Mitsuru

In 1880, Gobernadorcillo* Higino Templado conceptualized and constructed Tiwi's first town plaza in order to provide the community with a wholesome place for people to gather on Sundays and holidays to relax and watch the Comedia or local plays. Municipal President* Mateo Clidoro (1926-1931) initiated the naming of the town plaza to Plaza Templado in honor of Higino Templado during his incumbency. His successor, Mayor Lino Clutario (1931-1934), with monetary donations from the townspeople, was instrumental in erecting a bust of the late mayor Higino Templado at the center of the plaza, where it remained until it was relocated to give way to the building of the "Kiosko" during the term of Mayor Eleodoro Cortezano (1948-1951). Mayor Cristito Cirujales (1952-1955) contributed a water fountain in front of the kiosk, while Mayor Jose C. Templado (1956-1959) in turn built a concrete fence surrounding Plaza Templado in the mid-1950's. Some of these contributions can be ...

Tomorrow will be the inauguration of the Tiwi Town Plaza, which will be officially named Plaza Templado. The Sangguniang Bayan of Tiwi recently passed an ordinance re-affirming the name as it has been historically known (based on oral history and documented evidence) since the time of municipal mayor Mateo Clidoro (1925-1931). Plaza Templado was named after Higino Templado, the sixty-sixth Gobernadorcillo (mayor) of Tiwi. Who is Mayor Higino Templado? Here's a short biography of the man: Sr. Don Higino Templado, the sixty-sixth gobernadorcillo (1879-1884) of Tiwi, Albay was not only a leader, but a builder. Among his notable accomplishments were the founding of barangay Cararayan, the renaming of Cagintilan to Mayong, the propagation of the Abaca industry, the Cararayan-Cale road, the Nagas River Control Project, and one of the earlier versions of the municipal building called the Tribunal, among many others. He was also instrumental in the planning and laying out of ...

"Plaza Templado" was mentioned in this book by esteemed historian Danilo Madrid Gerona (also the author of "Ferdinand Magellan, The Armada de Maluco and the European Discovery of the Philippines”), which was commissioned by the Province of Albay under Gov. Joey Salceda and published in 2013 during the term of mayor Ami Villanueva.

This is a picture that I grabbed from the LGUTiwi FB page of the ongoing redesign and enhancement of the Plaza in front of the municipal building. What caught my attention amid the chaos of construction and what have you was the concrete base of the flagpole. I can still vividly remember the story behind said structure. One day in the late 70s or early 80s, while supervising the construction of the koi (Japanese carp) ponds & water fountains in front of the old 'municipio', my father, Aki Shimizu, was asked by mayor Oriel Clutario if he could improve the old flagpole in the plaza. He immediately asked his workers to gather the materials needed for the simple design that he sketched on a paper bond in haste: bricks made at the Tiwi Ceramic Plant and corals that were brought from Corangon earlier; they finished the job by late afternoon of the same day. Of course, as with many of his public landscape projects and works in Tiwi, my father did it for free. The koi ...

at dusk, the sun paints brilliant, surreal, dreamy hues through Ann Arbor skies.

in Huron river's calm waters the kayakers at dusk stalk the setting sun, stir the proverbial pot and disturb the gods.

My second Modiano. I read Dora Bruder back in 2004. I had no idea who Patrick Modiano was back then, but I remember very well how I managed to pick up his book, together with Amos Oz' Where the Jackals Howl, at a Book Sale outlet near the LRT Station in Pedro Gil because I was looking for something to read to ease the boredom of waiting in line for my interview at the US Embassy. Now that Modiano is a Nobel laureate, I think it's the right time to start reading his works again.

yup, i still collect (audio books, rock, operas, musicals, classics et al) and play them on a vintage player from time to time. and at 10 cents for a trip down memory lane i cannot complain- a cheap hobby. a flashback to my teenage years when i used to save up on my allowance and purchase those old rock and roll albums from the local record store.

My fifth film noir of the weekend. "The stuff that dreams are made of." ~ never gets old.

I was on my way back to my hotel room; the place was eerily quiet -- the only audible sounds came from my footfalls -- when suddenly, I felt a rush of cold air brush against my skin; the hair on my neck promptly stood on end. I turned around and flicked a quick shot from my iPhone hoping to catch some creatures lurking within in the process.  And to my chagrin, there was nothing there but just an empty,- deserted hallway.  #historicwestinbookcadilla c

crazy adventures, powerful trips: booze, drugs, women and motorcycles. born to be wild.

after 2 episodes, i am going AWOL from watching this show. Fox should dismiss the scribes and discharge the cast. humor in uniform is dead.

Yoshihiro Tatsumi 's 1956 thriller Black Blizzard provides us a look into his past, when he was still a raw and inexperienced writer and mangaka . Tatsumi, in several interviews, never hides the fact that he has 'conflicting' feelings about Black Blizzard to which he described it as "nostalgic for the past, for the days of my youth" but it's also "like exposing something shameful and private" that he would rather bury and have "hidden from sight." But the work in itself is not bad for a twenty- one year old aspiring and struggling writer- cum- cartoonist. On the contrary it probably revolutionized the alternative comic scene in Japan in those days that eventually made him a gekiga pioneer. Tatsumi's unorthodox visual narrative is like a study in contradiction; it was simple but is actually ahead of his time. The focus and angles are like those that can be seen from the eyes of a master filmmaker; the drawings speak f...

I bought this book for a sonnet--err song ($3) during one of my forays at a local flea market. Not bad for an 1878 illustrated edition of The Complete Works of the Bard, eh?  William Shakespeare would have been 449 today.

Last Song Syndrome: Corey Hart's Sunglasses at Night, a song I never heard for more than 2 decades. Damn Detroit FM radio; now I got these lines stuck in my head- "Don't switch the blade on the guy in shades, oh no! Don't masquerade with the guy in shades, oh no! Although I hate the said song, I used to like his other power ballad and hit, Never Surrender, which won him the 1985 Juno Award for "Single of the Year" in Canada. Cheesy and all, I still love the 80s!

my old acoustic guitar,  the sole witness  during those rare  times where i can  wear  my heart on  my sleeve.

I found a long-sought soft self-comforting freedom a heart-rousing understanding governed not by the common reason but by untamed emotions.

Behind the steady finger that pulls the trigger and the sharp eye that peeks through the crosshairs are men like Gunnery Sergeant Kyle Swanson and the enigmatic Juba, two snipers on different sides of the spectrum but with one common mission- to exterminate anybody on their path with 'one shot, one kill." Add Baghdad, Black Ops, Al Qaeda, Chemical weapons and the Iranian connection make Dead Shot a good read; a novel that is just all right but still manages to intrigue.

...early Sunday morning, driving on a deserted Southfield Freeway. the sun's rays are trying to break through the grey clouds' spell. Michigan in winter; beautiful and lonely.

Another day, another wasted day. Another rotten day has passed,  spent in this dark old  room, an abyss where not a sliver of light, have penetrated its four corners for ages -- the dominion of the damned, where sanity is slowly eroding inside the battered head. In the Brain; where the never-ending labyrinth of gelatinous gyri and sulci, continues to boggle and rattle, the spirit of the demented mind. Pitter patter-raindrops spatter-eat the matter-in the platter- helpless tapper-leader-follower-naked in the shower- nobody answers... this never-ending childish prattle- taxes the mind,  burns the soul, castrates the emotions and rips off the heart Of everything. In isolation, inside this padded room, the only place for lunatics- lost in space, locked in total darkness- a prisoner condemned into oblivion. This smokey room; where the stale air flew in circles, where the mind somersaults like the high-flyer in a circus. This smelly room; where the s...