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CACHE's Smoking Gun

By
Michael Mirasol
on January 17, 2010 7:38 AM | | Comments (13) | TrackBacks (0)
Roger Ebert just added the French Film CACHE (2005) to his Great Movies section. And in it, Roger thinks he's found the smoking gun as to who was sending the mysterious videos. Here's my take on it.

Warning! Spoilers abound!

On IMDB forums, there has been much discussion on the shot that Roger mentions in his review, specified at 20:39 of the DVD. Some people have been focusing on this shot.

shot1.jpg

I've studied this shot over and over and can find no discernable aspect that seemed revelatory. Even the side mirror from Pierrot's side doesn't reveal anything upon closeup. Nothing is revealed from his bag. But take note that Georges's car is right at the spot where the film's initial recording shot is made. So the clue lies here.

Now note the time (20:37). This is not the shot which Roger is talking about. If we move 2 seconds further into the film...

shot2.jpg

In this shot where Georges's guest is recalling a story, you can see that part of his narration is the film's clue. There's only one mirror at the far end of the screen in the first shot. And that is on Pierrot's side.

The film's very subtitles tell us that Pierrot is the one who was sending the videos.

Addendum:

I just spoke with a friend who mentions that the scene in question might be this one:

shot3.jpg

As Roger states in his review, the film's completely "still" shots are the objective ones, while the ones that move (including the ones in "rewind" mode) are subjective. This one (we'll call shot #3), though this seems to belong to the former, I'm inclined to believe belongs to the latter, as it specifically refers to the spot where Georges's house is being recorded (the film's opening shot). It has to be a POV, but from who's?

The film tricks us (as it did me) with the succeeding shot of a boy with a bleeding mouth. If you watch carefully, the camera pans across the room to the bleeding boy by the window. This is not Georges's adult home, it's from his childhood home. The living room in this sequence is the same as the same sequence later in the film where Georges is leaving his mother's house. The boy I believe is Majid, from Georges's childhood memories.

Think about it. Shot #3 I believe is from Pierrot's POV, looking at the spot where he can record his videos. The shot involving the bleeding boy reveals why Georges must have wanted Majid to be taken away. As a boy, he must have discovered Majid bleeding, and being young, did not understand what his condition meant, leading to the film's disturbing revelations.

One thing that is clear about this movie, is that Haneke has complete understanding about how film narrative works and how ingrained audiences have become in its expectations of it. What an incredibly layered mystery this film is.

Teddy Pendergrass, Rest in Peace

By
Michael Mirasol
on January 14, 2010 7:04 PM | | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)
Growing up in the 80s in the Philippines, way before the MTV age had hit us, TV channels like IBC-13 and GMA-7 would show music videos in the morning (around 6am) as filler to start the day. Filipinos are the most sentimental of South East Asians. When it comes to love songs, we love 'em mellow and worn on a sleeve.

I first encountered Teddy Pendergrass with his video 'In My Time'. I had no idea what he meant to American culture back then, as it was slowly seeping into me. But his video was one of the most memorable to me. While everybody was singing about loneliness and passion, this song evoked a strong reminiscence and loving gratitude. And when it finally showed him in his wheelchair, it etched itself into memory.

I re-discovered Teddy later on in my 60s-70s R&B phase. If Marvin Gaye was the silk of romance, Teddy Pendergrass was its velvet. And that's what many will remember him for, being R. Kelly before R. Kelly. I recall Eddie Murphy's joke about his sexy ferociousness, "He would scare the bitches into liking him!"

But I will remember that loving and heartbreaking video of Teddy looking back at his life, even more so now. God bless you Teddy.


Why I care about Malaysia

By
Michael Mirasol
on January 11, 2010 12:27 AM | | Comments (4) | TrackBacks (0)
Before I started my stint in Saudi Arabia, I had lived and worked in Malaysia for 4 years as an I.T. Consultant. When I first arrived there, I didn't make too much of it at first. I had just gotten married for a little less than a year, with the intention to save up my family life later on.

After 3 months, my wife came to visit me. The company I was working for was willing to hire her since she had skill-sets which suited them. We had our first child here, and in that time, Malaysia had transformed from a strange place to a comfortable home.

Malaysia is a wonderful country. It's not as cosmopolitan or flashy as New York, not as sprawling as Los Angeles, and not as urban as Singapore, and not as vibrant or bustling as Manila. But it has a very distinct Asian character, a laid back melting pot where everyone seems welcome (and where the food is great!). Malaysians aren't very outgoing or demonstrative, but they aren't judgmental or cynical. Some foreigners find them plain, I find them pleasant.

My first experiences with Malaysians were when I was studying in Australia. During University life, I stayed in a dorm filled with Malaysians, and they welcomed me with open arms, which was so reassuring since I was the only Filipino there at that time. They spoke in English whenever I was around and never teased me behind my back (as far as I could tell). They would invite me out and have my back if things got nasty. They were my Asian family away from family.

I could feel this acceptance and multiculturalism during my working days. The country is comprised of three major groups, the Malays (the Muslim majority), the Chinese, and the Indians. Any foreigner visiting for the first time will always note how remarkable the country seems to be with all of these people truly living side by side without much fuss. I go to Malay restaurants and see everybody, even Westerners eating by hand. I eat at Curry houses and see Chinese ordering enthusiastically. I go to Chinese markets and see Indians among the first there. There were no cliques (at least where I went). Everybody did seem to get along.

Now of course not everything is perfect. Many non-Malaysians do not know of the May 13 incident and its resulting laws which enforce affirmative action policies that favor the Malay majority. I have many Malay and non-Malay friends who have criticized this issue, citing that it is the source of friction against the government which is still overwhelmingly Malay (though not as much as before). I really can't cite any form of discrimination that I've seen against anybody in Malaysia, but again, I haven't lived here long enough. Plus I am an expatriate, and the government encourages foreign workers to come and help build the economy, as long as times are good. From the minority's standpoint, Malays and foreigners get special treatment because of these policies, and it really is unfair.

But this inequality hasn't caused any major disruption in the Malaysian way of life, unless you count the complacency in government. The last major elections held here resulted in major losses for Barisan Nasional (BN), the country's largest political coalition, which is dominated mostly by the United Malays National Organization (UMNO). From more than 80%, its constituency has shrunk to between 60%-65%, giving the opposition more power in opposing legislation the Malay government wishes to implement.

With the latest furor in Malaysia now, against complaints of using the word 'Allah' by a Catholic newspaper, and accusations of trying to convert muslims by confusing them, I find it absolutely heartbreaking to see this rending of cultural and religious harmony. The use of 'Allah' has been used by Christians in Malaysia for over half a century, and now it's an issue? Conversion from Islam is considered an insult to the religion, a criminal offense in several states, and gravely looked down upon. From what I've known, it very rarely happens. If people for more than 50 years have known about the gravity of conversions, how could they be possibly confused over this word now as compared to back then?

Everybody who has lived in Malaysia knows that this is being done for political gains (it's been done in every country where religion is culturally ingrained). The majority has to hold on tight to whoever they can. That's why Anwar Ibrahim, the charismatic, outspoken, and Western leaning opposition leader, is in the trouble he's in (but that's another story). I never thought I'd see the day where Malay extremists would start burning churches, an image unimaginable during my stay.

I am an agnostic. I believe in God but not in religion. But that doesn't mean I don't believe in the essence of Malaysia. It is still a rarity in South East Asia, how it can accept others. It mustn't accept this.

A Filipino 'Rotten Tomatoes' is long overdue

By
Michael Mirasol
on January 7, 2010 10:19 PM | | Comments (7) | TrackBacks (0)
RTPH.jpg
Several years ago, when I started contributing reviews for the Manila Times, I thought of starting a Philippine version of Rotten Tomatoes, that famed movie review aggregation site. I bought a domain and tried to map out how to get it done.

Through my editor (Dennis Ladaw), I had gotten in touch with several film critics from established broadsheets (e.g. Malaya, Manila Standard, Manila Bulletin, etc.) trying to establish relationships, with the intent of having their views eventually shared on that website. I had no idea of what considerations to take, especially in dealing with major newspapers. But because of budget restraints at the Times, I lost the opportunity to further this enterprise and my writing.

Things have changed since then. Any serious Filipino movie lover knows that the best film critique doesn't lie in broadsheets anymore. There have been several wonderful film blogs/sites which have enlightened those who have found them, that dwarf most (if not all) discourse from the dailies. Some eloquent examples are Francis 'Oggs' Cruz, Noel Vera, Eboy Donato, the fellows at Pelikula Tumblr and Criticine, and many many others. The decline in the balanced substance of newspaper reviews is sad but understandable, since most of them (like The Inquirer) are owned by the same conglomerates that are involved in the entertainment industry, not to mention rife with debilitating internal politics, not limited to the Entertainment section.

The amount of bribery in printed film reviews is astounding. Many (not all) of the film critics I knew back then were inclined to give favorable reviews. If they didn't "mail them in," film studios would no longer give them free invites to major local releases (heck, even the US releases which local film distributors were handling), along with other perks. As I've said before, film journalism in the Philippines is not something that will feed your family, so anything that helps cut costs, or creates networking access, is something film journalists will take just to survive.

For all the fellow Filipino film bloggers out there: We keep on complaining about the quality churned out by our film studios, decrying the lack and hypocrisy of coverage when it comes our independent scene. We need to stop bitching and do something about it.

So I propose this: to setup an aggregate film review website to make our thoughts known on particular films. That way, we can do something no daily can do. If we were able to reach each other through our writings on the web, doing this will reach others who are hungry for something better (I can help with the technical setup). Let's do it for Alexis Tioseco, whose love for movies went without question. Get the ball rolling and see how it goes!

Now. What do we call it?

Do we give a damn about firecracker injuries?

By
Michael Mirasol
on January 2, 2010 1:32 PM | | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)
Is the Philippines the last country in the world which gives a damn about New Year firecracker injuries?

I was pondering this when I came upon a report in the New York Times about New Year celebrations in Times Square and around the world. When it came to reporting injuries, the Philippines was the only nation mentioned. Surely there could have been others.

Then I entered the two words "firecracker" and "injuries" at Google News. Try it out, we're pretty much the only country other than a small region in Indonesia with a high turnout of people getting maimed.

I understand the tradition behind it, involving the Chinese belief that it drives bad spirits away. And yet common sense dictates otherwise. They cause pain, pollution, and nowadays hit you square in the pocket as well. I was watching a report on GMA News, focusing on firecracker vendors in Bocaue, Bulacan. Business was brisk on New Year's Eve. One guy spent 15,000 PHP on fireworks because his relatives had come back from abroad to celebrate.

I can understand celebrating new times in old-school ways. But 15,000? Imagine the food you could have prepared with that money. Interviews with the impoverished in Metro Manila kept on saying that they were saving money because of tough times, and yet there they were letting their children blow stuff up good.

Sure they don't know any better, but the rest of us do and aren't doing anything about it. There are other traditions during new year that are practiced for good luck. Like eating 12 grapes with each one representing a month of the new year. I personally like the practice in Buddhist temples in Japan, where they release thousands of balloons into the air. No fireworks, just joy with simple prayers for better times.



I'm not saying that fireworks should be outlawed completely. They're used for celebration. But let the pros do it. If someone can spend 15K on fireworks, they certainly can afford to drive their family to the nearest fireworks display and enjoy the show with everyone else. Then perhaps we won't have to see news of people losing digits over new calendar numbers.

Car Crash: Epilogue and Reflections

By
Michael Mirasol
on December 29, 2009 12:36 AM | | Comments (5) | TrackBacks (0)
The car crash which I survived this past December 5, was a day after which my father passed away 11 years ago. Though I don't usually look into such coincidences with much fanfare, I do today with a certain reverie.

As I was on my way to work today, my transport for whatever reason decided to take the same route Ed, Lito, and I used to take during the several months I've been here. It was the first time I had revisited that route since the crash.

Today is my dad's birthday.

The intersection was as I remember it before the accident. How strange it now seems that a common work of concrete and asphalt is now personally imbued with such grim significance. My mother, a devout Catholic (not a religious nut) is a true spiritual follower, focusing on the goodness that thoughtful, soulful reflection can bring to oneself and to others. She'd probably remind me how an intersection is a cross (let's not go there), but it's just a measure of how much she loves and thinks about me I'm sure.

Dad passed away in pain. He suffered an aneurysm just as he was leaving work. Remembering him today surrounded by the memories of my recent accident, I can somehow imagine what he might have been thinking at the time. My sister and I were still finishing college while he was the sole breadwinner. I now have a child and my wife and I work to put food on the table.

It's a horrible thing to worry about how your family will survive without you, so near to the precipice. To feel that you might never see them again. I know that dad must have thought those thoughts. HIs driver and family friend Jun was with him as he rushed him to the nearest hospital. As he was taken into the ICU, Jun told us that his last words were, "Study hard. Study hard."

They could just have easily been my own.

Besides the bus driver who hit us, I was the only one who remembered the entire thing. Ed suffered head injuries, and though thank heavens they weren't really serious, he couldn't remember what happened when it did. Both of us were admitted for 3 days, and in that time, I was the one recounting the entire incident to officemates, friends and family (both Ed's and mine). We both were released the same day, suffering the same aches and pains, receiving the same kind of medication. Ed of course has the worse scars, but if you seem him today (of course with a baseball cap), you wouldn't know anything had happened to him.

It took about two weeks to really get over the pain from my contusion, bruises and neck pains. I've pretty much completely recovered. The only thing I have left is a very small mass (blood clot) around my right pelvis area caused by the seatbelt that is fading by the day. On the day I was released, it was about the size of a small banana. The nurses might have thought I was happy to see them.

I commented to several friends that none of the bystanders seemed to be willing to help. Most of them were gawking at the scene if not getting on their phones. But they along with other expats have told me that there are local considerations to be made. Many of the onlookers were maintenance crew, engineers, and other expats working in surrounding industries. And at the scene of an accident, the local police have free rein in rounding up nearby 'suspects.' Locals are usually spared, but if you're a foreigner, you'll usually be singled out and be brought in for questioning. So there are risks that you could even be accused of causing the accident if you happen to help. Compare that to Good Samaritan laws in France where you are required to help victims at the scene of a serious accident.

Speaking of culpability, the guy who caused our misfortune was a Pakistani driver working his usual bus route rushing to bring a few workers to their office. Many bus services here work several companies on tight schedules, so it's not uncommon to see their vehicles rushing here and there at the expense of 'minor' traffic infractions. Their training here is rushed by their employers, so basic signs, like the one that said STOP on his lane, was most likely an afterthought.

When I exited the smashed car, I noticed three fellows exit their bus. I had no idea which of them was the driver. Now I don't think I want to know. I don't know his name, what he looks like, or how long he'll be in jail, as he already is. The investigation was quick as I was informed there there's a law where if the front of your vehicle is damaged, the accident is ruled automatically against you, regardless of the circumstances. Though I am satisfied that he is behind bars, there is a part of me that pities him. He is most likely from an impoverished background as most drivers here I know are, slaving away to save money for his family, not being able to go home often due to travel costs. Part of me wanted to know if he was given a just sentence; if he'll be treated fairly.

That of course must be of little concern to Lito's family. His full name was Angelito Asperec, and he worked as an administrative assistant in my uncle's procurement division. He is survived by his wife Liezel and his two children. My heart goes out to them. I was told that she learned of accident while at a party. As she was told to go home, her relatives were contacted as well to proceed to her place to help her through what she would be told next.

My mom got that same sort of news when my dad passed away. I cannot describe to you how a mother has to prepare her children for the loss of their father. It's something you wish on no one.

There was small solace that my great friend and uncle Samir, Lito's boss, had been meeting with the company's chairman that same day of the accident. The chairman rarely gets to visit the company, as he last visited several months before. When someone mentioned to him that Samir had lost a valued friend and employee, the chairman offered a year's worth of Lito's salary as compensation (the usual is 3 months). It was a generous heartfelt gesture considering that the company we work for is going through a tough time.

Lito was a short, quiet kind of guy, but whenever I saw him he was always smiling. All of us Pinoys in the office would get together for lunch (all the nationalities have their own table groups, like cliques at a high school canteen). During Ramadan, where non-Muslims have to scurry away from the majority just to have lunch, we would all gather in the drivers' quarters and, for lack of a better phrase, "shoot the shit," talking about current events and politics, but never anything really personal.

My last memories of Lito are of us sharing emails and chats over Pacquiao's success over Miguel Cotto. Greeting him every morning when Ed picked us up, and wishing him well as left at the same spot. I once walked with him as he went to a nearby remittance center, preparing to send support to his family no doubt. I didn't know him long, but he was a decent man.

When Samir arrived at our accident, he said, "Thank God nothing happened to you." If you were there you would see why. Death was pretty much outside the driver's door. But oddly enough, I can't really say I've been traumatized by the event. Or perhaps I am and don't know it (subconscious denial?). I was lucid when it was all happening, systematically going through what needed to be done (as far as I knew) without giving a seconds notice. I can't say that I've been preparing for this all my life, I can't describe what my thought process was like. It was automatic.

Perhaps it's because from time to time, I intentionally go through my worst fears and think through them. Not as a form of masochism, but just to understand. I consider myself a very empathetic person, trying to comprehend thoroughly what other people go through. There are times where I have gone through what a loved one's loss, what disastrous experience, or even my own demise, would ensue. It can be quite painful at times, but you'll be surprised at what realizations you'd come to. Some consider it morbid, I consider it strangely necessary.

I am grateful that I am still breathing, experiencing pain as it tells me that I am still alive. I definitely thank seat belts. But I am especially thankful for those people (associates, strangers, nurses, doctors, friends and family) who have contacted with genuine concern and care for my safety and well-being. Especially mom and Claire whose feelings for me need not be explained. It is true what they say here in Saudi that relationships are very important. Once you really get to know someone here, they really do care for you, as my circle here has shown.

And dad, Happy Birthday. I hear you loud and clear.

I was in a car crash

By
Michael Mirasol
on December 10, 2009 5:19 AM | | Comments (15) | TrackBacks (0)
Note: I'm not quite ready to delve deep into my feelings on this event, nor the loss of LIto.  But I will be.  This is a first attempt to deal with it.

About quarter to 7 this past Saturday morning (the start of the workweek here in Saudi Arabia), the car I was riding was hit by a bus.  It was the most violent incident I've ever experienced firsthand; the kind of crash you only see in movies.  I survived with some minor cuts and bruises, while two of those with me suffered different fates.

The three of us (me, Ed and Lito) were on our way to work, approaching the last intersection towards the office.  That intersection had been the scene of an accident before, which morbidly enough, also involved a car and a bus.  It has no traffic lights, save for say a stop sign for vehicles to yield to the main road.  Clearly, that sign had no bearing to the driver that smashed into our car.  Smashed is the right word.

Picture for a minute our car heading north.  Nearing the intersection, a white passenger bus heading in the same direction was ahead of us (think to our left, northwest).  It was slowing down preparing to turn left.  Ed, who was driving, naturally moved aside to pass it.  In perfect yet deadly sequence, a green bus (Mercedes passenger type) was going east on that intersection.

That white bus must have been the catalyst for the crash.  It blocked Ed's view of the green one before he could anticipate, and surely, if for a moment, must have blocked the green bus's view of us.

As  we passed the white bus I saw the oncoming green one.  It must have been 2 full seconds before impact.  And in those miliseconds, I can recall perfectly the simultaneous thoughts raging through my mind.  Succinctly, "Holy Shit!  That green bus is not slowing down!  We are going to get hit!  Ed!"

Just as I was about to utter those very words.  Boom.

The side where I was sitting. on Twitpic   The bus which hit us in the background on Twitpic   The driver's side. on Twitpic

One sees those car crashes in the movies and becomes amazed at the spectacle of it all, but what never occurred to me is how overwhelming the sound is from within the vehicles.  The physical and aural assault was so complete and instantaneous, that for a full second everything seemed black, every sense deadened, and then slowly faded back into focus.

My environment was transformed.    Comfortable seats and clear glass turned to wreckage and debris.  There was silence, and then there was groaning and gasping, my own mostly.  I was totally out of breath, so I wondered, do I have a collapsed lung?  Just keep breathing.  Breathe.  Breathe.

My lungs seemed to be ok, so I started moving my limbs to check if anything was broken.  Nothing was in pain, so I felt myself for blood.  No blood no foul.

I took off my beloved seatbelt and could see bystanders starting to walk in our direction.  I could hear Ed groaning like I was.  His head was streaked with blood pouring down his face but I didn't know what to expect from him at the time.  I exited the car.

I kept on shouting for help, but nobody seemed to understand what I was saying.  As I exited the car, Ed asked me to help him out.  I asked him if anything was broken, but he didn't answer.  Miraculously he had the strength to push himself out of his seat as I gave him a hand.  No one else did despite them surrounding the car.

I went to look in the back to check on Lito, and seeing him will stay with me 'til the end.  He was slumped somewhat facedown on the seat, which was drenched in blood, about a liter's worth.

I saw the side of his face.  I knew right then it was badly fractured.  His left side had a crack in the middle and it was impacted.  There was another on the top of his head, which was as drenched as the seat.  Lito was murmuring; all I could make out was "Tulong..." (Help).

I wanted to get him out, but I was so frightened that moving him would make his condition worse.  All I could do was touch his shoulder and say, "Lito, huwag kang gumalaw.  Huwag kang gumalaw." (Lito, don't move.  Don't move).

Ed and I were screaming for help, but the locals weren't doing anything except gawking at the mess.  I spotted an officemate whom I didn't know, and he started calling the medics.  I called my uncle.  Ed called his wife.  While Ed was on the phone he kept asking me what happened repeatedly.  Each time I told him not to think about it now and just rest.  It worried me that he asked each time as if it were a new question.  He also asked me where the blood was coming from his head.  I pointed it out to him (from the top).

I then started to feel a slight sting near the back of my head, and sure enough it was bleeding, but nowhere near as bad as I thought it was at the time (about half an inch long, and not deep).  It turns out I must have hit my head on the right hand window as I was looking left towards the green bus.  Good thing I was wearing my seatbelt.  Lito was not.

The crash sent the car probably 20 meters into the intersection road heading east.  We could have been sent flying into another vehicle, or barrel rolling several times.  Heavens be praised.  My uncle arrived and told me "Thank God nothing happened to you."  I recognized more people from the office, where there was supposed to be a party that morning celebrating Eid al-Adha.  It was cancelled.

The ambulance must have arrived 15-20 minutes after the crash.  I got in, Ed next, and then Lito was brought in on a stretcher, with his head the most heavily bandaged of all.  The trip must have taken 10 minutes to get there.  Ed and I were facing each other as I was continuing to point out which spot on his head he should keep pressure on.  Lito was groaning the whole trip.  God knows how much agony his head injuries were causing him.  His right hand was fractured, and he kept on using his left to remove his oxygen mask, which must've have been causing him much pain.  The attendant in the ambulance with us was also Filipino, and told Lito that he needed the oxygen.  He also put in tubes to remove blood from Lito's mouth in case it was hindering his breathing.

We got to the hospital which gave us all the prompt attention.  I was attended to last because I was the luckiest.  I was shipped from room to room on a wheelchair, encountering officemates I knew and didn't know, not knowing where Ed and Lito were around the facility.  As I finished having my x-rays taken in the ICU, I saw Lito in his stretcher, and I spotted him blinking and breathing.  Heavens be praised, he looks like he's going to be alright.

In what seemed like an hour later, I was in another room for my ultrasound scans, I overheard some Filipino nurses and technicians speaking.

"May namatay na Pinoy sa ICU kanina."  (A Filipino died in the ICU a while ago).  I asked who it was, it was Lito.

It couldn't have been!  I saw him minutes ago!  He looked like he was going to make it!

It was just what they heard.  I asked them what the cause was as if that mattered; it was a massive car crash.  As the day went on, I got different causes.  Head trauma.  Hemorrhaging.  Cardiac Arrest.  He might have had them all.  The last one was the official cause.

I have some ugly hematomas around my waist and a contusion around my left ribs because of the seatbelt (It's what caused my loss of breath).  I have multiple tiny blood scars on the back of my left hand because of the minute glass debris.  Even after a day after the crash, I accidentally bit on those little shards every time I winced in pain.  When I undressed the first time after the accident, bits of glass fell out of my clothes and shoes.

I was given a neck brace in the first two days mainly for precautionary measures.  I didn't feel pain in my neck for about an hour after the accident, but that's normal because of the shock from whiplash.  Even today I have stiff neck symptoms.

The contusion made it difficult to breathe even after the accident.  It didn't help that my uncle Samir (God bless him) kept on making me laugh even while I was being evaluated.  Comedy is the best medicine.

Ed thank goodness is ok, and was ok even in the hospital, despite the great pain he felt understandably.  I was almost certain that he was seriously injured when the crash happened.  He also feels some back pain while walking, but x-rays revealed no broken bones whatsoever.  His wife Cynthia is one tough cookie, bringing humor and strength for both of us while we were in the hospital.  I would like to have that reservoir of resolve wherever she gets it.  Ed and I were released on the same day.

I'm the only one who remembers the whole thing.  And strangely enough, though I can recall pretty much every detail of what went on, it was only today I relived the whole incident when I was riding in my boss's car today as he came to visit me.  It wasn't that he wasn't driving safely (He was), it's that for whatever reason, I was only ready to process what it felt like.

It was a terrifying day.  A day I thought I was going to die.

Roger wrote about... me?

By
Michael Mirasol
on October 1, 2009 5:27 AM | | Comments (3) | TrackBacks (0)

So there I was checking up Roger Ebert's blog, being the fan that I am.


"The blogs of my blog" it was titled.  In it, Roger reveals that he likes to roam around his reader's blogs just like anyone else.  Of course, anyone who reads his blog knows what an infinitesimal rarity it is:  One that contains intelligent commentary of the highest order from both its author and its readers (well, with the readers... most of the time)!


Roger's entries usually surround his life's passions, yet this one stood out.  Here, he chooses to recognize his readers by highlighting their blogs.  I don't think it's an exaggeration when I say this is the first time I have witnessed any blogger or writer (a Pulitzer Prize winner at that) recognize his constituency in such a comprehensive and thoughtful way.

Continue reading Roger wrote about... me?.

Pinoy = Pikon

By
Michael Mirasol
on May 20, 2009 10:47 AM | | Comments (3) | TrackBacks (0)
images.jpgFilipinos are known for being humorous.  We can find light-hearted solace in the most depressing of situations.  It's how most of our brethren, the impoverished and down-trodden, get by to survive life's daily travails.  Despite this, we are also the most thin-skinned when anything remotely Filipino related is made fun of or criticized.

The latest incredulous example is the Alec Baldwin's supposed "slur" on our nation.  According to this report, he has, "joined the ranks of internationally recognized celebrities who have maligned Filipinos."

Baldwin said in an interview on the "Late Show with David Letterman" last May 12 how he thought of getting, or buying, himself a Filipina bride.

"I think about getting a Filipino mail-order bride at this point or a Russian one, I don't care, I'm 51," Baldwin told host David Letterman.

Oh, the outrage!  Wait 'til the Russian consulate sends its complaints over the slurring of their people as well!

Continue reading Pinoy = Pikon.

Remembering Dad

By
Michael Mirasol
on June 15, 2008 10:09 AM | | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)
luismirasoljr.jpgLuis Mirasol Jr. would have been 73 if he were still around.  He passed away a year before I graduated.  How I wished he could have held his grandaughter, my dearest Cate, who is now a little more than a year old.  I can't help but think of him fondly and longingly today.  Especially today.  Words fail me when I try to think about how much he meant to me; to my family.  Along with mom, they were the best parents in the world.  How blessed I am to have had them both in my life.

I miss those mahjong days, those Othello lessons, seeing him play Scrabble with ma, and dancing playfully to elicit laughs.  I long for those dirty jokes, those phantom farts, his devotion to Joe Montana's 49ers, and weekends with him watching NBA games, Tennis Grand Slam matches, and yes Sumo Wrestling on NHK (Takanohana was our favorite).  What I'll miss most was his quiet, calming, reassuring, and authoritative presence, the kind that makes you know that everything will be right as rain as long as he's around.  The greatest man I ever met, was indeed the first.
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