Happy Blog-versary

March 1st is the inconsequential day of The Write Stuff’s first year anniversary. I’ve managed to attract a loyal readership consisting of about five people (up from two when I started this a year ago), mostly friends who enjoy reading how I cannibalize my own experiences to serve as “material” for this blog (last time I used “fodder”, it elicited quite a few raised eye-brows).

I started to blog when I had this burning desire (nope, nothing sexual here) to share my enthusiasm for classical music to anybody who might care to read. My first ever post was about a Mozart concert, a tribute to the composer’s 250th death (or is it birth?) anniversary. It’s a passion of mine no different from say, sharing your favorite Cliff Richard or Cher albums (ok, ok, I’ll mention Pantera, although I have absolutely no idea who they are).

I couldn’t possibly be writing about classical music all the time. People, I do not live and breathe music, as OA writers would like to romanticize composers and musicians to be like. I’m not a hermit and although I think I’m a bit introspective (most instrumentalists are, to begin with) and I have a shirt that has large letters emblazoned on the front screaming, “Starving Artist”, I have other interests and I pursue a career as a researcher too.

And so I write about other issues like economics (another equally boring subject for most people), although I won’t go as far as read The Economist during my spare time, or check out the latest issue of Econometrica, or forward Steiglitz’s email articles about international trade to friends (yes, I know somebody who do all of those things). Maybe opera (I’m kidding).

Most of the time, though, I face a blank monitor screen, and waiting for that “inspiration” or that “light bulb” to pop up in my head to jumpstart my fingers to tap away at the keys, may take a while. And so, I let my sub-conscious direct my writing. I subordinate the important elements of coherence, style, even grammar to a stream-of-consciousness kind of direction.

What appears like a spontaneous entry about Bolivia or stray cats around my apartment, or funny recollections about my childhood in bucolic surroundings in the provinces, even my conversations with Che (who’s an equally interesting personality herself) are really effortless endeavors.

I do not think hard when I write about these things. I let go and I do not think too much about whether readers might find me offensive and will think of me less. I write what I know and like. It’s as simple as that. I do not have an editor to please. I also couldn’t care less whether or not people actually read me at all (scroll down and look for my visitor stats, it’s embarrassing!).

Jong once said he felt like he were to take a quiz after reading an entry. That never fails to crack me up. Also, Jun pulls me back to planet earth after I start to dissect a symphonic concert or an opera I just saw on DVD, “Ron, my nose bleeds”, he’d tell me. Or Marc takes time from his busy work in Singapore to comment on my, uhm, hair and offers to send a me brochure on hair regrowers.

Some people have been blogging for years, I only took to it last year, as my contra-bida personality held me back from doing it. I strike a balance between taking a magisterial but staid tone (yes, it’s deliberate) when discussing music and a light, comical approach to everything else.

I originally thought I’d maybe post one entry per week, or about fifty-something posts a year. After three-hundred and sixty-five days, I managed one-hundred and eighty-something posts. Not bad.

To The Write Stuff, Happy Anniversary!

(I feel so stupid doing this. Then why do it at all, you ask. I don’t know. Do I really have to answer that?)

Forest Fruits

I finally saw C2's latest TV ad featuring the new "Forest Fruits" flavor. I do not know what to say. Forest fruits? If you squeeze the juices out of langka(jackfruit), durian, mangosteen, plus manzanitas (local cherries), duhat/lomboy (wild berries), caimito (star apple), balimbing (star fruit) and of course, kamias (dunno the English term), I imagine the resulting taste would be Forest Fruits, right?

Maybe C2 simply came up with a synthetic flavour which the beverage maker simply failed to attribute to a fruit, and so the "catch-all" flavor, Forest Fruits.

Culture Vultures (III)

Violin Sonatas
Alexandru Tomescu, violin
Mary Ann Espina, piano


Tomescu opened the program with Mozart’s Sonata in F Major K 376. Mozart’s full maturity is on display here as the give-and-take conversation between the piano and violin is immediately apparent. The sonata isn’t just a piece meant for a virtuoso violinist since the composer gives the pianist a major work out as well. Mary Ann Espina is exceptionally good. This St. Scholastica alumnae is a revelation.

Mozart’s music is always light and lively with a clear melodic line. The composer’s zest and sense of joie de vivre shines through, with just a tint of nostalgia in the Andante second movement and rollicking Rondo in the final movement.

I got surprised by the Brahms sonata. When I first read the program, I didn’t think much about it, only to realize that it IS my favorite Brahms violin sonata (it is in A Major, I thought it was in D). First time I heard it over that born-again classical radio station DZFE back in college, Cecile Licad teamed up with her Curtis friend Nadia Salerno-Sonnenberg. High romantic, nostalgic, lyrical and passionate at the same time, you’d wonder if words can ever match the tenderness and intimacy evoked by the piece. Bravo! The duo slightly lost rapport at the start of the final movement marked Allegrito gracioso quasi Andante but quickly recovered to seamlessly conclude this highly popular sonata.

Tomescu continued to reprise Brahms after the intermission by immediately launching into the frenzied opening bars of the Scherzo, matched splendidly by the thundering chords of Espina. The Romanian’s virtuosic range scaled new heights with Camille Saint-Saen’s Rondo Capriccioso and the extremely difficult and demanding La Campanella by Paganini. Pizzicato, harmonics, double-stops- a wealth of violin techniques were utilized to bring to the fore his exceptional talent and electrify the audience.

The slow and languid works are the ones, however, that got etched in my memory. Tomescu interpreted the Mozart Adagio in E Major as if it were composed during the time of the Romantics. Deeply felt and almost solemn-like, I think this was the piece closest to the violinist: he played his heart out.

Another reason why I really wanted to watch the recital was the inclusion of another favorite of mine, Sergei Rachmaninoff’s Vocalise. Tender and passionate, the piece starts like a soft sob, progressing to a plaintive cry and ends in a quiet sigh. Absolutely beautiful.

Tomescu played Constancio de Guzman’s “Bayan Ko” as transcribed by the late Filipino conductor Redentor Romero (who was instrumental in bringing him to the Philippines in the first place, and has been coming back ever since), a fitting tribute to an audience that has come to appreciate his gifts.

For the encore, the Romanian treated the audience to a heart-stopping Sarasate and a piece I unfortunately, am unable to identify.

Culture Vultures (II)

The following night, Jun and I trekked to UN Avenue in Manila for a violin recital at the Philam Life Auditorium, featuring Romanian sensation Alexandru Tomescu and pianist Mary Ann Espina.

Jun sat beside a society matron (she’s what we call a Doña) who ignored Jun’s polite queries regarding the seating arrangements. At the close of the first part before the intermission, Jun informed me that she threw haughty looks, sort of lowering her patrician nose, down our direction when we refused to clap in between movements during the Mozart and Brahms sonatas.

Hey señora! We’re more musically-literate than you are. Don’t you know that you are NOT supposed to clap in between movements?

Jun wanted to clap loudly in her face.

Outside during the break, we couldn’t help notice that we stuck out like sore thumbs in what appeared like a geriatric bingo socials club.

After the recital, we headed towards Figaro for coffee and its signature chocolate cake. We didn’t mind the calories. We jogged a full hour at the UP Campus the following morning anyway.

Culture Vultures (I)

Jun and I immersed ourselves in “high-brow” culture over the week-end, starting last Friday night with a Symphonic and Piano Concert at the Francisco Santiago Hall along Makati Avenue. I wanted to hear for myself, for the first time, Nicanor Abelardo’s Piano Concerto in B-flat Minor and so for some reason, I managed to convince Jun to come with me to watch the concert (he agreed immediately!). As the concert progressed, I tried to look for signs of “nose-bleeding”. There was none. Apparently, he got through the concert unscathed. Perhaps, my classically-biased musical sensibilities may have started to rub off on him already.

The concert opened with a Prelude from Edvard Grieg’s Holberg Suite Op. 40. Very brief, sprightly and jocular, it set the mood of the entire concert (well at least for the next number). The main offering really consisted of Haydn’s Symphony no. 94 in G Major and the Abelardo piano concerto.

For a student orchestra trying to make its mark on the Philippine’s cultural calendar, I think the UP Orchestra under Prof. Martinez did a pretty good job. Haydn’s symphonies, belonging to the early symphonies of the classical repertoire, are generally simpler and less complicated. The performance failed to engage me because I got too distracted in trying to wish the first violins to please, please play in sync.

The fortissimo sections were wonderful, with full, vibrant sounds; only in rapid passages did I detect problems with the violins and occasionally the wind instruments. The second movement is familiar to everybody who went through day-care centers: the melody and its ensuing variations are in fact similar to “Baa baa black sheep...” note-for-note.

The orchestra really came to its own when Regalado Jose played the Abelardo concerto. Prof. Jose looks 60 or even 70 years old, although his playing remained clean and crisp, he clearly eschews a highly-romantic and bombastic interpretation. He kept a tight lid on sentimentality. Bravo! A younger pianist may have treated the piece with more passion and emotion a la maniere de Chopin or Rachmaninoff.

The first movement reminded me of Grieg’s lone Piano Concerto in A, maybe that is the reason why they chose to open the concert with a Grieg Prelude. The lyricism, melodic configurations and the harmonic treatment clearly owes a lot to the Norwegian, and the sense of calm and tranquility evoked in the rapid passages were unmistakable.

The final movement, however, clearly shows the strong and pervasive influence of Johannes Brahms. Fiery outbursts tempered by overly-romantic themes dominated the last movement and ended in a spectacular close.

But what I believe really makes the concerto special is the second movement, the Adagio section. The slow and languid passages showed why Abelardo is the master of kundiman form: it is the most Filipino of all movements. Jun said it reminded him of 1950’s movies. Any Filipino worth his musical salt will instantly recognize this unique appeal. In fact, during the encore, Prof. Jose played the second movement all over again, so that the audience will have the music of our National Artist to bring home with them.

Sacred Music

To usher in Lent, here’s my list of favorite sacred music:

1. Giulio Caccini’s Ave Maria- a serene, solemn but quietly powerful hymn to the Blessed Virgin Mary. Korean soprano Sumi Jo interprets this baroque masterpiece. (What a beautiful voice!).

2. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s Ave Verum Corpus- another solemn piece of work. Composed during Mozart’s last year (at the same time he composed the mighty Requiem), devoid of histrionics and vocal embellishments, this brief prayer is so simple yet so tender and peaceful at the same time.

3. Here’s an excerpt from the last movement of Gustav Mahler’s magnificent Symphony No. 2 in C Minor. Claudio Abaddo conducts the Lucerne Festival Orchestra and Orfeon Donostiarra for an inspired and moving rendition of a personal favorite of mine.

The work is all about Death and Resurrection. It addresses questions like, is there life after death? It is amazing to note that a symphony aims to answer this. If you take a little trouble in understanding the music and take to heart the poetry of the vocal and choral parts, you’ll understand what I’m talking about.

I always get goose bumps every time I listen to this work. The final part of the last movement is unforgettable; it sends shivers down my spine. A single French horn- located above and away from the orchestra- beckons the soul, slowly and softly, for a final ascent, while the flute and piccolo flutters in the background.

As the chorus enters softly, the soloist’s voice joins in, and then separates and floats away. I feel as if my spirit were being lifted up as well.

And then the chorus divides, gains strength and combines with the orchestra, building up to the mighty finale with powerful intensity, to proclaim the beautiful, beautiful message of this wonderful masterwork, “You die in order to live again./ Your pain and suffering have not been in vain/ because all these shall lead you to God”. Clearly, this depicts the final moment when the spirit soars and joins the Creator.

It is one amazing work.

Canyon

Cuando era pequeño en secondaria, cada fin de semana mis amigos Ambrose, Ian and I would emerge from the freshly-plowed pineapple fields surrounding Camp 14 in Del Monte, Bukidnon, maneuver our bikes to begin the perilous descent down the steep, almost-45 degree gravel road that snakes its way down the valley, cross the bridge over the rampaging Agusan river, and begin the arduous Calvary climb to the top on the other side of the canyon. Camp 14 is located on one side of the canyon while the main Del Monte housing camps are on the other side. This meant we had no choice but pass through a deep valley formed by the canyon. Sometimes, we’d pause for a break and sip some water from a spring well on the side of the road where a gold bar, hidden by Japanese soldiers in World War II, was reportedly found.

Once we reached the bridge at the bottom of the valley, we’d steer ourselves for the steep climb ahead and pedal all the way to the top non-stop: an ambitious goal the three of us challenged ourselves to accomplish and succeeded. I do not know if I can still manage to do it nowadays without breaking a leg but I hope to replicate the experience when going uphill towards Antipolo.

Ian convinced his father to get him a shiny, silver, top-of-the-line BMX while I settled for a red, mini-road or racer bike. Ambrose’s bike, however, defied description. An extremely practical and resourceful guy, he assembled his bike himself, attaching a small, knobby but highly incongruous BMX tire on the rear side of a rusty, sturdy frame typical of traditional bicycles manufactured in the 1940s and popularly used by peasants in Communist China. (I do not know where he got it). Ya know, those industrial-type bicycles with wheels as large as a ferris wheel and handle bars so wide it covers half the equator? We called it Airwolf because the huge handle bars appeared like the wings of a helicopter. I always thought it looked like a Skylab. If you must ask, Ambrose didn’t mind at all.

Anyway, we’d visit classmates who lived far and occasionally imposed ourselves for lunch (they had no choice). At first, we’d steal and sneak out some guavas from Del Monte’s guava orchard (for the pine-guava juices you find in supermarkets) until our moms took pity on us and prepared packed lunches for us to bring since we’d be gone practically the whole day. It didn’t help that sometimes, out of the generosity of their hearts and to show their gratitude and hospitality for gate-crashing their quiet lunch, those we visited would insist on giving us basketfuls of heavy fruits like avocado, santol and mango for us to take home, conveniently forgetting that we have those fruit trees in our own respective backyards as well.

The experience is very much like carrying a ton of brick on your back while scaling the heights of Mt. Everest. As we negotiated the steep, ascending and very rugged curves of the canyon on the way home, we surfaced from the arduous climb covered in dust from head-to-toe, courtesy of the huge trucks carrying newly-harvested pineapple that always seem to suddenly zoom from behind us. At this point, I always entertain existentialist thoughts like, “what is the meaning of life”, or more precisely, “why am I even doing this”.

You emerge from the experience sounding like a philosopher.

Gad, those week-end cycling trips in Bukidnon were a blast. I miss those days.

Colored Contacts

For my research on contact lens, I went inside an optical shop in Makati and asked the optician about a contact lens brand for presbiotics. Since presbyopia afflicts people over the age of 40, she immediately raised her right eyebrow, "You're presbiotic already?" Thank you madame, I couldn't hide my smile.

This was short-lived however. I requested for another brand of color contacts and immediately, her nostrils flared, "You want colored contacts?" I understand her concern. I look too masculine to be wearing violet or faux-blue contacts.

Summer Food Haunts

Lunch at Chicken Bacolod Shopwise. I always have grilled chicken (pa-a) with the customary sawsawan (condiment mix) of soy sauce, lime/calamansi and chili. Transfer to nearby Razon’s for halo-halo (shaved ice mixed with generous toppings of leche (or sweet milk) flan, saba bananas (plantains), shredded macapuno (young coconut meat) and the honest-to-goodness creamy delights of carabao (water buffalo) milk.

Move on to Figaro (I avoid Starbucks Araneta, it’s horribly jologs—the decibel levels approximate that of a typical Chinese tea house’s where everybody seems to be simultaneously shouting and cackling at the top of their voices) and relax and read newspapers while sipping a coffee jelly float topped with vanilla ice cream.

A few hours later, have merienda or mid-afternoon snack (tea time, for the British) at Ted’s Old Timer La Paz batchoy (Ilonggo-style noodles) generously sprinkled with crunchy pork cracklings, inside Ali Mall. They have the best batchoy this side of Manila (but nothing beats the original Ted’s at the Iloilo public market near SM Iloilo).

For dinner, nothing beats Bellini’s inside the Marikina Shoe Expo for pasta (I always have the seafood pasta wrapped in aluminum foil to lock in the seafood juices—take note, Bellini’s prepare their own pasta, so the texture is different compared with supermarket pasta) and crunchy thin-crust pizza. (The difference is very much like fresh miki, or egg noodles, versus the sun-dried miki noodles). Plus, the restaurant always gives you a shot of their sweet, dessert wine (I think it is port wine).

If you have more than enough dough to spare, then Italianni’s spinach formaggio (Che, did I spell this right?—we never fail to order this) and the mountainous salad are wonderful as well, although really, the servings are meant for people who weigh at least 200 lbs.

I avoid Rasa at the Coliseum. The food tastes awful. I think the name says it all: Walang Rasa. Especially the noodles. Euww. They give you complimentary noodles, and it tastes just as awful as their main noodle dishes. All you could taste is the soy sauce. The Hainanese chicken is okay, though. I haven’t tried the chili crabs. Mighty expensive and besides, I kinda have a slight allergy to it (itchy nose), I think. Or maybe I just couldn’t afford it. (One time, Titus and I wandered into a restaurant along Pasay Road. Extremely expensive, something like a thousand a piece for each crab!)

I also avoid that seafood restaurant with a pirate theme at the back of Shopwise fronting SM. Not only do I find the theme corny (staffers wear pirate costumes a la Johnny Depp in Pirates in the Caribbean or Captain Hook in Peter Pan, yeah right, whatever), I do not find their “boodle” meals—food is laid out on a bed of banana leaves which make the experience so…uhm, tribal, what is this, a set from Survivor?--appealing at all. The same goes true for Cakes & Ales. Hello? We weren’t even colonized by the Brits. I deliberately avoid phony restaurants that try to pass off as first-world wannabes.

The chocolate cakes unimaginatively served with plastic forks and paper plates along with your industrial coffee at the Nescafé counter at the Gateway food court isn’t actually bad. It is actually a good alternative to the overpriced and overrated Starbucks nearby-- sans the ambiance, of course.

The Mandarin Oriental desserts at the Gateway 2nd Floor are way, way too expensive. Also, I dare not try Leonidas expensive Belgian chocolates (at a hundred bucks a pop?). I’m not a sweet-tooth anyway so I’m not dying to try it. I’ll live.

A good alternative is the Singaporean bakeshop BreadTalk. They serve an aromatic freshly-brewed coffee and a nice selection of desserts (I like the Ube cake).

I hate going to Makati or Ortigas so it is always a welcome relief knowing that Gateway Mall at least has something to offer other than the food court-slash-beerhouse at the Farmer’s Plaza basement.

Every Wednesday night I jog at the Marikina Oval. I always have dinner afterwards at the really unassuming Krung Thai restaurant at the back of the public market. The fried chicken sprinkled with sesame seeds, when the cook is in a good mood, is to die-for. If you have company, try the shrimp tom-yum soup. It’s different from Sukhothai’s but equally flavorful. The restaurant does not use the local ginger: they use galangal which is slightly less pungent. There’s torn lemon leaves and lemon grass (I think). I’m a perennial customer. The waitress doesn’t give me the menu list anymore.

All this talk about food is making me hungry.

Tikoy

The thing with Tikoy is that you're bound to receive one, two, even more especially if you have a lot of Chinoy (Chinese Filipino) friends and colleagues. You don't really know how to dispose of all the Tikoy. And so I gave my landlady next door Tikoy for the Lunar New Year. (I also make sure to always play her favorite, Franz Schubert's Ave Maria on the piano. Perhaps she won't raise my rent this year). It's not exactly a dessert or a sticky-rice delicacy a la sapin-sapin. I once gave a cab driver Tikoy because I just had too many. I wished him luck and he was so darn happy.

Valentine's Rush

The florist at the Gateway ground floor is doing brisk business. I couldn't stifle a smile as anxious guys waited for their turn to purchase the bouquet or bunch of flowers. Quite expensive too.

Kimchi Talk

I had a meeting with a prospective Korean client yesterday. I came out of the meeting with a slight migraine. Chopping up my English required me to simplify everything and converse in single verbs and adjectives: “here. Up. See?” “No. Market, good. yah?. Prices, lowww. Many, many.” “Yes, yes. No”. “Me. Cheap only” – (gad, I think I sounded like a prostitute). Using hand gestures to demonstrate my point, they didn’t reciprocate at all: they spoke in Korean and the occasional halting English which I could barely understand.

Which reminds me of my good friend Marc, who’s now based in Singapore. He goes on business trips overseas and I always wonder how he manages to communicate with non-English speaking colleagues without the aid of a translator. You know, like speaking with someone who keeps on nodding his head and saying yes all the time, only to find out later that he didn’t understand a single word you said.

Amarilli

This is perfect for Valentines, Guilio Caccini's Amarilli (If You Love Me).

Interpreted by Cecilia Bartoli.

Bike Way

I went out to see for myself this morning the new bike road in Marikina. Cycling along the Katipunan road isn’t exactly a walk in the park, so to speak, as trucks, cars and motorcycles zoom past you while you try to keep your balance and your bearings. The steep curve snaking its way through the Industrial Valley subdivision is so perilous and accident-prone it pays to check your brakes first before going downhill towards the Marikina Valley. Bayani Fernando and his wife, the current Mayor MCF, have done wonders for Marikina and it really shows. The lady mayor’s current project is the River Park, and the extension of the park is the recently completed bike-way.

The bike way is located upstream: its starts where the river park ends and extends all the way to Tumana bridge, maybe 2 or 3 kms further. As I ambled my way along the concrete bike road, I couldn’t help notice the contrasts between both sides of the river: the left side featured really large, very impressive and imposing houses of the well-to-do complete with concrete walls and dikes meant to protect the precious real estate from rising river waters, while the rest of the struggling masses huddle it out on the other side, with no protective dikes whatsoever.

Anyway, I reached the end of the bikeway, but not before I heard a burst from my rear tire. Hmmm. My first flat-tire since I bought this bike last December. My telescope-like air pump became useless. I had to look for a vulcanizing shop. The interior tire was fine, there were no perforations. Maybe Manong missed it, because on my way back, just as I was ascending the steep Industrial Valley road, the rear tire burst again. This time, I hailed a cab, hauled the bike at the back, and went home.

Ramming

I like spending idle afternoons at Figaro-- especially during those breaks when my brain refuse to churn out brilliant ideas that my Singaporean employer can be proud of-- lounging in the couch and reading just about anything. I usually drop by to check out the latest copy of Business Mirror (I think it has already eclipsed Business World in terms of depth and quality in its coverage of economic and corporate news).

Anyway, an article about gay sheep in the US caught my attention. Apparently, a study is underway to shed light on the homosexual tendencies of some rams (I'm not kidding!). It was found out that in a controlled study, about 20% were found to be bi-sexual, 15% asexual (meaning, no sexual preference whatsoever!), and 10% gay. Asexual and homosexual rams prove costly to breeders because obviously, they refuse to breed with ewes in heat.

So in effect, the researchers hypothesized-- although still inconclusive-- that this behaviour among rams may have biological origins, and may even be genetic. Further down the road, it may even be possible to manipulate the genetic make-up of the sheep so as to prevent them from turning gay.

I know zilch about the science behind this, but what does this say about gays in humans? Is it far-fetched to say that in the future, couples can choose to ensure that their offspring will not turn out to be gay? Too early to say, humans aren't sheep, after all.

Looking Up

What did I tell you. Filinvest Land's (FLI) follow-up share offer yesterday was five times oversubcribed. From the offer price of PhP1.605, it opened at PhP1.80, climbed to PhP1.92 before settling at PhP1.82 for a 13%+ gain, in a single trading day. Compare that to a savings rate of 0.75% (excluding taxes!) PER ANNUM!

I hope to gradually increase my portfolio. My big problem now is valuation. I currently rely on analysts recommendation and calculation of a stock's fair market value, or FMV because I do not have access to company records.

I might do my own financial modelling and come up with my own forecasts and valuation, soon. Watch this space (as if naman).

The mining act effectively made mining stocks (Philex, Manila Mining and Lepanto) attractive again. A lot of issues remain unresolved and a number of exploration plans remain on hold despite increased interest from overseas investors. This is the best time to buy, however. Buy when there's blood on the streets. These things will eventually take off sooner or later becuase the stage has been set. Gold prices remain attractive and metal prices continue to rise on account of the insatiable demand from the red-hot BRIC economies (Brazil, Russia, India and China).

Opera 101: Bel Canto

I never cared about opera before. Growing up in Bukidnon, I played the piano, so naturally I gravitated towards classical piano music. But when I picked up a copy of La Scala’s production under Ricardo Muti of Giacomo Puccini’s Tosca in, of all places, a roadside stall in Quiapo, I got hooked. First-rate acting, superb sets (this is Italy, after all), wonderful singing and suspenseful and crackling orchestration- what more can you ask for. I didn’t even mind that it took almost three hours to watch the entire opera.

Since then, I returned for more and I got introduced to the great Italian bel canto masters, the composers of the verismo school and the valiant efforts of the Russians (successful) and the English (not quite) to make their own mark and not get overwhelmed by the Italians, French and Germans. I became keenly aware of the rivalry between Wagner and Verdi, their differences in musical outlook and compositional styles.

I love bel canto (which means “beautiful singing” in Italian). Rossini, Donizetti and Bellini during the early part of the 1800’s, developed florid singing to its highest level and elevated it to an art-form. Strongly melodic with a highly-marked legato line, these composers began to stretch the limits of the voice when they wrote some of the most difficult coloratura passages ever, matched only earlier by Mozart and Handel. The style requires the voice to mimic a musical instrument like a pianoforte via fast vocalization techniques like half-tone scales, trills and mordents. They also required the leading singers to send their final notes to the stratosphere.

Maria Callas, probably the most famous soprano in the 20th century, led the revival of bel canto in the early 50’s. Her most famous role, Norma by Vincenzo Bellini, comes from this period. When Callas made her Metropolitan debut in New York, she was asked to take on the Queen of the Night role in Mozart’s Magic Flute. This opera has the highest notes for the soprano in all opera, hitting two F’s above high C, in a terrific but terrifyingly difficult revenge aria.

Callas wisely chose to open with Norma instead, allowing her to dramatize a whole gamut of emotions amid spectacular singing, reviving this extremely difficult and demanding opera and contributing to its popularity. I recently watched the entire opera of the Parma production featuring June Anderson, and I must say, the long arias filled with scales and trills, as well as the exceedingly beautiful but technically challenging duet with Adaglisa are a must for any opera fanatic.

Rossini

Gioacchino Rossini’s style is loud and partial to military rhythms. After all, this was the period when Napoleon marched into Europe like wildfire. The clashing cymbals sometimes make me want to cover my ears (e.g., Le Comte Ory), and the exceedingly fast vocalization becomes absurd if not performed properly (think of “Largo al factotum...” in the Barber of Seville, his most famous and enduring work). As if this were not enough, he requires his singers, especially the tenors, to hit several high Cs!

Semiramide, a three-hour extravaganza with the most unbelievable and preposterous libretto but exceedingly difficult arias and duets, remains a favorite of mine. The duets in the Barber of Seville are precious, too. Nothing quite like it, even Beethoven liked it.

Rossini has been enjoying a renaissance of sorts recently, thanks to the efforts of Rossini specialists (Callas, Horne, Berganza, Sutherland, Abaddo) who tirelessly promoted the music of the master despite the onslaught of Wagner, Verdi and Puccini.

Donizetti

Gaetano Donizetti’s coloratura passages are not as rapid as Rossini’s, but some of his operas remain less frequently performed because of the strenuous vocal demands. Beverly Sills once claimed singing Roberto Devereux, Maria Stuarda and Anna Bolena took ten years off her career. I’ve watched the first two—it requires full-volume singing in the upper range of the voice, and almost always, the soprano’s arias always end up in the stratosphere. She sounds like she’s always launching comets into space.

The famous Lucia di Lamermoor, with its mad scene IS a gold standard for all aspiring sopranos. Joan Sutherland became famous with this role, and it’s easy to see why. The soprano is not only required to act like she’s gone crazy, she has to convey her state of mind through vocal acrobatics and fireworks, which provided Donizetti a great excuse to write mind-boggling coloratura passages. I saw a DVD feature on the great soprano Joan Sutherland interpreting this role. She had a showdown with a solo flute, note-for-note, scale-for-scale, trill-for-trill. It was amazing. You have to watch it to believe me.

In addition, Pavarotti got well-known, not by L’Elisir d’Amore, with its beautiful Una furtive lagrima aria, but by the nine, yes nine, high C’s in a single aria in Un Fille du Regiment (Daughter of the Regiment). I haven’t found a copy yet, but it is easy to see why. It must have taken him a week to recover his voice.

Bellini

Aaah, Vincenzo Bellini. Unlike Rossini, this composer composed elegant lines. (In fact, Chopin loved his music. The Pole must have gotten his melodic ideas from the Italian). He doesn’t favor Rossini’s crescendos and rapid-fire vocalization. His orchestration is deliberately simpler and doesn’t overwhelm the singer. He likes his arias to be slow and languid, and puts the highly florid ornamentation in between those long drawn-out notes. He likes to slowly send his singers to the upper reaches of the voice, and leaves them there, hanging and twisting in the wind (e.g., Casta Diva in Norma).

Norma is among the most difficult opera for the lead soprano, and I Puritani is clearly without equal as the most terrifying for a tenor, requiring him to hit an F and two D’s above high C. I watched the less-known and less-performed Beatrice di Tenda, and I can’t understand the neglect. The music is ravishing, and the soprano sends out comets into outer space several times.

Bundle of Joy

I visited Che last Saturday on the occasion of her firstborn’s christening. Didn’t make it to the baptismal rites at 8 a.m. because of dragon boat training which turned out to be a complete waste of time.

Che made me a ninong (god-father) in absentia (right, Che?). Che has lost a lot of weight. Obviously, she’s adjusting to her situation. Some women gain weight after giving birth. The opposite is true with Che.

Baby Joaquin, very cuddly at one-and-a-half months, kind of warmed up to the people who came to celebrate his introduction to the Christian world. I like infant baptisms. The love between a man and a woman manifests in a miraculous event such that nine months later, a new life is brought forth into the world. Bringing the baby to be baptized is a wonderful and proper way of thanking God for the “bundle of joy”.

Mango Overload

I’ve been eating mangoes for the past three days now. You see, my neighbor who parks his car in front of my apartment sent me a bagful of mature mangoes ready for ripening. He has a huge mango tree in his yard and with the premature fruiting season, he obviously thinks he’ll win his neighbors’ affections and good will by giving us his surplus fruits. True enough, the green color turned to yellow a few days later, and to prevent the fruits from over-ripening and rotting, I had to eat as many as I can.

I love mangoes. It is the national fruit, right? But by eating it after every single meal I think I am beginning to smell like one. This is very much like eating ripe langka, or jackfruit. You leave a trail of langka smell in the bathroom after using it.

Gross! Oh snap!

Interest Rates

RCBC recently posted the following announcement in its branches:

"Effective 24 January, new rates for the following services will be implemented:

Peso savings: O.75% p.a.
Dollar savings: 0.50% p.a.

From 1.5% per annum, the bank reduced the interest to below 1%, and this does not included taxes yet.

People, the handwriting on the wall is unmistakable: Do not park your money in banks. Invest it somewhere. Maintain just enough for liquidity.

90-day T-bills have been falling to 3-4%, bank lending rates range between 8-9%. In fact, it is the perfect time to borrow from banks (I expect housing and car loans to pick up significantly this year).

Consequently, listed property companies are again benefitting from all these. Araneta already sold out one of its residential towers adjacent to Gateway and construction hasn't even begun yet. FLI will list the additional shares tomorrow. Foreign buyers swamped the market and snapped FLI, I only got a few. I hope the market kicks the share price to high heavens! Sold my remaining PNOC shares at PhP5.30 (bought it at 3.20, I sold it initially at 5.00).

I have no idea yet on Holcim. Cement companies normally correlate positively with the property sector. There were a lot of cement companies before, but only a few listed ones remain active. Let me check.

Sprained Foot

I registered for the Animo Run earlier today but I failed to participate due to an injured foot. I hurt my right foot last Wednesday evening after running a solid hour at the Marikina Oval. Oddly, I was preparing for the Animo 10km race scheduled this morning.

I should have maintained a steady pace and intensified my training gradually (as if I had a program to begin with). As a result, I limp while I walk but the pain is bearable.

By the way, Jun completed the race in 51 minutes! Pretty soon, he’ll be zooming past C-5 and EDSA in preparation for a full 42km marathon in July.

Oh, Panda Bear and Polar Bear leave their favorite sleeping hide-outs in my garage at 5:30 p.m. everyday, and wait patiently next door for Manang Mimi to feed them. All they do is sleep and eat all day. What a life! I always tell the brown one, Panda Bear to get more exercise because he’s getting fatter. When I come home, Polar Bear sometimes sits imperiously in the middle of the garage unperturbed by my presence, eyes me suspiciously but doesn’t even move his nose. He thinks he’s my equal!

Sour Grapes

Frodo and I have never felt so humiliated in all our years of paddling for the same team, like what transpired early this morning. We were not allowed to train because (1) I didn’t wear the official uniform required for the photo shoot and (2) Frodo came late.

But these aren’t accurate charges. (1) I didn’t wear the uniform because nobody informed me about it and (2) Frodo simply went back to his car to get something, and was told upon his return, that being late, he couldn’t be loaded. In fact, Frodo arrived earlier than His Majesty.

But that is not even the worse part. Since we were removed from the line-up, we were simply left to fend for ourselves. No instructions whatsoever. No information whether we’d be picked up mid-way through the training. We didn’t know whether we’d be training using a smaller boat. It would have been better had we been told to simply go home, at least we won’t be wasting our time ambling in the row site. Nada. Nothing. The rest simply left us there. It was so humiliating. We felt like we were no longer part of the team. Our previous team captains never subjected us to this indignity.

And the worst part? His Majesty even had the temerity to apologize to Frodo later (yes, to him alone, maybe because Frodo wore the uniform and I didn’t) and told him to attend the following day’s training, (and seeing that I was there inside the car, added, “and you as well”).

Wow. How condescending.

We didn’t deserve to be treated this way. Frodo couldn’t hide his disappointment: he seethed with anger after His Majesty left.

I reacted calmly. There is just no use getting riled up every time somebody gives you a bad time. It is not worth it. I’ll stow away my paddle for now. I simply cannot submit myself to a leadership that is weak and which has lost my respect. Maybe after the annual changing of the guards in July, I’ll pick up my oar again.

There are so many alternatives: jogging in UP and Marikina, long-distance biking to Antipolo and Tanay, and swimming in ULTRA.

I’m willing to give up rowing in a snap.

Eavesdropping

Earlier today at Starbucks, staffer at the counter goes into Oprah overdrive:

Staffer: "Are you just passing by, you're not working today?"

Me: "Just passing by." I wasn't exactly in the mood for a jolly banter.

Staffer: "So what do you do sir?"

Me: "Oh, I write stuff."

Staffer: "For newspapers?" Her face lit up.

Me: "No. Research". Don't worry, I smiled.

Near my table, a "business transaction" was taking place.

Aspiring sexy starlet answers questions from a giddy male correspondent of a well-known men's magazine. This mag is known for publishing provocative pictures of sexy celebrities. I can't identify the starlet, I don't know her name, but I've seen her somewhere.

The interview is obviously meant to be the accompanying article to the featured sexy photos.

Guy: "So which part of your body do you consider the sexiest?"

Startlet: "(boobs, her manager suggests) my eyes, and oh, my lips as well.

Guy: "So which part of a man's body do you like"?

Starlet: "Chest, yeah definitely the chest."

Guy: "What physical qualities are you looking for in a man?"

Starlet: "Uhm, he should be emotional. And neat. And nice to look at."

At this point, I couldn't help but look at the starlet.

Guy: "How many boyfriends have you had?"

Startlet: "(hesitates) Oh, many."

Unfortunately, a customer at another table yakked incessantly about an impending court case in his mobile phone. I had to leave.