Lechon de Bugoy
Seen in this pic are the belated birthday boys Mike and JR, a random waiter dude, Kiko, and Vic. No no, that's Kiko and Vic behind the table, not on it. 
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Saturday, September 25, 2004
Wednesday, September 22, 2004
The great puppy heist
This is a picture of the suspect moments before her daring kidnapping of little Poochie. Caution is advised.
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Tuesday, September 21, 2004
Young lawyer scores double whammy with US High Court
I was going past CNN's legal news page when I found this link.
Funny. In our jurisdiction, one of the rights this new star lawyer espoused - the right of an accused to cross-examine witnesses brought in to testify against him, is one of the more fundamental provisions of Rule 119.
CNN.com reported:
In Crawford (vs. Washington), the Supreme Court in March agreed with Fisher and ruled that defendants have a constitutional right to cross-examine witnesses used against them in trial.
In practice, the right to cross-examine witnesses brought to testify against an accused isn't exercised as well as one would hope. As some Bugoys know, I sat through an hour of testimony by a police officer in a drugs case in the Pasig RTC. The police officer's testimony, like many before his, was so riddled with holes that it was easy to discredit (so much for the presumption of regularity). The PAO lawyer who used to sit in that court hardly lifted a finger to defend her clients. The current lawyer, however, as a result of his human rights experience (he used to work closely and in coordination with the AHRC on several HR cases) is a different story: his litigation skills got the judge to openly berate the testifying officer and have his testimony stricken from the record.
You could tell that the people being prosecuted in the Dangerous Drugs Court are but small fry in the drugs picture.
I got stuck in a room filled with people who may or may not have had to lie, cheat, and steal just to support their habits (see the inq7.net story on cellular phone theft), but so what? That's what we signed on for. Those guys will one day be our clients.
That they lie, cheat, and steal for their addictions doesn't make them all that different from us, I think. Although we don't have tattoos of flying dragons and gang signs on our biceps, our tattoos are smaller, in more discreet places.
Funny. In our jurisdiction, one of the rights this new star lawyer espoused - the right of an accused to cross-examine witnesses brought in to testify against him, is one of the more fundamental provisions of Rule 119.
CNN.com reported:
In Crawford (vs. Washington), the Supreme Court in March agreed with Fisher and ruled that defendants have a constitutional right to cross-examine witnesses used against them in trial.
In practice, the right to cross-examine witnesses brought to testify against an accused isn't exercised as well as one would hope. As some Bugoys know, I sat through an hour of testimony by a police officer in a drugs case in the Pasig RTC. The police officer's testimony, like many before his, was so riddled with holes that it was easy to discredit (so much for the presumption of regularity). The PAO lawyer who used to sit in that court hardly lifted a finger to defend her clients. The current lawyer, however, as a result of his human rights experience (he used to work closely and in coordination with the AHRC on several HR cases) is a different story: his litigation skills got the judge to openly berate the testifying officer and have his testimony stricken from the record.
You could tell that the people being prosecuted in the Dangerous Drugs Court are but small fry in the drugs picture.
I got stuck in a room filled with people who may or may not have had to lie, cheat, and steal just to support their habits (see the inq7.net story on cellular phone theft), but so what? That's what we signed on for. Those guys will one day be our clients.
That they lie, cheat, and steal for their addictions doesn't make them all that different from us, I think. Although we don't have tattoos of flying dragons and gang signs on our biceps, our tattoos are smaller, in more discreet places.
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Thursday, September 16, 2004
Bugoy Photo Archive No. 4
sea_squirt came over last week, and here's one of the few photos the bugoys managed to snap.
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Star power
The two hams, uh, stars of the upcoming blockbuster Cheek2Cheek, the director and screenwriter, and cameos by a few other bugoys.
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Wednesday, September 15, 2004
Recit Speed Record
Today, our Crimpro prof had to dismiss our class early. Unfortunately (or fortunately) he paced the class as if we would go the full 2 hours. So when he had 20 minutes left, he looked down and realized we had 7 cases to go through and 5 minutes to do it in.
He called me on case #2. I knew it well, and recited on it -- for one minute. Then he let me sit down and called someone else on another case.
On one hand, it's cool that I wasn't so, what's the word, grilled this time around. I didn't even have the chance to get the altitude sickness associated with standing up for recitation for long periods of time.
On the other hand, imagine if all the profs held 1 minute recits every day. That would mean they could theoretically call 60 students in an hour. That would mean, in a 2 hour class composed of 40 students, you would be called 3 times. Brrr. Not a pleasant thought.
He called me on case #2. I knew it well, and recited on it -- for one minute. Then he let me sit down and called someone else on another case.
On one hand, it's cool that I wasn't so, what's the word, grilled this time around. I didn't even have the chance to get the altitude sickness associated with standing up for recitation for long periods of time.
On the other hand, imagine if all the profs held 1 minute recits every day. That would mean they could theoretically call 60 students in an hour. That would mean, in a 2 hour class composed of 40 students, you would be called 3 times. Brrr. Not a pleasant thought.
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Monday, September 13, 2004
Nothing sucks that much
For everyone feeling down or depressed lately, for whatever reason, I present the last exchange in this comic as sagely advice:
Aubrey: If my life were any more of a let down right now, it would be the ending of a Stephen King novel.
Jason: Whooooa... Let's not talk crazy. Nothing sucks that much.
Aubrey: If my life were any more of a let down right now, it would be the ending of a Stephen King novel.
Jason: Whooooa... Let's not talk crazy. Nothing sucks that much.
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I Want My Chino, Paare.
Back in the early 90's, an interesting phenomenon took place among Manila's schools. Backlash against the vilification of the brainless colegiala began to take root in popular culture (read: the joke got tired) and the idea of the brainless coño boy began to float.
Like wow, paaare.
It didn't help that products of these exclusive schools had a more distinct accent compared to products of others where diction is less of a priority than say, determining the discriminant of any quadratic function. These boys slurred their R's, pronounced their schwas, and spoke in a manner both derisive and insulting.
It should be no surprise that someone will eventually create a running joke about boys like these, those into the manor born, they who live the Country Club life, and into whose ears the secrets and passwords to the country's wealth and power are whispered. In fact, Smart has had a ring back feature parodying this very cultural phenomenon.
However, people who've lampooned this sorry state of affairs in print are few and far between. Of late, bloggers like caffeine rush have been using the Internet to produce one of the most hilarious takes on the subject. For me, it is his irreverence and flair for the local that has gained him quite a following (read: his online persona is not only an airhead, but is also quite tactless). In fact, his post, kadiri kaya yung fete has generated around 187 comments as of this posting, some of them flattering, and some not so. In his blog, he makes an effective satire of the Starbucks-worshipping, class-splitting, self-absorbed coño crowd.
Pretty impressive for an Atenean, if I say so myself.
Like wow, paaare.
It didn't help that products of these exclusive schools had a more distinct accent compared to products of others where diction is less of a priority than say, determining the discriminant of any quadratic function. These boys slurred their R's, pronounced their schwas, and spoke in a manner both derisive and insulting.
It should be no surprise that someone will eventually create a running joke about boys like these, those into the manor born, they who live the Country Club life, and into whose ears the secrets and passwords to the country's wealth and power are whispered. In fact, Smart has had a ring back feature parodying this very cultural phenomenon.
However, people who've lampooned this sorry state of affairs in print are few and far between. Of late, bloggers like caffeine rush have been using the Internet to produce one of the most hilarious takes on the subject. For me, it is his irreverence and flair for the local that has gained him quite a following (read: his online persona is not only an airhead, but is also quite tactless). In fact, his post, kadiri kaya yung fete has generated around 187 comments as of this posting, some of them flattering, and some not so. In his blog, he makes an effective satire of the Starbucks-worshipping, class-splitting, self-absorbed coño crowd.
Pretty impressive for an Atenean, if I say so myself.
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Saturday, September 11, 2004
Like a Fungus
I have never actually started out with any group whatsoever by being in the core. I tend to worm my way in, if I can be arsed to.
Oh, there I go again with the gruff I-cant-be-arsed routine. Can it, alchemical, these people know better by now. Anyway, I only end up worming my way into a group if I want to. If I care to.
The clique I belonged to in High School, an extremely geeky but hip group of computer-hacking trash-talking band members, was rather inanely called ACT, or the Association of Computer Terrorists (a name I cringe at to this very day, even though I didn't name it myself). We had the dubious distinction of having smashed a guitar during a performance in front of a nun, mostly done to distract the audience from realizing that we had no guitar solo. Or distortion on our guitars, for that matter. At any rate, we all had this 'we-too-cool-and-too-smart-for-school' image going, even toward each other, but when things got rough we were all there to slap each others' back and give a gruff "Okay lang yan, tangina mo". You know, stupid generic guy things to say and do when what you mean to say is "We love you man and we'll see you through this".
I have a point, wait for it.
During my birthday party last year, my girlfriend probably unwisely told a whole bunch of you that I am an acquired taste. That I grow on people like a fungus. A fungus. Jeezus. At least I'm not a rash or a tumor.
So yes. I project a 'Keep Away' persona mostly for protection purposes. But little do people know that I am sending out my spores, wondering if they'll flourish and grow in, uh, your crap.
Oh well. Not the prettiest or most fragrant metaphor, but it works.
Oh, there I go again with the gruff I-cant-be-arsed routine. Can it, alchemical, these people know better by now. Anyway, I only end up worming my way into a group if I want to. If I care to.
The clique I belonged to in High School, an extremely geeky but hip group of computer-hacking trash-talking band members, was rather inanely called ACT, or the Association of Computer Terrorists (a name I cringe at to this very day, even though I didn't name it myself). We had the dubious distinction of having smashed a guitar during a performance in front of a nun, mostly done to distract the audience from realizing that we had no guitar solo. Or distortion on our guitars, for that matter. At any rate, we all had this 'we-too-cool-and-too-smart-for-school' image going, even toward each other, but when things got rough we were all there to slap each others' back and give a gruff "Okay lang yan, tangina mo". You know, stupid generic guy things to say and do when what you mean to say is "We love you man and we'll see you through this".
I have a point, wait for it.
During my birthday party last year, my girlfriend probably unwisely told a whole bunch of you that I am an acquired taste. That I grow on people like a fungus. A fungus. Jeezus. At least I'm not a rash or a tumor.
So yes. I project a 'Keep Away' persona mostly for protection purposes. But little do people know that I am sending out my spores, wondering if they'll flourish and grow in, uh, your crap.
Oh well. Not the prettiest or most fragrant metaphor, but it works.
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Friday, September 10, 2004
Blogging = Confession
I don't know why I say so much when I blog. I blog about more things than I would dream of saying to people face to face. Perhaps it's because I don't have to see the people I'm talking to face to face. Sort of like being in a confessional, except of course that wicker screen separating you from the priest isn't fooling anyone, you can tell it's Father So-and-So and he's about to tailor the penance and absolution to who you are, because he knows who you are, where you live, and what your parents' names are.
For example, I appear to be more forthcoming when expressing my affection online. This is, as lastboyonearth would say, evidence of me being a closet softie.
Well it's not TRUE!
...ahem, anyway.
It's probably because I've been typing away at some form of journal since way before Doogie Howser started chronicling his inane insights in glorious white-on-blue, 80x25. Which means I've been typing away at a computer since grade school. Christ-on-a-bike that's a long time.
When you've been putting your thoughts on magnetic media and phosphor as long as I have, you being to feel a rapport with the computer, as if you could simply beam your thoughts over through your fingers. Actually it's not really that easy. Language is a bitch, and that's despite the fact that I'm a Creative Writing graduate. Some days you just forget one key word and it screws up the whole process. "What's that word for... that thing when you... when you... ARGH!" Write around the word and move on, and toss around in your sleep for losing yet another piece of your vocabulary to systematic chemical and physical abuse of your neurons.
So I suppose the only way to get me to spill the beans about anything is to ask me to tell you while I'm by typing it out. Actually, getting me drunk or drugging me works too. Wait, what was the point of this post then?
I think the title of this post should have been Blogging = Rambling while putting off reading Sales cases.
For example, I appear to be more forthcoming when expressing my affection online. This is, as lastboyonearth would say, evidence of me being a closet softie.
Well it's not TRUE!
...ahem, anyway.
It's probably because I've been typing away at some form of journal since way before Doogie Howser started chronicling his inane insights in glorious white-on-blue, 80x25. Which means I've been typing away at a computer since grade school. Christ-on-a-bike that's a long time.
When you've been putting your thoughts on magnetic media and phosphor as long as I have, you being to feel a rapport with the computer, as if you could simply beam your thoughts over through your fingers. Actually it's not really that easy. Language is a bitch, and that's despite the fact that I'm a Creative Writing graduate. Some days you just forget one key word and it screws up the whole process. "What's that word for... that thing when you... when you... ARGH!" Write around the word and move on, and toss around in your sleep for losing yet another piece of your vocabulary to systematic chemical and physical abuse of your neurons.
So I suppose the only way to get me to spill the beans about anything is to ask me to tell you while I'm by typing it out. Actually, getting me drunk or drugging me works too. Wait, what was the point of this post then?
I think the title of this post should have been Blogging = Rambling while putting off reading Sales cases.
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Alcohol and the thrill of... defeat
Losing the Mr. Lawschool 'beauty pageant' has had a paradoxical effect on class unity, don't you think?
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Wednesday, September 08, 2004
Battle Royale
Well, 2 weeks after JR lent me the DVD, I've finally watched Battle Royale.
For those of you who don't know, the premise of the story is that since Japan's unemployment rate reached a shocking 15% (I know, we only have a 10.1% unemployment rate here, so that's bad), and since 800,000 students boycotted school, Japan's parliament enacted the BR Act, which means that every now and then, a lucky class determined by impartial lottery gets sent to an abandoned island (not a desert island, since it appears to have everything from abandoned vehicles, to a clinic, and a warehouse in it) and, wearing collars set to explode if there is no winner in 3 days or if they try to remove them, they have to kill each other until only one student is left.
Kooky, but par for the course in Japanese cinema. And it's a wild ride as long as you turn your brains off. There is some attempt at characterization here and there, some effective, some not (the jogging scene was... uh). Actually a particularly effective scene plays itself out in the lighthouse... and I won't spoil it for the rest of you. Suffice it to say there's a lot of blood, a lot of violence, and a lot of Japanese captions a la Evangelion that drive certain pieces of dialogue home.
The thing that really struck me about the movie, though, is at the very end, during the basketball game flashback, where during happier times, the class wins some sort of championship.
The scene was entitled "Requiem: Class B (Friends)".
For those of you who don't know, the premise of the story is that since Japan's unemployment rate reached a shocking 15% (I know, we only have a 10.1% unemployment rate here, so that's bad), and since 800,000 students boycotted school, Japan's parliament enacted the BR Act, which means that every now and then, a lucky class determined by impartial lottery gets sent to an abandoned island (not a desert island, since it appears to have everything from abandoned vehicles, to a clinic, and a warehouse in it) and, wearing collars set to explode if there is no winner in 3 days or if they try to remove them, they have to kill each other until only one student is left.
Kooky, but par for the course in Japanese cinema. And it's a wild ride as long as you turn your brains off. There is some attempt at characterization here and there, some effective, some not (the jogging scene was... uh). Actually a particularly effective scene plays itself out in the lighthouse... and I won't spoil it for the rest of you. Suffice it to say there's a lot of blood, a lot of violence, and a lot of Japanese captions a la Evangelion that drive certain pieces of dialogue home.
The thing that really struck me about the movie, though, is at the very end, during the basketball game flashback, where during happier times, the class wins some sort of championship.
The scene was entitled "Requiem: Class B (Friends)".
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Monday, September 06, 2004
Sunday, September 05, 2004
The Kiss
It's nice to see how close we are as a block. But sometimes, artful photograph notwithstanding, we can get a little too close...
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Great Class Idea #12
Does it strike anyone at all as a good idea to do this:
After the class, out of sheer self-preservation, vetoes the petition to impeach unprofessional love-addled professor, supra, riddle the evaluation form of that aforementioned professor with 1s out of a scale of 10, and add a novelette-sized entry telling him how to do his job?
Me neither. Some "smart" people are really stupid.
After the class, out of sheer self-preservation, vetoes the petition to impeach unprofessional love-addled professor, supra, riddle the evaluation form of that aforementioned professor with 1s out of a scale of 10, and add a novelette-sized entry telling him how to do his job?
Me neither. Some "smart" people are really stupid.
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New Bugoy's Army profile #2
Ka Ong's trusted lieutenant, Trina the Gunbunny, is a crack shot, can do dead-on Sadako impersonations, and has been known to drop cigarette wrappers from five stories up on unsuspecting passers-by. Approach with extreme caution.
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Greetings from the New Bugoys Army
Ka Ong is holding the boiler room of Ateneo Rockwell hostage and is demanding a ransom of one heart-shaped Big Mac to be delivered to Room 310 not later than "bahala na kung kailan".
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Saturday, September 04, 2004
bugoy photo archive no. 3
From Mike's Apartment: No, it's not what you think. This is not that pr0n site that features women doing the nasty in some Dutch apartment owned by an American. This came from the last party we had at Mike's. I found two other pictures that are safe for public consumption. :P That's Trins, Jo, and Ofel hamming it up.
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Thursday, September 02, 2004
Great Class Idea #7
Does it at all strike you as a good idea to start a petition to have the dean chastise a rather unprofessional love-addled professor who has the reputation of giving classes he dislikes the worst exams he can give?
Me neither. Just wondering if you've checked your wits at the door.
Me neither. Just wondering if you've checked your wits at the door.
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About this blog
- Way too many of us are now enjoying the sorts of freedoms that our 1950âs counterparts couldnât even have dreamed of. Hell, you couldnât even read D.H. Lawrenceâs âLady Chatterlyâs Loverâ back then: thatâs how repressed things were! Itâs easy to forget what freedoms we now enjoy, but we should try our damnedest to be aware of these freedoms, because there are a bunch of bastards on the highest rungs of the ladder who would like to deprive us of these freedoms. Theyâd like us all to be blind, unquestioning sheep - little cogs in the big machine that they control.
- Personally, I try my best not to be part of that machine. In my mindâs eye the machine is the epitome of all evil and I donât want to be either a little or a big cog in it. I donât want to participate in the running of this machine and would, if I knew how, happily sabotage it. I donât approve of war. I donât approve of the economic exploitation of the third world. I donât approve of social inequalities. I donât approve of the environmental devastation of the planet. And I donât believe the lies that are told to justify these actions.
- - Dee Rimbaud
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