Siege At The Manila Peninsula

If a Filipino abroad were watching CNN, they’d think that the siege was in The Manila Hotel. Oh my.

* * * * *

We were holed up inside our conference room working on another pitch, with the television on, when we heard the following snippet during the press conference with Trillanes and company:

Trillanes: “Like soldiers, we’re going to face this.”
Reporter: “Sir, how are you going to face this?”
Trillanes: (after a beat) “Whatever.”

Back From The Ad Congress

First of all, apologies for not leaving word earlier that The McVie Show would go on a four-day mid-season hiatus because of the 20th Philippine Advertising Congress in Subic. The Ad Congress happens every two years, and this year I’m one of the official delegates from our agency.

The past four days I was inspired, enlightened, intrigued and fascinated. As delegates we had too much fun and not enough sleep. Plus I was assigned to drive one of the company cars to, within, and from Subic. I’m surprised I’m still alive.

What were the highlights for me? In no particular order: [1] Neil Gaiman opened the Ad Congress with a talk followed by Q&A hosted by my friend Marlon Rivera of Publicis, prompting a slew of “gay man meets Gaiman” jokes. [2] Marlon, usually a vision of poise and control, was reduced to a giggly fan doing an ala-Pilita bending-over-backwards routine. [3] In the bingo game of GMA-7, a delegate from the ABS-CBN contingent won 75,000 pesos and another Kapamilya won 10,000 pesos. [4] Marian Rivera aka Marimar announced, “Number seeksty-seeeeex!” during the said bingo game. You’d think she just made an honest mistake, until she announced, “Number seeeeeeex!” later on. [5] Neil Gaiman’s second and more intimate talk, hosted by another friend, Leigh who acquitted herself nicely even though she is also an uber-fan. [6] My current art director won two prizes in two separate raffles, damned that lucky fuck. [7] Bronzes, silvers and gold—8 awards (out of 10 finalists). [8] Driving my boss’ Mazda 3 all throughout the Congress. Damn, I looove driving! I must have been a chauffer in my previous life. [9] Dancing to 80s music at the JWT party. [10] Meat Plus beef is the bomb!

* * * * * * * * * *

And an extra highlight—a conversation between three gay men in one car:

Poma: “Napanood mo na yung ‘Kramer Versus Kramer’?”
McVie: “Ay! Maganda yun!”
Poma: “Eh ikaw Harvey, napanood mo na yung ‘Kramer Versus Kramer’?”
Harvey: “Hindi ba yun yung boxing movie?”
(Poma and McVie look at one another. Then it dawns on Harvey.)
Harvey: “Ay! ‘The Champ’ pala yung boxing movie!”
McVie: (laughing) “At, Harvey! Kung boxing ang ‘Kramer Versus Kramer’, anu yun, magkalaban ang mag-asawa?!”

A few minutes later, the talk turned to horror movies.

Harvey: “Eh Poma, napanood mo na ba yung ‘2010’?”
Poma: “Ay oo! Pero hindi ako masyadong natakot dun.”
McVie frowned.
McVie: “Paano naging horror yun? Eh di ba sequel yun ng ‘2001: A Space Odyssey’?!”
Harvey: “Ay! Eh ano yung movie na nandun si John Cusak sa isang hotel?”
McVie: “Aaaaah, hindi yun ‘2010’….”
Harvey: “Ay! ‘1608’ pala yun!”
Poma started laughing.
Poma: “Pero in fairness, nagkaintindihan kami ni Harvey kahit mali yung title!”

Back to regular programming tomorrow.

Tiu-rly You Must Be Kidding!

Do any of you believe that the following Connexion profile is genuine?


According to the profile, Chris’ sexual orientation is “Bi”. (Ang mga kilay, pakibaba muna.)

In the “About Me” section (I just cut-and-pasted it): I hope that anybody who comes across my site respects my photos posted and would maintain the sacredness of one's property

Christopher John or Chris Tiu, Captain ball and star player of the Ateneo Blue Eagles, a Management Engineering major, an honor student, a budding entrepreneur, SK chairman and occasional model One of the Mythical 5 Ive soon to be seen in GMA 7 Network My Birthday July 25, 1985

I’m a normal lad, like leading an adventurous life in the real world, meet n greets, seeing the sites, cultures and whatever gets ya boat a floating. I’m easy to get along with, got a big heart for my friendz n’ holding auditions for more if ur interested. (I’ll be suprised if anyone pm’s me with a half decent convo put it that way!) n wierdos i dares ya to challenge me!

And in the “Who I Want To Meet”: No consistent agenda. I’m really lucky to know you if you’re lucky enough to really know me. Beyond that, anyone who inspires me to be a better man.

As for love, there is definitely has to be chemistry, but I want to share my own unique joys and trials with someone whose own are different; I want to grow through whom I know, and to enhance the life of him who shares in mine. Laugh our asses off, love with abandon, and have the kind of tantric mind-scrambling sex that only happens when souls are disrobed and completely bare.

Wanna check out the profile? Here: http://www.connexion.org/viewprofile.cfm?id=267590 (You must be a member of Connexion to access it, though.)

O ano? Raise your hands and say “Aye” or “Nay”.

I Roll My Eyes

I wanna paraphrase an Avenue Q song to a very makulit 19-yr old: “There’s a wide, wide line between love… and a waste of time”. Oh puh-lez, texting me “Beh”?! Bleah!

Deranged

We advertising folks are a deranged lot. We agree to participate in a pitch* even thought the deadline is tighter than two lizards copulating. (*What’s a pitch? That’s when agencies scramble amongst themselves to try and impress clients that they can do the impossible with their brands within the numerous constraints imposed on them.) We spend ten days holed up in a room that’s a freezer by day and sauna by night, trying to generate middling to maddening to magnificent ideas. We get intimate with the various plastic utensils, packaging disciplines and erratic delivery response times of different fastfood companies. We are fed variations of Pinoy, Chinese and junk food. (I fear our accounts people have a premise that the more MSG in our system, the more brilliant our output will be. Totally false, but we in Creatives are not about to correct them any time soon.) We bend over backwards and forwards, grappling with what the target market wants versus what client wants. We spend seven straight days going home after midnight. And all throughout we wonder if all this effort will not be wasted on a client who may just end up stealing our ideas from us.

Then we don coordinated costumes, make massive mock-ups, and rely on caffeine and adrenaline to prop us up while presenting at 9 on a Monday morning. After that, we hike off to a tres-chic resto like People’s Palace, stuff ourselves silly with spicy dishes, and congratulate ourselves for a job well done. And we oh so giddily replay the high points of the presentation blow-by-blow, anecdote by anecdote. And the whole week that was is brushed gently to one side.

The only other creatures who behave the same way are theater folks. No wonder a lot of us straddle both worlds.

Hold Up!

This happened back in 1981, between my first and second year of high school. I was with a classmate buying books in Cubao. In some small store in old Ali Mall a guy approached us and identified himself as Boy Diablo. He claimed he held a knife hidden inside his jacket pocket. He also said his colleagues were watching a few feet away, unidentified and ready to jump at us should we try to run away. I wanted to take a chance anyway and make a run for it, but my classmate froze. So I had no choice but to tag along.

Since we already bought books, we only had around 20 pesos between the two of us to give to Boy Diablo. He insisted I give him my watch; I refused, because that watch was a gift from my parents. My classmate begged me to give up the watch, and promised he’ll pay for it. “I’m holding you to that,” I muttered, pointing a finger at him. Then I took off my watch.

Boy Diablo also took our money, but left us around 5 pesos so that we can take the jeepney home.

It took my classmate several years to pay me for my watch. How? He won in the Kentucky Fried Chicken Name That Mascot Contest. He was the first who named the mascot “Chuckie”. After paying me for the watch, he used the rest of his prize money to buy a study table. How nerdy.

Apples And Oranges

Since last weekend I’ve been seeing oranges every day. So when I saw this poster in one of the underground walkways in Makati, I had to take a picture.


Funny thing is, I see that photo and I think: standing out means staying solo.

Eye-Popping Pop

I guess the reason why they called it “pop” music is that the best ones have this effervescent quality, and the new song and music video by Fergie has that in spades.

Clumsy may be its title but the song’s production is definitely not. What I love most about it is the mish-mash of old and new. The whirring opening sound (which can only be produced in analog), the bleating horns, the “girl can’t help it, girl can’t help it” chant, and even the spoken bridge in the middle—including the “oohs” and “aaahs” of the back-up singers—all hark back to the sound of the 50s and 60s. But the blips, beeps and beats are trademarks of today’s “sampled” tunes.

And what an infectious tune! You can’t help but tap to the beat and sing along after just one listening. And the chorus is one of those made-to-embed-in-your-mind irresistible sing-alongs: “You got me slippin’, tumbling, sinking, fumbling… clumsy ‘cuz I’m fallin in love, so in love with you.”

I can’t help it, I just can’t help it, I’m so in love with this song right now! Ahhh, giddiness is so contagious.

And the music video is whopping feast for the eyes. It’s literally eye-popping.


Too bad Universal Music Group requested that the embed function be disabled, so I’m just directing you to YouTube to watch the music video at the following link:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kN9vm95SocU

Now They’re Pulling My Leg

Until now I’m surprised when someone considers me physically attractive. More than pleasantly surprised, I was puzzled that my Facebook friends voted me “sexiest”, “most attractive” and “hottest”. Ironic, since I’m the last person who’d use any one of those descriptions on myself.

Perhaps it’s because I have posted several personal sexcapade episodes on The McVie Show. But that makes me either courageous or an exhibitionist, not sexy. To be completely honest I’m still very insecure about my looks: I’m not handsome enough, I’m fat and out of shape, I’m just average-sized down there, I’m not tall enough, I’m not hunky enough, etc. But I’ve been able to cope with my insecurities by either pushing them aside (especially when I enter a bathhouse or a dance club) or making light of them.

My insecurities are mine alone; I am responsible for them. Others may point out my shortcomings, but ultimately it is my choice how I want to react to their assessments.

And my reaction to being voted “sexiest”, “most attractive” and “hottest”? Tara, sex tayo!

(With my luck, those who voted for me are most likely my female friends. Argh.)

Finger-Lickin’ Good

The new campaign of Kenny Rogers Roasters features Marc Nelson. On TV he’s attacking the new sandwiches with such gusto. On billboards they show a slab of ribs with the headline “Sizzling…”, and beside it is Marc with the second part of the headline, “…hot.” That prompted my friend Leigh to wonder out loud, “Who are they targeting with their new campaign? The Pink Peso?” Maybe they think Marc “Yummy” Nelson would be more compelling, more convincing, more “kanin na lang, please”-worthy for the gay market. I want to eat Marc clean off the TV or the billboard, but who else feels the same way? And is Marc’s meat really more tender and juicier than Piolo’s leg-and-thigh? Or Papa Aga’s drumstick? Who knows, maybe they’ll all be trumped by the granddaddy of them all, Colonel Sander’s barrel.

Tanghalang Ateneo Premieres Glenn Mas’ “The Death of Memory”

Tanghalang Ateneo goes contemporary Filipino in “The Death of Memory,” the second production of the company’s 29th season. Written by Glenn Mas, “The Death of Memory” is a Palanca prize-winning play and an awarded thesis production at the Catholic University of America. Tanghalang Ateneo’s staging would be the play’s Philippine premiere production.

In the play, four people are trapped in a nowhere land where time has stopped, and with no memory of how they got there, and no ideas on how to get out. Each one carries a painful and violent memory—sexual abuse, abandonment, murder—that assaults them at unpredictable moments and ties them to this purgatorial prison.

A Keeper holds them in this limbo. At one point, the newly arrived man, Juan, incites his fellow prisoners to defy the Keeper and escape from memory. Will they be able to free themselves? How? This intense and imaginative play examines the strength of the human will to live and choose, to fight against paralyzing pasts, and to move on.

Ralph Quiblat and Brian Sy alternate as the newcomer, Juan, while Rachel Quong and Margarita Paje play the Keeper, the ethereal guardian of the nowhere land. The rest of the faculty cast are Randy Solis, Dianne Laserna, Miguel Lizada and Angela Serrano. In turn, the rest of the student cast is composed of BJ Crisostomo, Regina Francisco, Nicolo Magno and Gianna Villavicencio.

Director Ricardo Abad and Production Designer Salvador Bernal depart from their Asian motifs to create an abstract world that is replete with surreal and violent images. Joining them are choreographer Matthew Santamaria, lighting designer Jonjon Villareal, and Sounds and Graphic Designer Reamur David. Katski Flores, finalist in Cinemalaya 2007, incorporates film images of the character’s memories.


“The Death of Memory” runs from November 29 to December 1, 4-8, and 11-15 at 7pm, with additional 2pm shows on December 1, 8 and 15 at the Rizal Mini-Theater of the Ateneo de Manila University. For inquiries, contact Shiela Concina at 09155715665 or the Rizal Mini- Theater at 426-6001 local 5121. Because of the adult theme and the graphic images, the play is shown for mature audiences only.

Going Out On A Limb

The door to his room was open. In the dim light of the bathhouse I could see him seated in a lotus position on his bed, with his towel draped over his lap. I had to swing by three times to assess the essentials. Face: sharp features, maangas-looking—check! Torso: well developed, especially his chest—check! Arms: strong-looking with large biceps and triceps—check! And all three times he’d nod his head when I’d slow down at his door, inviting me to come in. So I did.

He turned off the light inside his room as I locked the door. I took off my towel and positioned myself in front of him. He leaned forward, kissed my belly then flicked out his tongue and slowly teased it downwards. I felt his warm mouth gently enveloping me, gulping all of me in his mouth as I slowly throbbed to life. He teased me to full hardness, licking and slurping the whole length of my shaft. Finally I couldn’t take it anymore. I pushed him down on the bed then roughly pulled off his towel and reached down to lift his legs up. That’s when I noticed something was off. His legs didn’t feel quite right, with his left leg thinner and bonier than his right leg. Then it hit me: I’m going to fuck someone who had polio.

Several thoughts ran immediately through my mind, most of which shouldn’t be mentioned here. So I will. The first was, “Oh my god!” Then the following thoughts came so fast and almost simultaneously that I couldn’t tell which came first: “Oh cool, no wonder he worked out his upper body.” “Can I still back out?” “There’s always a first for everything.” “How do I back out now?!” “No wonder he had his towel draped strategically over his leg.” “Fuck, I’ve been duped!” “Fuck, I’m going to fuck him cuz he duped me.”

Well what can I do? I decided to just go with the flow. At first I wanted to totally forget about it, but his leg kept getting in the way. Since it was impossible to ignore, I decided to just accept it and not make too much of a big deal about it. And I must admit, I did put on quite a show for him. Still, a part of my mind remained detached from the scene, like I was watching myself doing it with him. Pretty soon he was moaning and groaning and losing it. But little did he know that a part of me was just pulling his leg that night.

Let’s Get Proud, Let’s Get Proud!

(This is different from the White Party in Malate earlier this year. The avid kasuys of “The Dan & Rye Show” should know. This early, let’s prepare.)

* * * * *


Pride is about dignity. Own it.

Flaunt your rights.

Celebrate your freedom.

Join the 2007 Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender Pride March on December 8, 2007 in Malate, Manila.

Click here.

Response

The following was inspired by Gabby’s letter in MGG; read it here.

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I’m a veteran of unrequited love. It took me a while to learn my lesson well and live to tell the secret I have learned. As in, a while—I went through five successive ones before I stopped banging my head against the wall. And when it comes to disentangling oneself from an unrequited love situation, there really is no easy way, especially if the one you “love” cannot reciprocate but wants to hold on to you as a friend.

What have I realized?

[1] In the end, it is really just your problem and yours alone. No one is responsible for fixing it but yourself.

[2] The best and only way… I repeat, the best and only way… one more time, the best and only way to get over him is to give yourself time and distance. Again, time and distance. One more time: time and distance.

[3] The song by Journey says it plainly: Be good to yourself ‘cuz nobody else will. Because he isn’t looking out for your welfare when he says, “I miss you, it’s not like before, you’re pushing me away”. FUCK YEAH, I’M PUSHING YOU AWAY. Because I fucking need to get over you, and I can’t do that with you around. So get over your fucking needs and think about what I need, jerk! Better yet, I should be thinking about my needs.

[4] Can you still be friends? Like Humpty Dumpty, no amount of King’s horses and men can put the old friendship back together again. It’s best to view it this way: that old friendship is dead. If you want to re-connect with him then start from scratch, and preferably after a period of time has passed so that you’re sure you’ll never pine for the old friendship again.

[5] Don’t think he’s the only guy you’ll ever want to be with. There are so many beautiful people out there in the world.

[6] Will this experience make you a jaded, bitter guy? To be honest, I did go through the bitter, jaded, cynical route. But in time I snapped out of it. How could I stay jaded? It’s really not fun to be in gothic black mood all the time, spewing bitter truths about love and lies. Most likely you will never recover the innocence you once had; in my case I became wary. But hopefully you’ll come out of this wiser and still willing to risk your heart again.

Beautiful Liar

This is the way to sell newspapers.

The headline story is about how the impeachment complaint against PGMA cannot be replaced, amended or supplemented. Place a huge Beyonce photo near it, with her story on the lower right of the photo. Then watch readers gasp then grab your paper off the shelf.

(I must admit though, natawa ako.)

Cry

Nes was short for Nestor. He was the kid next door who was a couple of years older than my brother. He knew how to play the guitar. He has all these plastic toy soldiers. He had the sweetest smile. And I had the biggest crush on him.

But he and my older brother were the ones who clicked. They looked for each other every afternoon. My brother lent him our Matchboxes; Nes taught my brother the major and minor chords. They dared each other to climb the guava and duhat trees in our backyard. They even got circumcised in the same year. They would invite me along, of course. Maybe they saw us as a trio, but I always felt like the third wheel. I couldn’t stand feeling bad all the time at Nes’ paltry token attention towards me, yet I couldn’t stay away from him.

One day I heard Nes singing a song that he heard on the radio. He really liked it and was trying to figure out the chords on the guitar:

If there’s a tear on my face
It makes me shiver to the bones; it shakes me, babe.
It’s just a heartache that got caught in my eye,
and you know I never cry,
I never cry.

I may be lonely but I’m never alone.
And the night may pass me by,
but I’ll never cry.

Take away, take away my eyes.
Sometimes I’d rather be blind.
Break a heart, break a heart of stone,
open it up but don’t you leave it alone.

‘Cause that’s all I’ve got give to you.
Believe me babe, it ain’t been used.
My heart’s a virgin, it ain’t never been tried.
And you know I’ll never cry.
I’ll never cry.

It was Alice Cooper’s 1976 hit, “I’ll Never Cry” and little did I know how much it’d reverberate in my inner jukebox for years to come. From then on I never let him see how much I liked him and how much it hurt just to look at him.

Bad Hair Day

As in, really bad.

Peek? Sure!

I am so going to hear from my former classmates who watch The McVie Show!

* * * * *

My sister was cleaning up several days ago when she unearthed two class pictures. Egad! Those are my class pictures.

This first one is during our first Holy Communion in Grade Two.

The next is our Grade Three class photo for our yearbook.

Ugh, I never did like my hair for the longest time. It was only in recent years did I make peace with my follicles, especially when I found out that while half of my batch mates have thinning hair, my only problem is the increasing number of white hair. But then it ceased to be a problem when people told me I looked more dignified. Ay sus.

Grade Three and I think I instinctively took on a beauty contestant’s quarter-turn pose. Hmmm. Strange then that I never had the Miss Universe “gay gene”—never memorized the names of the winners, never bothered to read about their Q&A, never liked watching those shows and rooting for contestants.

The guy in the middle will eventually put up Club Dredd, the historic bar where Eraserheads and other local bands first found fame.

Directly behind me is my friend who’s now a successful doctor in the U.S. To his right is a guy who, if I’m not mistaken, last I heard he kinda flipped and was institutionalized; to this day I’m not sure if that’s a true story or an urban legend.

English Exercises That Are Fit For The Fit Japanese

I featured portions of this funny video a couple of seasons back. But just today I stumbled upon the unedited version. Apparently in the previously uploaded version, the scenes wherein the American thugs mugged the Japanese woman were edited out. But why? Were the Japanese afraid that the Americans would be insulted and demand an apology?

Anyway, let’s get physical and verbal! (For those who have never seen this, hold on to your seats lest you fall and really do an honest-to-goodness ROTFL.)



Damn, I should change my entry in Cokskiblue’s “iVlog, uBlog” project! The new entry will be “How to Vlog: A Step-By-Step Instructional Vlog” featuring me in a tight tee and short shorts, very 80s leg warmers, with matching bandana, and doing side-side-front-kick! while repeating over and over “You can add music! You can add music! You can add music!” in a high-pitched girly voice.

You Can Stand Watching This Umbrella-ella-ella

Sorry guys, I just had to put this here. After you watch this video, you’ll understand why.


Umbrella - Rihanna (lip dub in High Definition) from TP CMM on Vimeo.

I got this off AJ’s blog. It’s students from a Singaporean University doing a Mischievious Boys-and-Girls number to the tune of Rhianna’s “Umbrella”. You may not like the song, it’s okay don’t be alarmed. It’s just kiddie fun.

My favorite parts? [1] The guy with the umbrella in the hallway. Hindi siya masyadong bakla. In fact, straight-na-striaght nga si Dudeparetol. [2] Mr. Sadako, or should that be Sadoku?

L-O-V-E Spelled Backwards Is E-V-O-L

He looked at me, daring me to answer yet afraid that I would actually do so. “Why don’t you believe in true love?” he asked.

Seeing that look on his face I paused first, did some mental editing, and then I spoke.

“Oh, you got me wrong,” I said. “I didn’t say I don’t believe in true love. In fact, I do believe that love should be true and honest and genuine.”

His eyes relaxed with relief.

“What I don’t believe in,” I continued, “is everlasting love.”

Baffled eyes. Again.

“I don’t believe in love that lasts forever. Nothing lasts forever. Everything ends. It only seems forever because the other one dies first and everyone thinks, oh his love will go on and on, every night in my dreams. Yeah right. On and on—right onto the ocean floor. The moment he froze to death his love ended. The end. There’s always an end. Even if you have superfluous scenes with old Rose in the present day throwing the necklace into the ocean—‘Oops’?! Can you believe that?—you’ll still end up with credits. Even the whole Universe—that’s with a capital ‘U’, mind you—will collapse once again into a Singularity. With a capital ‘S’ no less. And that’s the beauty of it: you get a fleeting glimpse of the eternal, and then it ends. Maybe you’ll mourn, maybe you’ll grieve; maybe you’ll dance for joy. But the finiteness is what makes it so special. Otherwise, imagine being in love with the same person for all eternity. No wonder it sucks to be a vampire. In more ways than one.” Then I took a swig of San Mig Lite.

He was about to say something but I cut him off.

“Now let’s exempt God from this,” I said. “Or Buddha or Mohammed or any form of deity. The love of Supreme Beings is of a different plane, okay? They don’t count.”

“But I wasn’t—oh, never mind,” he said. Then he looked out the window, at the blinking lights of the city below.

“Just have another Lite,” I said, and pushed a bottle towards him.

The stars in the sky echoed the lights down below.

Undas The Way…

…aha, aha, I like it! Aha, aha.

Each year it seems like the cemetery gets less and less crowded compared to the previous one on November 1. That’s when we visit our dead at the Loyola Memorial Park in Marikina.

I remember how less commercialized it was back then. Outside the gates of the park they would put up small kiosks to sell cold drinks and some snacks. I remember when Shakey’s Pizza first put up a stall that sold slices of pizza. Through the years that small stall would become bigger and bigger until they put up a tent beside it to accommodate several tables and chairs and whole families could order whole pizzas and enjoy them right there. Now there’s also Jollibee; and just like Shakey’s, they offer free delivery right to your loved one’s gravesite.

We’d always leave the house around 9am, be at the park by 10am (we’d always park at the Loyola House of Studies then walk down the hill) and stay there until about 11:30am. Then we’d always have lunch out, because that’s the only time besides Christmas and New Year that the whole family gets together again.

Ever since 1982 when we had the first death in the family (my then 4-yr old brother died), I never missed going to the cemetery. That is, until today. I chose not to join them and just stay home and recuperate. A little after lunch my mom texted me: What do you want from Shakey’s? Garlic and cheese thin crust pizza, I answered.

Nothing like a little anti-aswang pizza to complete my November 1 experience.

uVlog, iVlog Back!

This is what happens when I’m stuck in the house the whole day.

I never thought I’d end up doing a vlog. But when I was going through Cokskiblue’s updated guidelines on his “uBlog, iVlog” Project, the song and the concept just popped into my head. Pop! And just like that, I realized: [1] my digital camera has video functions all along (“Doh!”); [2] the old iMovie software is so much friendlier than the new one; and [3] I still miss the Avid when it comes to video editing.

Meanwhile, why don’t you guys check out Cokskiblue’s project and join? I’m sure you guys have a mouthful to say regarding video blogging or vlogging. So go ahead, type away or shoot or speak. Whether you blog, vlog or podcast, say your piece.