7/01/2005
The birthday day that was
This is an entry that has two intros. Choose which you prefer.
-----
Itong si Jordan, gulang ay 23…
…as the Rivermaya song goes. Unfortunately (or fortunately), I don’t have a Rosemarie who would be having her debut any time soon. Anyway, I don’t want to talk about “that” for the moment. Rather, I want to discuss about the first day my age is similar to the number at the back of Michael Jordan’s jersey. And it’s not 45, idiot.
Or it could start this way…
-----
Thanks for the gift, Spy
Sinong sawa, sinong galit? Sumigaw ngayong gabi, ANIMO LA SALLE!!!
If there was one song that would be a soundtrack for one special day in my life, it would be Bamboo’s “Hallelujah”. That special day was when my age officially resembles Michael Jordan’s jersey number. And it’s not 45, idiot.
Now, on with the story…
-----
The day started quite so-so. If we’re going to be strict about it, I was watching Amelie Mauresmo beat Anastacia Myskina to a bloody pulp in Wimbledon women’s quarterfinal action when the clock struck 12 to begin June 29.
While channel surfing, I chanced upon the music video of Bamboo’s “Hallelujah”. Make a mental note of that because I’ll be referring that song a lot of times later.
Since I went to bed late (I’m having a self-induced curfew at 12mn when school started… which I rarely follow), I was woken up by a shriek downstairs. Screaming back, I asked what time it was. It was 9-ish.
Still no need to panic, but I had a self-imposed call time of 10am so that I’ll have ample time to prepare for my first gig this year with Livewire. Yes, my first gig after a year’s hiatus. I see a trend there, but I’ll drift.
In addition, I just timed seeing the Minnesota Timberwolves draft Rashad McCants. I would have loved McCant’s shooting help the Indiana Pacers, but there must be a reason why things didn’t end up that way. With Sam Cassell and Latrell Sprewell getting volatile because of their contracts (you wouldn’t be in Minny if Kevin Garnett didn’t sacrifice a big pay cut to acquire you nitwits), add in an unstable McCants in the roster, and they might just self-implode some more.
Then the Pacers would snag the Tar Heel in next year’s offseason while the Wolves “rebuild”. That would be fun. I apologize for drifting, sorry.
Anyway, I left at the house past 10am and arrived in school at about 10:30. One sign that things aren’t starting on the right foot: I entered the wrong venue. Lugging Spy’s guitar with me, I felt like a lost froshie inside the PLS.
Although I was told that CLA’s gig would be held at Lake Park, you’ll never know what last-minute changes they do in haphazard-organized school events. Yes, I was wandering in CBA’s Freshmania thingy.
Good thing I spotted Con-con Legaspi and Ekay Maravilla on the walkway towards the innards of the campus. If you don’t know who they are, go research your collegiate volleyball.
Good thing I had the previous day’s copy of Inquirer Sports. Gave it to Con-con as “souvenier” because she was mentioned in the V-League article. I saw her injury and the three of us were making fun of it as if it’s just a sprain. Well, her injury is just a sprain in her left ankle.
Oh yeah, also saw Alyssa’s “Proud ako dito” and the real Alyssa in the “MRT” (my other term for the walkway beside the oval). From her I got the confirmation that CLA was doing their thing in Lake Park.
Hope I’m not yet late…
I arrived and the party was just starting. Still had time to log in at HF. I patiently waited for my spot (I was part of the finale), when the sky suddenly became overcast. What the? Moments ago, “groupies” shaded Livewire and Prime with umbrellas under the heat of the sun.
And as Badjet ordered the froshies to proceed to the grandstand for free food, thunder rolled. Ok, pack up, show’s over, shower’s on, mother packer.
Feck. My first gig got rained out. Uncharacteristically, Wimbledon’s schedule id on smooth sailing with only a few matches being halted due to darkness. Feck, again.
Lunch hour was a flurry of activity. I was deciding on whether to go to the oval for the “free food”, lounge in HF while waiting for he bigger Freshmania party to commence at 1pm, or attend my first Statistics class. Guess what, I got to do all three.
Apparently, Stat class had an exam that day and the prof was just waiting for one student to finish her test. Handed her my class card and gave me my first assignment. Cool.
Then proceeded to HF to lounge. Finding myself unproductive reading blah Inquirer news, I excused myself from the staff meeting went to the grandstand.
As an afterthought, my horoscope that day rang true. Post it when I get that day’s h-scope.
Going back, I didn’t see any free food, but I did catch Tort fussing because it was already past one in the afternoon and the program hasn’t started yet. Ha, Filipino time.
Apparently, he and I were grossly misinformed. Want to know how disorganized this event was? Each college has their own respective programs, own emcees, and the bad part was, no one informed the other. Bara-bara, in the strictest sense of the word, Freshmania was. And CLA won’t have the stage until 3pm… or at least that’s what the time assignment said.
As CLAPOT and the other performers trickled in at about quarter to two, I grabbed the opportunity to either catch the HF staff meeting or at least pull some people to watch us make a fool of ourselves. My selling point was that Yassu and the Boylets would perform, only that Yassu and “the boylets” would be doing different bands. Alyssa has her own COS group, while Spy and I would be in Livewire, and Spy, Donnie, and Ray would represent CET with Starfish. Finally, the other Rei remained in HF for layout purposes.
For a birthday day, I found myself unusually grumpy. I slept at 1am and woke up at 9am. Hey, I had my eight hours of sleep. That shouldn’t be the case. Oh well… as Shakira would say, “Whenever!”
Had a shouting match with the Ass-suck-shit editor as I try to weed JE out of the office and towards the grandstand. And that didn’t end there. More on that later.
Jonas met us downstairs and joined. There was some blah hip-hop group running out of breathe onstage. I just had to laugh.
Well, “HF Sports” couldn’t last that long. Both had to leave early for academic reasons. Studious bunch, these two. Sayang, pare. Both of you missed half of your lives.
As the performers one by one walk away with the uncertainty of getting mic time since COS have been hogging the stage for the past two hours or so, we only got to do our soundcheck by 4:30pm. By this time, the guitar amps were starting to foul up.
Oh yeah, before I continue, the Zealots, the band right before Livewire, suddenly had the genius idea of doing “Hallelujah”. First thing that entered my mind was, “Uh oh.” Then I started moshing sarcastically, shouting, “Patay. Wala na.”
There was a look of concern in Spy’s face. An unwritten rule in musical performance states that covers done earlier cannot be played later on. One, redundancy. Two, it won’t have the same effect. What more if done one after the other?
Although Spy was entertaining the idea of scratching the Bamboo single out of the set list, CLAPOT and the others were still game to the idea of doing “Hallelujah”.
“Kapain mo na lang (reaction of the audience),” Badjet suggested.
Valiantly, the band still went onstage. They started off with a reggae rendition of the De La Salle Alma Mater Hymn. Now, that’s cool.
Then I did this reggae dance I picked up from a Rasta man in an Indio I gig in an NU107 Pocket Concert. Livened up the audience, amen. It helped that the CLA crowd was just plainly rowdy and simply appreciative of homegrown talent.
Livewire then followed it up with Hale’s “The Day You Said Goodnight”. I tell you, this is WRONG… so BAD-ONG, to paraphrase the Chosen One in Kung Pow. After hearing the word “Hail” almost a million times, my ears have to bleed because it has to surrender hearing a Hale song.
It’s enough that Champ has been stealing hearts from across the nation. This is plain overkill. If Hale was a knife, I’d be dead by now.
Ok, calm down, JP. You’re drifting again. Mental note: she’s already tekken.
I was awakened from my nightmare when Spy asked the pepped up froshies, “Gusto niyo pa?” They replied with a resounding, “Oo!”
He then asked for a moment of silence for all the journalists killed while doing their job. How timely. After the momentary hush, Spy said, “Tayo’y magdasal at magpasalamat sa Kanya.” Then Ael’s bass boomed into life (by this time, Ejay’s and Croox’s guitars were barely audible).
Get your mosh shoes ready, it’s “Hallelujah”! Nippon was helping me out with his brand of “back-up dancing”. Then after the pre-chorus after the rap, Spy pointed his mic in my direction. All right! The cue the two of us talked about and “rehearsed” for days.
“Whoah-ho-oh-oh! Hallelu-Hallelujah!” I screamed.
Spy then grabbed the spare mic while I jerked away the one he was holding. Now, to do the stuff I’ve been “rehearsing” while watching live performances of my favourite bands on tv. I ran towards the front of the staged and bellowed at the top of my lungs…
“Sinong sawa? Sinong galit? Sumigaw ngayong gabi, ANIMO LA SAAALLE!!!”
What a feeling it was!
I handed the mic back to Spy while I proceeded stage right, recovering my breath. At the last note, I was giving them the hands-down bow. Ash-tig, fare!
Literally, I was huffing like a dog and my throat was dry from that vocal exercise. Hell with thirst and respiratory shortgivings. That was the friggin’ time of my life!
Thanks for the gift, Spy. That’s the best birthday gift I have received my whole life. A close second was when I did the NCAA opening basketball marathon with Bjoe and Enzo on my 20th.
Also saw two of my krasses in the varsity booth. Oops, enemies spotted. Must act with great stealth and caution. Ended up treating Ekay for “pizza”.
Then the show dragged on… blah, blah, blah. Unfortunately, I didn’t get to see HF Sports writer Ayeen do her stuff on the catwalk. As the rubbing alcohol went, “’Di lang pang Sports, pang-modelo pa!” Astig! Pa-otograp!
Finally, Starfish capped the night while the crowd thinned during Lasallian Pop Band’s last set. That’s what you get for being too poppy.
In the end, Yassu didn’t get to play but “the boylets”, sans Rei, had their respective 15 minutes.
As nightcap, I went to HF to log out. Finally, they DID remember to greet me. I was waiting for YOU to do so the whole day and I was expecting YOU were the first people who would, you fokkers. All you want is the friggin’ free food (I just love assonance)!
Well, then, if you want fod, come with me to Imus. Took some prodding to and another temper tantrum to separate the chaff from the grain, aka, the prima donnas (“Just bring food tomorrow.”) from those who sincerely appreciate my presence and not just what’s on the table.
Eric (James) doesn’t say no to ANY party even if it’s held in Basilan or in South Pole, so he’s a given. Besides, he’s the first one who was pestering me as soon as the calendars read June.
Viva was just plain hungry. Besides, cut her some slack. She labored that layout of Just Play. A pleasant surprise, though, was Eric (Nicole).
Meanwhile, those who didn’t make it were Allan and Kate, who had “work” to do (really now); Upper had curefew, Tiffany walked away with Joemar (he was supposed to come with me, erm?); and Maycee walked away by herself. Errr… is it full moon?
Anyway, our conversations shifted from tennis, HF matters, tennis, school stuff, tennis, ghost stories and other urban legends within and without the DLSU System and Viva’s residence, tennis, general sports knowledge, more tennis, Cholo, Purple and the rest of HF Features, and tennis. Just like tennis, our discussions volleyed back and forth. Good dinner conversations, I might say.
Eric Nicole lectured us innocents on the history, fashion, and idiosyncrasies of lawn tennis, the different kinds of serves and volleys, while watching Andy Roddick grope for form against Sebastian Grosjean.
They left at about 1130om with Grosjean ahead by a set. Eric Nicole found it hard to peel himself out of his seat with a quarterfinal match going on. I said, if he hurry, he might catch it at the comfort of his own home. Well, it did reach five sets.
By this time, I was switching between Wimbledon and the replay of the NBA Draft. I wanted to know who the Pacers took in the second round. And I also saw “Hallelujah” in MYX.
I knew the day came to an “end” when I started falling asleep on the sofa while waiting for pick #47. I slept on that one. Nyargh!
-----
PSses…
Spy, admittedly, you and Jeff were the stars of the show, but thanks nevertheless for making my day.
Xyldz, sorry kung hindi tayo nagpang-abot sa HF. Kinarir ko Livewire. Hallelujah! By the way, hinahanap ka nina Baguio at ng ibang varsity. Siyet, sikat ka.
Ekay, hindi para sa iyo iyon. Tama na Oishi Caramel Popcorn sa’yo! Sabi ni July “pumapayat” ka na raw.
-----
Itong si Jordan, gulang ay 23…
…as the Rivermaya song goes. Unfortunately (or fortunately), I don’t have a Rosemarie who would be having her debut any time soon. Anyway, I don’t want to talk about “that” for the moment. Rather, I want to discuss about the first day my age is similar to the number at the back of Michael Jordan’s jersey. And it’s not 45, idiot.
Or it could start this way…
-----
Thanks for the gift, Spy
Sinong sawa, sinong galit? Sumigaw ngayong gabi, ANIMO LA SALLE!!!
If there was one song that would be a soundtrack for one special day in my life, it would be Bamboo’s “Hallelujah”. That special day was when my age officially resembles Michael Jordan’s jersey number. And it’s not 45, idiot.
Now, on with the story…
-----
The day started quite so-so. If we’re going to be strict about it, I was watching Amelie Mauresmo beat Anastacia Myskina to a bloody pulp in Wimbledon women’s quarterfinal action when the clock struck 12 to begin June 29.
While channel surfing, I chanced upon the music video of Bamboo’s “Hallelujah”. Make a mental note of that because I’ll be referring that song a lot of times later.
Since I went to bed late (I’m having a self-induced curfew at 12mn when school started… which I rarely follow), I was woken up by a shriek downstairs. Screaming back, I asked what time it was. It was 9-ish.
Still no need to panic, but I had a self-imposed call time of 10am so that I’ll have ample time to prepare for my first gig this year with Livewire. Yes, my first gig after a year’s hiatus. I see a trend there, but I’ll drift.
In addition, I just timed seeing the Minnesota Timberwolves draft Rashad McCants. I would have loved McCant’s shooting help the Indiana Pacers, but there must be a reason why things didn’t end up that way. With Sam Cassell and Latrell Sprewell getting volatile because of their contracts (you wouldn’t be in Minny if Kevin Garnett didn’t sacrifice a big pay cut to acquire you nitwits), add in an unstable McCants in the roster, and they might just self-implode some more.
Then the Pacers would snag the Tar Heel in next year’s offseason while the Wolves “rebuild”. That would be fun. I apologize for drifting, sorry.
Anyway, I left at the house past 10am and arrived in school at about 10:30. One sign that things aren’t starting on the right foot: I entered the wrong venue. Lugging Spy’s guitar with me, I felt like a lost froshie inside the PLS.
Although I was told that CLA’s gig would be held at Lake Park, you’ll never know what last-minute changes they do in haphazard-organized school events. Yes, I was wandering in CBA’s Freshmania thingy.
Good thing I spotted Con-con Legaspi and Ekay Maravilla on the walkway towards the innards of the campus. If you don’t know who they are, go research your collegiate volleyball.
Good thing I had the previous day’s copy of Inquirer Sports. Gave it to Con-con as “souvenier” because she was mentioned in the V-League article. I saw her injury and the three of us were making fun of it as if it’s just a sprain. Well, her injury is just a sprain in her left ankle.
Oh yeah, also saw Alyssa’s “Proud ako dito” and the real Alyssa in the “MRT” (my other term for the walkway beside the oval). From her I got the confirmation that CLA was doing their thing in Lake Park.
Hope I’m not yet late…
I arrived and the party was just starting. Still had time to log in at HF. I patiently waited for my spot (I was part of the finale), when the sky suddenly became overcast. What the? Moments ago, “groupies” shaded Livewire and Prime with umbrellas under the heat of the sun.
And as Badjet ordered the froshies to proceed to the grandstand for free food, thunder rolled. Ok, pack up, show’s over, shower’s on, mother packer.
Feck. My first gig got rained out. Uncharacteristically, Wimbledon’s schedule id on smooth sailing with only a few matches being halted due to darkness. Feck, again.
Lunch hour was a flurry of activity. I was deciding on whether to go to the oval for the “free food”, lounge in HF while waiting for he bigger Freshmania party to commence at 1pm, or attend my first Statistics class. Guess what, I got to do all three.
Apparently, Stat class had an exam that day and the prof was just waiting for one student to finish her test. Handed her my class card and gave me my first assignment. Cool.
Then proceeded to HF to lounge. Finding myself unproductive reading blah Inquirer news, I excused myself from the staff meeting went to the grandstand.
As an afterthought, my horoscope that day rang true. Post it when I get that day’s h-scope.
Going back, I didn’t see any free food, but I did catch Tort fussing because it was already past one in the afternoon and the program hasn’t started yet. Ha, Filipino time.
Apparently, he and I were grossly misinformed. Want to know how disorganized this event was? Each college has their own respective programs, own emcees, and the bad part was, no one informed the other. Bara-bara, in the strictest sense of the word, Freshmania was. And CLA won’t have the stage until 3pm… or at least that’s what the time assignment said.
As CLAPOT and the other performers trickled in at about quarter to two, I grabbed the opportunity to either catch the HF staff meeting or at least pull some people to watch us make a fool of ourselves. My selling point was that Yassu and the Boylets would perform, only that Yassu and “the boylets” would be doing different bands. Alyssa has her own COS group, while Spy and I would be in Livewire, and Spy, Donnie, and Ray would represent CET with Starfish. Finally, the other Rei remained in HF for layout purposes.
For a birthday day, I found myself unusually grumpy. I slept at 1am and woke up at 9am. Hey, I had my eight hours of sleep. That shouldn’t be the case. Oh well… as Shakira would say, “Whenever!”
Had a shouting match with the Ass-suck-shit editor as I try to weed JE out of the office and towards the grandstand. And that didn’t end there. More on that later.
Jonas met us downstairs and joined. There was some blah hip-hop group running out of breathe onstage. I just had to laugh.
Well, “HF Sports” couldn’t last that long. Both had to leave early for academic reasons. Studious bunch, these two. Sayang, pare. Both of you missed half of your lives.
As the performers one by one walk away with the uncertainty of getting mic time since COS have been hogging the stage for the past two hours or so, we only got to do our soundcheck by 4:30pm. By this time, the guitar amps were starting to foul up.
Oh yeah, before I continue, the Zealots, the band right before Livewire, suddenly had the genius idea of doing “Hallelujah”. First thing that entered my mind was, “Uh oh.” Then I started moshing sarcastically, shouting, “Patay. Wala na.”
There was a look of concern in Spy’s face. An unwritten rule in musical performance states that covers done earlier cannot be played later on. One, redundancy. Two, it won’t have the same effect. What more if done one after the other?
Although Spy was entertaining the idea of scratching the Bamboo single out of the set list, CLAPOT and the others were still game to the idea of doing “Hallelujah”.
“Kapain mo na lang (reaction of the audience),” Badjet suggested.
Valiantly, the band still went onstage. They started off with a reggae rendition of the De La Salle Alma Mater Hymn. Now, that’s cool.
Then I did this reggae dance I picked up from a Rasta man in an Indio I gig in an NU107 Pocket Concert. Livened up the audience, amen. It helped that the CLA crowd was just plainly rowdy and simply appreciative of homegrown talent.
Livewire then followed it up with Hale’s “The Day You Said Goodnight”. I tell you, this is WRONG… so BAD-ONG, to paraphrase the Chosen One in Kung Pow. After hearing the word “Hail” almost a million times, my ears have to bleed because it has to surrender hearing a Hale song.
It’s enough that Champ has been stealing hearts from across the nation. This is plain overkill. If Hale was a knife, I’d be dead by now.
Ok, calm down, JP. You’re drifting again. Mental note: she’s already tekken.
I was awakened from my nightmare when Spy asked the pepped up froshies, “Gusto niyo pa?” They replied with a resounding, “Oo!”
He then asked for a moment of silence for all the journalists killed while doing their job. How timely. After the momentary hush, Spy said, “Tayo’y magdasal at magpasalamat sa Kanya.” Then Ael’s bass boomed into life (by this time, Ejay’s and Croox’s guitars were barely audible).
Get your mosh shoes ready, it’s “Hallelujah”! Nippon was helping me out with his brand of “back-up dancing”. Then after the pre-chorus after the rap, Spy pointed his mic in my direction. All right! The cue the two of us talked about and “rehearsed” for days.
“Whoah-ho-oh-oh! Hallelu-Hallelujah!” I screamed.
Spy then grabbed the spare mic while I jerked away the one he was holding. Now, to do the stuff I’ve been “rehearsing” while watching live performances of my favourite bands on tv. I ran towards the front of the staged and bellowed at the top of my lungs…
“Sinong sawa? Sinong galit? Sumigaw ngayong gabi, ANIMO LA SAAALLE!!!”
What a feeling it was!
I handed the mic back to Spy while I proceeded stage right, recovering my breath. At the last note, I was giving them the hands-down bow. Ash-tig, fare!
Literally, I was huffing like a dog and my throat was dry from that vocal exercise. Hell with thirst and respiratory shortgivings. That was the friggin’ time of my life!
Thanks for the gift, Spy. That’s the best birthday gift I have received my whole life. A close second was when I did the NCAA opening basketball marathon with Bjoe and Enzo on my 20th.
Also saw two of my krasses in the varsity booth. Oops, enemies spotted. Must act with great stealth and caution. Ended up treating Ekay for “pizza”.
Then the show dragged on… blah, blah, blah. Unfortunately, I didn’t get to see HF Sports writer Ayeen do her stuff on the catwalk. As the rubbing alcohol went, “’Di lang pang Sports, pang-modelo pa!” Astig! Pa-otograp!
Finally, Starfish capped the night while the crowd thinned during Lasallian Pop Band’s last set. That’s what you get for being too poppy.
In the end, Yassu didn’t get to play but “the boylets”, sans Rei, had their respective 15 minutes.
As nightcap, I went to HF to log out. Finally, they DID remember to greet me. I was waiting for YOU to do so the whole day and I was expecting YOU were the first people who would, you fokkers. All you want is the friggin’ free food (I just love assonance)!
Well, then, if you want fod, come with me to Imus. Took some prodding to and another temper tantrum to separate the chaff from the grain, aka, the prima donnas (“Just bring food tomorrow.”) from those who sincerely appreciate my presence and not just what’s on the table.
Eric (James) doesn’t say no to ANY party even if it’s held in Basilan or in South Pole, so he’s a given. Besides, he’s the first one who was pestering me as soon as the calendars read June.
Viva was just plain hungry. Besides, cut her some slack. She labored that layout of Just Play. A pleasant surprise, though, was Eric (Nicole).
Meanwhile, those who didn’t make it were Allan and Kate, who had “work” to do (really now); Upper had curefew, Tiffany walked away with Joemar (he was supposed to come with me, erm?); and Maycee walked away by herself. Errr… is it full moon?
Anyway, our conversations shifted from tennis, HF matters, tennis, school stuff, tennis, ghost stories and other urban legends within and without the DLSU System and Viva’s residence, tennis, general sports knowledge, more tennis, Cholo, Purple and the rest of HF Features, and tennis. Just like tennis, our discussions volleyed back and forth. Good dinner conversations, I might say.
Eric Nicole lectured us innocents on the history, fashion, and idiosyncrasies of lawn tennis, the different kinds of serves and volleys, while watching Andy Roddick grope for form against Sebastian Grosjean.
They left at about 1130om with Grosjean ahead by a set. Eric Nicole found it hard to peel himself out of his seat with a quarterfinal match going on. I said, if he hurry, he might catch it at the comfort of his own home. Well, it did reach five sets.
By this time, I was switching between Wimbledon and the replay of the NBA Draft. I wanted to know who the Pacers took in the second round. And I also saw “Hallelujah” in MYX.
I knew the day came to an “end” when I started falling asleep on the sofa while waiting for pick #47. I slept on that one. Nyargh!
-----
PSses…
Spy, admittedly, you and Jeff were the stars of the show, but thanks nevertheless for making my day.
Xyldz, sorry kung hindi tayo nagpang-abot sa HF. Kinarir ko Livewire. Hallelujah! By the way, hinahanap ka nina Baguio at ng ibang varsity. Siyet, sikat ka.
Ekay, hindi para sa iyo iyon. Tama na Oishi Caramel Popcorn sa’yo! Sabi ni July “pumapayat” ka na raw.
// posted by Unknown @ 20:06 
