We had to review a Philippine TV show for class.. this is what i submitted!

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Just when everybody has almost gotten over fantaseryes, ABS CBN took it upon itself to sustain the (dying) genre. And what comes of this effort is the new fantaserye, “Kokey”. Directed by Wenn Deramas (“Tanging Ina”, “Walang Kapalit&rdquo, the series is the television remake-slash-adaptation of a 1997 movie of the same title. Airing week nights right after TV Patrol World, “Kokey” stars newcomer Joshua Caldeña as Bong, the overly imaginative orphan boy and would-be-bestfriend of Kokey.  An alien with a mission, Kokey will elicit the help of Bong and together, they will go on adventures, seeking magical stones and finding lost spaceships.
   

“Kokey” the movie was a charming story of a poor little boy who found friendship with an alien.  A bit like “E.T.”, “Kokey” was a simple story of friendship – of the boy helping the alien find hi way back home. Seeing a plot as charming as this is, you would think that translating it to TV would be easy. However, somewhere along the process ABS CBN hired a crazy writer who decided that instead of going for a good old charm, “Kokey” would be a montage of all the plot clichés known to man. In the pilot episode alone, the writers managed to include a poor-meets-rich love affair, a rich Doña denouncing her child of his inheritance, a jealous man murdering his brother, and of course, a poor baby who, inside a wicker basket, floated accidentally to an orphanage. Yes, and this was just the series’ first 30-minute episode. Somehow, the head writer must have said to himself, “Let me get all the cheesiest elements of the past 50 telenovelas, write them on pieces of papers, put them in a box, shake the box, draw the first five lots and make a script out of it!” And so, the pilot episode was a cliché galore, a sad fact since there was so much to make of the movie.
   

However, the head writer may not be the only lunatic here. Somehow, the casting director decided to create the weirdest ensemble cast ever. Imagine this, Ruffa Gutierrez (yes, the star of the Ruffa – Yilmaz saga herself) is Trining, a housewife with a supposed Visayan accent. And Ruffa tries so hard to look like a housewife and sound Bisaya but sadly it really does not work. At times, she looks so out of place it’s hilarious. And then there’s Trining’s husband, Nanding played by Redford White. Yes, you read it right. Ruffa and Redford are now an on-screen couple and they will end up as Bong’s adoptive parents. As interesting as this sounds, the pair cannot make much of their characters. Ruffa looks hopelessly out of place and Redford looks, well, no one will ever notice he’s there. Ruffa’s stature drowns him out and as much as Nanding is supposed to be a successful businessman, Redford makes him look like a driver.

Also, there’s Charisse, played by Eugene Domingo. For reasons unknown to the world, Eugene’s transformation to Charisse is characterized by cheap brown wigs and a shrill voice in an accent so bizarre no province would ever lay claim to it. Oh and let’s not forget the lead character, Bong played by Joshua Caldeña. Someone should have told the child that squinting does not constitute crying and surprise does not mean having a straight face while producing some loud noise with your mouth hanging open. And for the show’s supposed tender moments, Joshua truly cannot make himself come across as an orphan desperate for a home and a family.  Lastly, the “thing” that plays the title role of Kokey is supposedly an animatronics robot. As much as the thing can now move and stuff, it ended up looking like a big purple blob (which is reminiscent of a kamote), with eyes that shine of that radioactive green color. The little children, for whom the show is created for, will probably be scared of this thing.
   

The series also suffers from a lot of inconsistencies. At one moment Myra (Mylene Dizon) has just lost her son and the next minute that lost son is now the 10-year-old Bong. And there was also an incredibly bizarre moment when Bong entered a forest and suddenly, CGI flowers, trees, and fairies came up. And get this --- they all started on a full blown song number. However, a revelation is made here – Bong (or Joshua Caldeña) CAN sing. But sadly, the whole scene is an odd fit. 

Even the show’s costume department has issues. What in the world would make anyone decide that nuns should wear yellow habits? Let us all remember that almost all congregations prefer either white or dark colors for their habits. They’re nuns, not clowns.

The show isn’t all bad, though. They have Mylene Dizon, the sole actress who actually seems believable in her role. Mylene plays Myra and she effortlessly conveys the emotions of a distraught mother and grieving wife. She is the best thing about this who series.

However, even Mylene can’t save the entire show. If you love your brain cells as much as I love mine, you will refrain yourself from seeing this fantaserye. But if you are one for clichés, then this will make you terribly happy.

I don't know what kind of shitty conspiracy this is. Did the powers of the universe suddenly decide to just screw me over? Or am I just producing an aura that screams "Steal from me, I'm an idiot"?

I walk to the fx station and wait for a ride, get to school and somewhere in between that 30-minute commute my effing phone was stolen.

Seriously, do the gods hate me this much? That phone is worth more than 20 thousand pesos. I love that phone. It's my alarm, my organizer, my digicam and music player all in one. I do not ever want to live without that phone and now because of some shithead, I have to live without it.

I don't even know why these things happen to me. I am not an evil person. I do not do bad things to other people. I do not even yell at other people. I have never even cheated on a single test. So why would this world suddenly decide to let some asshole near me and steal my phone. I mean, I would've been alright if I even caught him stealing. But no, I walk to school like I always do and I just see my bag's zipper a little open and then it hits me, my phone has been stolen.

For a while I wanted to believe I just left my phone at home, I've done it so many times. So I cut my classes and race home praying to high heavens that I was just my usual forgetful self, that I just left the phone on my bed. But it wasn't there.

So the point is, some shithead lowlife got near me and stole my phone, the one valuable thing I own and not to mention my contact with the rest of this bleeping world.

To you who stole my phone, I know you don't have a computer much more an internet connection because you probably live in some dump somewhere in Markina, but I am telling you, I pray that your hands rot. I hope boils ooze out of your palms. And if you attempt to sell my phone for money, I hope your hands bleed and I hope you get the most painful migraine this world can ever give anyone. But if you plan to use money from my phone to buy food for your family, I pray you feel so much guilt you couldn't eat and I hope your family looks at you with sincere disgust. And I hope you live a life plagued with disease, I hope you suffer until you find it in your soul-less being to find a way to return that phone to me.

And as what was said in the film "raising helen", I want to "bury you so far down the earth that the heat from the earth's core will incinerate your sorry ass."

There. I want my phone back. You can call me materialistic and shallow. I don't care. But I want that phone back because seriously, my parents hate me and I don't even have a way to tell my friends how badly I feel.

It's sad enough that I've been crying like crazy but it's even sadder that I have to cry all alone because none of my friends know what's happening.

Nasa wikang Filipino ang klase ko sa pilosopiya kaya tatagalugin ko rin ang .

Sa isang pirasong papel, pinasulat kami ng philo prof ko ng impormasyon tungkol sa aming sarili, kasama na ang mga tanong tungkol sa paboritong pelikula, kanta at libro. At siyempre, may isang interesanteng tanong: "Ano ang isang bagay na nais mong gawin bago ka mamatay?".

Matapos kolektahin ang mga papel, tinawag at binasa ni sir isa-isa ang mga sinulat namin. Paminsan-minsan, nanghihingi siya ng paliwanag sa mga pinagsusulat namin.

Ang sumusunod ang isa sa mga pinaka- "enlightening' na pag-uusap na narinig ko sa buong buhay ko.

Prof: Hmmm... Nais mong gawin bago ka mamatay... mag-sky diving sa outer space?!?

Student: Yes sir!

Prof: (tatayo) Eh paano ka magsa-sky diving sa outer space eh walang gravity dun? Lulutang-lutang ka lang. Para ka lang lumalangoy.

Student: uhhhmmmm...

Prof: Saka, pano ka magsa-sky diving sa outer space eh wala naman sky dun? The fuck. Mag-muni kasi muna tayo sa mga ganyang bagay. (tatawa ng malakas)

Nakita niyo na. Iyan ang dala ng pilosopiya. Ngayon, alam na ng kaklase ko na hindi pwedeng mag sky diving sa outer space dahil una, hindi ka naman babagsak dahil walang gravity so technically hindi ka talaga pwedeng mag-dive at ang pinaka-importante, walang sky sa space.

Ang lalim di ba?

I have not blogged in such a long time that I actually forgot I had a blog.

So here I am, reviving my blog because well, busy times are coming and I need a place to rant.  

 This year, I am the head of the Human Resources Committee of my organization in school. And for me, this is totally scary because I am not so sure that I am stable enough to handle people.

I'm clumsy, I never remember anything and I am a nagger. I have mood swings where I go from screaming fits to crying in bathrooms. So hmmm... I bet the other officers of the org will have a field day watching me attempt to lead my committee.

My committee members will have fun too!  Because if you have a super crazy and overly impulsive leader, chances are activities will aways be just as crazy and just as spontaneous! And at least they can be sure that committee meetings will never be boring or uneventful.

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 Mr. Incredible (of the movie, The Incredibles) had this thing where he says he works alone. Basically, that's how I like things too. And this is the primary reason why I'm scared of heading a committee. I like having things done my way. I like controlling every single minute detail of every thing. I just do. So having to mind ideas and feelings of tens of other people is a bit new to me. And I am trying to reach out to my members. I am trying to mind their feelings. And I'd like to think that I'm getting better at sharing and trusting work to other people.

So let's hope things go well for my committee. Let's pray I don't drive my members crazy and let's hope they don't lead me to suicide.

I think this year will be interesting. So maybe, you guys can expect better posts! 

I am not my normal self.  Fine, I'm not really someone you can categorize under "normal" but you know what I mean.

I want my happy self back. Lately, I have just been too melodramatic. I can't even stand to hear myself rant to everyone about everything.

You see, when you can't even like yourself, there's something very wrong.

Oh and I realized something -- I have an unexplainable attraction to things that will eventually kill me.

If someone warns me about how difficult something is, a bell goes off in my head and I make the stupid decision to try that difficult thing.

This masochistic thing is exactly the reason why I am in such deep shit.

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I want to stop being so effing depressed so I'll end this post here. 

I have not blogged since forever.

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For our final project in news writing class, we were required to make a newspaper. Yes, that's right. We had to make an entire newspaper from scratch, all articles, sections, columns and everything else have to be written and researched by the group. To add to that, there were only three of us in the group and we only had barely two weeks to gather news.

We started making the paper on Tuesday, we had to submit it by Thursday. Our group ( Steph, Karla and I) did a 24 - hour press. Literally. We started typing out the stories at 7 pm, we took a break at around 8:30 am the next day and went to school. At 2:30 pm, we got off from school, went back to our pub room (aka Steph's house) and continued writing and doing the layout for the paper until about 8:00 pm. After that, we immediately rushed off to UP to find a place that could print our newspaper.

Don't worry, we were able to insert about an hour or two of sleep and we did have designated 30-minute breaks throughout the night!

But oh my lord, those 24 hours or so are nothing but pure blood, sweat, and determination. Just imagine this, all three of us have recorded interviews, pages and pages of notes, countless diagrams and several pictures that we had to process in order to write all the stories and make the entire newspaper. Writing one news story is difficult enough, writing four in one night is pure pain.  And after having your ear glued to the recorder for hours and hours, you realize that you're already a little bit deaf. Staring at computer screens also made our eyes bloodshot and we look like heroine junkies.

News writing is just something that's mentally and physically draining. There are so many issues that need to be written about and we had to make sure all stories are factual and as un-biased as we can make them. It's just a really serious process. And there were times during the 24-hour press that the three of us weren't even talking to each other. We would just e-mail each other our stories when we finish even though we're all sitiing less than two feet from each other. We just had our own news writing worlds and we wanted to concentrate on each story.

The task was grueling but every time we look at the paper in progress, we just can't help but smile or giggle. We were, no, we ARE so proud of ourselves. We started out thinking we wouldn't  finish anyhting but as hours pass and we see the pages fill up, we noticed that we could actually do it. And hey, we had quality stories, well-researched and well-documented. We also had nice pictures! (To think we only used a 2-megapixel camera phone.)

When we finished the newspaper and finally had it printed, you cannot imagine how happy and fulfilled we felt. It's like when you're dead thirsty and have been walking under the hot sun for eternity and then you find a tiny little store and you buy water. Then the store person hands you this ice-cold bottle of water and you drink it like you've never drank water before and you feel the memories of those hours in the sun just disappear. It was like that, and so much more. Pure bliss.

And the best thing about it is that we had the best group ever. No drama, no catfights. Nobody needed to be bugged about the work she needed to do. We all had initiative and we all had the most amazing work-ethic.

I swear. We were too good to be true but we're good and we're true! See you guys in thesis class!

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But of course, life just don't want me to have too much happiness in one day.

Right when I was at my most excited self ( we were submitting the paper that we are so proud of), I received a text message from my journalism teacher.

<insert drumroll here> 

The text was simple and straight forward. The message: I was going to flunk journalism class if I don't get a perfect score for the last two papers.

And the great part about the message is its complete and utter lack of any feeling of hope whatsoever. I mean, who are we kidding here? My journ teacher does not give perfect scores. Go figure.  

The sad part is that every week, me and my journalism classmates -- we bust our asses writing stories only to find out that he would just give us a one out of five. And to add insult to injury, he won't only flunk you, he'd tell you that you cannot write.

It's just so difficult because I write my stories and I do research beforehand and I forego sleep just to get everything done.  And then when I return to class, he'll hand me back the paper I worked so hard on and I would see it all bloody with his comments and corrections written in red ink. Don't get me mistaken. I'm not a wuss. I've been writing my entire school-life, I'm used to criticisms regarding my writing. It's just that with my journ teacher, he does not only give criticisms. He tells you you're a loser who can't write to save your life. And sometimes, he has too many comments, I can't even see what I wrote anymore. So I'm thinking maybe next time, I should just attach a blank piece of paper. I wouldn't want my teacher to run of space, I want him to have all the space he can get so he can insult my writing as much as he possibly can.

The worst part is, he'd put our papers on transparency and edit/check it in front of the class. And of course, he'll have lengthy discussions focused on telling the class how stupid it was to write this certain statement that you included in your story.

And now, I just might flunk his class. And I don't, I NEVER flunk my classes.

****

But whatever. Journ teacher, you can tell me whatever you want to tell me. But understand this -- I worked too hard and an F is just not right. And you cannot tell me I can't write. Talk to my literature teacher, Mr. Cayanan. Talk to my Palanca- award winning high school teacher, Ms. Sanchez. They'll tell you I can write. I can write. Screw you.

Most everything in my life is going well right now. You cannot screw it up for me. I won't let you. 

So journ teacher, I say to you , in the words of fabulous Barbra Streisand:

"Who told you you're allowed to rain on my parade?"