Currently Listening To: Best Thing I Never Had by Beyonce

What makes a song relevant? Is it the vocal dexterity and showmanship the artist endows? Or perhaps, the unmistakable intensity it conveys? Or maybe, just maybe, the sheer magic that it creates? Beyonce's latest track, "Best Thing I Never Had", conveniently answers those queries.

From her upcoming fourth studio album appropriately-named 4, the track is oozing with allure reminiscent of her mega-hit "Irreplaceable." Once again, Beyonce is feisty and unyielding and blurted a mouthful of self-help mantras (accentuate: I bet it sucks to be you right now) to all the victims of unrequited love. And always genteel, Queen B's vocal artistry is the great force that elevates this track to grandeur.

There's no denying Queen B is running the music world right now. Come February, her relevance will just even solidify: Hello Grammys!

Currently Listening To: Louder by Charice

Pop music is my ephemeral antidote from madness. There is something to be said of its hackneyed and depthless lyrics together with its maddingly preposterous beat. It's bewitching!

Move over, Rebecca Black! I got my brand new obsession: Louder by Charice. This kitschy track has pop-ness screaming on it. From its annoying kick-off to the fetching recurrence of the word "head" on the chorus, this is what pop is all about: creating a plague like a virus in your intellectual existence, thus, regressing your choice of music. From this emanates the exasperating LSS: "Let my heart speak louder than my head, head, head, head."

True to form of pop-ness, gratification proves to be fleeting. If the raison d'etre of this song is to annoy, then it serves me right. Now, if I can be excused, I'll just cover my ears before there will be blood!

Rants and Raves: The TV Edition

Glee was supposed to be the trailblazer, breaking new boundaries on the television landscape. Its inception was pitch-perfect: tackling on contemporary zeitgeists, a hodgepodge of apt characters and fabulously dazzling playlist and performances episode after episode. The first season ended on a rightfully high note and critics conjectured Glee to be destined for television glory. A Golden Globes and Emmy wins and second season after, the show has hit the staleness big time. Contemplate: A Lady Gaga episode? A Justin Bieber episode? Tellingly, Ryan Murphy's creative juices have been sapped and dried up (no pun intended!), thus, resorting to themes that lack stimulating novelty. And with episodes set on a fast pace, characters come and go rather quickly inhibiting them to flourish and concretize their relevance and affinity to the show. And these what Ryan Murphy missed on Glee!



With its longevity already sealed, one wonders what will make American Idol crumble. The absence of the acerbic Simon Cowell? Nadah! Already on its 10th season, AI still proves to be the force to be reckoned with. The ratings may have insignificantly dipped, but the dominance is still clearly in place. With its shake-up, nobody probably saw this coming: That JLo could be charming and Steven Tyler witty. And now that Simon’s gone, he unwittingly passed the buck of The Castigator to Randy. And Ryan? He is still cute like a baby’s butt only this time he is much, much happier going to the bank to deposit his hefty paycheck! So it seems: The chemistry is working. Now, the ultimate challenge of AI is to find a real superstar. Of the nine winners, only Kelly and Carrie made it big. The mind boggles but that's a startling statistic! Fast forward to the current season, I smell a teen spirit to be victorious. And if the formula works, that should breed more wampums and all the more that Ryan will have that grin from ear to ear!

Currently Listening To: Jet Lag (Simple Plan feat. Natasha Bedingfield)

The past few weeks have been the ultimate downer. Series of faux pas and misplays came into pass. I have reached the abyss of self-abhorrence and one more howler will just make me an obnoxiously stoic and unperturbed soul.

That sort of drama was fleeting, though, with the help of Jet Lag by Simple Plan. Surprisingly, it has all the elements to rock and literally bang my head against a brickwall: It's punk. It's rock. And Brit popstar Natasha Bedingfield is in it!

Normally, in my rationally-controlled mode, the bubble-gum popsicle-ness of this track is easy to dismiss. But Natasha doing punk rock? That I dig at the drop of a hat. And my verdict: She definitely can measure it up with Pierre.

I give this track an A. It's a perfect summer anthem, albeit the mushy lyrics, and just for the fact that Simple Plan has been terribly missed.

I, Err, She Quits!

My favorite cousin asked me a favor to craft an angsty resignation letter. Her stay at her office has been mired with unsavory experiences. After more than two years of being blinded by corporate politics, she finally had the guts to walk away. Here's the unabridged version of the letter:

It is a long time coming, indeed!

Here I am finally submitting my resignation letter. Let the charlatans and the morons rejoice! I really hate to go as I believe there is much to do in this office that I will be leaving behind, like transforming douchebags into real and respected professionals. But that will be gone with the wind right now as the company refuses for a change and keeps on hiring incompetent and pathetic individuals devoid of morals and forward-looking attitude.

It still is a mystery to me why I am cast as an antagonist in this company. I consider it an unintelligently knee-jerk reaction exhibited by people with an iota of intelligent quotient. I did nothing but to save the ugly facade of this office - doing my job functions religiously sans the wheeling and dealings. Thus, for me to be vilified is beyond my sane comprehension. To the administration: it behooves you at least to desist the moral attacks thrown against me. But you were unperturbed, insensitive and blindly let the tirades be carried on. What are you people?

Despite the office being populated with morons, it is with great relief that there is one person who happens to be on my wavelength. Dr. _________: I thank you for believing in me. Your presence kept me sane and inhibited me from joining the circus of deranged employees.

So, I am cutting the chase: I hereby tender my irrevocable resignation effective on the 20th of April 2011. I hate to go but seeing office politics getting ugly is something not to be relish and cherish for eternity.


So long!

- Favorite Cousin

She thought the letter was a wee bit harsh but she had a good laugh at it. I corrected her that it was rightfully ruthless after all the injustices thrown at her. As politically correct as always as she is, she altered all of the offensive terms. She sighed: Enough with being vile! I quit in despair.

Oxymoron, eh?

Winning

At 14, I lost my mom and stopped celebrating my birthday. It was the time of the great downswing. Parties were nonexistent in the pecking order and hooverizing was the all-encompassing virtue. As if a consolation, the greetings were rather forced and devoid of affection. The day passed uneventful. Adolescence was a tough passage of rite and the idea of outgrowing it was fanciful.

At 16, in a Scarlet O'Hara panache, I was willful: As God is my witness, I shall never be hungry again. It was the year of reconstruction, of overhauling - engineering my world domination plans. But something blotted the perfect landscape: family tension was growing. Had I been a weakling, my mind could have burst and turned me into a complete psycho. It was almost reminiscent of Prozac Nation, only I was so cool at handling it than Elizabeth.

At 18, I have mastered the art of desperation and making up appearances. You simply can not be powerless, you stir some sort of a je ne sais quoi air. You don't become a wallflower, you go to the dancefloor and shock the crowd. You embody Lady Gaga's bravura and Woody Allen's wit. In hindsight, I wasn't faking it, just making the most out of the mess.

At 20, the world was my oyster (or so I thought). Driven by knowledge and savoring my ivory-tower confinement, I decided to pursue my masters degree. It was the time of romanticism and Ayn Rand was my Deity. Manila, with all its beauty and viciousness, was a delectable maze to wander.

At 22, I was hit by the first love bug. I was naïve and just like a virulent virus, I led the relationship to its rather early demise. In a eureka fashion, I discovered I was stoic. Unmoved and unperturbed, life progressed on seamlessly sans any tinge of heartbreak. Stoicism, unbeknownst to me, would come handy in a series of love bugs to hit.

At 24, I became a citizen of the world. I had my first trip abroad and my longest plane ride to date. In the corporate jungle, I belonged to the Scythian tribe. Voracious and dominating, I hoarded Employee of the Quarter awards and squashed a pesky officemate’s dream. But the dog-eat-dog corporate world is not to be relished forever. So I quit.

At 26, the imposing zeitgeist was Bureaucracy. Suddenly, red tape and office gossip became staple, in-your-face occurrences. I felt my growth stunted, degenerated. Bureaucracy regressed my corporate citizenship. The Great Ennui was short-lived, though, until SO came into my life.

At 28? I know it will be only grand and victorious. And I have Charlie Sheen-crafted buzzword as my mantra: Winning!

Rants and Raves

Buh-Bye, John - Outlandish wunderkind John Galliano is in hot water. After his anti-Semitic slurs, the House of Dior abruptly dismissed him followed by strong indignation and utter disgust by Natalie Portman and Daphne Guinness. Quick to defend, Patricia Field (Sex and the City, anyone?) downgraded the bashing to just a “farce.” Apparently, the History-challenged Patricia has ignorance written all over her face. Funny how one’s genius could be easily whittled down by just some random inebriations! Heidi Klum can not be more clairvoyant enough: In fashion, one day you’re in; the next day you’re out. Isaac Mizrahi has two syllables for John, though: “Buh-Bye!”



Elle Woods Elevated – Supermodels and Harvard are two incongruous, unmarriageable variables. Since time immemorial, their association has always been zilch. A deviation sometimes happens, though, and sometimes, in the name of Tyra Banks. A TV mogul whose value is estimated at $30 million, Tyra is enrolled in a three-year course entitled the Harvard Owner/President Management Program. Inevitable questions persist, naturally: Did she ace her SAT? Was her GMAT impressive? Either way, Tyra will definitely be the chicest and the most fashion-forward in campus. Now move over, Elle Woods!



Vogue Italia, Check – ANTM’s 6’2 wonder Ann Ward’s Vogue Italia spread has already leaked on the internet. It’s playful, festive, imaginative and artistic; her expressions flawless and mesmerizing. The long-limbed and shy mannequin from Texas was crowned last cycle’s champ after enduring a fashion show on a moving platform, a photoshoot on rollerblades, catwalk faux pas and other crazy and gay challenges masterminded by an equally crazy and gay Tyra Banks. In a span of months, Ann has metamorphosized into a pro building a niche in the fashion world sans the too ominous ANTM tag. Next on the checklist: a Prada or Chanel campaign, perhaps? Werk it, Ann!

Arizona Muse, Who?

Fashion, just like my temper, is a volatile industry. A mega-billion dollar industry with Anna Wintour as its dominatrix, its ins and outs are at the behest of its rather ephemeral, episodic seasons. Ditto for models. Their existence is somehow summed up based on Heidi Klum’s mantra (with her sleep-inducing delivery): One day you’re in, the next day you’re out. Charisma, exoticism, it factor – there is really no invariably definitive trait to being the Face of the Moment. But one thing is sure, though: someone always stands out from the rest.

Meet Arizona Muse.

The fascination starts with her rather peculiar name. An uninitiated's calculable reaction: “Did the state of Arizona declare its own muse?” Then her face veers your attention, an amalgam of Linda Evangelista and Natalia Vodianova. Androgynous yet soft. Her sharp and killer eyebrows even add to her growing enigma. And the cut of her hair couldn’t be cleverer! Unpretentiously short, it is quite a welcoming relief when everyone is donning the conventional long hair.

Now on her second venture on modeling (the great German photographer Peter Lindbergh couldn’t help but reckon: “It feels like she’s been around for quite a while. You’re not looking at her and saying, ‘Wow, that’s the new girl.’ You say, ‘Why don’t I know her?”), Arizona is rightfully vindicated. With so many shows she opened and closed, The Cut has hailed her as the Face of Fall 2011.

Oh, did I mention that she reads Gabriel Garcia Marquez? Talk about beauty with substance.

Currently Listening To: On The Floor (Jennifer Lopez feat Pitbull)

Jennifer Lopez suddenly becomes, on a clever comeback maneuver, ubiquitous: from the glossies to the boob tube and now on the radio. Her latest hit? On The Floor, a dance anthem covering a sample of Kaoma's 1989 single "Lambada". And smart-aleck as she is, she partnered with Pitbull whose every collaboration enters the Billboard Hot 100 Top 10. The offshoot? An infectious dance track infused with a little bit of Latin, electro and pop beats. JLo’s voice is sexy, classy and she is clearly the Commandeer on the dance floor with her minions in tow. Slowly, it is climbing its way up in Billboard Hot 100. Oh well, everybody loves happy endings, right?

LOSER

Rejection is a bitter pill to swallow. It is demoralizing and soul-crushing. It makes you feel sub-standard, like a poor fellow who misses the target.

A couple of weeks ago, I learned that I did not make it to an esteemed institution. Shock was my initial reaction. I could barely move. I triple checked The List if an error has been made. Null. I felt like Karofsky threw a mug-ful of guzzler on my face with him demonstrating an L sign on his forehead. Ouch, totally excruciating!

It totally sucks that all the sleepless nights you’ve endured to master logic and algebra would go in vain. It even hurts more that the ones who got in could not even measure up to you in terms of grammar. Sure this sounds sour-graping but I am telling it matter-of-factly.

Such is life: You win some, you lose some. A little blow on your ego is healthy according to HuffingtonPost. I felt slightly vindicated.

And maybe three bottles of beer is good for my bleeding heart. Cheers to that freakin’ result! I’ll drink to that, dammit!

THE L WORD

Whoa, it’s been more than a year of non-blogging! After my creative juices had been sucked up, I surrendered to the urge of prosaic, uneventful tell-taling. Humdrum moments, life’s snippets too uninspiring to reveal: a typical writer’s block, I reckon.

In between Blogger’s hiatus and now, though, the vicissitudes are overpowering: 1) I was hit by the Love Bug amidst the madding crowd; 2) I visited Singapore again (only after being held in the detention room at the Changi Airport for an hour when my passport acted up on the verification machine); and 3) Surprise, surprise: I am contemplating of going to law school. Yes, law school! And as hasty as it is, I am already inundated with horror stories: the dreadful Socratic Method, the incessant discomfiture brought about by the meanest professors, digesting pile of pile of cases and memorizing tongue-twisting Latin legal jargon! Though unfazed, I badly need an Elle Woods intervention right now!

But Love Bug is too grand an affair to be not highlighted. It marks a glorious, life-altering feeling that if true, would prove indelible. In terms of importance, I would rank it after getting to UP. Slap me for being squishy but it’s as if all the angels in heaven conspire for that fateful meet-up. It was an instantaneous mutualism, an aberration of the natural order of things. Love at first sight, bizarrely, is an idea I used to debunk. Now, I’m gushing over it.

SO is beyond the person I ever dreamed of: charming, religious, gifted in the humor department, giving and loving. Never mind if SO is not into the not-so-offbeat stuff, haunting music and Oscarish films, I will definitely dig Jesus, Tangled, a few grammatical slips over Oprah, a Clint Eastwood flick or an annalistic grammar police in a heartbeat.

The future is still uncertain for the two of us. I hate picturing it with happy-endings. It has almost become, as past experiences would bear out, a terrible writing on the wall. My new mantra, hence, is: Carpi diem!

For the record, my saturation point in a relationship, akin to premature ejaculation (forgive the pun!), rather comes too soon. After the spark and spontaneity had fizzled out, it gets bleak and nonchalant. Enter saturation point. And it also doesn’t help that I am dramatic, moody, reasonably possessive and a wee bit paranoid. Thankfully, SO is a bit of fresh air: SO’s flair for the dramatics is not as ostentatious as mine.

So after seven months of togetherness, the threat of saturation remains at bay. And it will be so for eternity. I shall, in all solidity and stolidity that I could muster, defend the threat of saturation for this beautiful, albeit crazy, thing called

LOVE.

Frivolity 2.0

I crept by the windows
of your stillness.

Unchange the melody now.

Smoked.
Inhaled.

You, lover and loather of
chaos,

Enchanter of mysteries,

Unfold me now.

Skin.
Dip.

Death is bliss.