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Sunday, August 24, 2008

Spent the weekend at a resort in Lake Caliraya, Laguna with some of the Mabuhay staff. A trip to check out the digs, so we had access to pretty much all of their amenities. Thus, in a single day I had (in chronological order):

+ set foot in Los Baños after several years. The place has been significantly Koreanized, no duh.
+ fished for hito at a pond (or at least tried for an hour, the fish having gotten too smart for our bread-laden hooks)
+ my very first wall-climbing experience, which I had particularly enjoyed. I may have found (at last! at last! ‘tis never too late!) a sport I can be adept in. Anyone recommend a good wall-climbing facility in the Shaw-Ortigas area?
+ careened through the air on a very high, very long zipline
+ careened on my butt with three other people down a steep, hillside soap/mud-slide (soapy, muddy, tarpaulin slide + short shorts = skinning off of thighs)
+ videoke’d
+ played a grossly outdated version of Outburst, lost, and conked out.

This morning’s rain, unfortunately, prohibited us from riding the horses. Sayang yung Victorian boldstar from the moor moment ko.

It was a nice little overnight stay, all told. But what I really wanted to share was a pretty fucked up discovery I’d made right before our departure.

The resort, apparently, caters to the Christian retreat crowd (hence all the group dynamics-related facilities which we abused in a perfectly selfish, non-denominational kind of way), so it has this quite pious gift shop I couldn’t help but inspect. There were Bible verse-inscribed paperweights, copies of A Purpose-Driven Life, and all those other devout doohickeys typical of such a store. So far, so saintly.

And then I saw The Rod.

(It's not a dick.)

It was this long, heavy plastic paddle with the saying “Spare the Rod, Spoil the Child” stickered onto its surface. I thought it was a joke, at first. I mean, for whatever it’s worth, I still have some smidge of faith in humanity, after all. But, in all seriousness, the thing really was manufactured for exacting corporal punishment on young’uns. Besides the saying, there were other heinous bits of text slapped all over it. “Made for Preschool/Elementary Age.” “Researched and Approved by Dr. __________.” A whole guide on “How to Spank,” which then provided a step-by-step procedure on hurting tiny behinds.

At a hundred bucks a rod, I was discouraged from buying it. Even so, I normally would; the sheer horror I felt could’ve been motivation enough. But then I realized that I didn’t want to give the nutsacks who made this wretched contraption any of my money. I blow my cash on lots of horrendously useless crap, yes, but the Rod was something else. It was evil. Heaven’s Gate evil. L. Ron Hubbard evil. Jim Jones Kool-Aid evil. It was Just. Not. Good.

Spent my money instead on buko pies, kesong puti and pastillas. Call it a rare glimpse into my morality.

posted by marguerite @ 3:33 PM


Friday, August 22, 2008

Here is a recent YM conversation between myself and Pumpkin, a friend sequestered in cold, cold Canada (and thus, butt of my many moose and Mountie jokes). We are both rabid Oasis fans.

pumpkin: hey whats the name of that album with lyla/mucky fingers/let there be love?
pumpkin: ive been trying to remember that for days just too laze to look for the album
Marguerite de Leon: shit, why can't i remember it...
Marguerite de Leon: teka...im not googling...
pumpkin: i remember the cover
Marguerite de Leon: paunahan tayo
pumpkin: like black
pumpkin: and
pumpkin: it came with the dvd hahaha
pumpkin: useless mga naaalala ko
Marguerite de Leon: after heathen chemistry, it was....................................................................
pumpkin: blank
Marguerite de Leon: that's it. im googling.
pumpkin: no!
pumpkin: dooon't!
Marguerite de Leon: fine.
pumpkin: metaphysical unease
pumpkin: eh?
Marguerite de Leon: YES.
Marguerite de Leon: im an ass. i googled. it's fucking DONT BELIEVE THE TRUTH.
pumpkin: oh.. right
Marguerite de Leon: i don't believe in metaphysical unease. i believe in online search engines.
pumpkin: gabriel marcel would be very hurt
Marguerite de Leon: he's used to it.

Besides this telling lapse in memory, a crushing sense of disappointment after hearing Oasis’ latest single “The Shock of the Lightning,” as well as the utter terror I felt upon learning that Dig Out Your Soul, the album in which this monstrosity can be found, will carry the same half-assed sound, has ascertained that I am only an Oasis circa 90’s fan and not much else.

This is a gargantuan step down for me. As any friend of mine worth his friendship-ness-ity should know, the Brothers Gallagher are my gods. But it seems that I’ve only been forcing myself to like—not even love, really—the albums they’ve put out in the past decade with their newer line-up. And this grin-and-bear-it disposition of mine, I realize, has got to stop now, for if I don’t, I’m pretty sure I’m setting myself up for future years of griping.

Thus, I hereby herewith heretofore announce (wow, I’ve been doing this a lot lately) that while I am still a rabid Oasis fan, I shall only be fiercely loyal to Definitely Maybe, (What’s the Story) Morning Glory, Be Here Now, and The Masterplan. Any albums beyond these shall be subject to my general indifference. My annual Margie’s Oasis Day will continue to be celebrated, of course, but I will only have to listen to the above albums on that lovely day (thank god, you have no idea how taxing it’s been since 2000).

Noel Gallagher himself has stated recently that Oasis is no longer Britpop. Well then, there you go. It was fated to be. (And no "Don't Look Back in Anger" quips. God. Be nice.)

posted by marguerite @ 12:22 AM


I Have My Concerns
Sunday, August 17, 2008

One fascinating little function that the blog serves, spawned alongside blogging’s vanity-driven evolution, is the Blog Oath—announcing the start of a personal feat of willpower online. This is done not only to immortalize this difficult point in one’s life, but also to make sure, since everyone becomes informed of said feat, that you stick to the fucking plan, motherfucker, mahiya ka sa sarili mo pakingshet. I think it’s genius, really, this form of publicized self-blackmail, and thus, I hereby herewith heretofore announce the oath that I have imposed on myself:

Marguerite, from this point forward, you shall not partake of any desserts or succumb to any avenue for ingesting sugary foodstuffs so help you god. You have developed too much flab, too intrusive a gut, and an overall lax disposition towards your body and its mass index. You will eat healthy. You will stick to fish and chicken for your proteins, whole grains for your carbs, and fruits to just plain keep you from dying. Your large coffee in the afternoon shall be your only opportunity for sweetness. That’s it. THAT’S IT. Dammet, woman, get your shit together LARD ASS LARD ASS LARD ASS LARD ASS LARD ASS LARD ASS STICK TO THE PLAN OR JIGGLE YOUR WAY TO HEEEELLLLLLL.

I’m such a role model. Yun lang po. Putang ina.

posted by marguerite @ 12:04 AM


Bukingan Na
Saturday, August 09, 2008

To my indescribable relief, the keffiyeh, otherwise known as That Matherfakkking Abu Sayyaf Scarf, has been getting a lot of flak online. While scarves in general are fine by me (even in the tropics, being that yours truly is clad in hoodies rain or shine), I just can’t wrap my head around this particular piece of alternative fashion-turned-vile vogue. Even the cheap pun in the previous sentence is no match for it. My cousin Whammy and I even play Spot the Scarf whenever we’re out. Our most thrilling round of competition thus far was held at Cinemalaya a few weeks ago, CCP swarming as it was with unnecessarily neck-sweaty people.

This just got me thinking about the more odious little trends we’ve had the past decade or so. We’ve all fallen prey to these for even the briefest of blips, and I just felt like listing a few of them down for kicks, maybe in the hopes of triggering a shared sense of shame among us.

Body bags
Extra-long garrison belts
Nylon “tattoo” bracelets and chokers
Quivering butterfly hairclips
Hair mascara
Platform rubber shoes
Baby-G wristwatches
Bubble bags
Accordion headbands
Headbands that look like shades

It has suddenly occurred to me that almost all of the items listed above were late 90’s trends, the ones I had been exposed to during my last few years at an exclusive girl’s grade school where desperation was as common as a pleated checkered skirt.

posted by marguerite @ 8:44 PM


Thursday, August 07, 2008

It’s Palanca Hullaballoo Week, and I’m stoked to know that (so far, since this period is a slow striptease Filipino writers shell out their hard-earned works to ogle) two of my friends have won the medal. Major props (at pisil sa pwet) go to Mikael “Taba” Co, 1st place in Filipino poetry, and Marie La Viña, 3rd in English poetry. Kael is pretty much a historical figure at this point, having won 1st place last year in the English category which, if I’m not mistaken, is the first time this double-whammy has been accomplished. Naka namaaaannnnn. They are two good persons who have pure spots in their hearts for the written word, and I’m very happy for them. Let this season’s boozing commence!


On my walk home this evening, I saw a repairman traversing a tangle of electric wires stretched across a busy street, like one of those tightrope daredevil types from the 1920s who do the deed sans safety net in highly public places.

I don’t have any insightful commentary on this, really. No tie-ups with Man and somersaulting past urban decay or whatever. It was pretty cool shit, that’s all.

posted by marguerite @ 7:59 PM


Shameless Shameful Shameless Shameful Shameless Plug
Sunday, August 03, 2008

Was featured in today's Sunday Inquirer Magazine. An excerpt of "The Liasion Manager" can also be found here. Huwhat.

Ginormous thanks to Sir Ruey de Vera, and to my ever-vivacious, sex-on-a-stick co-fellow Liza, whose text message about the piece slapped me out of a sleepy, cold n' rainy Sunday morning stupor.

Still half-asleep. I will bathe now.

posted by marguerite @ 10:48 AM


the girl

Pasig City, PH.

Damned the man, saved the empire.




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