On a Sunday Mawnin'

Since I've been sick for two friggin' days, I missed the company Christmas party where the TV production crew and the big bosses had a one-night-only bottomless booze session at the Hard Rock Café in Makati. Isn't that the bummer of all bummers in a season of countless bottles of beer and merriment? Anyway, there's obviously more to come, so I ain't moping.

Hmmm, I've noticed this blog has got way too many widgets it's starting to lose its personal touch. Eventually, I'm dissing some page elements that only brag about my stats and slow down the page load time. The reason this site was born out of boredom in 2005 in the first place was that the author direly needed to vent out nagging thoughts and hovering opinions and document indispensable memories as they come along, not to showcase how many stalkers I've accumulated. I'm not implying I hate the visitors. You're always more than welcome to snoop. :-)

Let's Not Count the Candles, Please...

I like the fact that Christmas comes almost right after my own special day.

How come when you're eight, you'd give anything to be eighteen? The moment you finally reach the legal age, you wonder how it feels like to be 21, and when you enter the realm of twenty-somethings, you begin to start thinking if you're too old to do some stuff despite your personal aplomb that you're young enough by most standards.

Several years ago, I was a a Barbie doll-toting, cherry lollipop-sucking nine-year-old, and I didn't give a toss about growing old. As the years unfurled, opportunities thrown at my feet and brazenly explored, I saw how the world tried to shun being labeled as, well, 'old.'

Unless you're a piece of furniture, it's a status symbol to be 'antique.' Humans don't take more candles on their birthday cake kindly. They reveal the real numbers and use every credible anti-wrinkle cream built up by bamboozling advertisers.

In the spirit of turning a year older (and indubitably wiser), I wanted to delve deeper into the ancient fear of aging. Then again, I guess the answers will remain varied and inconcrete since age is nothing but a state of mind. And I'm too young to be tackling gerascophobia, so let's scrap that and celebrate my prolific several years on this crazy planet.

The MOD Squad Reunites

A secret Pre-Christmas gathering at a bar somewhere in Ortigas...

We haven't had the chance to do this since we drifted apart in 2004.

MOD Magazine may be a lousy employer, salary-wise, but its employees will always be binded by a friendship that could rarely be found in a workplace fraught with weekly deadlines, swashbuckling office drama, poltergeist, and a stress-inducing line-up of company rules.