Archive for February, 2012

The Night I Got Laid

February 21, 2012

Actually that’s paid, sorry.

Today I decided to go through things in my drawer and found this 100-peso bill which is unlike any other 100-peso bills. It was given to me by a Japanese national—or was it Chinese? Or was it Korean?—who, for some reason, ended up watching one of my gigs. That night, I played for three bands, and after my third set, he signaled the waiter to come call me. The waiter came over and relayed the message so I went and approached the foreigner. I acknowledged his presence by nodding. He went on to hand me the money saying he was entertained by the way I drummed.

I thanked him for the compliment and told him he didn’t have to reward me that way. It’s not for me to take tips after performances; I’m not part of a show band after all. He insisted, and the waiter chimed in saying it’s best that I accept the money. “Sir, guys like this may find it offensive if their offers are turned down,” he said in our national tongue. And so I happily took it. Now, I’m just as happy for being a sentimental stooge because if I weren’t, this special 100-peso bill may have gone to the cash register of Jollibee or some taxi driver’s boundary.

April 24, 2010—that was the date of the gig I speak of. It was one for the books not only because we got to front 90s OPM bigwig Sugar Hiccup, who, at that time, had a freshened lineup, but also because of what that Japanese dude—or was it Chinese? Or was it Korean?—did. The amount of money didn’t matter, nor the nationality of that man; it was the experience and the feeling that ensued.

So what if that night I was a brown-skinned monkey getting paid for going bananas on the drums? See, I may not play in a band that would end up as a celebrated item in the history of local and/or international music, or that which could spawn a cult following the way the first installment of The Crow movies did. Which means I won’t have a chance at selling records, shooting videos, fucking groupies (salacious but it comes with the territory) and, yes, looting awards. Ergo, this 100-peso bill right here might be the closest I can get to a Moonman or a Grammy. Quite cheap and underwhelming, especially for pretentious people who have standards higher than their piss, but am damn proud of it. It’s not every day you earn money that exceeds its real value.

*Sample the show here:

(Yep, I wrote that song. :P)



February 7, 2012

Too bad, I, together with almost half of our group (Backpackers United), which consisted of nearly 50 people, wasn’t able to reach Mount Pulag‘s summit. The night before our climb to the top, the weather went crazy—the winds howled and the rain poured; our tents, which got drenched on the inside, barely survived the beating. And so we decided to stay put as the skies still loomed dark and heavy when the brave bunch hiked on at three in the morning.

The shot above was taken while breaking camp, on the camp site, an hour’s hike from the summit, at around 7 a.m. I was wearing seven layers of clothing—plus three pairs of gloves and two pairs of socks, my feet wrapped in garbage bag—but that wasn’t enough to block the piercing cold.

Now I’m back in Manila—with more warmth and less hair.