City Girl

In an unprecedented move, American Idol judges decided to put not 12 but 13 lucky finalists in this season 8. But what has really been predictable with this season? As the show itself has advertised, this is the biggest, if not craziest, season yet.

First, there is the addition of a new judge in the person of Kara DioGuardi. This has proven to be an improvement, so far, for the show. She has given valuable advice to contestants — advice they can actually understand and use. As far as I’m concerned,  she has more credibility insofar as handing out advice to American Idol wannabe’s (compared to Paula Abdul). She is, after all, an accomplished singer. Abdul’s criticisms and/or advice are sometimes undecipherable,  i.e., describing voices as “full of color” and such other adjectives which would not ordinarily be associated with singing. Kara keeps it real, calling as spade a spade. Paula, on the other hand, will always find something to praise about a contestant, whether or not related to the improvement of one’s singing prowess. One cannot be sure if this should be taken as flattering or degrading, e.g. telling a contestant that at least she looked pretty. As proven time and again, at least in this contest, prettiness will not win you the coveted title. In fairness, however, to Paula, she has given character to the show (although second only to Simon Cowell) with her mysterious words. Words so mysterious she has been accused of coming to the show drunk (well, that’s what my friends and I think sometimes, based only on what and how she’s talking).

Second, the show has taken its auditions to farther places, even including Puerto Rico. That can only be a testament to the lengths the show will probably go to for this season.

Third, and perhaps the most significant of all changes, the elimination leading to the 12 lucky finalists has been altered., i.e., from picking out who goes home to who goes on. Due to this, the finalists no longer consist of 6 girls and 6 boys. The old method would have given a bigger chance to the guys this year, considering that they only need to not have the lowest number of votes. With the new method, however, the show has seen to it that only the cream of the crop remain standing.

It is a sad, sad day for the Philippine music industry. At past 12 noon today, master rapper Francis Magalona has succumbed to leukemia.

At the young age of 44, Francis M., as he is popularly known, is already an accomplished musician/artist. In my opinion,  I think he is the best rapper the Philippines has ever seen. He has composed rap songs known all over the archipelago.  He has likewise collaborated with other top band, producing truly Original Pinoy Music (OPM).

He was not limited in his talents. Singing was not his only forte. He also had a gift for tv hosting. As part of the show Eat Bulaga, he has proven that he can hold his own with tv legends Vic Sotto and Joey De Leon, whether in hosting game show segments or in bringing on the knock-knock jokes and making people laugh. He has likewise started his clothing line, Three Stars and a Sun, showcasing his Filipino pride.

Despite his previous involvement with prohibited drugs, this has not deterred people from acknowledging his great contribution in the music industry. His talent cannot be denied. He had character, for which he will be remembered. He has lived a full life, this I can be certain. He will be surely missed.

I have always been this way since time immemorial. In fact, my husband’s woes in regard to my cleaning up ability is not totally alien to me. You see, even when I was younger, my mom was always on my back, harping about putting things back where they belong. But that would just apply to things belonging to her. With her stuff, everything has a home of its own. Whereas the things I own live anywhere and everywhere, free to take up more space than they actually need, never suffered to stay in some forgotten dark drawer.

Here’s the thing though: I never forget where I put my things. Even though they are scattered everywhere, I can tell you exactly where is the pair of most flattering jeans I own (hanging on the door of the cabinet), my favorite lilac-colored Parker pen (in my bag, between the coin purse and blush on) or the three pieces of safety pin I use to secure blouses to make sure they don’t show more than they ought to.

Until now, I’ve never thought of myself as an organized human being. After all, the years of constant nagging (first, my mom; now, my husband) have engraved in my hard head the words “clean up!” there can be no mistaking its implications.

So, why do I say I’ve suddenly discovered I’m organized? I took a quiz, something I found on yahoo.

According to the quiz, if you can pinpoint the exact location of the items listed therein, then you are organized. This is assuming, of course, that you have all the stuff listed therein. For the most part, I can safely say I can specify where these items are in my room. Never mind that they are scattered here, there and everywhere. After all, the quiz didn’t say things had to be hidden inside some box, labeled and arranged alphabetically. Incidentally, the safety pins are on the second shelf on the dresser, between the bottles of skin lotion and toner. Well, just in case you thought I’d already forgotten.

You’d think that because he’s all perfect and god-like, he’d be a total snob — making time to talk only with the school hotties, right? But he was really friendly, too. He was genuinely nice to everyone. He spoke and joked with the meeks  (that’s me, in grade school) and the geeks. He was an all-around good guy, never got himself into trouble even though he hung out with the so-called “cool guys” who usually have bad records in the school. He’s like Zac Efron on the High School Musical, without the music and with a better body. He was totally hot.

Since graduating from high school, however, I’ve never heard about him again except for that one time his parent died. I went to the wake with some friends and saw him still glorious, even in his grief. I think we were already in college then. I shook his hand, which felt rough like a man’s hand ought to, and expressed my sympathy. (I would have liked to express more than my sympathy, though, if I’d been given the chance, teehee!) But other than that, I’ve never heard from him or seen him.

Until today. As in this minute — or maybe a couple of minutes ago before I began writing this.

I checked my email, expecting to see a lot of junk mail. And there it was, a notification from Facebook, saying that he has added me as a friend. HE ADDED ME AS A FRIEND! Holy piece of freakin’ sheet! I didn’t even know he had a Facebook account. Otherwise, I would have ogled at his picture a long time ago. And just how flattering is that: he still knows me after all these years. Which now reminds me: I ought to change my profile photo into something more glamorous. Right! I must get on to that.

Hmm… looks like I don’t have any glamorous photo. Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever had a glamorous photo. Hmp. Maybe I’ll just post one of my interesting shots from my attempt at photography. Maybe that’ll impress him. Heehee.

It was only when I got to work this morning that I realized a proceeding was due in court, where I would have to take an active part. As a lawyer, it’s supposed to be just another day. But not when you don’t know what the hell is going to happen. It’s like being in first year law school all over again and you don’t know how the system works. What’s worse is that it feels like I’m the only newbie in the group. Everybody’s been doing it for a long time, it’s almost as natural as breathing. Meanwhile, I’m kicking and flailing just trying not to sink in the water. Aarggh! Sometimes, I really don’t know if I’ve made the right choice. Sometimes, I can’t help but wonder if I would have been better off as a call center agent… These are the kind of days that I ask myself if I’m really qualified for the job.

I can’t help but compare myself to this other lawyer I met this morning. She was dressed smartly, talked with a serious air and went on about her way as if she couldn’t be bothered for small talk but could only spare a smile. She was genial but she had the air of a total career woman. She was the kind of lawyer I’d like to aspire for. In fact, she’s not much older than me but she seems matured in all her ways. I, on the other hand, still laugh at stupid silly things, like when the cat outside tries to wrestle with its mother. I find it amusing, whereas she, I’m sure, wouldn’t have probably bothered to observe it. I wish I were that kind of lawyer. She looked like she knew everything she was doing and that everything she does is calculated with only the end in view.

Meanwhile, I feel like Bridget Jones or Rebecca Bloomwood. It’s like I’m faking knowledge of everything. Everytime, I keep wondering if it’s the day somebody will uncover the fraud that I am. Whether it was that smile I gave or the gestures I made, I would think it was a sure tell-tale sign of my stupidity.