Skip to main content

Feat of clay

AFTER the so-called EDSA III that saw hordes of the unwashed and have-nots attempting to storm the gates of Malacañang, the top tenant in the Palace mended fences. Why, the wrought-iron fences were raised higher. Electrified, too. Now it would be more than shocking and forbidding to gain entry into the Palace grounds.

To that neat feat, we can add the renaming of the 5.1-kilometer Central Boulevard running through the 1,500-hectare reclaimed area, Manila’s Bay City. That stretch was renamed President Diosdado Macapagal Boulevard and made it to the books as the world’s priciest road, why, taxpayers coughed up P1.1 billion to get it paved and dotted with a sprinkle of greenery. Or maybe it was chicanery—over P21.5 million sunk per kilometer of paving and greening is way too incredible.

Need we add another P1.1 billion feat of fund juggling off non-existent fertilizer allocations, the monies eventually lining the pockets of certain lawmakers and local government honchos?

And who has not heard of the world-famous sound bite from a shady chit-chat spun off as a ring tone, “Hello, Garci”?

Need we be reminded some more?

Maybe we ought to be told again and again. Who’s currently numero uno in this God-forsaken land?

The plates on the fleet of presidential limousines proclaim it—and some more.

Never mind if we’re still leery about certain solid figures and numbers being softened, worked over and kneaded like dough to suit results in, say, elections. In this case, the number’s cast in something less malleable and tough to rearrange. It’s probably hammered out in an admixture of tin and iron, why, even a Garci would lose his teeth if he bites into that.

The die is cast.

The metal fixture now reads Pangulo.

Quick, dig into suitably fat dictionaries. Maybe a thesaurus, stegosaurus or a tyrannosaurus would do.

Pray, tell the people whatever that metal-cast word means


Popular posts from this blog

Every single cell of my body's happy

I got this one from Carmelite Sisters from whose school three of my kids were graduated from. They have this snatch of a song that packs a fusion metal and liebeslaud beat and whose lyrics go like this:

"Every single cell of my body is happy. Every single cell of my body is well. I thank you, Lord. I feel so good. Every single cell of my body is well."

Biology-sharp nerds would readily agree with me in this digression... Over their lifetimes, cells are assaulted by a host of biological insults and injuries. The cells go through such ordeals as infection, trauma, extremes of temperature, exposure to toxins in the environment, and damage from metabolic processes-- this last item is often self-inflicted and includes a merry motley medley of smoking a deck a day of Philip Morris menthols, drinking currant-flavored vodka or suds, overindulgence in red meat or the choicest fat-marbled cuts of poultry and such carcass.

When the damage gets to a certain point, cells self-destruct. T…


Viagra au naturel

IT LOOKED eerie—a blaze of fireflies pulsing like stars in the nippy air, throbbing with mating passions. That show of lights somehow eased the shadows of a Holy Thursday night on a dry river bed a few kilometers trudge up Mount Makiling.

It’s likely that no river has lain in sleep for months on that moss-grown, boulder-strewn bed—except my 20-year old kid Kukudyu and I. We were out to spend the night, do on-site learning sessions by the next day. Usual father-and-son bonding. As the late Benjamin Franklin once begged: "Tell me and I forget. Teach me and I remember. Involve me and I learn."

Past noon from the foot of the mountain’s northern section, it took us four hours ploughing non-stop through prickly bushes and forest undergrowth to get to that site. We got there in one bruised piece. By then, dusk was falling; the sylvan air hummed with a trill of crickets, cicadas, critters nameless in choral orison. That incessant “sh-r-r-e-eemmm---“ layered with “k-kr-r-eeengg--” …