THE heat is on…it's on the street…the heat is…(drum beat) on! Tananana-nan, tananana-nan…So goes the lyrics from the song popularized by Kenny Loggins way back in 1984 and was used as soundtrack to Eddie Murphy's American comedy film Beverly Hills Cop. Summer heat is really on and everybody is feelin' its ouch and freakin' its aching prick, so as the resurrection of the reklamadors. The march a la Edsa Revolt of the never ending complains from the resurrected and heated reklamadors started to pinch irritation to our benevolent ears. Complaining about the hot-heat every summer, yeah, cross your Malayan-browned fingers for the next summer there will be a snowfall, hurrah, should that lock the gibberish mouth of the reklamadors, hmmm, hope so.

For apparent reason, definitely it will not. Give them fifteen to 20 minutes enjoying the icy-white colds and after that prepare your bothered ears for a tremendous doom. Natural born reklamadors will always be, unquestionably a great reklamadors, sure they will highly toss and toss tremendous grumble and grouse, complaining its sudden gross change in the weather conditions, and will raise an eyebrows to that abnormalities, imagine snow in summer? Or, maybe perhaps, they will summon its too much coldness in the change front, blame the government and condemn the president. What a crazy world, dude, what an old aging mutating world.

Okay, just to save our bothered and bleeding ears from unending blood sheds, we isolate ourselves from every human creature suspect of complaining, feels like mutant, not the ninja turtles but with Professor X, nice idea, huh? We backpack bundle of Super Dry with some plastic-wrapped mani and chili-crunchy 100 gms. barbeque-flavored Boy Bawang, (oops, don't forget the suka with crashed siling labuyo, pinch of salt and garlic) and hurriedly like-fugitives (mutants, whatever) trek to the nearest land field where the only aged mangga trees and its cool shades are waiting. Let's drink to that, we all need some time of stillness for our ears for a while, right? No more reklamos for a moment or two, no more grubby and grouchy reklamador's looks, just a merry-drinking of ice-cold beer and a munch of packed pulutan under the shade of a mango tree. Hay, good thing when you're in the province, there's always a nice and quiet place for hiding out, not only for the reklamadors but as well as from the tyrant-bugging society.

So, everytime you feel tired and beat, and the world is starting to get you down, let's drink to that and climb up to where the air is fresh and sweet, far away from the hustling crowd and rat-race noise down in the busy stressing street. Hurrah, hik, hurrah!