Scenes from a Marriage - The Amazing Race Asia Edition

Not too many people I know liked the first edition of The Amazing Race Asia, but I enjoyed it a lot. Granted, the race was poorly designed and host Allan Wu was utterly Wu-botic (Wu 2.0? A marked impwuvment.) But the racers cast were generally enjoyable to watch: the awesomely competent though infelicitously named Zabrina and Joejer; the incredulously neurasthenic-prone and ill-prepared Howard and Sahran; and best of all, the snarky/sassy delight that was Laura and Andy. And there was that fantastic Episode 5 (aka "Child on a Swing"), a biblical parable unto itself that saw the karmic downfall of the unpleasant Prashant and Sahil.

The second edition of the race has more cosmetic polish than the first, yet it is a vastly less entertaining experience for me. Some of the blame falls on the quite-reviled Marc and Rovilson, who fuse the dominance of the 95-96 Bulls with the, uh, "charm" of Urkel. But annoying as they are, they only make me jam the mute button. On the other hand, Terri and Henry make me reach for the power switch, then reflect in unsettled meditation on how that relationship could not but inflict deep pain on each other, their respective families, friends, neighbors, and the entire AXN audience.

The online commentators I have read mostly pin the blame on the indisputably shrewish Terri, the collateral fault on Henry for not having enough balls to stand up to her. There is certainly a complex history worthy of Ingmar Bergman that precedes their relationship as featured on TV, which AXN has wisely not delved into. Second-guessing that milieu is perhaps fair sport for the viewer, yet it is a tad unfair to pretend omniscience over that marriage based on the 30 minutes or so we have witnessed of their married life. I'd prefer to speculate what must have gone through the minds of the AXN producers, having been gifted in the rushes with these scenes from an unmistakeably dysfunctional relationship prodded by the wholly impulsive , unselfconscious Terri.

I have encountered so many people who are exactly like Terri, so much so that watching her is a familiar experience. Because of this, I cannot subscribe to the view that her behavior is so atypical as to merit the sort of condemnation reserved for the most odious types in society. Yet it is one thing to see the dynamic played out in live action among familiars, and another to witness it among strangers on television for the consumption of global public discussion. In the particular case of Terri and Henry, it really is discomfitting.

Don't these people realize that they are on TV?! I remember reading Linda Ellerbee's mid-80s book And So It Goes, where she observed that Americans even then were so TV-savvy, a news crew could pull any face from a crowd watching a neighborhood fire, and that person could be expected to give a pitch-perfect eyewitness account ripe for airing on the 6'o clock news. That could account for why American reality show contestants, no matter how vile, are generally able to play for the cameras in telegenic fashion. Your average Filipino has not graduated to that level of inauthenticity, so I doubt that the Terri we see is a deliberately exaggerated version of herself. Which makes the viewing experience even more cringing.

I've had these dreams where I was a contestant on The Amazing Race or on Survivor (placing 5th, btw), and even from that unreliable and hazy standpoint, I know I wouldn't want to join a reality game show even for a million dollars. Despite some knowledge of who they were, apart and together, Terri and Henry deliberately surrendered away their privacy to the Race producers for the viewing pleasure of a global audience. So I can't really feel sorry for them if they regret doing so. The end result allows us to rare peek into a dysfunctional relationship that is all too real, one that would have been rejected as commercially unviable had it been scripted. But before we kudos and all the Amazing Race Asia producers for this honest slice-of-life, it bears reminder that this still is a rather silly though entertaining game show.

The Age of Hillary?

She sure rocked the American political establishment today. I wish we in the Philippines had a politician like Ms. Clinton. One whose self-awareness is tempered to pragmatic sensibilities, who has a genuine background in children's and women's issues, who is determined to carve a path to victory while remaining talented enough to still know how to get a feel of the people's instincts.

I don't know if Ms. Clinton is destined for the American presidency, but she certainly has assured himself as a historical figure, and not just a historical footnote. It certainly is unembarassing to feel for her, especially after an empathetic moment like this:


I wonder if tomorrow's Inquirer will read: "Woman President in White House?"
new hampshire primary
Hillary Clinton

The Age of Barack?

He sure rocked the American political establishment today. I wish we in the Philippines had a politician like Mr. Obama. One whose self-awareness is attuned to humanist sensibilities, who has a genuine background in grassroots community organization, who is determined to carve a path to victory by appealing to the best of people's instincts while remaining talented enough to still know how to win.

I don't know if Mr. Obama is destined for the American presidency, but he certainly has assured himself as a historical figure, and not just a historical footnote. It certainly is unembarassing to root for him, especially after a speech like this:





UPDATE: This Saturday's Philippine Daily Inquirer will have, as its somewhat inartful front-page banner headline: "Black president in White House?" Wee premature perhaps? As far as I can tell, none of the U.S. dailies were as giddy.
Barack Obama
iowa caucuses

Not associated with "Dream Come True Garage Door Openers"

Genetically nerdy, I was entranced as a kid by this TV series about a corporate flunky and his secret friend tucked away behind a bookshelf -- a primitive talking computer that sounded like the Muppet Scooter and which played on demand public domain newsreels featuring William and Ida Mckinley. The show was Marlo and the Magic Movie Machine. Though for years I thought it was called "Mario", and that Mario Bros. was spun off by Nintendo from the series, which I assumed had been more influential than it actually was, and really, Marlo and Mario -- they kinda look alike.

Mario/Marlo himself was dull. But that computer, by God I wanted my own Magic Movie Machine, secreted away behind my unadorned right bedroom wall, which I could visit after the 7pm sleeptime, ask it endless questions about anything, and watch any video of any event at my demand. Many popular children's tales spotlight secret worlds accessible from the home or bedroom. Think Narnia or Superbook (i.e., Anime Oyako Gekijo). It was the Magic Movie Machine that did it for me, the mystical portal into a less overbearing world where the physical laws were more malleable (of course seven-year old me could not fathom that such a machine could actually be built).

This one has a happy ending. The emergence of the Internet, then of Google, brought forth that "hyper-intelligtent" computer that could answer virtually any question you want. Then later, YouTube, that supremely accessible Magic Movie Machine, and unexpectedly, a childhood fantasy has almost entirely come true. Next up, I'll have to save for that bookshelf.

Unsurprisingly, YouTube has a few clips from Marlo and the Magic Movie Machine, whose current copyright owners apparently do not care that much. Circle of life and all that, I think it apt to present, from YouTube, 9 minutes of my original YouTube, the Magic Movie Machine:

Adrian Cristobal, 75

Adrian Cristobal, quintessential man of letters, died three days before Christmas 2007 from lung cancer. I was enrolled in one class of his at Diliman, on non-fiction writing, sometime during the mid-1990s. I later learned he had never actually obtained a college degree, and it might seem strange that a college dropout would be allowed to teach a college course, yet he had the sort of intimidating resume and personality that precluded any sensible point-of-order on that score. To be trite about it, the school-of-hard-knocks probably left him more learned in life and writing than your English major cleanthed in Cleanth.

I wish I could say that Mr. Cristobal was a great teacher, or a significant personal influence. But in the course of one semester, he met our class only three times. Nonetheless, each of those classes were so memorable that I could recount what had happened in each of those sessions. During our first meeting, he enjoined us to team up as "X-Men" complete with our own unique identities, ruminated on certain proclivities of Arabs, denounced what he termed the Byronic tendencies of young writers who strived to exhaust their lives at Hendrixian ages, and pronounced a "bring-your-own-ashtray" classroom policy (unenlightened times, those mid-1990s). Our second meeting was abbreviated, but he told Erap joke after Erap joke, having just attended the launch of the Eraption book. And it was our third and final meeting, during the last week of the semester, that transcended into legend in my own mind. We held our class at Trellis in Matalino Street, commencing at around 1pm, our discussion fortified by successive rounds of sisig and SMB Pale Pilsen until we finally dispersed around 9pm. Alcohol has dimmed my memory of what we had actually discussed, but I do remember that sometime during the sixth hour, we were joined by Mr. Cristobal's wife and adult children, who all comfortably blended into the merriment.

We did submit a final paper, and we did get graded rather generously. I never saw Mr. Cristobal after that semester, and only continued to follow his writing from afar. The obituaries and tributes inform that he was a much more significant figure in the Philippine literary scene than he impressed upon us during our brief brush with his genius. From that short period, I remember him as brutally honest and, X-Men aside, uncondescending -- traits that would serve well those daring enough to take them on. He was undeniably smart and sensible, but unwilling to soften his statements to us make them more palatable for general consumption.

I remember that some in our class were frustrated by his attendance record, and they probably dwelt on the equation between the number of hours he spent in the classroom and the amount of tuition paid for a three-unit class. But I do remember that class, and Mr. Cristobal, with much fondness. He was a larger-than-life personality who, through sessions that were wild tales in themselves, imparted us many thoughts and stories that we his students could pass on. There is hardly much more we can demand or expect from the people we encounter in our lives, and those who did enrich us, no matter how briefly or peripherally, deserve thanks.

Dot dot dot

It admittedly is self-conscious, if not self-indulgent, to start this blog precisely on January 1 of the New Year, as if that date were imbued with some mystical meaning. There is no special physiological or geological process that takes place on the first of January that could not otherwise take place on, say, October 5. It is chiefly due to petty human sentiment -- driven by the need to place greater meaning over what is routine -- that the day is attached with notions of beginning or renewal.

But hey. I'm human, and I want my fricking meaning. And so it begins today. You come too.

This blogging journey is as time, energy and whim permits; and the hold of impulse on my life leads me to warn that the trip will be, at times, strange and misdirected. I do aim to feature sentences that have never been conjugated in human history (a less-than-daunting prospect, considering that "Abebe Bikila looks forward to cable television discount promos!" is one such sentence).

First, the vapid yet sincere sentiment. Happy New Year! Manigong Bagong Taon!