Horror movies that actually scare you

ONE evening on the long drive home, I asked Vangie which type of horror movies scares her most. Maybe it's because a couple of days back we watched Kulam, a movie whose screenplay was written by one of our close friends.

Well I find the movie entertaining. Made in the same vein as the so-called Asian horror genre, which packs lot of surprises at every turn, and cashes in on strong sound effects and straightforward editing.

All through the movie, I was trying to recall if there are scenes that I may have been familiar with. Something its writer Elmer may have already told me back when we were killing long hours in between subjects at UST. Even back then, I knew he is a prolific writer.

But back to that conversation I was having with my wife.

Quickly she rattled off the movies that made her scream in horror while watching them,``Sukob...Fung Shui...Sixth Sense.''

For her, the presence of a murderous beast like that in Sukob is most frightening. The chase along dark, narrow alleys. Dimlit stairways. And the image of a grotesque, violent being gaining slowly on the hapless victim causes her fear worse than anything else.

Then she mentioned Evil Dead, the movie with zombies storming into a house whose occupants were dumb enough to keep another undead down its basement. That is also in my list.

But my idea of scary movie is different from her altogether.

I dread the movies which jolts you silly (The Eye). With evil spirits (Exorcist). Or a character who in the early part of the movie used to be stable but is slowly losing his or her mind as the story goes (The Shining).

There's a scene in The Eye where a disturbed ghost jumped straight at the main character because she was sitting at her favorite seat. Before that movie, ghosts generally scare people by just standing there. Here, they not only join people in elevator rides, they also attack. That scared the hell out of me.

But nothing beats the girl who throws up in Sixth Sense. The moment the boy turned on his flashlight inside his makeshift tent – and discovered he's got company – I let out a loud, primal scream. Something that I think if I kept inside me, would cause terrible damage to my health.

I was just warming up with several more films up my sleeves, when Vangie suddenly cut me and asked me to stop.

It's scaring her already.

Badminton kung fu style

DOES anybody remember Chinese movies on Sunday mornings when we were kids? Unlike nowadays, they were not dubbed in English or Filipino back then. And the subtitles were, painfully, still in Chinese. It's like knowing something is going on but they just won't let you in.

Well for the most part, they are Kung Fu movies. Masters and students. The master teaches every fighting style he knows, but ends up getting killed by his student – who molds his own style to match that of his master.

I thought about it now while preparing for a badminton tournament. I took up the sport a few years ago, and after a while I convinced several of my friends to play it also. One of them is Volt, my friend from way back.

Because he started out playing with me, he somehow mastered my moves. And much to my dismay, he developed a perfect antidote against my style. Somehow, he knows when I'm hitting a smash or flicking a drop shot corner of the net just by looking at how I arched my arms.

My fancy for that feathery crosscourt net shot just won't work against him anymore. Now I have a hard time winning against him.

Well, last Saturday our paths crossed once again. We went against each other with separate partners.

We won first set, 21-12, something that surprised me because I was expecting a lot of fight from him and his partner who is an advanced player among females in their lineup.

There were a lot of spots in defense, and the returns are just a tad short of the usual, allowing us perfect opportunities to place our shots. Second set, they showed some pride. With us leading 18-14, they raced back and tied the score.

That was major test of character and, if it were actually a Kung Fu movie, that's the part where the students taunt the master, by saying ``you think you can beat me huh?!

Well in fairness to Volt and his partner, they didn't say any word to that effect. Instead, they silently worked their way out of the hole, firing well-placed shots while me and my partner frantically attempted to stop the bleeding.

A deep lob shot to the left corner box made it 19-18 in their favor, but I flicked a drop shot to the right to make it even. My partner served, Volt once again lifted it to my back-hand. I got ahead of the shuttlecock and lifted it back. They missed.

We served. Long rally took place. But it was clear our rivals' partnership still lacked seasons. They lined up in attacking position to the left, and match-point fell like a burning arrow to the unguarded side of their court.

Ateneo-La Salle: dream match, nightmare coverage

NEWS from the internet: A patron seat for the Ateneo-La Salle UAAP finals game fetched P25,000 from ebay. If I'm not mistaken a Big Dome ticket that close to the action is worth P500 at face value, but its prices get to soar to crazy heights during the games featuring the two rival schools.

I've had a chance to cover a few games pitting the Blue Eagles and the Green Archers in the past – they've only fought for the crown three times since I became a sportswriter, 2003, 2004 and this year. The previous championship duel they had in 1988 I watched as an AB freshman at UST.

But I hardly enjoyed covering it, though. Parking is hell. When you get inside the backgate of the Araneta, there are long queues to the entrance. They check your name from a master list, cross it out, put an access pass around your wrist, and stamp you with it.

There is rowdy crowd even inside the press room, and getting into the press row (the place at ringside supposed to be reserved for us) is impossible because all big-shots, like senators, congressmen, sports officials, from the two schools already occupy it.

Almost always, we cover the game slumped on the floor underneath the goal. Mind you, that is something that could work for our advantage because we could easily slip outside into the working area after the final buzzer before the crowd collapses onto the players heading into the exits.

If you're a new reporter, it would be hard not to get overwhelmed by those ``big event'' matches, especially if you came from the two schools. But since I didn't, I have no problem with it.

Well the reason I thought of it was that while I was discussing the finals (which landed on Inquirer page 1 by sheer magnitude) with Vangie on the way home, she asked if I fancy covering a game that practically everybody is talking about.

So I gave her a piece of my mind regarding my kind of basketball coverage.

Given the choice, I would prefer to cover a lopsided game between the least popular teams in the league. That readily assures peace and quiet. You can park anywhere you want, the ticket ushers you graciously inside, and airconditioning works better.

``You still have to cover the games, right?''

Well, the kind of game I'd love to cover must have double-digit leads that keeps growing. Players are not defending anymore, and it was open-court, fastbreaking game all throughout. There are vast stretches of empty seats; bleachers are no man's land; and both teams have nothing more to lose as they are already closing out a bad season.

``But nobody cares about that kind of game.''

Precisely. But I still have to stay until the final buzzer to make sure no players died during the game.

``Do you still keep scores?''

Of course, I watch the first three quarters on the TV monitor inside the press room to make sure I get the biggest lead, who scored that basket and at what point of the game it was scored. But otherwise, coverage will be a walk in the park. I take my own sweet time to the snack bar and get pizza and coke. Greet people. Surf the internet. Make some calls. Text a friend.

``That must get your adrenalin pumping.''

Then, at the start of the fourth period, I go out to take my place in the deserted press box. All clear and no distraction at all. If the lead keeps getting bigger, the better. That would give me enough time to write my story ahead of time. You don't want endgame dramatics in this kind of coverage.

Things you can do in a mall

THERE are a lot of things you can do nowadays that you simply can't under the same situation some 10 years ago.

One Saturday at the mall, I wrote three news articles for my newspaper; went banking; and had a facial treatment in succession. All of them in the confines of the mall. I walked leisurely in between my tasks, a tall tumbler of fruit juice in hand, in cargo shorts, shirt and slippers.

If it were 1998, I'd still have to get to the office to write my stories. I can do it via fax machine but even that would be difficult because there were few places outside the office which had one.

A few years back I was issued my first laptop computer, which was a groundbreaking event in local journalism as everybody else in the sports beat was just using typrewriters or electronic writers back then.

We used modem and connected through the phone to transmit the stories, but then again when there's no game coverage you have to rely on interviews to gather information. And cellphones didn't really enter the scene until very late into the 1990s.

Banking, inside the mall, at weekend, was unheard of five years ago. But last Saturday, I breezed through it opening a new ATM account.

Then I went for facial treatment.

I took small, unsure steps to the counter. It was my first facial since 1998 when I was preparing for my wedding. I told them I want my pores cleaned and blackheads and whiteheads removed. They recommended deep down facial treatment with chocolate mask.

The attendant assigned to me was business-like and buckled down to work in no time. She washed my face first with cold cream, rinsed with towel paper. Then repeated the process for the second time.

In my periperal vision I saw another guy having a facial treatment himself. I think he was having vanilla or mocha topping.

Then she brushed my face, gently with a small, tingly stick. Applied cold cream then brushed it again, this time with smaller, thinner bristles. Vacuum. Then she did the pricking.

It was as if being stabbed by an oversized needle in the face. Repeatedly. Tears rolled down my cheeks, but she was quick to wipe it away. She may not be good at small talk, but she wasn't about to let anybody see me cry.

Not another cake, please

THE INQUIRER recently came out with great lists of the yummiest cakes – both baked privately and commercially – in and around Metro Manila. The cakes are recommended by the experts in the field and were chosen from countless others.

One thing about cake is that it has a way of putting smile on people's faces. No matter where you stand in the social ladder. Even when slammed on somebody's face, like in the movies, it evokes laughter.

I can't think of anything bad to say about cake. For many, it's a comfort food. Something that makes you feel better when you like crap. It conjures happy times of birthdays and weddings. I haven't seen a cake served in funerals.

Back to the lists, a lot didn't make the cut, but I must say that those which landed in the lists rightfully deserved it.

Why? Because I tasted some of them. Actually, I ate a lot of them. A handful of them ended up in our ref at home. Some came in big styropore boxes with dry ice on them so it won't easily melt. Others in fancy containers that also looked delicious as the cakes in them.

I had them for breakfast. Desserts. And even as midnight snacks. When I go to the ref to get something else, I end up taking piece of it. It has become a way of life for us in the house for quite a time.

Pistachio Sans Rival. Pistachio Symphony. Concorde. Dark Hazelnut Crunch. Claycakes with Chocolate Sauce. Pastillas de Leche Cheesecake. Mango Charlotte. Most of them are layered with ice cream and topped by fresh fruits. But some of them can only be bought through advance orders, and for a hefty price.

But after about 15 to 20 slices, they begin to taste the same. The palate could barely distinguish one from the other, and their details are blurred by creamy sweetness.

When the whole slab of Polly's chocolate cake – undisputed heavyweight champ when it comes to cakes -- found its way to our home, even the girls appeared to have reached their saturation point.

That evening, Maxi excitedly took off the lid of the box, marvelled at the dark brown confection and quickly dug at its soft, moist, decadent side. She took a small piece on her mouth. Turned her back and left it alone.

The neighbors loved it as well.

Peking duck dinner in Beijing

ALL eyes are on Beijing Olympics currently unfolding in the Chinese capital. We have 15 athletes competing, and as of this writing three have already fallen by the wayside and more are expected to follow suit. From where I am sitting, it's the boxer and two taekwondojins who carry real chances at winning.

I had my first overseas assignment there back in 1995, to cover the Beijing Open Chess championships.

My task was primarily to chronicle the campaign of our lone bet there, then international master Nelson Mariano II who was hoping to catch a grandmaster norm. A chess player needs to secure at least three GM norms to become full-pledge grandmaster, and that tournament dangled precious GM norms.

Back then, it was very difficult to obtain Chinese visa, as it was just beginning to open up its market to the world and was still very much a socialist republic.

As it was, when we got to the Chinese soil, airport authorities in Guangzhou held me for more than an hour because they saw discrepancy in my visa. They never talked a single word in English back then so I didn't really understand what it was that was causing the delay.

What I knew back then is that my very first international trip was headed for disaster.

I told Nelson to go ahead and board the flight to Beijing because round one was to begin that same morning. But he chose to stay with me. Fortunately, after some calls were made from the embassy back home, I was allowed to go.

Still shaken, we went straight from the Beijing airport to the tournament venue clutching our luggage. Nelson readily walked toward his waiting opponent, offered a draw, then we both headed to the hotel to rest. Brilliant move.

I understand that a lot has happened between then and now in Beijing. But I remember the city to have wide highways; tall, gray buildings; In restaurants, there wasn't a single pancit canton in the menus.

While Nelson was playing, I would sneak out and check out the city. Back then, the streets were cluttered with people, ground-level trains and cable-operated buses. At the close of office hours everyday, a large portion of the streets would be filled with a sea of bicycle-riding public, some were even in dress and suits.

By mid-tournament, organizers arranged a trip to the Great Wall, whose nearest portion was still about two hours bus-ride from the city. There was a plea market around the area, where you can by silk items, ornaments and other souvenirs. I bought Vange a white night gown piece with a roaring dragon hand-painted on its back.

The Great Wall was true as advertised, stretching as far as the eyes can see. We walked through it along with the throng that came from all over the world. Some portions are wide as the streets below, some are like dark narrow alleys. There were flat stretches and uphill segments, the better for the imperial soldiers to spot creeping invaders back then. Then we repaired to a KFC outlet just near the premises.

After 12 rounds of the Swiss System tourney, Nelson finished fifth and secured a GM norm. We celebrated the feat by having a peking duck dinner.

Songs from Harrison Plaza

IF RIZAL Memorial Sports Complex has been second home for me the past few years, then Harrison Plaza – yes that old, tired-looking, third-class mall – has been my chill-out place of choice for about the same period of time.

And why not, it is decked by SM department store, and has Guess, Levi's outlets, and most importantly a plethora of unabashed vendors of pirated CDs, DVDs and MP3s. No wonder I felt at home in it in no time.

Some weeks ago, I rummaged through one of the stalls and found MP3s containing 100 songs that made the US Billboards for each year from 1970 to 1979 – my favorite era when it comes to music.

1,000 songs all in all, in 10 MP3 CDs. I didn't iTune all of them and just chose songs I liked best and still came up with about 250 of the songs I almost never hear being played nowadays. It was pure bliss. I went home that night with a renewed faith in humanity.

In high school, I used to scrimp on my meager lunch money to have my favorite songs recorded in a blank cassette tape which back then cost a whopping P5 per song.

One day tragedy happened and my precious tape got entangled under our malfunctioning player. I tried to salvage it by removing its crumpled remains. Unwound, then wound again it up again via pencil. But no matter how I painstakingly attempted to restore it, the songs in them never sounded the same.

Well back to the MP3s, it contained hits like Midnight Train to Georgia and Neither One of Us by Gladys Knight and Pips. Midnight Blue by Melissa Manchester. Mister Blue by Michael Franks. Certain Sadness by Astrud Gilberto. Living Together by Fire and Rain. I Don't Want You to Go by Lani Hall. Come in From the Rain and All of My Life by Diana Ross. Our Love is Stronger Far Than We by Esther Satterfield.

The whole stack of CDs also contained lesser hits by famous artists like Never Let Her Go by the Bread. Sometime by The Carpenters. Disney Girls by Captain and Tenille. There are so many of them, that I only recognize when I hear the intro.

I am listening to it even as I write this blog. It is my dayoff. Mavi and Maxi are already at sleep and I am just waiting for Vangie to pull over by the gate any minute.

I will open a can of beer once she arrives.