Of course this silly app has been posted a gazillion times in the net, but it’s still worth blogging. Meet the uber-ridiculous “I Am Rich” iPhone application.

Yep, that image is never photoshopped. The author of this app told the press, “The red icon on your iPhone or iPod touch always reminds you (and others when you show it to them) that you were able to afford this.”. The silliest pitch you could use for an application. IMO, you can bring it to the level of those ridiculously expensive but kind of worthless, bragging-rights-giving, applications / software like Microsoft Windows Vista.

I may not be able to afford this app ‘coz I flaunt that I Am NOT Rich. I’m not dumb too. That’s a lot of things missing from me that I could brag about.

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With all the buzz going on about David Archuleta being Filipino, the researcher in me pushed myself to concluding that David is not a Filipino. His cousins already confirmed it in his MySpace website. Also, a Yahoo! Answers page confirmed my thoughts of me asking why we should care if he’s Filipino and attach ourselves / our race to these great people. Seriously, who cares if he’s Filipino or not? Does it mean that we have uber inferiority complex, evidence of which could be found from us being a hospitable race, and always thinking that foreigners have the bigger money?

Me and my gang talked about it over booze, and thought that the Filipino people could always be nationalistic, but rarely patriotic. We’re proud being Pinoys (colloquial term for being Filipino), proud of our kin who excel in things like throwing a boxing opponent out of the ring or moving balls around over a billiards table. But who does really stay and help his people nurse his elders and not bother wiping other country’s asses? Who does really save their genius and help science in the Philippines be more than an elementary subject? Who does make business and benefit his neighbors more than people oceans away from him? More than that, who does great things and credit his / her race for the great things he / she does?

Rare are these people, but on the same show as David Archuleta, I saw someone I could really tell being patriotic.

From day one, Ramiele Malubay has been very outspoken about her race, never minding those American racists (a friend told me the phrase “American racist” is redundant) throwing remarks on her, and living up with the pressure of giving American Idol its first Asian winner. Lea Salonga is also one of them, showing the world that the Filipino kin is a talented bunch, giving back, at the same time, to its people the glory built from eating rice and fish.

I say I admire the generation of Ramiele’s dad. He could be the age of Vincent Bueno’s dad, who also preserved the traditions and the language of our people. I hate those OFW people who want to live the foreign life, and forget about the good things here, noting that there’re lots to consider as good stuff.

I don’t care if they disown the Filipino flag. The feeling is mutual.

Technorati Tags: filipino

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Jolo, my unofficial source of weird web stuff, has done it again. He sent me a link and it really got my attention:

Bulletproof Baby Official Website

It’s the most shocking demo I’ve seen so far! Why the hell will they promote the idea that babies would /could be killed in a shootout, or something? Does this show how the world has become, that even babies are not safe from other people’s pity?

I remember this documentary made by the award-winning director / writer of “Fahrenheit 9/11″, Michael Moore, about the Columbine High Massacre and the use of guns in the US. At first, it tells you about the seemingly weird fascination of Americans with guns, like every household should have at least one! Here in the Philippines, we don’t have much guns because they are freakin’ expensive, and each bullet costs as much as 1 kilo of rice. If you’re going to choose between the two, you’d know which one to choose, right? Anyways, the idea is that the American people thought about guns like cigarettes: they make you look sexy, powerful, and fabulous. And like cigarettes, they tend to destroy a part of their bodies one inch at a time. I don’t want to spoil the details of the documentary so I suggest you watch it.

I just can’t get over the irony of putting an innocent child in a stroller, and then gunning it with an automatic. It’s just… crazy!

Which fits this blog, by the way.

I still believe that the most effective (and cost-effective) way to keep your child out of harm is to establish good relationships with other people. We have it here in the Philippines. We kinda delve on things that are free, ‘ya know.

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(A Letter to my Dad)

If my friends ever asked me what would my earliest memories would be, I’d always say I’m not really sure, but they were two of them I can recall most. First was my shoulder ride along Malinta’s Wet Market. I dunno, it was night back then and we went somewhere I can’t recall, but surely, I was happier riding on your shoulders. Second was my sort-of drowning on Manila Bay. Back then, the water’s clean, and I can even see mounds of, I dunno, maybe corals near the shoreline. I remember Mommy buying me something like an egg (which I later realized were quail eggs), a tetra of Hi-C, and some Melon Drops Candy. I remember telling me you would swim with me, and I said no, with utmost rejection. I cried out loud when you held me, dipped me into the water, but never did my mouth and nose touched it. I felt cold, crying, and alone, forgetting I am being held by your strong arms. I dunno if, during these times, I were two or three. Heck, I even believed the playground hippo from Luneta is a big monster, and will come eat me.

All those times of youth, I believed you were a strong man. I don’t want to talk about the incidents or events that led me to banish this idea, but somehow, you or me made me. We had a lot of fights, and we’ve been through the harshest mudslings. We’ve done unspeakable things with each other. Why did I keep on hating you? Why did you let me?

Maybe, I am still a child for almost twenty-four years. Maybe, I still want to ride on your back or have me held in your arms. I know it’s quite impossible, now that you’ve grown and lived up as my old man. Maybe you wanted me to be someone, and I failed you. Maybe I needed you like some big dad, and you disappointed me. Maybe I’m just being narrow-minded, and wanted to think as if life is as simple as a Hi-C tetra pack, and wanted this life to be bought by you.

Maybe I’m too scared to admit that I love you so much, I scream my lungs out, curse why you’re letting me touch the cold sea, when in fact, you’ve always held me in case I drown with my own misery. Maybe I’ve been always wrong, that with all the struggles we’ve had for years, you kept your grip, but was losing your strength.

Maybe on your day, I’ll be the one to embrace you, and buy you Hi-C.

Happy Birthday, Dad.

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I remember back in grade school, I was “topless“, and I was given a break since at that time, I was a teacher’s pet with a very huge interest in the sciences. I actually tried being smart but I wasn’t noticed because there already existed this group of kids who had honors straight for four years. I told myself, well, just enjoy the treatment from my teachers. I had commendations from my English teacher and told the entire class that I was the most promising student of the class. I didn’t expect it, but later I realized, I was the only person in the class who spoke functional English (thanks to Baywatch and Doogie Howser! Hahahaha). My Filipino teacher appreciated my writing, and though I was a noob in Math (I don’t even know what integers are), I was fast in doing factorization.

Mid-year gave me opportunities for contests. My very first school representation advanced me to the next level (the Division level) where only 10 from our district will be sent to compete with other districts from 3 cities. Though I failed (it was the Acceleration Tests, I won’t even want to be accelerated), I found the experience very precious for me. That was the first time I gained so much confidence about myself.

Then the end of the school year came. I was expecting the “original kids” to finish the term with honors. Deep inside, I have a hunch that since my teachers liked me, and noticed me, I would at least gain a top 10 standing. To my surprise, my classmates told me “condolence”. I didn’t know what “condolence” mean, considering I understand functional English. Being Mr. Nice Guy, I said “Thank You”, and they laughed at me, and I left the crowd wondering why. Then my friend told me “condolence” was a word sent to people who lost their loved ones, and I started to become worried. Why would they laugh about it? I tried to go to my teacher to ask her if she could let me go home, but my friend stopped me and told me it wasn’t because I lost someone, but because I got honors. Apparently, some of my classmates were assisting my teachers for grading each of the students, and they found out that, yup, I got honors. After that awkward situation, my teacher/adviser announced the top 5. Expecting it would be me especially on the 5th and 4th places, I lost hope when 3rd came in. Once again, I got picked on.

I still remember, and this is no fiction, I was so sad I didn’t hear the 2nd place. I just noticed my classmates were clapping their hands, and they are all looking at me. I began feeling this burning sensation on my face. I felt like bursting in tears, but I don’t want to. I’ll look silly. “2nd place? Silver medal?” It felt like a dream. I used to get bullied by my classmates because of my bags, school supplies, and clothes (I used to wear half-rags for uniforms), but then at that moment, I saw them smiling so sweetly as if I was someone who represented them. The first placer was already expected, but I myself didn’t expect to be wearing untarnished silver.

Since then, I started aiming for perfection. I wanted more. I wanted better. But the more I become this “uomo universale” type of guy, the farther my goals seem to be. They just felt unreachable.

Until now, for the nth time, I’m really regretting being a college dropout. I didn’t enjoy school. I was damn serious in planning my fate, but when it fell apart, I fell in shambles. Right now, I feel crap. I feel beaten by everybody. I still want to win, but which contest am I competing in? I’m always grumpy. Sometimes, I just wish everything would be as easy as if I’m enjoying every bit of life, not expecting any rewards of some sort from it.

It’s pretty ironic, but I’m welcome for condolences.

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According to my Friendster Horoscope…

The Bottom Line

A separation between you and a friend will grow to near polarity unless you listen.

In Detail

You and someone else in your life are separating more and more in your ideas and positions. This distance could grow to a near polarity quite soon if you do not make a strong effort today to understand where they are coming from. You don’t have to agree — in fact, it will be all but impossible for you to agree with them. But it’s important for you to hear what they are saying and agree that they have a right to their opinions. Embrace the history you share together.

Hmm… I wonder if they understand where I’m coming from… how they ruined my reputation, and how they ruined my plans. Another friend told me, if I were to fall with such sweet-talks, I might be falling for another trap. Once is bad. twice is really bad. Giving a possibility for a third time is damn stupid.

Another entry on my list why I don’t believe in Horoscopes.

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Terence once suggested me a book by Paolo Coelho, and it’s entitled “The Alchemist”. This is not the first time I’ve heard about the book. Back in college, Gabby (Gabriel Israel David), a friend of mine, was reading the book while we were doing thesis / enrollment chores. He told me it was a very good book, and if not for me being busy during that time (I was participating in our thesis, Halalan, and a side job), I could’ve taken the time reading it.

Anyways, even though I’m busy at work, I still find time to watch TV shows, and, since it’s the series break in the US this month, read articles and books. And so I read the book, and it really felt like reading “The Little Prince” for the first time. It got me hooked, and I really liked the philosophies behind it. You’ve got to read it yourself. I won’t even mention anything inside the book (which makes this post kinda pointless). And like what Terence said, it somehow hardened our principles in life, about being passionate and focused in following our dreams.

Though I don’t like the ending. It was a bit cliche.

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For the past few weeks, I was planning to buy either a DivX player, a DivX Hard Drive, a camera phone, or a digital camera (emphasis on or). This will be the first time I’m going to buy something big solely for myself. Well, I bought computers before, but they weren’t really solely for me (my brothers share it with me). I never bought a cellphone (always provided by the company).

Anyway, the first thing that I really want to buy is a digital camera. Ever since college, I really wanted to have one. I like “stealing souls” from each shots, if you know what I mean.

But saving for such gadgets was really hard for me (if you know me, you don’t need to ask why ), considering I owe a very wonderful person as much as a full tuition fee (Hi *******. I haven’t forgotten, but I’m still struggling with family matters. But this year, please do wait for it). Then I told myself, why not the cheaper DivX player? Surely that could be a good one to invest on…

Until I saw our 1-year old DVD player.

A 1cm x 3 mm logo became the biggest surprise of the week. Our 1-year old Sony DVD Player bought by our Dad in Saudi is also a DivX player! How I failed to notice it is still a mystery, but I always had this impression that it was just an expensive excuse for playing “Titanic” 5 times for the “first time”.

Lesson learned: Don’t judge the DVD Player. It’s not a book (a rewording of Melanie Marquez’ famous quote).

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I remember the first months in my work. Terence asked me what my achievements were. I recalled all my school days. I never had an award back in college. I graduated from Manila Science but was just the normal guy passing his grades (though I had my lowest grade of all time from High School – 79).

Bragging aside, he noticed I was taking so long for me to mention if ever I had any achievements. He then asked me if I had any “top” in school, whether a top 10, top 100 or whatever “top”. I then said the most appropriate word to describe myself…

TOPLESS

Anyway, kidding aside, I always strive hard for perfection, for compelling achievements, but never finished a single thing I could be proud of. I tried becoming a Jack of all trades. I even kept my own “Uomo Universale” checklist if ever I conquered any field a universal man could do.

One of my biggest “unchecked’s” is Sports. I love doing sports, it’s just that Sports doesn’t love my play. I’m really bad at eye-hand coordination. I couldn’t dribble a ball. I can’t run fast (fast enough for me to run past some random snatcher). I’m a fat floater in the pool. I’m not only topless in Sports, I can’t seem to live my life as a sporty guy.

I should be a good coder right now, but whenever I see the younger guys I used to hang out with, I feel two letters for myself: PT. Not even a good programmer, never won a competition.

Even writing! I love to write, but I’m still not competitive enough.

If there’s greatness in everyone, which aspect can I call myself the best? Or should I really be treating each aspect a big-deal competition?

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(“Mapilit” means persuasive in Tagalog)

“Totoong tao” literally means “real person” in Tagalog, but recently (especially in Philippine showbiz), this phrase is being coined to people who are always helpful, supportive, and always there to give a helping hand.

I kinda asked myself lately (when I read a twitter status thanking the net for having “real people” in it) , is there a true-er meaning for this? If you’re a jerk or a relationships crasher, would you consider yourself a “real person”? If you tried to lie to people and make them unknowing of your bad traits, is that considered being “real”?

In my opinion, there’s no such thing as “unreal” as being a person. It’s just how people perceive a person is, if they want to accept the person as he / she is or not. Much like denying the truth about the people surrounding or close to them. Heck, I would even consider people rejecting the truth about some people as “unreal”, if I’m allowed to define the word’s context. It doesn’t really matter if you like or dislike a person, just don’t force them to go inside your reality. My principle is that if they don’t follow your rules, walk away, and consider their traits their reality (whether good or bad, but as I said, being naughty or nice is all relative).

So, am I a real person? Or am I a “real person”? Answer is: I don’t care. I live my life, with all the miseries attached, whatever nuisances or annoyances should block my way. I should start saying, “I don’t need your approval”, and that’s reality.

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