I haven't been able to regularly watch TV these past few months. Somehow, I still manage to squeeze a few minutes in my daily routine watching the evening news program and a few minutes into the series that is aired after it. But each time I try to enjoy these television shows during prime time, I get particularly annoyed with all these "akala mo" blunders shown during the commercial breaks. The same thing happens every time I get the rare privilege to tune in to my chosen TV programs, which is another way of saying choosing programs among three TV networks. I do not know if I'm cursed with that, earning a hex for having been away from the tube for quite a while now. And now that I try to get back to that old habit, but still less frequent than before, I cannot help but raise a middle finger as a grand salute to whoever may be behind that mantra. It's so bombastic it's ridiculous. And it's absolutely contagious, which is why it all the more gives me that uneasy feeling each time that orange propaganda litters the screen.
Which is also why it is effective. I mean, Jesus Christ, you hear that song once in a while and it sinks to your brain thereafter, how can it not be effective? More so if you have been unfortunate enough to have watched it countless times. While typing this, I can still hear the song playing in my head. And somewhere in my mind, I'm seeing the guy in that orange collared shirt making that hand sign, his smile spanning wide from his left ear to the right, and his hair leaving you clueless if it's real or not. Others have said it's not fake—the hair, not the platform of governance. Still, others have argued that it's not real—the hair, not to mention the platform. Whatever the case may be, the persistent airing of the slogan simply makes you want to laugh and cry at the same time. It begs you to listen. It begs you to lend both ears wide open.
No. More than those, it forces your mind to lay helpless before it.
The melody and lyrics of the song are engineered, so to speak, to specifically achieve that purpose. It's like Lito Camo medleys, but with thrice the potency to control your sanity. But unlike Lito Camo whose primary prerogative is to laugh his way to the bank, Villar's undeniable inclination is to bank on the sensibilities of the viewing and listening public. I leave the others to belabor the point on whether he, too, is reeling towards expanding his wealth all the more, the businessman that he is. But going back, the words of the song are simple enough to easily grow its roots on our brains. The words are not long enough to induce you into a state of catatonia. Neither are they short enough to leave you entirely clueless. Each line begins with that ubiquitous phrase, making the entire song more easy to absorb, like sponge is to water.
And more to that, the words do come with a youthful flavor to it. Petiks, conyo, katropa—name it, the orange folks might as well have it. I wouldn't be surprised at all if they so decide to invent new terms to jibe and jive with the jingle. I've never heard of old folks, old in both heart and body, use that term not quite sparingly. It's the younger generation whom I frequently hear those words and give a larger than life meaning, as if life itself is not large enough. Unfortunately, that is where it leaves a bad taste in the mouth.
By aiming the younger people, or more precisely the younger segment of the voting public, Villar's anthem is tacky. Tacky in the sense that it is tastelessly showy. Showy, that's not difficult to see. As for tasteless, the only preference for taste it has is its taste for savoring on the youth. That's not entirely saying that it lacks for any taste, but its focus on the young voters is patent enough from the start. It seeks to subdue the sensibilities of the youth by constantly purging them with the "akala mo" mantra at the precise moments when they are watching the television. It behooves them to appreciate the candidate on face value. Or never mind the face, just mind the value of the candidate. Magtitiwala 'pag nakilala mo siya? Well, exactly how? By watching the same shit over and over again? I don't know, but from where I sit shit is still shit no matter how many times you look at it. That's French by the way.
Besides, trust is not like any other commodity you can shop. Or by trust you have something else in mind, which is still not like any other commodity you can shop without leaving others behind the shopping line fuel their fertile imagination.
The thing about these campaign advertisements is that they only make you see what they want you to see. The trouble becomes all the more glaring when you have those who are yet to know the man behind the face, or the face behind the man. It is where these persistent television chants try to take every minute of your waking hours, to the point where their mere presence on air becomes a passive one, barely able to tickle a pore or induce your mind into a state of thinking. You no longer gawk at them as they have already precipitated into a mere prima facie case of the ordinary among the ordinary. Come the day at the polls, you can only remember the things about the man as far as the TV campaign materials permit you. All these ring even truer for first-time voters. But that, of course, presumes a pervasive state of idiocy among us, taking things literally on face value. Bathala forbid.
I am particularly singling out the case of Villar's TV ads. Never mind those of others, Puno and all the rest from the long line of government secretaries testing the waters. Theirs are too obtuse. Villar's campaign ad, on the other hand, is too sly to simply let pass. One can say that he is betting a huge fortune on that, owing largely to the considerable price he has to pay for the same. One can even say that he has more than enough money to do exactly that, which is to serve us with his doses of narcissism and his farcical and ecstatic belief that we are mistaken. Akala lang natin, 'yun pala mali. What can I say? Akalain mo 'yun.
I've learned that the term conyo in Chabacano does not sound pleasing to the ears. And the kids in Zamboanga are heartily singing the tune with big smiles. I wonder why. In any case, I don't want coffee to shoot out of my nose, so I might as well turn off the TV if that orange mantra finds its way on my TV while watching the evening news.
Which is also why it is effective. I mean, Jesus Christ, you hear that song once in a while and it sinks to your brain thereafter, how can it not be effective? More so if you have been unfortunate enough to have watched it countless times. While typing this, I can still hear the song playing in my head. And somewhere in my mind, I'm seeing the guy in that orange collared shirt making that hand sign, his smile spanning wide from his left ear to the right, and his hair leaving you clueless if it's real or not. Others have said it's not fake—the hair, not the platform of governance. Still, others have argued that it's not real—the hair, not to mention the platform. Whatever the case may be, the persistent airing of the slogan simply makes you want to laugh and cry at the same time. It begs you to listen. It begs you to lend both ears wide open.
No. More than those, it forces your mind to lay helpless before it.
The melody and lyrics of the song are engineered, so to speak, to specifically achieve that purpose. It's like Lito Camo medleys, but with thrice the potency to control your sanity. But unlike Lito Camo whose primary prerogative is to laugh his way to the bank, Villar's undeniable inclination is to bank on the sensibilities of the viewing and listening public. I leave the others to belabor the point on whether he, too, is reeling towards expanding his wealth all the more, the businessman that he is. But going back, the words of the song are simple enough to easily grow its roots on our brains. The words are not long enough to induce you into a state of catatonia. Neither are they short enough to leave you entirely clueless. Each line begins with that ubiquitous phrase, making the entire song more easy to absorb, like sponge is to water.
And more to that, the words do come with a youthful flavor to it. Petiks, conyo, katropa—name it, the orange folks might as well have it. I wouldn't be surprised at all if they so decide to invent new terms to jibe and jive with the jingle. I've never heard of old folks, old in both heart and body, use that term not quite sparingly. It's the younger generation whom I frequently hear those words and give a larger than life meaning, as if life itself is not large enough. Unfortunately, that is where it leaves a bad taste in the mouth.
By aiming the younger people, or more precisely the younger segment of the voting public, Villar's anthem is tacky. Tacky in the sense that it is tastelessly showy. Showy, that's not difficult to see. As for tasteless, the only preference for taste it has is its taste for savoring on the youth. That's not entirely saying that it lacks for any taste, but its focus on the young voters is patent enough from the start. It seeks to subdue the sensibilities of the youth by constantly purging them with the "akala mo" mantra at the precise moments when they are watching the television. It behooves them to appreciate the candidate on face value. Or never mind the face, just mind the value of the candidate. Magtitiwala 'pag nakilala mo siya? Well, exactly how? By watching the same shit over and over again? I don't know, but from where I sit shit is still shit no matter how many times you look at it. That's French by the way.
Besides, trust is not like any other commodity you can shop. Or by trust you have something else in mind, which is still not like any other commodity you can shop without leaving others behind the shopping line fuel their fertile imagination.
The thing about these campaign advertisements is that they only make you see what they want you to see. The trouble becomes all the more glaring when you have those who are yet to know the man behind the face, or the face behind the man. It is where these persistent television chants try to take every minute of your waking hours, to the point where their mere presence on air becomes a passive one, barely able to tickle a pore or induce your mind into a state of thinking. You no longer gawk at them as they have already precipitated into a mere prima facie case of the ordinary among the ordinary. Come the day at the polls, you can only remember the things about the man as far as the TV campaign materials permit you. All these ring even truer for first-time voters. But that, of course, presumes a pervasive state of idiocy among us, taking things literally on face value. Bathala forbid.
I am particularly singling out the case of Villar's TV ads. Never mind those of others, Puno and all the rest from the long line of government secretaries testing the waters. Theirs are too obtuse. Villar's campaign ad, on the other hand, is too sly to simply let pass. One can say that he is betting a huge fortune on that, owing largely to the considerable price he has to pay for the same. One can even say that he has more than enough money to do exactly that, which is to serve us with his doses of narcissism and his farcical and ecstatic belief that we are mistaken. Akala lang natin, 'yun pala mali. What can I say? Akalain mo 'yun.
I've learned that the term conyo in Chabacano does not sound pleasing to the ears. And the kids in Zamboanga are heartily singing the tune with big smiles. I wonder why. In any case, I don't want coffee to shoot out of my nose, so I might as well turn off the TV if that orange mantra finds its way on my TV while watching the evening news.
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