GoodTimes with Mo, Mojo and Grace Lee: (A Happier You) Christmas blog

Notes from Alaia's Diary

There's something about riding in a plane bound home for the Philippines during the Christmas season. . I've seen it often enough - people spontaneously burst out clapping when they see a glimpse of home from their windows,still thousands of feet high above the ground, they stand up and give high fives to each other, the somber atmosphere of the plane is replaced with a fiesta atmosphere.

Often, this men and women have been separated from loved ones for years, often toiling in thankless jobs just to eke out a living to sustain their families back home.

I consider myself one of them since I work abroad as a nurse and send my savings back home to augment my parents'limited resources, helping five younger siblings finish their studies.I am just fortunate that I am single and I can afford to go home to the Philippines every year during my Christmas break, soak in all the festivities, stuff myself with Pinoy food and revel in my family's warm embrace.

I've learned to focus on the positive because if I don't, I'm sure I'll never venture outside my comfort zone,perhaps remain stuck in my home country and have a very low salary and perhaps sink in the dark pits of depression. Although I'm earning well, I can't help but ponder on the what if's.

I read a lot of books to combat my loneliness, watch Wowowee at the Filipino Channel (much as I try, I couldn't really stomach Willie Revillame), and listen to the live or delayed stream of my favorite radio show GoodTimes with Mo, Mojo and Grace Lee at 89.9

In fact, I've recorded a month's worth of shows in my IPod to keep me company as I ride home to Manila.

I've been listening to their December 18 show, and I was struck by Mo's topic about 'Missed Opportunities'. I've had a lot of missed opportunities to ponder about: my biggest regret is about not putting my foot down to study medicine. Instead, I was asked by my family to finish my studies first and work as a nurse so I could send all my younger siblings to college. After they're through school, then I could think about going to medicine.

What if, all those years ago, I've put my foot down? Perhaps, I'll be a doctor now. A penniless doctor, and my siblings are all out in the street, begging for food. That's quite extreme. Of course my Itay will never allow that to happen, and neither would I. But I do dwell on the What if's a lot of the time before.

I look out at my window and look at the skies. It's so beautiful and peaceful. So unlike the turbulent emotions I'm going through as I listen to Mo go on and on asking his callers to recall their missed opportunities.

I let the feelings of sadness overwhelm me at first and then after a minute or two, I let it go.

I look at the book I've kept in the side pocket of my front seat 'Oneness With All Life' by Eckhart Tolle, and stare at it. I've kept this book at my side ever since it was published. When I'm feeling really low, I read, and Tolle's words comfort me.

I open the pages and scan my highlighted words, words that have healed my depression.

Don't seek happiness. If you seek it you won't find it, because seeking is the anithesis of happiness. Happiness is ever elusive, but freedom from unhappiness is attainable now, by facing WHAT IS than making up stories about it.

The primary cause of unhappiness is never one situation but your thoughts about it. Be aware of the thoughts you are thinking. Separate them from the situation, which is always neutral, which always is as it is. There is the situation or the fact, and here are my thoughts about it, Instead of making up stories, stay with the facts. For example, "I am ruined" is a story. It limits you and prevents you from taking effective action. "I have 50 cents left in my bank account" is a fact. Facing facts is always empowering.

See if you catch the voice in your head, perhaps in the very moments it complains about something, and recognize it for what it is: the voice of the ego, no more than a thought. Whenever you notice that voice, you will also realize that you are not the voice, but the one who is aware of it. In fact, you are the awareness that is aware of the voice. In the background, there is awareness. In the foreground, there is the voice, the thinker.In this way, you are becoming free of the ego, gree of the unobserved mind.

People believe themselves to be dependent on what happens for their happiness. They don't realize that what happens is the most unstable thing in this universe. It changes constantly. They look upon the present moment as either marred by something that has happened and shouldn't have or as deficient because of something that has not happened but should have. And so they miss the deeper perfection that is inherent in life itself, a perfection that lies beyond what is happening or not happening. Accept the present moment and find the perfection that is untouched by time.

The more shared past there is in a relationship, the more present you need to be; otherwise, you will be forced to relive the past again and again.

You do not become good by trying to be good, but by finding the goodness that is already within you and allowing that goodness to emerge.

If peace is really what you want,then you will choose peace.

I hear shouting and stomping of the feet, and when I look out the window, the clouds in the horizon has been replaced by a hint of Manila Bay. And when the crowd sees land, it seems the whole plane is standing up and clapping. The stewardesses are helpless, smile and just say 'Merry Christmas po. Malapit na tayong mag-land sa Pilipinas."

I dab at my eyes and clap along with the crowd. It feels so good to be home. I clutch the book I was reading a while ago. I choose to be present in the moment. I am trying to face the facts of my life at this very moment. I am happy.

(Postscript: The topic 'Missed Opportunities' was a topic Mo dwelt on in his Dec 18 show. This topic kind of haunted my subconscious the whole month of December because I wanted to write in this blog, but can't, due to the hair-raising activities we put ourselves through in preparing for Christmas.

But instead of dwelling on the what if's, and slide to feelings of depression, I just focus on what is, as the book 'Oneness With All Life' by Eckhart Tolle has asked its readers to espouse.

I've thought of a fictional character who've experienced a lot of missed opportunities in her life, and thought of creating Alaia, a nurse coming home to the Philippines for her yearly vacation. She ponders on a lot of what if's but instead focuses on the positive, as we should all do everyday of our lives.

I've experienced too what Alaia has seen inside the plane, when a group of OFW's spontaneously clap, and high five one another as they approach the landing at NAIA.This happens a lot especially when a plane from abroad comes home for Christmas. One can see absolute,pure joy in their faces as they land closer to home.

I wish you peace today. Merry Christmas!!!)

photos of the skies from the plane courtesy of genvessel

Good Times with Mo, Mojo & Grace Lee (Sleepless in Chicago) : December 1, 2008 blog

Notes from Triste's Diary

People have this mistaken notion that Chicago is a city of concrete and glass: a windy,turgid city with cold,soulless people.

Before I transferred here from Manila, I thought the same thing, but once I got here, I never realized that the city is surrounded by Lake Michigan, and that the people are very friendly and down to earth, reminding me that Chicago is a big big city with its Midwest values intact. Think of Oprah and Barack Obama's warmth, and you get my point.

I'm very lucky that the view from my boyfriend's apartment is just fantastic. I get to see the Magnificent Mile (the northern part of Michigan Avenue between the Chicago River and Lake Shore Drive)at all hours of the day in his 66th floor loft, and I never tire of the view, alternately looking at the harbor and the buildings lining by the lake.

It's ironic that the beauty I see outside does not reflect my current emotional state, which is miserable beyond compare! I long to go home to Manila and cry my heart out in familiar surroundings.I'm waiting for the weekday to end, and by Saturday,I might broach this delicate topic over dinner with my boyfriend. Hopefully, I'll be on the way home to spend Christmas with my family.

I'm homesick, and to keep my mind away from feelings of sadness, I while away my time listening to the Good Times show via their website. Or listen to the audio recording when I can't sleep at night.Today's show hit me hard. Listening to caller 'Jason' talking about leaving his girlfriend because she is not Chinese hit the issues affecting me straight in the bull's eye. It's serendipity. A perfect chance to reflect on my life circumstances this moment.

Like Jason, my boyfriend is Filipino-Chinese. I don't know about Jason, but my boyfriend belongs to the top '1% of 1%' category, meaning his family belongs to one of the richest families in the Philippines, as evidenced by his tony address in Lake Shore Drive where he stays while he finishes his MBM at Kellogg Business School of Management.

I don't have one drop of Chinese blood in my veins, and there lies the problem. I met X in Kellogg too, and we've been classmates since the schoolyear started in September.Being both Pinoys in a foreign land, we clicked instantly and in a matter of weeks we fell in love and lived together.

His parents learned a few weeks about it and visited us here in Chicago, and X has not talked about it, but I could feel that he got a lashing from his folks about my background. I'm distantly related to a President, two Senators, perhaps ten congressmen in the Philippines.And yet, I don't seem to add up to their standards? Why? Because my ancestors are not peasants from some remote province in China like Guangduo?

I didn't like it one bit. My boyfriend has been quietly fuming about it too. He just told me that if his inheritance gets screwed, then his parents can stuff their money up their asses. I had to laugh at that one.

It was funny but I had genuine worries. I love my boyfriend very much, and there lies the rub. If I didn't love him, then I'll just be oblivious to the cultural wars going on around me. But I don't want him to be miserable in any way.

I worry too about the shock he will undergo when he loses his inheritance for love. X is used to the Ritz lifestyle: he uses the helicopter in Manila like a taxi, I kid you not.

But to tell you the truth, it's the least of my worries.I wonder if he can survive the ostracism hurled out to him by his family. Will he be still be happy in the future when his kids aren't visited by his parents? Will he still look kindly to me after years of estrangement from his family?

I don't know, and that's why I want to flee to Manila for the holidays. I want to think things over. I'm afraid that this week, my boyfriend will defy everyone and go down on his knees to ask me to marry him. I don't want to see any kind of hesitation on my face.

It's a tough situation I'm in, and the magnificent views outside can't answer the doubts inside my heart.

But I can laugh at the meantime. I hear a dog-catfight in the background, the Twister fighting with Mojo over Jason's problem.

Oh well, a little respite like this goes a long way when one is deep in an emotional hell-hole. For a brief, brief moment, I allow myself to get silly, laugh out loud even if there's no one around. I'll think about my problems again after the radio show ends. In the meantime,I listen in again and Mo Twister is boasting about being in the cover of IQ magazine, and taunts Mojo for being in the cover of 'Dumb-Ass' magazine.. Uh oh. .here they go again :)

(Postscript: Jason is a real caller to the Good Times December 1 show, and his problem is about his conservative Chinese family's objections with his Filipina girlfriend.

It's a common problem in today's times, and I wondered how a fictional character would react with the same problem. Despite finding herself in luxurious circumstances, Triste is miserable, finding out that no amount of money could offset the emotional problems she is inenviably facing.

'Notes from Triste's Diary' is purely fictional and comes from the imagination and point of view of this blogger. Thanks to arch2452 for the Lakeshore Drive photos from the viewpoint of the John Hancock building and the Chicago Harbor. A big thank you too to earnshavian for the view of Lake Michigan during sunset.

I was fortunate to stay at the John Hancock building for a time visiting relatives who lived in this iconic building, and the views are just truly awesome from a very high floor. Many mornings, the window views were foggy because I was literally nose to nose with cloud formations - it was that high! I thought it would be nice to share this experience to all of you readers. Goodtimes!!)

Good Times with Mo,Mojo & Grace Lee (Synchrodestiny in New York) : November 26,2008 blog

Notes from Diggory's Diary

It's quite funny how another person's situation mirrors your own in the same exact way. My dog died a few days ago, and as if the universe can't wait to shake me up some more, I lost my house keys and can't go inside my apartment right now. It's 6:30 pm, and at this ungodly hour, the last time I checked, my building superintendent can't help me open my front door since he needs to rush out to Queens owing to a family emergency.

So here I am at Gotham Coffee Shop, my favorite coffee place at 2nd Avenue (between 68th and 69th streets) in Manhattan, sipping my blues away, wondering why on earth bad things seem to be happening to me lately.

I usually take a breather to clear my mind from my work as a painter, and like clockwork, I stop from 3pm to 5pm, walk to one of the major museums around the area: Guggenheim, MOMA, Frick or the Metropolitan Museum of Art and gaze at the innumerable paintings hanging by their walls. Is it Van Gogh, Matisse or Picasso today? Rembrandt or Goya the next day? I usually take lots of pictures to serve as my inspiration, and download the images while I sip my cappuccino, and clear the visual kinks that hound a painter finishing a work of art.

At 5pm, I rush home, back to my apartment, hook up my laptop and hear a live radio stream from one of my favorite stations in the world and listen to Mo Twister, Mojo and Grace Lee at their Good Times show.

As a guy with a solitary occupation, I usually listen to their radio show when I work late into the night ,preparing for my upcoming exhibit next month at the Chelsea gallery, a stone's throw away from here. As I mix my oils and choose the colors, I listen and get thoroughly amused by those three Musketeers - Mo Twister,Mojo and Grace Lee. Listening to these three incredible people help me boost my energy and calm me when I'm feeling jittery, especially now that the exhibit is four weeks away.
I look at the time and sigh. Better to just listen to the radio show at this coffee shop and wait here until 8pm.

As I listen to the show, I realized that Mo Twister and I have almost identical experiences the past week – he also lost his dog violently, and as if things couldn’t get bad, he was locked out too. Or was it locked in? The Twister called early in the morning through the landline, but I didn’t clearly get it if he was in or out of his apartment.

As I pondered on both of our predicaments, I remembered reading Deepak Chopra’s book “Synchrodestiny” wherein he states that there's no such thing as a meaningless coincidence.

“For more than a decade, I have been fascinated by the idea that coincidence is involved in shaping and shaping our lives. . .each time we have an experience like these, we can choose to dismiss it as a random occurrence in this chaotic world, or we can recognize it for the potentially life altering event it may prove to be. I do not believe in meaningless coincidence. I believe every coincidence is a message, a clue about a particular facet of our lives that require our attention.”

Hmmm. . . so what clues are behind my dog’s tragic death, and the loss of my keys? Is it a clue that my life is out of control? Or that I’m leading a life of senseless violence? Are my paintings meaningless?

“When you live your life with an appreciation of coincidences and their messages, you connect with the underlying field of infinite possibilities. This is when the magic begins. This is a state I call ‘synchrodestiny’ in which it becomes possible to achieve the spontaneous fulfillment of our every desire. Synchrodestiny requires gaining access to a palce deep with yourself, while at the same time awakening to the intricate dance of coincidences out in the physical world. It requires understanding the profound nature of things, recognizing the wellspring of intelligence that endlessly creates our universe, and yet having the intention to pursue opportunities for change as they appear.”

Whew.

“When a coincidence arises, don’t ignore it. Ask yourself, what is the message here? What is the significance of this? You don’t need to go digging for the answers. Ask the question, and the answers will emerge. They may arrive as a sudden insight, a spontaneous creative experience, or they may be something different. Perhaps you will meet a person who is somehow related to the coincidence that occurred. An encounter, a relationship,a chance meeting, a situation, a circumstance will immediately give you a clue to its meaning.”

Well, I had a pretty set of circumstances last week which I still can’t find its rhyme or reason to my life. I have to find time to really be quiet and reflect on what the past events in my life mean.

Meanwhile, Deepak Chopra suggests to keep a journal or diary and find out which powerful and unusual stimuli draws my attention explaining that “those are the things in your environment you need to look at more closely.

Instead of writing on it, I’ve been clipping pictures and images of what catches my attention. I’m drawn to this picture of the serene New York apartment of Law and Order’s Christopher Meloni, designed by his wife Sherman.

What does it mean? What do the views suggest? Perhaps, I need to look at my life from a bird’s point of view and look at it objectively, from afar? Perhaps I need to be more spiritual, since I’m too bound on earthly things? Perhaps my dog is up in heaven, nearer the skies, and the moon and the stars. That’s a nice thought.

My cellphone flashes, and I recognize my building superintendent’s number. He’s home, the text message says.

Time to go home.

I hope Mr.Gumatay can heed the coincidences in his life, and like me, stop and ponder on life’s imponderables. There’s no other way, right? A tragedy is always a perfect time to be silent and to just listen. Perhaps, a clue is just right in front of you. You just have to teach yourself to be more aware.

Goodtimes!

(Postscript: I've started to read Deepak Chopra's 'Synchrodestiny' to attune myself to the larger meaning of coincidences in one's life. Sometimes messages from the universe are to be heeded; sometimes it rolls like a tiny stone and sometimes it comes as a brick wall.

After the twin incidents in Mo Twister's life, I started to think of a fictional character with the same unique set of events happening to his life. Would he ignore it or see a greater meaning behind the events?

In Diggory's case, he started to 'ponder on the imponderables', and perhaps gained an ounce of wisdom in the end.)

Good Times with Mo,Mojo & Grace Lee (Riding on a Cloud): November 25 blog

Notes from Rocco's Diary

Clouds. I've never seen clouds this wonderful, wispy, then suddenly fluffy. Wonderful clouds which I can sit on or sleep on all day. My journey to this wonderful place is a never ending ride to joy and freedom: I sometimes jump from one mountain to another if I so wanted it, or peek through any house if I desired, twirl and dance on top of the highest buildings if that is my thing.

My parents have been beside me all the time, and the first time I asked them where I was, they said I was in Dog Heaven.

I didn't ask any questions anymore, happy that they were beside me, content that everything is bathed in this ethereal light.

I've noticed something odd though. Pictures of my human,earthly Master and Commander seemed to be everywhere, but when I wanted to touch him, I didn't touch him physically, but touched a part of his beating heart. I was inside of him, part of him.

He doesn't know it yet, but I'll never leave him. I'm constantly watching him, and he's been crying for the past nights and days, and I lick his tears away, and once in a while, he smiles.

I think he's slowly getting the point that our separation is temporary and slowly realizing that when his time on Earth has ended, I'll be waiting for him in my usual cloudy place, eager to embrace and welcome him Home to his place beside the ultimate,divine Master and Commander - God.

Meanwhile, I have some poems which I've left everywhere where he could read it. I hope Master Mo reads it, and seek solace from the words written here by anonymous authors. . .

I STOOD BY YOUR BED

I stood by your bed last night, I came to have a peep.
I could see that you were crying, you found it hard to sleep.

I whined to you softly as you brushed away a tear,
"It's me, I haven't left you, I'm well, I'm fine, I'm here."

I was close to you at breakfast, I watched you pour the tea, you were thinking of the many times your hands reached down to me.

I was with you at the shops today, your arms were getting sore. I longed to take your parcels, I wish I could do more.

I was with you at my grave today, you tend it with such care. I want to reassure you, that I'm not lying there.

I walked with you towards the house, as you fumbled for your key. I gently put my paw on you, I smiled and said "it's me."

You looked so very tired, and sank into a chair.
I tried so hard to let you know, that I was standing there.

It's possible for me to be so near you every day.
To say to you with certainty, "I never went away."

You sat there very quietly, then smiled, I think you knew ... in the stillness of that evening, I was very close to you.

The day is over... I smile and watch you yawning
and say "goodnight, God bless, I'll see you in the morning."

And when the time is right for you to cross the brief divide,
I'll rush across to greet you and we'll stand, side by side.

I have so many things to show you, there is so much for you to see. Be patient, live your journey out ... then come home to be with me.

Author Unknown


A Doggie Prayer

So do not grieve for me, my friend, as I am with my kind.
My collar is a rainbow's hue
My leash is a shooting star
My boundaries are the milky way, where I sparkle from afar.

There are no pens or kennels here, for I am not confined,
but free to roam God's heavens among my special kind. I nap the day on a snowy cloud and gentle breezes are rocking me; I dream the dreams of earthlings and how it used to be.

The trees are full of liver treats and tennis balls abound, and milk bones line the walking ways just waiting to be found.There even is a ring set up, the grass all lush and green, and everyone who gaits around becomes the "Best Of Breed".

For we're all winners in this
place, we have no faults
you see. And God passes
out the ribbons to each
one--even me. I drink from
waters laced with gold, my
world a beauty to behold.
And wise old dogs do form
my pride to amble at my
very side.

At night I sleep in an
angel's arms, her wings
protecting me, and
moonbeams dance about
us as stardust falls on
thee.

So when your life on earth
is spent and you reach
heaven's gate, have no
fear of loneliness, for here,
you know I wait.

Author Unknown

(Postscript: Words could not express my sadness at the news of Rocco's untimely demise last Sunday. Here's hoping these poems could offer some solace to Mo at this sad time.

Photos courtesy of Blubbla from Flickr.)

Good Times with Mo, Mojo and Grace Lee: ( Obama not Jobama) November 17-20 blog

Notes from Riko's Diary
November 23, 2008
10 pm

I'm exhausted and ready to die right this minute, somewhere in Bucyrus, Ohio - a city that's unknown even to many Americans. The area where I'm in has made its living in planting soybeans, and hogs and cattle are the largest generators of farm livestock income for this area for decades.

I'm just ready to drop from chronic fatigue syndrome but I can't. I have one e-mail to send before my bosses finally allow me to close the headquarters of the Obama volunteer campaign headquarters in this part of town.

Don't get me wrong. I'm as Pinoy as patis and bagoong, and I take my scholarship in the Graduate Program for Religious Studies at Yale seriously, often studying way into the night and early morning, writing papers and reading tons of stuff on Franco-German existentialism, theological ethics, phenomenology or Anglo-American moral philosophy and other esoteric stuff. Heavy stuff. What keeps me awake is listening to the Good Times radio show at their website, and the heavy reading becomes lighter as I laugh my self silly listening to Mo, Mojo and Grace Lee.

I was happy as it is studying and just maintaining the status quo, but one fine day, a group of my buddies, a couple of nerdy Yalies like me, asked me to volunteer for the Obama campaign last year. At first I thought I had nothing to give, but they said everyone had something to contribute and I signed on with trepidation. I'm glad I did it.It's been a hell of a ride, but the sacrifices are all worth it.

A group of us were assigned in Ohio, and let me tell you, we worked like dogs night and day, but by election day, a group of volunteers have knocked into a million Ohio homes to talk to some reluctant and undecided voters about Barack Obama.

The faces behind the doors sometimes are wary of opening up their doors for me, and one tactless man asked whether I was American.

"Oh no, Sir. I'm from the Philippines, studying on a scholarship in Yale..." I smile even if my heart was pounding like I was in a race for the Olympic 100 meter dash finish line.

"So why are you pounding on my door even if you're not American?"

I stop and still smile, remembering my hero Barack Obama's preternatural poise amidst heckling by John McCain, and I don't answer in anger. And so I begin...

Why did I vote for Obama?

I was listening to the Good Times show this week as I usually did to keep myself awake, often tuning in to this great website to hear an audio download of the show.I enjoyed Beatbox Tuesday last November 18 and Gwen Garci's Forbidden Questions last November 19 but Mo mentioned Obama twice: once in his November 17 show (when Binay called himself Jobama), and another time, in the November 20 show, when Mo mentioned that we should really start retiring the old faces in Philippine politics like Enrile, who led the ouster of Villar.

To tell you the truth, I almost choked on the burger I was eating when I heard that Jejomar Binay called himself Jobama. Professional Heckler blogger said that supporters of Makati City Mayor Jejomar Binay are comparing him to US President-elect Barack Obama because they're both from the opposition, they’re both “black,” and they’ve been both snubbing President Arroyo.

I can only say a few things to make my point. As you can see from the pictures above, I don't even think Binay could do a chin press like Obama. Binay is 66 years old and rumored to have cancer.

Obama can't even change his shoes even if it has holes. According to those who know him, Obama is not a 'man of appetites'. He is abstemious, and regularly ate the same dinner of salmon, rice and broccoli night after night from some half-forgotten town, trying to talk to voters all around the country. While other Presidential candidates gained an average of ten to fifteen pounds, Obama lost ten pounds while campaigning.You can say that his enormous discipline to withhold from food reflects how he handled his campaign because he is one of the first Presidential candidates to throw away the practice of giving 'walking-around' money to grease the pockets of the locals to help get the vote.

And one important thing, it has been reported that Obama had "refused on principle to hand out walking-around money" to any of the local politicians before, during and after election day.

Are there any Philippine politicians who can really say that they won without giving their 'walk-around' money? Most of our politicians won because they bribed and bought the vote.

Now you know why I almost choked.

There are many things I still want to say about Obama. Many things I want to relate about voting for him even if I am a Filipino. But it's Pico Iyer who hit the bull's eye in a recent November 14 Time article:

" (Obama) was so much like the kind of people we meet in Paris, in Hong Kong, in the Middle East: difficult to place and connected to everywhere. Like the air of his home island (Hawaii: not really Eastern or Western, but a vibrant mingling of the two), (Obama) spoke for the dawning global melting pot of today.

"It has become part of the familar story now, repeated so often we can barely hear it, but anyone who steps out of the US today, in any direction, quickly sees that the American Century has become the Global Century and that where a generation ago much of the globe was rying to look like America, now it's America that needs to get in tune with the rest of the globe.

"You could, in fact, say that it is the questions that he draws from his experience that are as important as any answers he may come up with. How to make peace between the black and the white inside him (or inside our cities and countries)? How to do right by our relatives in Africa without dishonoring the grandparents from Kansas who raised us? How to bring the modest Muslim school in Java together with Harvard Law School? The questions Obama has been thinking about all his life are the very ones that dominate the world today. And the mounting economic crisis only make the construction of a wider identity- and conversing across the waters - more urgent, not less so."

We live in a global society, and whatever we are experiencing in the Philippines affect everyone, including Obama. Imagine how Obama would react to the way we do politics in this country where corruption is endemic in our culture. Are you still surprised that Obama has snubbed our own President? How does he reconcile reality with his concept of an ideal world?

"Hey, it's time to lock up. It's over. We won." Alethea Arash, Obama campaign head for Ohio loomed in front of me, holding the keys of the headquarters. It was the last hour of the last day of our makeshift headquarters, and it was time to go.

But is it over? As long as there are pockets of corruption around the world, then it's not anywhere near over. It's just the beginning, and whatever I've learned here, in this campaign, I'm sure to use it when I get home.

It's time to get involved, in your own little way. It doesn't have to be a big gesture. Remember Obama - he was this poor, black community organizer in the ghettoes of Chicago twenty years ago. He strove hard to get inside Harvard Law, then the Senate and made it. But deep inside, he had a dream for change, he wanted to make a difference. And he did, one slow step at a time.

A tiny step, that's all. The world shifts when you make that tiny step towards change. It really does. Try it and see.

(Postscript: Many of the topics were mentioned in the show from November 17 to 21 : Jobama, the Beatbox contest, the Gwen Garci interview and Villar's ouster by Enrile.

I was struck by Mo's comments about Binay comparing himself to Obama, and I imagined a volunteer for the Obama campaign choking on his food upon hearing that. I imagined a Pinoy volunteer, a studious scholarly nerd from Yale who knocked on a lot of doors to make sure that his candidate won.

Even during the Democratic Party primaries, I knew Obama would win against the formidable Clinton machine. Why? A lot of reasons, some of which are written in this blog.

I just wished that we could have a politician in the Philippines who had the same idealism as Obama.

Could we be as fortunate? Wise men have said that we get the leaders we deserve. Do we get the kind of leaders we have in the Philippines today, because few are brave enough to run for office and seek the changes truly needed by our society?

This blogger would like to apologize for not updating this blog last week. I was in Singapore, and while I was there, I wanted to weep when I saw how the Singaporean people never stopped trying to improve their country to perfection. I've observed that their city state looked like the set in the 'Truman Show', a perfect first world city, but still retaining its Asian flavour and zest.

Notes from Rikko's Diary is a work of fiction, and comes from the imagination and point of view of this blogger. Good Times!!!)

Good Times with Mo, Mojo and Grace Lee ( Amazing Grace) : November 13, 2008 blog

Notes from Marie's Diary
6 am

I was happily typing away early in the morning as I was wont to do, my writing ritual as unchanged as five years ago; the kids off to school,the radio tuned in to 899, my coffee filled to the brim, and my dog in slumberland at my feet, his nose buried somewhere between my toes. While writing, I would occasionally look at the pictures flashing at my screen, downloaded finally by my son Bodi, who had inadvertently lost the camera charger two weeks ago, only to be found through a gifted psychic dude guest at Good Times named Jobert. Can I get luckier than this? Oh, what a beautiful morning!

The doorbell rang and the sound jarred me,disturbing my thought processes enough to make me suddenly stand. Who could possibly be at the door at this unholy hour? I opened the door and in front of me were a fresh stack of letters delivered and haphazardly thrown in my front door.

I look at the letters with wariness.

All the letters bore the mark of my self-addressed stamped envelope which I sent to the United States,and which have returned to me. With trepidation, I scoop the stash of letters and opened one.

The Bantam Dell Publishing Group
A Division of Random House Inc.

Dear Author:

Many thanks for writing to us about your work. Unfortunately, we are not interested in pursuing this project at this time. The marketplace is currently so competitive that we are forced to be extremely selective, and regrettably, time does not permit us to provide a more detailed critique.

Thank you again for your interest in Bantam Dell Publishing Group. Best of luck to you and your endeavors.

Sincerely,

The Bantam Dell Publishing Group

How impersonal could these rejection letters get? Do they have to even write a 'Dear Author' greeting? Can't they even write my name?

I open another letter, and this looks more personal, but the content made me wince some more.

Harvey Klinger Inc
Literary Representation

Dear Marie:
Thank you for your recent query or submission. We have read your material, but after careful consideration, we feel your project is not right for us. We apologize for the use of this form letter, but due to the volume of material we receive, we are unable to respond individually to each submission. Be rest assured we have read your material.

We wish you luck with your work and success in placing it elsewhere.

Sincerely,
The Harvey Klinger Agency

I sat down holding the two letters and pondered on my next move.

I've finished writing a romantic, contemporary novel early this year, and I thought my literary ordeal was over, and my 100,000 word work would be swept to publishing land in a jiffy. Aside from the US inquiries, I tried selling it to our local publishers, but the response was not so positive, their interest geared towards producing school textbooks. It seems to me that the foreign publisher giants have perfected producing mass-produced books at low, low prices and our Philippine counterpart could not compete with this media behemoths at all.

There were a lot of warnings from fellow writing compatriots that my arduous journey to publication had only began.

I didn't believe it until the rejection letters from publishers and literary agents started to return to me with generic form letters.As usual,the war-weary literary veterans were correct, and their dire warnings about the current publishing world hit a bullseye.

My friend recently sent this New York Times article, which said that even Knopf, a publishing giant which has successfully shepherded 17 Nobel Prize-winning authors as well as 47 Pulitzer Prize-winning volumes of fiction, nonfiction, biography and history made mistakes when choosing the authors for their roster of books.

" ..Scholars trolling through the Knopf archive have been struck by the number of reader’s reports that badly missed the mark, especially where new talent was concerned. The rejection files, which run from the 1940s through the 1970s, include dismissive verdicts on the likes of Jorge Luis Borges (“utterly untranslatable”), Isaac Bashevis Singer (“It’s Poland and the rich Jews again”), Anaïs Nin (“There is no commercial advantage in acquiring her, and, in my opinion, no artistic”), Sylvia Plath (“There certainly isn’t enough genuine talent for us to take notice”) and Jack Kerouac (“His frenetic and scrambling prose perfectly express the feverish travels of the Beat Generation.)

But is that enough? I don’t think so”). In a two-year stretch beginning in 1955, Knopf turned down manuscripts by Jean-Paul Sartre, Mordecai Richler, and the historians A. J. P. Taylor and Barbara Tuchman, not to mention Vladimir Nabokov’s “Lolita” (too racy) and James Baldwin’s “Giovanni’s Room” (“hopelessly bad”)."

Unbelievable, huh?

In the realm of bestseller books today, J.K. Rowling's first Harry Potter books was submitted to twelve publishing houses, all of which rejected the manuscript. A year later she was given a £1500 advance by editor Barry Cunningham from Bloomsbury, a small British publishing house in London, England. Although Bloomsbury agreed to publish the book, it has been reported that Cunningham advised Rowling to get a day job, since she had little chance of making money in children’s books.

Mr. Cunningham, you should be shot between the eyes. According to the latest figures,the seven Harry Potter books have so far been translated into 67 languages, amassing the 400 million figure since the publication of the first book in the series, Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, in 1997.

That news is significant considering that one point in her life,it has been reported that J.K. Rowling contemplated committing suicide when she was a single mother struggling to survive and succeed as a writer.The Harry Potter writer has admitted she thought of taking her own life when she was in her mid-20s after separating from her first husband Jorge Arantes, a Portuguese journalist.

I would not go to that extent although the constant stream of rejection letters have made me quite blue recently.

To help me navigate the labyrinth world of publishers and literary agents,I recently bought Jeff Herman's '2008 Guide to Book Publishers, Editors, & Literary Agents",and although hundreds of publishers and agents were included in the book, Herman was counseling all writers to persevere because "the typical agent is rejecting 98% of everything he sees. That means he's hungry for the hard-to-find 2 percent that keeps him in business."

So how do I join the 2% club?

I was so preoccupied with my publishing problems the past hour that I was half-aware that my favorite radio show was about to end.

I listened closely and I knew I heard Mojo and Grace Lee.I knew Mo Twister is in the States for his brother's wedding. So who was the third guy?

I heard the name Jobert,and I stood up again. Oh my. My son never even called this guy to thank him.

I started to dial the Magic trunkline and it was busy.

The stack of letters begged for attention again, and I thought, what if I kill two birds with one stone?

"Hello?" Oh my God. It's my first time to call and it's Mojo on the line.

"Who's this?" Mojo sounded bored.

"Marie." I shakily answered. "I called because I'd like to thank Jobert. My son Bodi called a week ago. ."

"Two weeks ago." Grace Lee corrected me on air.

"And he lost a charger."

"I know, you texted me, that finally you got the charger. Isn't that amazing?" Even through the phone lines, I couldn't help but be disarmed by the Grace's truly graceful ways, her true-blue sincerity heard through the phone lines.

By this time though, I was babbling away like a complete idiot.

" He had photos of our trip abroad, and he was so frantic about the other pictures.."

"How old is he ba?" Mojo asks.

"He's 19 and a Senior at the Arreneo." Oh my, I do sound drunk.

"Oh wow." I could see Mojo's flirty eyes twinkling. "So he's really the 'lost and found' guy."

"That's tagged forever with his name." Grace Lee added.

As prescient as ever, Mojo senses that I had something to ask."So Ma'm. Do you have something lost that you want Jobert to find?"

I stuttered, and was unsure. But then again, why not? Since Jobert had spot-on ESP, perhaps he could find a way for me to publish my darned book.

"Could I ask for a quick reading?"

"Oh sure!" Mojo and Jobert enthusiastically said. My worries suddenly felt lame.

"I've been having a hard time trying to publish a novel I've just finished ."

"Oh wow! You're a writer!" I could hear some excitement from Grace Lee's voice, grateful that she appreciates drones like me who labor away creating a reality from the wisp of the imagination.

"I don't know but I've been having a hard time finding an agent abroad."

"New York's a good place to find publishers," Jobert adds helpfully.

"I've been writing to around fifty agents, and the batting average for a first time author abroad is maybe 1%." It's 2% actually.

"I know, I know," Mojo and Jobert commiserate and I could see their heads bobbing up and down, and I felt their empathy with my struggles.

"What's your novel all about?" Grace Lee asks.

"It's a romantic, contemporary novel.."

"Would you mind sending me a copy because. ."

"Her friend. . is a book publisher." Mojo finishes the sentence.

"I'll take a look at it. ."

By that time, I was ready to faint. I think I asked what I could bring the crew if I brought the novel to Grace Lee in person. I knew that Mojo liked coffee, Grace Lee and Mo loved their juices and teas. If I could give a whole darn Starbucks to them, I would.

Grace Lee gave specific directions on how to give the book but by the time I was finished, all the cells in my body felt like it wanted to dance!

Can you believe it? Grace Lee didn't even have to extend her kindness to a total stranger. She could have kept mum, and could just have stayed non-committal and distant to her scrappy listeners.

As a writer, it's the first time I couldn't even describe what I feel. I'm literally speechless.

The only way I could thank her is perhaps dedicating the book to her if she becomes the key instigator paving my way to becoming a published writer.I also hope that she loves my novel. If she enjoys the book, then that's another way of thanking her.

I start to belt out the one song I've always loved as a student in the States for many years. My dog starts to whimper.

"Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch like me....
I once was lost but now am found,
Was blind, but now, I see. Amazing Grace.

T'was Grace that taught...
my heart to fear.
And Grace, my fears relieved.
How precious did that Grace appear...
the hour I first believed.

Through many dangers, toils and snares...
we have already come.
T'was Grace that brought us safe thus far...
and Grace will lead us home."

It is Grace who will save me and lead my book to where it really belongs. Amazing Grace.

(Postscript: Marie is a real caller at the Good Times show last Thursday, November 13. She's the real Mom of Bodi, the 'Lost and Found' kid featured in this blog.

I've always written even in the earliest entries of my blog, that Grace Lee is such a gem, and this was truly shown in her conversation with Marie, the novelist who has been finding it hard to find a publisher for her work.

I'm truly amazed that Grace Lee showed her earnestness and sincerity in helping out a listener, when she could have remained indifferent, owing to her celebrity status.

Such a rare creature should be enshrined as a saint. What do you think about that? Goodtimes!)

Good Times with Mo, Mojo and Grace Lee ( Jack Bauer is Back in 24: Redemption) : November 12, 2008 blog

Notes from Mo's Diary

I'm so jetlagged that I could barely keep my eyes open, and yet I can't sleep, perhaps because of all the excitement in preparation for my brother's wedding here in the States.

I tried accessing the Magic 899 website and I was successful listening to Mojo Jojo and Grace Lee for a brief three minutes before the reception started getting choppy and completely died. I didn't have the heart to try again, since I didn't have the patience to listen to a choppy interview with Mike Defensor.

Instead I've been staring at this TV Guide cover I snapped up the moment I landed in the airport.

Sweet Jesus in Heaven! Jack Bauer is back with a vengeance! And I don't have to wait till January 2009 to get my 24 fix. There's a prequel set in Africa! Rejoice! Rejoice!

According to the November 17 issue of TV Guide, '24: Redemption', an exotic two-hour prequel movie bridging Seasons 6 and 7 will premiere on November 23.

Here's a slice of the TV Guide interview of Kiefer Sutherland:

"With the prequel it’s like we’re saying, ‘Hey, remember us?’ You want to make sure the interest is still there. So we thought we’d offer a little taste – an appetizer – before the big feast to come.”

But Redemption is 24 with a difference. After years in the Los Angeles sunshine, this one’s shot on location in South Africa, where Jack Bauer has arrived after a globe-trotting journey of self-discovery.

Over a long conversation recently at the actor’s favorite Thai place in an L.A. strip mall, Kiefer tells TV Guide he’s so deeply invested in his character, he keeps a handwritten journal of Jack’s thoughts. “Before each season, I write a character book to get my head in sync with Jack’s and create a backstory,” he says. “This year, I wrote that Jack would have to disappear from the Western world and go back where he started in Season 1 – dealing with the Eastern bloc. He knows people there and could hide out before working his way from Kazakhstan, through the Middle East, across India and then down into Africa to meet his old friend Carl [Robert Carlyle]. That’s where the prequel – and trouble – begins.”

Carlyle is an actor best known for The Full Monty and a good friend of Sutherland. Says Kiefer, “I was so eager for Bobby to play this role, I called him and said, ‘I’ll give you whatever you want. I’ll wash your car for a year. I’ll babysit the kids.’ He said, ‘Actually, I’ll do it if you don’t babysit the kids.’”

Three years have passed since the end of Season 6 and it’s Inauguration Day for the first female commander in chief, Allison Taylor (Cherry Jones). The drama unfolding in Africa is about to become priority one the minute Madame President is sworn in. “In plays, the stakes are often high with one or two characters,” says Jones, a two-time Tony Award winner. “But on 24, every single moment in every scene with every character is a high-stakes moment. It’s very cool.”

Regarding the new setting, Sutherland says he felt a sense of renewal the minute he arrived in Cape Town. “We could have constructed a set to look like Africa, but what you can’t do is fake the faces or the soul or the spirit of the place,” he says. “I hadn’t felt so engaged with the world around me in a very long time, and I think my love for the place shows up on screen.”

During shooting, the crew was frequently mobbed, particularly because actor Hakeem Kae-Kazim, who plays an African rebel leader, is a major star on the continent. But it was the African child actors Sutherland appreciated the most. “This was the first time these kids had done anything even close to this and that was so inspiring,” he says.

“Back home, you can’t see kids going 10 minutes without looking at their iPods or game devices. Here the kids were blissfully running around between takes playing with a rock and a stick. I wanted to go home and throw away all my kids’ computers.”

While there are no signs of series regulars like Mary Lynn Rajskub (Chloe O’Brian) or James Morrison (Bill Buchanan), the prequel does have Powers Boothe returning as outgoing president Noah Daniels and Peter MacNicol as White House chief of staff Tom Lennox. “We wanted to bridge the gap between Days 6 and 7,” says co-executive producer Jon Cassar, “and it gives us a rare chance to show the transfer of power from one administration one season to the next.”

In Season 7, the new day is set in Washington, DC, and while CTU is no more, there’s plenty of firepower at the FBI. Beloved Tony Almeida (Carlos Bernard) is somehow coming back from the presumed-dead. As co-executive producer Howard Gordon says, “Not only is Tony not dead, he’s doing something really bad. It’s going to be a Heart of Darkness moment on the show.”

But that’s for 2009. For now we’ll have to satisfy our 24 withdrawal with a two-hour fix of sweaty gunplay in the make-believe African nation of Sangala. As Kiefer tells TV Guide, “It’s so great to be back in Jack Bauer’s shoes. When the s—t hits the fan, nobody reacts faster or stronger than he does, and I think there’s a lesson in that for all of us.”

I'll be in Manila by the time the prequel airs in Manila, but no worries, I'll be watching it as soon as it's feasible to download it in the Net.Bravo for technology!

Thinking about the show finally lulls me to sleep. Perfect! I don't need any fancy sleeping pill.Thinking of Jack Bauer is the perfect antidote to jetlag. .

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz..........

(Postscipt : I was wondering how the Twister would react to this news fresh from TV Guide. Jack Bauer fans all over the world must be jumping up and down now that the prequel is so close to its world screening.

Notes from Mo's Diary is fictional and does not reflect Mo Twister's thoughts, but comes from the imagination and point of view of this blogger. Goodtimes!)

Good Times with Mo,Mojo and Grace Lee (One for Bond) : November 6, show

Notes from Mo's Diary

Boy, did I get a lot of calls for putting my bets on De la Hoya versus our very own Manny Paquiao. What can I do? I've always been a De la Hoya fan, and I've always believed in him. Paquiao is just a newbie in this game, I mean in this weight category, and I don't really care if he's our national hero. No wonder we don't have any medals in the Olympics. Boxing goes beyond national borders and we should not be too onion skinned especially if the topic relates to sports. Any athlete worth his medals knows that he's only as good as his last fight.

Speaking of last fights, I've watched the new Beverly Hills 90210, and boy oh boy, everyone in this show looks smoking hot. I really enjoyed this show in the 1980's, back in the day when I lived in Bulacan and we had no cable, and there were five television stations. This new show looks so good, and the topics are so controversial. I won't say too much. Try to catch it, or download it at the Internet.

I've mentioned the new Bond movie, and I loved Casino Royale. I was skeptical at first with Quantum of Solace and I've said repeatedly that I'm a Jason Bourne and Jack Bauer fan because they can wear simple jeans and t-shirt and still kick all the bad asses of the world. Bond tries to look dapper in his tux, and I hate that. I can't imagine an agent looking so well dressed the whole time.

And so I watched Quantum with trepidation, and Sweet Jesus, this movie is a revelation. For one, I see Bond in a quite disheveled blue t-shirt and dusty white jeans, and the only way he was able to wear a tuxedo was when he stole one from a security guy.His clothes are dapper, but it's more of an afterthought, not his fashin raison d'etre. For the first time, Bond's clothes are utilitarian and serves a purpose.

The fight scenes are just chillingly awesome, with fist fights in highly unusual places like the elevator or in a bell tower. It's so believable that Bond even used a book, an ax, just anything to overthrow an opponent.

This is also the first of the 22 Bond movies where the plot flows organically from the last installment, and Quantum of Solace is a far stronger picture for this plot continuity.

What made me sit up this time also is that this is the most human Bond I've encountered in a long time. Bond used women like Kleenex and I found that quite dehumanizing, and totally disrespectful of women.This is the first time in Bond history that he doesn't bed a Bond girl. The smoking hot Camille Montes (Olga Kurylenko - the next superstar, I reckon. Solid acting as a Bolivian secret agent despite being Ukrainian)got a kiss at the end of the movie, though. Now that I think about it, the kiss was an afterthought, like his clothes.

Well,that quick kiss was appropriate because he was still grieving for Vesper Lynd and and her death so enraged Bond that his thirst for revenge and duty got mixed up so dangerously as he hunts down the shadowy group that blackmailed Lynd to betray him.

It was an altogether fun movie to watch, and not something to miss.

Oops, time has flown by. I still have to buy a nice Barong Tagalog for my brother's wedding in the States next week. Now, where do I buy this? Time to call Mojo Jojo and Grace Lee and ask for fashion pointers. Goodtimes!

(Postscript: Many of the topics were discussed in this blog, specifically the De la Hoya vs.Paquiao fight; the new Beverly Hills 90210 show and Mo's views on Jason Bourne/Jack Bauer vs. James Bond. By the way, the Twister will be gone for a week as he attends his brother's wedding in the US.

Notes from Mo's Diary is purely fictional and does not represent Mo's real thoughts and points of view, but comes from the imagination of this blogger.

This blogger would also like to apologize for the delay in putting out this piece. I was in Boracay last week, and it was unfortunate that when I was there, there was a typhoon in Aklan and I had a hard time getting a radio signal to hear the show. I'm still trying to catch up, and listening at this great website to listen to the past GoodTimes audio recordings. Hopefully I can catch up in time:)

Good Times with Mo, Mojo & Grace Lee ( Millenial Geisha) : November 5, 2008 show

Notes from Jillian's Diary

I've soaked my whole body in my tiny bath, and for an hour, I've been barely moving in this waterlogged cramped space because of the over all body pain I've been trying to ease from my twenty-two-year-old going on seventy-year-old body.

It's just good that one of my friends own a bed and bath store, and literally sent this bathtub to my tiny apartment when he heard that I live in my bathtub for hours after work, immersed in gallons of water mixed with coarse salt, to loosen the stiff joints and aching muscles of my feet.

The pain doesn't go away, and I look at my feet, and I could see the calluses and bunions getting thicker from being up on my feet for four hours. Ughhh!

My shift ended at 3am, and my usual routine is to go home and soak in my tub and wait until the Goodtimes show of Mo,Mojo and Grace Lee start at 6am. It's the best way to decompress and forget my momentary tiredness from my work.

In the olden days, they called us guest relations officers, but my sense of humor comes to the fore and I call myself a 'Millenial Geisha' because we have so many similarities from the geishas of the past.

Japan's revered geishas' sole purpose is to entertain a customer, be it by reciting verse, playing musical instruments, or engaging in light conversation. I do a similar role and although the nearest I can get to a poetry reading is when I read the words of a Coldplay song, I befriend all my 'Juans' because men who go to our club sometimes just needs someone who can listen to their gargantuan problems, personal or otherwise. Most of the time, all they need is a few spins around the karaoke, belting out some classic Frank Sinatra and Barry Manilow songs (now you know how old they are.)

The 'Millenials' (those born between 1975 and 1995,babe) do everything different, in case you've noticed. We are more attuned to the harsher realities of the modern world, and we are practical. We need to make money, but we don't sell our bodies to the first hokey customer's lurid proposals.

Like the geishas of old, I am not a prostitute. Those who are historically-challenged might not know that the real geishas do not engage in paid sex with clients. In the club where I work, selling one’s body to earn a living on the side is strictly discrouraged, although what one does outside the workplace is our own personal business. Some of my ‘sisters’ have done this out of necessity (perhaps one’s parent is in a hospital, usually a sibling’s tuition fee is due), but I’ve observed that once you start that road, it’s very difficult to turn around and head back to the old route. I’ve noticed that something changes in my friends’ eyes when they sell their bodies. In a few months they look like grandmothers - something has died in their eyes. Is it hope?

Many people ask why I work in these places. I ask myself the same question every day. I could work as a sales assistant in one of those high priced luxury stores, but I don't. I guess it's because I earn very well here, and while I'm finishing my studies, this is the best way to earn a living.

God gave me this beautiful body, this probing mind, street smarts to elude preying maniacs and doddering old fools, so might as well use it for some good. I plan to leave this place in two years. As soon as I’m through with school, I’m through with this gig.

And so one day , in one of my innumerable bath days, I was quite surprised when Grace Lee mentioned on the radio that she wholeheartedly trusted her boyfriend to go to clubs like ours.

When I heard it, at first I was disappointed with her. Then I became sad. Her words kinda felt discriminatory. She bunched all of us who work in clubs in one box. Name the stereotype – whore; dumbass; uneducated provincial lass, morally loose women, and the label fits.

It’s quite unfair because some of the nicest women I’ve known in my life work in these clubs. Many are bright, and very intelligent and majority go to school to finish their university studies. They might not have gone to hoity-toity schools like Grace Lee did, but we’re educated enough to know what’s right and wrong. In fact, and this might seem hurtful to Grace, many of us are more beautiful than her, and sexier too.Did she not think that perhaps the boyfriend could not fall in love with one of us?

If the boyfriend comes here often, since he is encouraged by Grace Lee, chances are that in a few months, there’ll be no boyfriend to speak of. One caller advised Grace that if she encouraged the boyfriend to go to clubs when he is single, he’ll develop such an appetite for this kind of entertainment that he won’t stop when he is married.

I agree. If I have a boyfriend, I’ll break up with him if he goes to a club without me. I’ve been inside the snake pit, and I know how its venom could kill.

I’m not naïve, as Grace is. I looked in the dictionary and naivete is defined as the state or quality of being inexperienced or unsophisticated, especially in being artless, credulous, or uncritical. It’s all this and more, I think.

Being naïve is like wasting one of God’s greatest gifts to human beings which is awareness, mindfulness – of one’s surroundings, one’s physical reality. Naiveté smacks of inattentiveness to human nature; specifically in Grace Lee’s case, especially if she's purposefully in denial that her boyfriend will not stray if encouraged to be surrounded by beautiful, usually half naked, nubile women.

But that’s her reality, and I can not judge why her viewpoint is this way.

In my case, if I operated on naiveté, I’ll be dead in a week. Being unmindful of my physical reality is not an option at all. I’ll be exploited by my ‘Juans’ as soon as they smell that they can take advantage of me, perhaps kicked out from school if I’m naïve enough to believe that winking or showing my booty to the prof will bring me nearer to graduation.

I started to shiver, and realize belatedly that my bath has turned into a turgid, pool. The water is cold and my half naked body is immersed in it for more than half an hour. I look at the clock and realize that the GoodTimes show has come and gone, and I spent my whole bath time going round and round on one sentence uttered by Grace Lee. What a waste of time. I look in the mirror and I look at my reflection. I look younger, more refreshed. Is it because of the bath? Or is it because I realized one thing that even Grace Lee could not fathom at all?

I laugh at the mirror in front of me. Yeah babe. I smile. This Millenial Geisha can teach a trick or two to Grace Lee. We’re not dumb, not dumb at all.

(Postscript: There was a lot of vehement reactions during the GoodTimes show today, when Grace Lee mentioned that she was allowing her boyfriend to go to girly clubs, trusting that nothing bad will happen to the relationship if she encourages this nocturnal activities. One of those who fervently held the opposite view is surprisingly the Twister himself, who hammered on man’s baser instincts to stray when surrounded by nubile, beautiful, half naked women.

I noticed that many people sometimes call Grace Lee as naïve, and these comments led me to want to explore what naiveté really means. Is it really innocence, or is it insidiously just plain inattentiveness, or a lack of awareness to the reality around you? What will harm you more, innocence or its complete opposite? Goodtimes!)

Good Times with Mo, Mojo & Grace Lee (One Day Inside the Green Zone) : November 4, 2008

Notes from Ambo's Diary (Inside Iraq's Green Zone)

I'm crouched in my usual nook, in between cooking duties, finding some quiet time before the sous chef bellows out to chop a ton more of onions, or if it's Tuesday, maybe he'll be asking for peppers for Buffet Mexicana tonight.

I've dodged bullets, numerous checkpoints and Philippine laws to work here in Iraq as a kitchen porter inside the Green Zone of Iraq. Kitchen porter is the more glamorous term for my job, but I'm really a kitchen assistant, a kitchen drone who assists with basic tasks such as peeling tons of vegetables or washing salads for example.

On other days, they assign me as Chef de Plúnge, also known as the escuelerie. Pinabango lang yun, but it means I'm the dishwasher assigned for the day. The French really have a twisted sense of humour. Ok lang. As long as you do your job, people can call me anything as long as they pay me well.

To the uninitiated, the Green Zone is the heavily guarded diplomatic/government area in central Baghdad where US occupation authorities live and work. It is the central city which includes the main palaces of former President Saddam Hussein and now houses the civilian ruling authority run by the Americans and British and the offices of major US consulting companies.

I'm assigned in the U.S. Embassy Annex, which was formerly Saddam Hussein's main palace and it is beautiful here.

Five years ago, this was a war zone when the Americans arrived here to 'liberate' Iraq, but now I hear some mortar shelling but it's been relatively peaceful here for the past two years.

As Pinoy as patis and bagoong, I work like a dog to send some precious green bucks to the loved ones back home. There are no Pinoys around, since very few are willing to risk their lives to work here. As a result, no one speaks Tagalog and I'm so homesick.

The only consolation I have is that the Green Zone is a Wi-fi Zone and I can access the Internet 24/7.

And my greatest happiness is listening to Mo Twister, Mojo and Grace Lee at their Magic 899 show every day, without fail. We have a five hour difference so I listen starting at one in the morning.

My work hours are erratic because the Embassy houses workers who work round the clock, and sometimes when I'm in the graveyard shift, the only thing that keeps me awake is hearing Mo Twister's voice, Mojo's heckling and Grace Lee's sweet and kind voice.

I was highly amused by the show today, and as soon as the chef declared a break, I raced to the computer to look up Jessica Gomez, the Twister's new crush. Not bad at all!

I haven't seen the cut shower scene of Zac Efron from High School Musical 3 yet, because I haven't uploaded the movie yet. If we are caught with a boot copy, we're kicked out of the job.

Oh by the way, I was on hold for two minutes on the phone today trying to call the show. I could impersonate Mojo's voice dead on, especially when he says, "Are you a born again Christian?". I could impersonate Tom Hanks like nobody's business because I'm surrounded by Americans with the same voice. But if I do win, I couldn't fly there and watch the Rihanna show, right? So I stopped calling.

The sous chef has been shouting again and I cower beneath my hiding place. A few more minutes to listen to Good Times, please?

But the chef has other ideas, and turns around and looks at me. With a crooked finger, he signals for me to go chop some more leeks now, I guess.

Oh man. I could hear Ruffa Mae answering some questions from the Twister. He asks who the husband of Mama Mary is. And she answers 'Joshua'.

I started laughing by myself, like a crazy hyena. Some of the kitchen workers are looking at me funnily.

I stand up straight and force myself to frown. But I laugh again.

I can't wait for this shift to end. But by then, the show is over. Anyway, a few short minutes listening to this radio show is worth dodging bombs and bullets, suicide bombers, even short tempered sous chefs.

The sous chef throws the vegetables I'm supposed to chop in the air. Uh oh. I really have to go.

I take out my earpiece and walk towards the kitchen. Time to work.

(Postscript: Many of the topics in this blog were discussed in the show today, specifically Jessica Gomez, Zac Efron's cut shower scene, Ruffa Mae jokes and the fact that many Filipinos abroad are tuning in to GoodTimes through the Internet.

I thought it would be interesting to write a fictional piece about a kitchen assistant inside the Green Zone of Iraq who finds solace in listening to the GoodTimes show everyday. I could imagine his loneliness and the constant tedium of chopping onions to earn dollars for the family back home. At least he can entertain himself with Mo Twister, Mojo and Grace Lee. For a few moments, he is home.)

Good Times with Mo, Mojo & Grace Lee (Secret Society of Hackers) : November 3, 2008

Notes from a SSHIT member's Diary

They've tried to stop us, but they can't. Even with the millions of dollars offered to us, we've not succumbed to the pressure to sell out.

We do it to save our souls from damnation. If we can save one soul from the eternal fires of hell, we're willing to stay as is : The SECRET SOCIETY OF HACKERS & INFORMATION TECHS or SSHITT.

Have you ever wondered why the scandalous sex tapes of the rich and famous come to light, even without their consent or knowledge? No matter how much they try to stop us, we continue to show images and videos of famous men and women in various sexual shenanigans, their images proliferating in cyberspace damnation. Their grandchildren's children will see these images for eternity, and it cannot be erased, frozen in the netherworld of smut and pornography.

Name it. . it's been revealed - Paris Hilton, Kim Kardashian, Britney Spears to name a few.

Who are we? What is our mission?

We started as a group of highly professional IT experts, prized for their knowledge and skill in the study, design, development, implementation, support or management of computer-based information systems, particularly software applications and computer hardware. Ask us about computers and technology and we know the answer.

As time went on, a large group of us have noticed a proliferation of unimaginable pornography crisscrossing the world wide web, and we were alarmed at how technology has been used in ways to create a sexually depraved society.

It got to a point where children were becoming exposed to these morally corrupt individuals and it had to stop.

We used our skills to hack into cellphone video files (a common tool for recording purposes, but the most hack-able) and computer files. Didn't anyone of you even know that even if you delete all your files in your phone and computer, a hacker can get into it, and copy it?

Every Friday, SSHITT congregates at a top secret location (of course it's not a physical location, but somewhere in cyberspace) and we exchange our latest finds. The more famous a personality is, the more we have a reason to unmask this person. Frankly, we are tired of the feces of the world, thus our acronym SSHITT fits our job -we find joy and happiness in digging out the poops of the world.

Oh, and we don't exhibit indiscriminately. We usually choose the young, nubile, almost innocent girls who have started to become bad. Notice how we exposed Vanessa Hudgens and Miley Cyrus photo pics. When these young women start living lives of debauchery, then we expose it - thus you see Paris and Britney.

There's been a lot of interest with Criselda Volks recently. Through constant monitoring, we realized that there were a number of hits on her because Mo Twister mentioned her name in his radio program,The Volks video is kinda old, and man oh man, I don't know why anyone could take pleasure in seeing those images of an old man and a young girl being sodomized.

So a note of caution, please be good. Because if you have started to live a life of dissipation, you'll be our next target.

Which makes me wonder why Mo Twister had to divulge on national radio that all his old cellphones are still with him, including all his computer stuff. Because of that little bit of information, SSHIT has been looking at his stuff (without his knowledge of course), and we've come across a lot of interesting material. But we won't use it for now. We'll wait for a rainy day. We'll see how depraved the Twister gets as the years go by. When it's too much, then we'll be on to our next mission.

Just wait and see.

(Postscript:Some of the topics in this blog were mentioned at the GoodTimes show today, specifically the Criselda Volks video that's been mentioned by the Twister.

I've always wondered why sex tax tapes seem to proliferate despite the precaution exercised by the principals involved.

Perhaps there was a secret society of ninja IT's who purposely expose these images to shame these famous personalities?

Imagining SSHIT as a society of avenging techies made me laugh while I was writing this fictional piece.

Before I laughed myself to complete idiocy, it sobered me up quickly. Big Brother is a reality, and he is watching everything that I'm doing right now. Creepy huh? Goodtimes!

Thanks to princevlad at flickr for the photo featured above.)

Good Times with Mo, Mojo and Grace Lee (Lost and Found) : October 30,2008

Notes from Bodi's Diary

The grass was dewy as I ran around the football field, the air a little chilly more than usual. I stopped and looked around me.

Even the shadow of the trees seemed different, the angle of the images reflected on the pavement slightly longer, a mark of the earth's slight tilt away from its gravitational orbit.

I noticed this phenomenon when the end of the year approaches. Happier days ahead. Christmas, the long holiday furlough from December to January, and closer to home - the semestral break that started two weeks ago.

'Semestral break' are two of the most joyful words invented for college students like me whose noses are attached to books cheek by jowl, eyes latched on to their computers 24/7, brains almost squeezed dry by inhumane exams given by equally vicious teachers.

It's over!!!!

Well, it's not over.I didn't know then that the start of the semestral break marked the beginning of a long, agonizing search for one precious thing that could spell doom for me if I couldn't find it in time.

As the Features Editor of my school paper, I took a lot of pictures for a recent article on a former batchmate who has gone rogue, and is now heading a Muslim separatist army in Mindanao. In fact this former student, let's call him X, is now rumored to be one of Benny Laden's first lieutenants in Southeast Asia.

I worked hard for this article, hiking in the hills of Antipolo for that top secret meeting.

It was a scoop! In fact, my Chief Editor told me that if we were able to print it in a week, local and international news agencies will be interested in the article, and our names will forever be emblazoned in the annals of journalistic derring-do,the new Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein in the flesh!

I took lots of pictures of X in all sorts of poses, especially in his favorite pieces of armory. X was a crazy, brilliant dude. Scary. He wanted world domination. He laughed at the camera I was using.He said I was using the equipment since we were in high school.I haven't seen one a journalist-to-be with this kind of equipment, but hey, I couldn't afford a newer model. Besides, this precious camera has not disappointed me in all my journalistic adventures.

My Editor asked for the X article, and I e-mailed it to him as soon as I finished typing it. I then prepared to download the pictures from my trusty camera. As I turned it on, the battery lights started blinking, needing a power surge from the charger. I looked for the charger, and it was gone.

At first it didn't sink in. I never gave importance to a camera charger. It was one of those small, innocuous gadgets that are insignificant to one's existence until its importance suddenly looms in your horizon, a dinosaur about to rip you in six seconds, a plane about to land on top of your house.

Where was the damn charger? I looked for it and couldn't find it. I searched for it inside the offices of the school paper, and it wasn't there.

Meanwhile, my Editor was starting to give me dirty looks. He was pissed. Uh oh. Wait till he gets angry.

I asked for my brother's help in looking for it. When I told him that the camera charger was missing, he flipped too.

"Don't tell me you haven't downloaded my Class Night Pictures. My class will kill me and chop me into a hundred pieces." We both looked at one another with alarm.

We searched inside the house, and sifted through tons of old books, dirty clothes (uggh!!), garbage bins, name it, we looked under, over, above.

I remembered that pictures of X, my brother's Class Night pictures were not the only ones lost. My family's recent pictures in Thailand and my org's recent party pictures were not yet downloaded. Seeing my Dad's anger and my friends' disappointment depressed me more.

Where do I get a replacement charger as old as this?

When it looked like it was really gone, we started praying to St. Anthony, the dude to call for lost things. My brother and I thought that by praying, a light will suddenly shine and a thought bubble would spark inside our minds for a clue to where the charger is. Nope, no such luck.

And so, here I am, running around campus, trying to find solace in my early morning run around the football field, trying to savor the last few days of the sem break, trying to find words to tell an Editor not to kill me.

My cell phone was ringing, and when I looked at it, I became alarmed. My Mom never called me this early in the morning.

" Bodi, guess what! There's a guest at the radio show who's psychic and can find lost things by talking to you through the phone. Hurry. Call now!!" I thought my Mom would have a heart attack. I didn't realize that she had absorbed my worry about the lost charger.

"Which radio show,Ma?"

"Mo Twister's show! Call now. No one's calling because Mo Twister isn't around. Talk to Mojo and Grace Lee."

I didn't know my Mom has shifted from listening to her beloved AM morning shows.

"I only have my cell phone, Ma."

"I don't care. Use the darned cell. I'm paying for the charges, anyway!"

I was touched. My Mom was willing to pay for the cell charges as long as I was able to talk to the psychic dude guest.

I've been an avid Goodtimes listener for years, but lately I haven't been listening to the show because of all my troubles. I shared the same belief as Mo Twister. I don't believe in ghosts or third eyes, and I was skeptical about the guest. But my Mom believed otherwise. She always said that she had a sixth sense, but deliberately did not want to use it in any way.

The lines were busy, busy, busy. How the hell would I be lucky enough to call this show? Finally a ring, but God, it took forever. What if no one answers?

God forbid, what if they take the provincial line first?

"Hello?" It was the most mellifluous greeting I've ever heard from a girl. I couldn't believe it was Grace Lee on the line. She sounded so warm and so non-judgemental.

"Hi Grace Lee and Mojo," my voice sounded hesitant. " About the lost things?"

"Did you lose something between your legs?" Mojo was catty as hell, but I disregarded it. At this point, my pride was the least of my worries.

"I lost my camera charger," I think I heard some snickering. . perhaps Mojo thought it was so insignificant. .

"Let's see if Jobert can find it, " Grace Lee answers in a kind voice.

So he has a name. Jobert. What an ordinary sounding name for such incredible psychic gifts.

"You know what? It's not in the house anymore. It's in a place away from the house. It's in a small, black, gym bag. Perhaps it's in the car?"

I pondered on what Jobert said.

"That sounds logical. Thanks."

It was as illogical as hell and didn't make sense.The car? How could it be there? In a gym bag? My Mom and Dad go regularly to the gym. I prefer running around the campus.

I go to the car parked near the football field, and I poked and looked around. Books, papers, no bag. I looked to the back.

Two bags. Both my Mom's.

I zero in on the black bag. Could it be there?

My fingers searched for a tiny charger in the first and middle pocket of the bag.. I wanted to cry at that point. Last pocket, last chance. I scrounged around and felt a bulge. Makeup, perhaps? I brought it out and God Almighty, it's the charger.

My face was awash with tears by that time. But I didn't care. I thought my career in the university paper was gone, my reputation tattered, my relationship with my family irreparable.

It was a miracle. I looked up in the sky. Thank God Almighty!

I called my Mother. My brother was on the line too. The rest of the members of my family were jumping up and down then.

"Call the show again to thank them!"

But I was crying again, in relief, in gratitude. Mom felt that I was too emotional by that time to make the call, and she volunteered to text the Magic show by then.

In a few minutes, I was calm and ready to make the call myself, to thank Jobert for using his powers for good, and to thank the show hosts.

I was listening to the radio, and I laughed.

My Mom's text message was being read by Grace Lee.

"My son called about the cell phone charger. He found it! Please tell Mo that he's wrong about not believing in ghosts or people with a third eye. Thanks to Jobert."

I guffawed. Trust my Mom to make a dig about Mo's skepticism about ghosts.

Sweet! It was the first laugh I heard from myself in three weeks. Life is beautiful. Thanks to psychic dude Jobert, I can smile again.

(Postscript : Bodi is a real early morning caller at Goodtimes looking for his camera charger. His voice sounded really troubled and at first I could understand why Mojo and Grace Lee might have thought that it was an insignificant problem. It dawned on me that the camera he was using could contain important irretrievable documents and more was at stake than the pictures contained in it.

I found it funny too that the Mom of Bodi sent a text message thanking Jobert, but at the same time shoving a dig at Mo, telling Mo that he is wrong about not believing in supernatural stuff.

'Notes from Bodi' is purely fictional and does not reflect the real Bodi's thoughts,but comes from the imagination and point of view of the blogger.Goodtimes!

Photos of the trees courtesy of Algo at Flickr)

Good Times with Mo, Mojo and Grace Lee (How to Define Bliss) : October 29, 2008 show

Notes from a Diary
October 29, 7pm

How do you define bliss?

Bliss is a state of extreme happiness, spiritual joy, blessedness, euphoria,
felicity, gladness, rapture.

When a radio show elicits this feeling from a listener, then that show isn't just any radio show anymore, right?

How can one explain it? You listen, and then a metaphysical alteration happens when the brain, the gut and the spirit collide. You find yourself laughing one moment, crying the next when you hear a moving song, and then ponder perhaps on a deep philosophical,maybe controversial issue in the next fifteen minutes.

What happens when a radio show isn't just what it purports out to be? Listening to it is like jumping off a cliff without a parachute, bungee jumping without a cord attached to protect you. You get to explore verboten topics, subjects which you've never in a million years touch with a ten foot pole.

Yet one jumps willingly,from six to nine in the morning everyday because one person leads the covert operation to explore the human psyche. His name is kinda an affix for the twisted meanderings of a soul, wandering around in human form, experiencing joy and sorrow in equal measure. Mo Twister, what a name, huh?

Today's show was kinda hilarious ( was there ever a day when one did not find a rib-tickling moment or two listening to this show?) Trust the Twister to find a website like MyDeathSpace.com, an archival site, containing news articles, online obituaries, an opportunity to pay your respects and tributes to the recently deceased MySpace.com members via a comment system.

How about finding a listing of the Top Ten Hottest Dead Girls? Drumrolls please.According to Spike.com , Marilyn Monroe tops the list of the hottest dead girl. Sharon Tate, Aaliyah,Jayne Mansfield and Gia Carangi make up the Top 5 short list.

From creepy to dippy topics . .Did you know that there's a Guitar Hero Praise version where you can play along with top Christian bands? "Shred those riffs or blast the bass…you add a unique sound to the solid Christian rock.Crank it up and try again - you'll soon be rockin'with the best while praising the Lord!"

Can I help it if I'm glued to the radio and can't work anymore? These are just three topics in a three hour show! Oh yeah, the Mohan even threw in Alchemy owner Don Puno's wacky impersonations of Smeagol,Sylvester Stallone and the Governator Schwarzenegger into the hysterical mix, and you'd get a glimpse of what I experienced this morning. (By the way, Alchemy will have a 'Dia de los Muertos' or Day of the Dead Halloween party, so check it out.)

Oh right. I said 'experienced this morning'. That's the key word. The Good Times show is an experience, transcendental to some, completely idiotic to others.

All I can say is, like Marilyn Monroe, this show will be long remembered, even if we're all gone, skin and bones six feet under.

Like a comet that flashes by earth once in a thousand years, this show is such a rare extraterrestrial gem. I write and keep a diary so there's a record of what I've heard and experienced everyday in this radio show. In case a nuclear blast blows this planet into a million pieces, this show will never be forgotten. Out of the ashes,if someone finds this diary, perhaps they'll laugh, and know, and experience what bliss is too. Goodtimes!)