Blog Archives

Cos Israel in 4 B.C. had no mass communication

Name a mainstream local journalist who makes you feel like submitting yourself into idolatry. Someone you could write a biographical novelette of, someone you could endure breathing the same air in the same room with. Think. Think real hard now… Going once? Going twice?

Does the beauty pageant question kill you? That’s understandable. Giveaway answer of course: Cheche Lazaro, duh. ( Read more… )

You can tell Jesus that Barry is Back

Nope, not blasphemy. It’s just me blogging once again.

Not Drunk. With Lour and KJ at the UP JMA Xmas Party (Pic by Dannah Tan)

How long has it been? A month-long hiatus is unforgivable perhaps, but anyway here I am: Restoring back my stats, showing people that I still exist (that may be unfortunate to some), and most of all, etching my last memories of 2009. I love this blog; I owe this passion to you my readers a lot. I can only leave this blog if I had a permanent writer’s block. Which is impossible for me since my mind (and mouth) CANNOT shut up. I always need something to store my absurdities and occasional relevance, and IDIOTBOX has been that enclave for more than three years now. ( Read more… )

Salty

Sunken Garden at Night, Rona's despedida (Pic by Rona Bungay)

I can’t believe I’m blogging regularly so recently; I mean I haven’t had the focus to pull off my last semester requirements. But since this anecdote is seriously so funny it’ll raise the roof, read closely. Okay so I was in my BC 196 class yesterday and we had this awesome professor who did some sort of psychology-related activity that can project what type of persons we are. ( Read more… )

Raped by a Gorilla

The Bonfire of the VanitiesI wish I was Sherman McCoy— a $1,000,000-a-year Wall Street investment banker. I wish I was living in Park Avenue with an obedient socialite wife, a charming prep school daughter and an astronomical New York circle. Riiiiight.

In Tom Wolfe’s The Bonfire of the Vanities, I’ve learned that being so rich, so goddamm rich is no less frustrating than, well, being so poor, so goddmamm poor. Sherman— the zenith of every young urban professional in the 80s, who has lived a life one could only imagine— can spend attachés of dollars for just a pair shoe… laces! Just when you thought he was in cloud nine, guess again. After he’s fished a “hot ticket” mistress (again, why are the ladies always the troublemaker?), he was dragged into a scandal of capitalism, racism and prejudice. ( Read more… )

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