Willie, nawiwili ka na. Or Shakespeare and other metaphors for Mr. Revillame.

All the world's a stage to Willie Revillame.

Everyone plays a character.

Emotions are made-up.

Trap-doors and smoke and mirrors,

and hiding corpses behind curtains.

The choreographed applause,

the dancing, the singing,

the crying, the drama of life unfolding.

The crush of bodies.

The sweat that flows as secrets,

held on to for so long, are revealed

on national television.

And the money, the money that flows.

A payment for every dirty underwear exposed,

for every horrible gyration, screeches, screams.

So little for more than a pound of flesh.

The humiliation, the horror.

Ok lang, may bayad naman.

Everything has a value, and that's monetary.

Who cares if the happiness is momentary?

Getting and giving head.

I've neglected my blogs for quite a bit. The holidays have been filled, not with parties, but with work.

For a time I have been thinking of leaving advertising and perhaps working as a cashier at the MRT; move from mind racking to mind numbing. Finally find the time to sleep, the time to run in the mornings, the time to pull back and breathe and see myself in action, recently when I try, I see a blur, a woman always in a hurry, surprisingly spritely even when the pounds obviously have filled her up from hours and hours of sitting in front of the computer and living on fried and sauced office birthday food.

But perhaps all the holding on paid up. I started as a junior copywriter whose clothes and hairstyle were always the salty cheddar on every discussion. Who signed up to sing with the office band and had to back out at the last minute because she found out that she sucked at singing. Who was nominated by her boss to join a creative competition in Boracay and lost big time, again a disappointment. They put me from probationary to a regular employee but after I year of fashion faux pas and writing wreckage, I up and left.

Then once again I found my way to another ad agency. Became a senior copywriter. Went from snail's pace writing to lighting speed. Left the office when everyone else had to leave, plopped into the nearest Burger King, plugged in my laptop and went to work again until I had to go back to the office the following morning. I worked on spiels, concepts, pitches, video presentations, scripts, songs all on my own, I was super, I felt super and definitely I felt spent, tired, sleepless, underpaid, overused.

But all that drama perhaps has finally, thank Garp, paid off. Creative Head. Not bad for a 26 year old.

My new rocket! My new blog! Ok fine, a new whitening toothpaste, too.

Mom gave me a new rocket yesterday. She keeps telling me it's not a rocket but a toothpaste tube. So much for fostering my imagination, Mom. Anyway, since we're all admitting that this is a toothpaste tube, the toothpaste inside this tube is magic. Yup, Magic.

It can whiten teeth with just one brush. Optical whitening you guys. Yeah, I'm smart that way. Anyway, it gives a blue coat to the yellowish and voila! Magically whiter teeth in just one brush!

Of course if you use it everyday, it also, another big word coming up: mechanically whitens your teeth. It's got one little bits of polishing silica that removes gunk and goo from our teeth.

Now, that we are all through with this being a toothpaste tube with magical toothpaste inside it... Ladies and gents, this is my rocket.

All a good but forgotten songwriter needs is some airtime.

I'm not a fan of Pilipinas Win na Win.

There are some parts that I'd rather do away with or improve. But I'm not one of the primary target markets of the show, so my opinion matters less. Over all it has been well received and now in it's first month, the show could actually live to see 2011.

When I was a kid, we had a multiplex album, it's has four cassette tapes of OPM songs, much of which are either sung or written by Rey Valera. I used to sing along to the minus one.

Not having watched Pilipinas Win na Win in it's entirety, I thought it felt and sounded like a Tawag ng Tanghalan kind of show. Has-been oldies hurt more to watch than young wannabes.

So today, with no pressing deadline to battle with, and with the TV turned on indefinitely, and me lying on the bed half-asleep, Pilipinas Win na Win was uninterruptedly enjoying airtime in my living room.

They were celebrating their 1st month, and for hosts that have to sign contracts on a weekly-basis (is this real Pokwang?), that indeed is a big sign. The Hitmakers started out very awkwardly. They have almost zero hosting skills. The other three were too courteous and couldn't crack a joke without a bottle of beer in hand, and Rico J falls into his beer house hosting skills too soon he actually gets cut off by a commercial in the middle of his banter with the obviously distressed Pokwang.

Well, today, all four of them have evolved to good hosts. The three have lost their shyness and Rico J have exfoliated a layer of extra thick and dark skin. But they had another surprise, Rey Valera wrote a song to thank the viewers who kept the ratings up and kept them signing the weekly contracts.

In my bed, I had to wake up and just simply stare at them singing. Because the song was so sincere and their singing was so giving and not self-absorbed, I was moved to tears. The song hinted on them being what they really were before Pilipinas Win na Win got them onboard: Rey, Rico, Nonoy and Marco were forgotten and shelved, or sent to other countries to serenade aging OFWs and immigrants. The song also hinted that well, they well already tired and ready to give up when finally someone decided, maybe by asking a magic8 ball, that they should host a noontime show. But most of all, the song was a thanksgiving, the song was an honest to goodness "thank you" to the people who cared enough to clap, who lent an ear to listen, and who wanted more of them that they had top spread the word. The Hitmakers: Rico, Rey, Nonoy and Marco were back and they ROCK, baby.

Forget the gimiks, forget the catchy made-up phrases, forget the dance moves, forget the novelty. Forget the lip-syncing host that sang cutesie songs and reeked of self-pride. Forget him and remember Rey Valera's words and the Hitmakers heart-felt, unselfish singing.

Good writers get better with age. Now I finally believe that being 25 and not having published anything is not my 2012. And now, I also believe that a how that's supposed to be as campy and cheesy as possible can be utterly classy and classic provided you choose the right hosts. A good songwriter never loses stories to tell, never loses talent, we just lose faith in him.

OPM is back. Rey Valera is back. Real music and meaning is back. Thank you Rey Valera. Thank you to the magic8 ball that the TV executive asked on whether he should get The Hitmakers to host Pilipinas Win na Win or not.

It does good to the heart when you have nothing bad to say. Real talent is not bound by youth. Pepe Smith and Rey Valera are the old but revitalized gods of Pinoy Music.

Top Three Annoying Things Today

1. People having a penchant for work-disrupting music and NOT having earphones.

2. The proliferation of almost naked jocks in Jessica Zafra's blog.

3. Having another Christmas party script to write.

The pleasure is mine.

Remind me again why exactly do I always have to put your feelings before mine?

Cause I totally forgot, and I'm no longer cowed by the faces you make. Like whatever, I can be a bitch too. I can talk your talk.

So excuse me if I step on your little footsies to get to the other side of the room. If you can perhaps move yourself away from my path?

 

Funny, I can't keep the bitch act for long. The muscle in my left eyebrow begins to show signs of fatigue at the second minute and it relaxes to it's normal pre-Miss Minchin position.

But sometimes it helps to play the evil sister, the evil stepmother, the troll under the bridge. There are two sides to everyone's coin and it hurts when we deny the dark side some airtime.

Just don't let the dark side reign I guess.

 

Anyway, bitchy me actually makes sense. You don't ALWAYS have to put others' feelings before yours'. Especially when you are a nonentity to them anyway. Give yourself a break. Let them sulk while you laugh.

Reading Zafra.

It's 2am and I'm reading Jessica Zafra's blog.

When I read her, I feel like I want to be her.

When I read her, I feel like I can't ever be her.

When I read her, I feel like, ew, sports?

Is she my IDOL? God forbid, I hate that word.

Somehow she just fits my everyday mood.

The standard-issue Mavic is made in Zafraland.

10 parts sarcasm, 90 parts genius. Yup, that would be me.

Or maybe I'm more of 90 parts sarcasm. 10 parts whinny ninny.

Do I like cats? No.

I have two dogs. The left and the right. Shit. It is 2am ok. Yeah, you just read that.

Do I like tennis? No.

I swim. I do indoor looser exercise DVDs and I think that Chalene Johnson is god.

Do I have sponsorships with National Bookstore? No.

Ok, yes, Zafra is out of my system.

For now. I can finally write about other things.

Exeunt left!