first paycheck with the corresponding voucher form just like an ordinary employee. We do away with rigidity and we come light, easy, floating and are rest assured that even top men work their butts' off to earn their keep. His staff and de-staffed members even holler the famous words upon seeing their boss' paycheck: "Paburger naman Sir!"

Everything is flowing, flowing. In a fowling, fawning world.

SWORDING THE KNIFE IN FENCED BATTLES

By: Iris P. Concepcion

The title has nothing to do with what I am about to write.

Somewhere in the past, I had lasciviously dreamed on how to "reform" people in a non-traditional manner. Not that I am a saint (I resemble more like a spawn of the dark side sometimes) but I was thinking, it might lessen some greed and bitchiness perhaps.

I want them to explore things not otherwise explored; get addicted to films and music so that they wouldn't lose heads over gameshows or what not; and laugh at anything that catches their fancies. Like teeth without gums: I mean, instead of being cranky about stilettos, looking at a Rene Requiestas lookalike would be much soulful I think.

I had laughed the fullest and had wept the lowest. Hence, I exactly know what a stoic middle feeling is: between a guffaw and a teardrop is that immature nose enlarging its holes in magnified swell while unmindfully absorbing the livid carcasses of its facial companions.

I mean, back in the land before Time, I do not even know that there is a word like diwan (noun) which the Webster's New World College Dictionary describes as Dewan. That is the meaning. Imagine the deep importation of philosophy in that one-word powwow.

Or that my baptismal name "charisma" would have a better meaning in this dictionary:

"A gift of God's grace, Gr>favor, grace , charizethai, to show favor to , > charis, grace, beauty, kindness , >chairen, to rejoice at , IE base to desire, like. >YEARN, 1 Christian Theol, a divinely inspired gift, grace, or talent, as for prophesying, healing, etc...>also charism (kar-iz-m) > a special quality of leadership that captures the popular imagination and inspires allegiance and devotion > a special charm or allure that inspires fascination or devotion i.e., the film star's charisma."

I think I just toasted an egg there. My name bombs!

The kid and this writer has a new thing to pick on now: wrestling shows.

"Susmariosep." That is her new word when things get too bloody. Pause, then freaking laughter!

This is a senseless entry but I had been very serious in my last entries I need to break the chain. Sniggers.

MOSAIC

By: Iris P. Concepcion

I went to Luneta Park early this morning to see the mosaic of the woman who had brought back to our land the fruits of democracy. We should credit her for having returned the business climate of viability---we are a rumbunctious democracy but we owe a lot to this woman every dime we might have enjoyed in freedom after years and years of repressed periods in our history.

No, we did not expect, the guises and heads of monsters will run up quite innocently the second time around: in the balanced expertise of those who are tasked to police the ranks of this newly-found freedom. Had they failed, they must be reminded of their duties as citizens, first and foremost.

It was therefore severely tacky for one deposed host's comment when Cory was laid to rest to the effect that "his program is celebrating" so "do not show the funeral pics please."

I do not know why it did not incite a massive disciplinary action from his handlers: that was unforgivable to say the least. You put lipsynchers in pedestal more than the woman who just restored your power to write anything, including its distortions, and you are in for a severe picking.

Perhaps, the recent occurrences speak of the silent majority who decided to fight back that sense of wantonness and greed. I had said before: the gall. And we already know the reason now. It is shameful to be associated with this kind of misplaced principle. Very un-Filipino.

I often said, one must return to the roots why such abundance was achieved in the first place. At the new turn-out of events, several heads were axed and to the truly sensitive, they voluntarily exited from these bowls of trampling and desisted the mob call of having their heads exposed more. Good sense of acceptance is better than holding on to what is already sinking in hypocrisy.

The President's sister had said: We are cleaning up the house and like her brother, we do know, she too shall pass this, on top form, no less.

Cory must have a good thing in mind, up there in heaven. It is so her to have this kind of reverse chastisement even from up above, conversing with God. When one needs acts of contrition and you do not get it from the haughty, somehow, they are reminded in other forms why they must be shut down.

I went to watch the mosaic after it was rained out. Cory's pics had mud, litters and familiar faces walked on these pics, in shopping and travelling poses and it broke my heart seeing how short we are with our memories.

It was an apt installation. A helicopter was hovering overhead, a cable car in the land of paradise passed by, taking pictures with honesty, integrity, loyalty signs spread all over and I go: art's reimbursement for a severe lapse of judgment.

I shall credit the President's mother for my being able to write freely in this blog more than the hosts of blogger themselves. I learned my freedom through her. No mentor with Phds in marketing and communications can erase that kind of sanctity purposely defiled now by those who got madder by the teardrops of heavenly grace.

Thank you Corazon Aquino for showing what class is even in afterlife.

As I chose to be, so shall my words be.

(P.S. : My guy is sooooooo hilarious. Period.)