This is not an article
June 17, 2005 | 12:00am
I hate deadlines; yet I cant live without them. They impose order on randomness. Theyre immediate, theyre imposing and in most cases very deadly indeed. So, if one is writing a column, and is stuck for an idea what is one to do?
In my case, I just miss them. I tell my editors my five readers wouldnt mind. (Of course, there are really only two: the others are imaginary, I believe.) But if I do decide to jot down anything, itll more or less be a rambling mess. Ive quit alcohol and stopped taking Zoloft so maybe everything I just wanted to say about anything is gone, into the ether that it was all the right kind of drug abuse (and legal) that provided the spark, the inspiration, the chemical balance. I feel spent, content as the late wife of my grand uncle Carlos P. Romulo said to glow faintly in the shadow of my more famous wife.
Theres an idea. Talk about my wife God knows Ive done a lot of that in this column. But what else can I say about her that would really capture how amazing she really is? Yvonne thats her name (as if you five didnt already know) is possibly the greatest woman who has ever and will ever live! Shes a sonnet by Shakespeare, a Dalinian fried egg and Heisenbergs Uncertainty Principle a person I sometimes imagine I dreamed up and became true. Only problem is, Im not that imaginative.
So far I have 262 words and its touching to me that it only took me that long to understand that I really cant say anymore about her that would possibly add to her magnificence. I love the girl, thats that.
Actually, if youre puzzled or even disgusted by how this piece has shaped up I point the guilty finger at Radioactive Sago Projects Lourd de Veyra. (Buy their sophomore album "Urban Gulaman" at all quality record stores.) Being the mischievous bastard that he is, he put me up to just ranting. He does it on stage at every show and every one of his seven male groupies seems to dig it. (The same bunch shows up at every gig.) Hey, this is how I earn a living and, at least, Im not a telemarketer.
To make up for the preceding mess, I can tell readers that Neil Gaiman is indeed coming and our good friends at Fully Booked have set up interviews for the press. If youre really dying to ask Gaiman something you can e-mail your questions to the e-mail address below and Ill see if I can ask them. Remember, Gaiman is the most profiled and interviewed comics figure in the history of the medium so best send more interesting questions than, (in a nasal, annoying, sycophantic voice) Whered you get the idea for Sandman? For more details, visit any one of Fully Booked branches either in the Powerplant Rockwell or Gateway in Cubao. Keep your radios tuned to NU 107.5 because Ramon, Quark and myself will ask the man himself to play DJ. (Its taped elsewhere so dont bother coming to the station.)
(Thats 522 words; is that enough?)
Ive lost the ability to watch porn. Malek Lopez of Rubber Inc. has told me that this is due to the fact that I also write and direct porn. To elucidate, I was involved (i.e. scriptwriting, scoring, sound-designing) in a Viva Hot Babes flick and did an independent feature that contained drum roll please one sex scene! Until now, despite the film being an hour and a half long, people including friends and peers like Alexis Tioseco just remember that one scene! I think Igan D Bayan liked it particularly (but hed never admit it if Becca was in the vicinity). Maybe Ill e-mail and ask him since hes always out of the country, itll be a lot cheaper than calling him at the MTV Europe Awards.
I started this at eleven oclock and now 677 words later its already morning. Even though I dont usually listen to fusion while writing, I decided to play Mahavishnu Orchestras "Inner Worlds" when I started because I felt I needed to hear a guitar played by John McLaughlin (either that or it was Geddy Lees yelping) on my iTunes. I barely could get beyond a few words as John Zorns Masada clicked in and was well about to give up until I hear that welcome cry that opens the title song of MC5s debut: Its time to kick out the jams, motherf***ers! Pumped, I punched the keys as if I were a black thug toting a machine gun. I fire randomly into the crowd and take a couple of innocent bystanders. Seeing the blood on my hands, I decide to take a piss and head back for a rewrite
Six hours behind the deadline and no sleep. The writings not smooth but its getting there. By the time, the computer plays Milli Vanillis Girl, You Know Its True I get all sentimental about Yvonne and decide to add a few more things to describe her beauty: shes both a Gabby Barredo kinetic sculpture and the opening chords to the Rolling Stones Gimme Shelter, the word "too" in HP Lovecrafts stories and the taste of warm taho in the morning again, I fail to convey anything close to her.
The stereo hooked up to my computer is playing a new album by Awit Award winning soul-jazz musician Mishka Adams called "God Bless the Child." Released by Candid Records, Adams beat out more popular artists like Kitchie Nadal and Rachel Ann Go and that is something to be happy about. Its a smattering of standards like Autumn Leaves, Somewhere Over The Rainbow and Summertime with the young ingénues own compositions. Its Adams original compositions that impress that there is definitely talent to be reckoned here. On an otherwise overcast and bleak morning in Pasig, Adams invites us to get lost in Marrakech and Mamas Garden, opening fresh vistas to see past the smog that colors our mornings.
Managing to sneak a little mini-review in this jumble is something Im proud of. Its all smoke and mirrors, this magic. Maybe Im not spent after all and maybe this is how this column should be conducted from here on. (I hear my editors groan.) At this point, weve gone beyond a thousand words and my deadline is fast approaching. And they might be showing another rerun of my favorite show ED on ETC so I guess Ill just take a bow and leave the stage for now.
Be sure to pick up your litter on your way out.
Send comments and reactions to: erwin_romulo@hotmail.com.
In my case, I just miss them. I tell my editors my five readers wouldnt mind. (Of course, there are really only two: the others are imaginary, I believe.) But if I do decide to jot down anything, itll more or less be a rambling mess. Ive quit alcohol and stopped taking Zoloft so maybe everything I just wanted to say about anything is gone, into the ether that it was all the right kind of drug abuse (and legal) that provided the spark, the inspiration, the chemical balance. I feel spent, content as the late wife of my grand uncle Carlos P. Romulo said to glow faintly in the shadow of my more famous wife.
Theres an idea. Talk about my wife God knows Ive done a lot of that in this column. But what else can I say about her that would really capture how amazing she really is? Yvonne thats her name (as if you five didnt already know) is possibly the greatest woman who has ever and will ever live! Shes a sonnet by Shakespeare, a Dalinian fried egg and Heisenbergs Uncertainty Principle a person I sometimes imagine I dreamed up and became true. Only problem is, Im not that imaginative.
So far I have 262 words and its touching to me that it only took me that long to understand that I really cant say anymore about her that would possibly add to her magnificence. I love the girl, thats that.
Actually, if youre puzzled or even disgusted by how this piece has shaped up I point the guilty finger at Radioactive Sago Projects Lourd de Veyra. (Buy their sophomore album "Urban Gulaman" at all quality record stores.) Being the mischievous bastard that he is, he put me up to just ranting. He does it on stage at every show and every one of his seven male groupies seems to dig it. (The same bunch shows up at every gig.) Hey, this is how I earn a living and, at least, Im not a telemarketer.
To make up for the preceding mess, I can tell readers that Neil Gaiman is indeed coming and our good friends at Fully Booked have set up interviews for the press. If youre really dying to ask Gaiman something you can e-mail your questions to the e-mail address below and Ill see if I can ask them. Remember, Gaiman is the most profiled and interviewed comics figure in the history of the medium so best send more interesting questions than, (in a nasal, annoying, sycophantic voice) Whered you get the idea for Sandman? For more details, visit any one of Fully Booked branches either in the Powerplant Rockwell or Gateway in Cubao. Keep your radios tuned to NU 107.5 because Ramon, Quark and myself will ask the man himself to play DJ. (Its taped elsewhere so dont bother coming to the station.)
(Thats 522 words; is that enough?)
Ive lost the ability to watch porn. Malek Lopez of Rubber Inc. has told me that this is due to the fact that I also write and direct porn. To elucidate, I was involved (i.e. scriptwriting, scoring, sound-designing) in a Viva Hot Babes flick and did an independent feature that contained drum roll please one sex scene! Until now, despite the film being an hour and a half long, people including friends and peers like Alexis Tioseco just remember that one scene! I think Igan D Bayan liked it particularly (but hed never admit it if Becca was in the vicinity). Maybe Ill e-mail and ask him since hes always out of the country, itll be a lot cheaper than calling him at the MTV Europe Awards.
I started this at eleven oclock and now 677 words later its already morning. Even though I dont usually listen to fusion while writing, I decided to play Mahavishnu Orchestras "Inner Worlds" when I started because I felt I needed to hear a guitar played by John McLaughlin (either that or it was Geddy Lees yelping) on my iTunes. I barely could get beyond a few words as John Zorns Masada clicked in and was well about to give up until I hear that welcome cry that opens the title song of MC5s debut: Its time to kick out the jams, motherf***ers! Pumped, I punched the keys as if I were a black thug toting a machine gun. I fire randomly into the crowd and take a couple of innocent bystanders. Seeing the blood on my hands, I decide to take a piss and head back for a rewrite
Six hours behind the deadline and no sleep. The writings not smooth but its getting there. By the time, the computer plays Milli Vanillis Girl, You Know Its True I get all sentimental about Yvonne and decide to add a few more things to describe her beauty: shes both a Gabby Barredo kinetic sculpture and the opening chords to the Rolling Stones Gimme Shelter, the word "too" in HP Lovecrafts stories and the taste of warm taho in the morning again, I fail to convey anything close to her.
The stereo hooked up to my computer is playing a new album by Awit Award winning soul-jazz musician Mishka Adams called "God Bless the Child." Released by Candid Records, Adams beat out more popular artists like Kitchie Nadal and Rachel Ann Go and that is something to be happy about. Its a smattering of standards like Autumn Leaves, Somewhere Over The Rainbow and Summertime with the young ingénues own compositions. Its Adams original compositions that impress that there is definitely talent to be reckoned here. On an otherwise overcast and bleak morning in Pasig, Adams invites us to get lost in Marrakech and Mamas Garden, opening fresh vistas to see past the smog that colors our mornings.
Managing to sneak a little mini-review in this jumble is something Im proud of. Its all smoke and mirrors, this magic. Maybe Im not spent after all and maybe this is how this column should be conducted from here on. (I hear my editors groan.) At this point, weve gone beyond a thousand words and my deadline is fast approaching. And they might be showing another rerun of my favorite show ED on ETC so I guess Ill just take a bow and leave the stage for now.
Be sure to pick up your litter on your way out.
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