As a kid who basically grew up within a sphere of musically-inclined family, I naturally developed this extreme love for music. My late grandfather had a stack of vinyl records that portray just about EVERY genre of music there is. When I was in my junior years, I got easily acquainted with some classics that my grandfather and uncle played in the house. Whether it was my gran’s standard favorite Patti Page and The Supremes, to everyone’s period-defining psychedelic rock groups like The Beatles, The Who, and Cream, my journey towards my more mature, tender years was filled with a ruckus of diverse symphonies.
Having a faint understanding of the different kinds of music from yesteryear also made my euphoric childhood even better. Since I was the type of kid who would gather my cousins every Christmas season for a chorus of Christmas carols in our neighborhood, I made sure that the songs that we were crooning were a far-cry from the prevailing Christmas carols. Another one of my favorites from my grandfather’s vinyl collection was Boney M’s Christmas Album. Every morning, my uncle would play Boney M’s record and we would sing to it. You wouldn’t believe the stash that we collected from singing Petit Papa Noel and Zion’s Daughter (among many others) when we were carolling.
My grandfather also had a harmonica. It was pretty rusty when it was made known to us kids that’s why my gramps advised us not to use it anymore. Even though the pretty harmonica became off limits, my family still drove us to at least try playing other musical instruments like the guitars, flute, and keyboard. I’ve known a bit about playing the guitar and the keyboard and I’m forever grateful to my family for allowing me to add sweet harmony to my childhood. Life is more fulfilling with nostalgic fanfare always trailing behind your maturity.
AppLabs Digital Studios Inc. has a series of much-loved kid applications that aim to teach kids about good manners, environmental conservation, and basic safety tips. Maddie and Matt have been present since last year to guide kids throughout their young years. Adding to these string of apps that contain valuable life lessons is Maddie and Matt’s latest offer: Maddie and Matt’s Music Mania!
I have championed the Maddie and Matt apps time and again and even encouraged my niece and nephews to try the apps. I’m happy that this time, they’ll have another fun and educational app to play with. Music Mania is designed to teach kids how to play basic musical instruments and the history behind them. Not only you get to allow your kids to play the virtual instruments, but you will also gift them with the knowledge of sweet music!
Make Music with Music Mania!
1. Trebles and Notes. Music lessons about notes, trebles, and clef that will be beneficial to kids in the long run. This feature will help kids understand the importance of arranging music and how melodies are composed.
2. Play virtual instruments with Music Mania! The app offers some free instruments for the young ones to try. Aside from allowing themselves to unleash their inner Paul McCartneys, kids will also be treated to a boatload of information about the parts of that specific instrument and the famous people who are using it.
3. Music Quiz. Kids will have fun answering this quiz that offers all things music!
4. Social Media Sharing. Kids can share their Music Mania experience on Facebook. This feature might open the windows for other kiddie music lovers to share sweet music to your kids.
Music Mania is a free app that will certainly give kids a melodious inclination to music. There are in-app purchases which users can resort to when they want to give playing other instruments a try. Music Mania will add to the train of knowledge that your kids can collect from the Maddie and Matt series. Download Maddie and Matt’s Music Mania on the App Store now and shower your kids or sibs with the gift of music!
If my grandfather was alive today, he would totally spur the kids in our family to play with Maddie and Matt Music Mania.
I’m lucky to have friends who come to my aid even without them knowing that I’m currently in dire need of companion. I was particularly having a bad stretch last week because all the bad feelings that a person could possibly feel were juggling in my system. So when my friends reached out and asked for a hang out, there was no other option for me but to say “yes!”
We originally planned to pig out at IHOP in BGC but since that specific diner was running true to form jampacked (even after all these months!), we bailed with the idea of an all-day breakfast and looked for other restos instead. That’s when we came across Clawdaddy’s Great American Picnic!
It was my first time at Clawdaddy’s, and since kuya Rey had a knowledge of the eatery, he instantly warned us that the servings were all gonna be good for a couple of chowhounds. And boy, was he right!
Clawdaddy’s resembles a lot of seaside restaurants that I see on US TV shows. You know, like the one where all guys are drinking beer and being giddy while wearing flannels and squeaky boots. It was every bit the rover’s dream. But of course, Clawdaddy is sitting along Bonifacio High Street’s chain of family-friendly restos so the port man dream can sail. For now.
This post doesn’t really warrant any topic that is worth-sharing to whoever logs on to Tumblr whenever they feel like stealing ideas from Tumblr users and such. Sorry for being snarky there. This post is merely serving its topmost purpose of being an avenue for my thoughts and feelings.
Because it sucks to feel confused and baffled and helpless and hurt and mad at the same time. Those feelings are juggling in my consciousness at the moment and there’s really nothing so much that I can do about that. I thought this week was my best because as a person who basically has been a walking figure of being unlucky since day 1, I was really having some terrific moments. Until some shit happened. And I don’t know how to deal with most things anymore. Hardest thing is, I don’t even know how to deal with myself anymore. Because some things that happen in life are just bigger than you, and you are left with the only option of fucking acceptance. Just thinking of how quickly these emotions in my personal universe are swirling, my favorite quote from my favorite book called The Handmaid’s Tale flashes with heaps of colorful sparks:
“You can’t help what you feel, but you can help how you behave.”
Right now, I’m just a walking shadow of apprehension. I can be happy this minute though the happiness is everything but real. Seeing other people become bigger moving shadows of contradiction is more frightful than my status quo. I’m also quite disturbed at how I take things fucking seriously. I’m boffo at overthinking and overanalyzing shit which mostly aren’t even within my sphere. It’s fun to pretend to be an arrogant mofo who knows better than everybody else but when that pompous feeling of vainglory runs its course, reality will kick you in the gut and you’ll be left winded.
I’m quite good at browbeating my self-esteem when I feel like it. Though this time, karma has found its fucking way to me and went the other way around: My self-esteem is browbeating my principles and everything that I believed in. And then the only feeling that’s left to me was betrayal. My ego isn’t puffed up anymore; it’s losing its grit because reality is a bitch.
I’m not giving much, have I? Well, that’s the whole point of this theatrical delivery. My objective is to let people (who will unluckily come across this post) how fucked up I feel right now about things that are so beyond my reach. Because when you’re a swaggering know-it-all, it’s a prerogative to submit to your lordly, prideful and overbearing act.
Hey, I can have my moment of being a Kurt Vonnegut. See? Arrogance at its best. That’s how I deal with pain.
France has always been on the go-to radar of arty cosmopolitans and even foolhardy backpackers because the country basically looks as if it’s made of gold dust. Everything is just refined and sophisticated while still maintaining that urbane heritage. The beauty of France lies in the existent culture and infrastructure that make the country aesthetically appealing to the art-loving public.
To have my picture taken in every corner, pillar, and statue of Versailles’ Hall of Mirrors would be my ultimate dream French getaway. That would be the most extravagant dream that I can think because the idea in itself is already too grand. Another one of my dreams would be to devour a flurry of bonbons and wine while sitting at a cafe in Champs-Elysees.
And since I still don’t have the cache to make those foreign dreams come true, I just resort to hang out at one of my favorite restaurants called La Creperie. La Creperie offers Parisian vibe and environment from their interiors, style, and food. I love the place so much that every time I have the chance to splurge a little (like my birthday last year, click here for a refresher), I really dine there.
I have mentioned here that being a blogger has all its glorious perks. One of which was when I, along with mon cheri bloggers at work, were treated to a posh dining at La Creperie in F. Calderon Street, San Juan. I’ve been to the La Creperie branches in Eastwood City and Robinsons Galleria, and I’m happy to tell you that La Creperie in San Juan offers the same mellow atmosphere as the others.
Last Sunday, I piggyback-ed my thick face with Maine’s family for a swim. I have always been comfortable with the Aquinos (Maine’s family) because since college, my ass has been acting cozy with them due to countless sleepovers, dining, videoke sessions with the girls and a lot more. Props to my Pampangeña roots because if you have a Pampangeño bone in your make-up, Ima (Maine’s lola) will automatically become your chatter buddy.
The whole family had their yearly outing at Louisse Private Resort in Taytay, Rizal. And since I am residing near the newbie resort, Maine invited me to hightail my backpacker self there and have a Sunday swim.
And I’m glad that I went. Because aside from the good food and the warm hospitality that the Aquinos offered, the place was also a champ! Not to mention that the resort was actually surrounded by views of the green-land and foothills of Antipolo. It was instant relaxation and pleasure on a hot, sunny day!
We are lucky that our job as bloggers (though my shallow pride can’t really tolerate the word “blogger” because I want to be a plain writer) gets us to a lot of places where we can gratify our cravings and conceive new ideas and words inside our minds.
My affinity towards writing gives me all the wonderful perks because for one, it enables me to allow other people feel my experience through my own scribbled experience. And secondly, blogging brings all the freebies and glories. Ain’t that the reason why most people resort to blogging these days? That’s my sarcasm note btw.
Anyway, we were treated to a superb meal last Thursday at Momo Cafe in Eastwood City. We chose Momo simply because it’s near our home studio and because a friend suggested the place for all its delectable chows. I’ve learned that as a blogger, you have got to be an awesome chowhound because people may or may not depend on you for food info and stuff.
This blog post reminded me to thank my blogger friend Rhea for suggesting Momo Cafe because had it not been for her, I would never have tasted their heavenly Tapa.
Do you want to see a rundown of Momo Cafe’s gonzo food presentation that were served to us? Let your eyes dangle out of their sockets because here they are:
My intro to summer this year wasn’t anything like I have ever experienced. I have always found the hippie counterculture fascinating because of the free will and the thought of being void of any self-entitlement. I am far from being a kid born during the beat era but I still find the period moving and visionary. How awesome would it be if I’m a kid living the 70s hippie flower power lifestyle and I was freely flouncing with ingenious madness ready to explore life behind the stale and the ordinary. The sex, drugs, and rock n’roll modus vivendi would have struck me unknowingly since I was a kid raised under the mom, God and apple pie way of life. Although I’m sure, I would have embraced the civilization like a dingledody.
Being free and defying the wicked societal mores sound inviting especially now that people are overflowing with vitriol and a corrupted mind (not that those things were absent during the 60s and the 70s). If there is one period that I’d like to revisit and fully encircle, that would definitely be the Beat movement, where the likes of Jack Kerouac and Allen Ginsberg were hailed the dab hands of road trip coevals and counterculture self-rule, where Jimmy Hendrix and Bob Dylan are strumming mad-live harmony on their guitars, and where the Woodstock Festival served as the monolithic parcel for cultural movements and societal independence. Psychedelic rock, Proust and freedom fighters are the idea, kapeesh?
As I was saying, most of those scenes and ideas that my mind often visits sorta came true last March 2, 2013. Because last March 2, 2013, I was at the Malasimbo Music and Arts Festival jamming with hipsters, dancing with free-spirits and Rastafarians, nodding heads with people who didn’t give two shit about fashion and macabre high-end schtick, and a crowd who knew how to have a damn good time. Just thinking of how my good time at Malasimbo went by, I was already twirling. Irie, man. Irie!
We chose the March 2 date specifically for one special thing: the chance to see reggae legend and probably the only living Jamaican native honored with the Order of Merit following the likes of Bob Marley and Peter Tosh, the alive and very much rasta-kicking, Jimmy Cliff.
Of course, being there at Malasimbo offers all its free-wheeler glory (even if it’s just for a night). At Malasimbo mountain, you’d likely encounter a man hitting his bongo drums while the bands are giving soulful and island riddims to the audience. There, you’d likely bump into a group of foreigner drinking beers as if it was hand-delivered to them by a friend keg-style. There, you’d likely find yourself speaking to a black or a European while swaying uninhibitedly along the gyrating mob. And there, you’d likely find yourself right in the eye of liberty. Because it’s okay to dance. Because people didn’t care if you couldn’t dance. And because the music was almost kissing your feet so you would dance. It was, without a doubt, liberating.
The experience at first was simple but exciting. The moment we got there at Malasimbo, I already knew what we were in for. People say Malasimbo Festival was the counterpart of America’s Coachella. And I can’t help but disagree. Yeah, Coachella sounds great and the bands performing there are always ace and high-caliber, but c’mon. Coachella has become too much of a fame-whore ground now for Hollywood stars excited to get their pap pictures taken and display their doctored gamines for publicity so people will deem them the ultimate “real.” This is just one person’s opinion. But alright then, I won’t say more.