The Adventures of D & G

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2006-06-22T19:43:00.000-04:00

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Confessions Of A Selfaholic

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On Kobe, Numbers, And Luck

2006-05-08T10:07:00.000-04:00

Still hurting and in denial from LA Lakers' recent humbling (read: big time) loss to Phoenix Suns (61 percent field-goal shooting!) in the Western Conference Playoffs, I'm coursing my Quan (a loosely defined attribute uniting athletic skill or knowledge with love and respect -- or something only Cuba Gooding Jr. completely understands) into something relevant: Kobe Bryant and his jersey.

Over the weekend, Kobe announced his plan to switch jersey numbers, from No. 8 to No. 24. Apparently, he sported a No. 24 jersey shooting hoops in high school back in Philadelphia. His spectacular performance there led him to an equally spectacular career in basketball, thus the desire for a switch in numbers. He wanted the switch for this season but didn't get to apply in time.

"It’s time to start a new chapter," Bryant said over ESPN, "(for the) second leg of my career."

So he got sentimental and wants to commemorate his roots, big deal! But if this is his segue to nailing another championship next season, then I'm all for it.

In fact, I've taken the liberty to consult this switch with my numerologist over an email, just for kicks. She says No. 24 is better than No. 8 especially in physical activities such as playing sports. No. 24 translates to No. 6, which is highly considered as lucky; Pursuit to good outcomes require no-sweat, luck comes without working for it. In contrast, No. 8 means exerting a good deal of effort to get good results.

Now if my numerologist's summations are correct, then, we'd see Bryant in jersey No. 24 next season, winning games effortlessly.

"I’m really excited about it," Bryant said. "I’m pumped up about it."

Thanks, those are reassuring enough. Game 7? What Game 7? --D

Not Getting Any

2006-05-04T23:44:00.000-04:00

Browsing through The Independent today, I came across Rob Brezesny's Free Will Astrology. Actually, it was G who, after giving up on the paper's tough crossword, took notice of the horoscope and pointed out this week's forecast according to the stars. Under the sign Libra, which I belong to, reads:

"Espertantina, a town in Brazil, celebrates May 9 as Orgasm Day. As much as I'd love to import this enlightened holiday to my home country of America, it might be difficult in the foreseeable future. Why? Because religious fundamentalists have been spreading their infectious mental disease, seducing people into mistrusting their bodies' natural urges. Meanwhile, the advertising and entertainment industries try to sell us the glamour of being in a chronic state of titillation without satisfaction. I'm calling on you Libras to do what you can to reisist these cultural trends. The astrological omens say this is an auspicious time for you to seek out, cultivate, and honor your own orgasms."

In short, I'm supposed to mark May 9 as a dreadful day when I won't be getting any; I won't get laid; No carnal pursuits, or else!

Hmmm, that 'else' must be something damning for all those born between 23 September and 22 October to abstain from sex. What to make of this? I dunno. What I'm sure of is I'm not marking my calendar just yet... --D

A Day Of Absence

2006-05-02T22:57:00.000-04:00

If there was such a thing called 'A Day of Absence' to commemorate by when I was in high school, it would have saved a lot of students the trouble of coming up with lame excuses and trips to detention for skipping classes. But yesterday's 'Day of Absence' was not some silly stunt born out of adolescent boredom or academic burnout. It was actually called 'A Day Without Immigrants,' when immigrants boycott work and school for a day in protest of bills passed in both the US House and Senate early this year that make felons of illegal immigrants and make immigration enforcement and citizenship process stricter for them. From Long Island to Long Beach, Lower East Side to Los Angeles, huge street protests were organized to show the economic importance and influence the immigrants (legal or illegal) have in the daily grind of the American economy.

The country, founded and labored by immigrants over centuries, is engulfed with unemployment, crime, and (the current favorite of an excuse) terrorism -- social problems that are conveniently blamed on the influx of immigrants out to chase the proverbial American dream or cross to greener pastures.

I will not chew out a mouthful on the issue because it's all over most, if not all, media organizations anyway. Besides, my opinions may be deemed biased because I am an immigrant-in-waiting (so to speak). What I would like to do is raise a crucial point that may be a twig in a branch of the issue; well, it's actually more of a question: Where are the Asian immigrants? After all, they are stakeholders of this issue, too.

Perhaps because of the recurrent border protection concerns with Mexico and Cuba, the issue is fixed on the Latino community in the US. True, of the 11.1 million who are in the country illegally, 78 percent are Latino but whatever happened to the 13 percent who are of Asian origin? Based in Immigration records in 2000, the largest group of undocumented Asians were Chinese (23 percent), followed by Filipinos (17 percent), Indians (14 percent) and Koreans (11 percent). So where were they in all of these protests across the US? Surely, as one of the most persecuted and discriminated immigrant races in US history (eg Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882 and Asiatic Barred Zone Act of 1917), Asian-Americans (numbering almost to 15 million now) could at least sympathize with and rally behind the cause of their Latino counterparts.

The debate, of course, is still hot whether the 'Day Without Immigrants' national protest served as a catalyst favorable to the immigration cause or only resulted to fear of (and therefore all the more reason to pass measures to curtail) the expanding clout of immigrants in the American public; but this issue definitely warrants a more pro-active role among the Asian-American community. This is a perfect time to disprove the popular belief and misconception that Asians are a passive lot. This is a perfect time to prove that Asians sincerely embrace the political and civil liberties Americans claim to be champions of. This is the time to be present, to speak and be heard, and to be counted. In a chance to contribute for change, absence in this political exercise won't make others grow fonder of them. --D

In Kobe We Trust

2006-05-01T11:49:00.000-04:00

Wearing my 4-year old lucky Lakers shorts, I sit on the edge of the TV couch, panic stricken, ready to throw a Buster Bluth fit as the game clock winds down to 0.7 of a second in the 4th. The Los Angeles Lakers trails Phoenix Suns by 2, and Steve Nash is in possession of the ball. Damnit! Why does he have to be so darn good? As I knuckle under yet another display of Nash's brilliance, a miracle pops up in the form of a quick steal from Smush Parker. Parker quickly passes the ball to Kobe Bryant. Bryant runs a fastbreak, heads to the paint, and wildly throws the ball in the air as he entangles himself in a Tim Thomas and Shawn Marion tight defense. And then... swoosh! The ball sinks in. The buzzer blares. And the game extends to a 5 minute overtime.

Bryant hugs Parker by the head and says something like: 'You did good, you motherfucker!' (go ahead, turn on the TiVo, re-watch the game, and read Bryant's lips). And just as the Suns threaten to upset the game in overtime, Nash makes another turnover and forces a jump with Luke Walton. At 6'8", Walton, of course, reaches the ball first and taps it to Bryant. With a fraction of a second remaining, Bryant beats the buzzer with a 17-footer, sinking the ball and nailing an improbable 99-98 victory boosting the team's chances (3-1) in the first round Western Conference playoff series.

What a thrill ride of a game! Bryant repeats his game-winning bucket against Phoenix in game 3 back in 2000 (2.6 seconds remaining, 97-96 upset). Deja vu? Wait until Bryant half-raises a fist in the air, juxtapose a Michael Jordan winning moment montage, presto! A likeness to greatness, indeed.

Of course, Jordan is Jordan and Bryant still shakes off his indiscretions-past (read: rape charges, admission to adultery, and, by Phil Jackson's appraisal, 'uncoachable' persona). But it's hard to equally shake off the brilliance that is Kobe, especially with his recent 81 point scoring -- second all-time high in NBA history -- against Toronto last January.

He was 25 when he earned his 10,000th point, making him the youngest to achieve such feat in NBA history. And with former teammate Shaquille O'Neal, he enabled the Lakers franchise three consecutive NBA championships (2000-2002).

Sure, he can be a 'ball hog' at times, but come crunchtime, who to better trust the ball with and ensure a game-winning shot than Kobe Bryant? --D

A Smoothie Transition

2006-04-27T11:45:00.000-04:00

In my quest to lose the dreaded beer belly (motivated by a $100 challenge), I made a switch from cholesterol-filled breakfast (mmmmmmmm, bacon!) to a healthy glassful smoothie.

For those unfamiliar, a smoothie is a blended, nutritional beverage that is perhaps a spin-off of the more common and popular milkshake.

David Zinczenko of the Abs Diet fame, describes it as a 'whip(ped) up, belly-busting, versatile powerfood'. A smoothie fills up the belly like any meal with the good stuff (fiber, protein, carbohydrates, etc.) in and the bad ones (fat, cholesterol) out. Okay, I won't try to oversell the smoothie here. I'll just post my breakfast smoothie recipe as a pay-it-forward gesture:

1 cup low fat milk
2 tbsp non fat vanilla flavored yogurt
1 tbsp peanut butter
1 scoop whey protein milk powder
1 handful of plain (unsmoked, non-roasted) almonds
1 banana
6 ice cubes

Dump everything in one reliable blender, push the button, and blend until the ice cubes are completely crushed. Good for 2-3 glass servings (take one for breakfast and another after a workout). In lieu of banana, I recommend strawberries. Yum-meh! --D

Health, Sex, And Cancer

2006-04-18T22:55:00.000-04:00

Catching up on my reading backlog over Easter weekend, I came across one of many health trivias inside the February issue of Men's Health magazine. It reports that men are most likely to be deficient in zinc. Now zinc may not be as popular as Vitamin C (especially these days what with the onslaught of flu and airborn virus) but the magazine suggests that a deficiency in zinc nutrient has serious repercussions on one's well-being that include hair loss, skin lesions, diarrhea, and even death!

Men are at risk because, as the magazine says, they 'lose 5 milligrams of zinc with each ejaculation [...] [which is] one third of the recommended daily dose.' And with low zinc levels, men produce 'poor sperm quality and less testosterone' meaning a significant decrease in physical endurance, memory ability, and loss of libido. Yes my friends, oversex has its downside, too. So how to know if one is zinc deficient? Well, the magazine makes it simple to detect: white spots on fingernails. How to combat? Eat meat, raisins, beans, and seafood.

I don't know when exactly I became a health nut. What I do know is I have tried experimenting with my food variety intake since senior year to compensate for my animosity towards and distaste over vegetables. I am a prime candidate for diabetes, I know (I have my mom and my physician to acknowledge for that prognosis). Lately though, I have been particularly sensitive about health because (1) I made an outrageous and impossible $100 bet with my college bud to build a six-pack abs by July this year, and; (2) Perhaps because I have relatives currently in combat with cancer whose stories ring regret but also advise caution and prudence.

Although I think I'm still young to fear death as an inevitable element in life, I believe it's never too early to start a smart, healthy lifestyle. Sure, there's a grain of truth on the saying 'People who spend so much time watching their health have no time to enjoy it', but a large slice of truth goes with the saying 'an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.'

Now if I could just enjoy beans and veggies, I'd win half the darn battle. --D

Easter Reflections 2

2006-04-16T23:34:00.000-04:00

Isn't it exciting to be a Catholic this Easter? Nope, I didn't put that lead just to arrest attention; it just is. The meat of this excitement comes from the seemingly progressive attempts to shake the foundations of the Catholic Church down to its very conservative core by controversies from recent discoveries, developments, and debates.

Of course, the Church has been plagued with controversies for centuries but of late, it has been in a defensive mode like a fifth grade bully being ganged up by a mob of hostile and fed-up first grade nerds.

The recent fissure started with the death of the much-loved John Paul II whose papacy was taken over by the ultra-conservative Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger in 2005. By the great seer Nostradamus' prophecy, the new pope will be assassinated that will signal the end of the Catholic Church ("Then comes pope number 112, who will flee Rome because of an attack by Muslims"). For many, the prophecy strikes a sensitive chord with the current hostility among Islam fundamentalists against the capitalist (and with Dubya's leadership, imperialist) West. His monicker as God's Rotweiller doesn't calm nerves either.

Then there's Dan Brown. His popular novel, The Da Vinci Code, propounds a gripping conspiracy theory detailing a grand cover-up of a fictional descendant of Jesus Christ living among us today. This theory is causing ruckus because physical and visual proofs, as well as scholarly truths, are mentioned and presented in the book; supposed proofs and truths that were inconspicuously concealed by the Church.

And just a couple of weeks ago, the National Geographic Society has trumpeted the reconstruction and translation of the 2000 year-old Gospel of Judas. Unearthed in Egypt, the document contradicts the centuries-old portrayal of Judas Iscariot as the disciple who betrayed and sold Jesus to the Romans. On the contrary, at least according to the document, Judas was the most-favored disciple whose actions were at Jesus' bidding.

The Church, of course, has made its arguments known on these controversies dispelling rumors of an unstable leadership; demarcating centuries-old truths from modern-day fiction, and; dismissing results of discoveries as by-products of the eccentric nature of men less divine.

Over the course of Holy Week, I was engrossed with these controversies, watching specials on TV, reading debates and developments on print and over the internet, and reflecting in general on how these affect my somewhat lethargic faith of late. It sounds a bit shallow and cosmetic to take a sudden interest in religion because of popular, media-oriented issues, but yeah, I do feel like crap. I take pride in my relationship with God: casual and personal -- beyond the trappings of grand ceremonies and traditional pageantry associated with an uptight and exacting Church.

Having said that, it also becomes an easy excuse to distance myself from God and faith, per se because, as pervasive as the voice in the reality TV show Big Brother, I feel God is always there anyway, as is faith. A housemate doesn't spend long hours inside the confession booth and open up in confidence to Big Brother; rather, a housemate go about his or her chores and whatever task is at hand to outsmart the others and win. Now I know the analogy doesn't seem solid. But what I want to say, today being Easter, is that inasmuch as I want to win in life, I'd like to spend some regular time inside the booth for a change. I'd like to be casual and personal but deep and involved. And this time, I'd like to experience faith beyond controversies and the excitement they generate. -- D

See previous blog entry Easter Reflections (Posted 27 March 2005)

Chinese Redux

2006-04-01T11:33:00.001-05:00

I received an email from a Filipino-Chinese friend who happen to read my previous blog entry about my recent vacation in Manila that turned into an all Chinese experience. He wrote in jest that (1) I should be thankful for the Chinese for bringing the comforts and perks I enjoyed, and; (2) the Chinese global invasion is inevitable unless Indians take over Britain by default (read: mass immigration). I didn't exactly get the drift of the joke but I did laugh out the proceeding list of mock Chinese phrases he sent in time for April Fools:

Learn Chinese in 5 minutes (must read out loud)

1. That's not right: Sum Ting Wong
2. Ayou harboring a fugitive: Hu Yu Hai Ding
3. See me ASAP: Kum Hia!
4. Stupid man: Dum Fuk
5. Small horse: Tai Ni Po Ni
6. Did you go to the beach: Wai Yu So Tan
7. I bumped the coffee table: Ai Bang Mai Fa Kin Ni
8. I think you need a face lift: Chin Tu Fat
9. It's very dark in here: Wai So Dim
10. I thought you were on a diet: Wai Yu Mun Ching
11. This is a tow away zone: No Pah King
12. Our meeting is scheduled for next week: Wai Yu Kum Nao?
13. Staying out of sight: Lei Ying Lo
14. He's cleaning his automobile: Wa Shing Ka
15. Your body odor is offensive: Yu Stin Ki Pu
16. Great: Fa Kin Su Pah!

See related blog entry Of Bean Curd And All Else Chinese (Posted: 09 March 2006)

Dodging Disaster

2006-03-19T14:17:00.000-05:00

I don't know if you're familiar with the hit TV show Lost but my return to California from Manila yesterday has made me think that recent events may have led me out of similar Lost elements: danger, disaster, and, yes, death.

You see, I am a Greg Focker when traveling. I humor the gods of travel with all sorts of misfortune that an ordinary traveler would not encounter -- late airport train, unusual highway traffic and weather, overbooked plane, holidays on flight waitlist, plane seats next to the john or a mother and (wailing) child, lost luggage... you name it, 'been there, done that. Save for the occasional luck (eg, seat upgrade, free lounge use), which comes rarely, I am perhaps doomed to become a Lost cast in real life (hard knock on wood).

So it was not surprising to receive a call from my travel agent saying my flight was canceled and moved to a later date. It was not surprising either that my name wasn't picked from a seat upgrade raffle. And, of course, it wasn't a surprise to hear G irate and displeased over the news.

As it turned out, a series of unfortunate events transpired during the course of my flight delay. First, the airline I was booked into had trouble over radio transmission. It would have been impossible to track the plane during take-offs and landing and even emergencies. Two, the LAX was on a tight security on the day I was originally scheduled to arrive due to a certain level of threat (terror, perhaps). It would have been impossible to slip through customs the shrimp paste, fish sauce, native sweets, and a bagfull of stuff that are subject to tax or confiscation. Also, with a one-year open ticket, I would have been thorougly questioned, and perhaps, held under strong suspicion by the immigration officer in such heightened conditions. Last, a carjacking chase along 101 that ended in a bloody shootout on State Street happened a day prior. As recounted by the cab driver on my way home (who seem to be a witness to the entire mishap), it was a complete chaos: knotted and bumper traffic, canceled public transport, indiscriminate road blocks, and a helpless yet all too peevish public. My long anticipated sweet reunion with G would have been foiled by that, for sure.

What difference did that delay make? A lot. I have dodged a possible plane crash, a great deal of complications at US immigration or customs, a lousy reunion with G, a very expensive cab fare, and a string of undue stress, tension, and anxiety. I guess I'm no Greg Focker after all. --D

See related blog entries:
Jinxed! ( Posted: 10 October 2005) New York! New York! (Posted: 01 February 2005) 'Til Death Do Us Park (Posted: 06 March 2006)

Homecoming 2

2006-03-18T18:54:00.000-05:00

As I kill time inside the airline lounge awaiting my connecting flight to LA, I thank Phantom Planet for singing a song about coming home. With feelings, I quote (and sing):

We’ve been on the run

Driving in the sun

Looking out for No. 1

California here we come

Right back where we started from

Hustlers grab your guns

Your shadow weighs a ton

Driving down the 101

California here we come

Right back where we started from

California!

Here we come!

On the stereo

Listen as we go

Nothing’s gonna stop me now

California here we come

Right back where we started from

Pedal to the floor

Thinkin’ of the roar

Gotta get us to the show

California here we come

Right back where we started from

California! Here we come!

Okay, so it isn't exactly a coming home song. Nonetheless, California... I can't wait, here I come! --D

Travel & Tour

2006-03-16T11:33:00.000-05:00

Taking respite from chaos that resembled Metro Manila, my family and I spent a long weekend in Hong Kong. Not exactly a first choice but it was a destination where our schedules and itineraries jived, and personal tastes and opinions conciliated. The dealbreaker, of course, was the newly-opened Disneyland. My nephew would have thrown tantrums if we went to see temples in Bangkok or museums in Singapore or elsewhere boring in the eyes of a 4-year old.

Truth be told, we feel relieved we made the family vacation happen. For years, it was just another thought in a bubble, floating idly around each own's subconscious in earnest hope it bursts into reality. Vacations in real life were often limited to places proximal to Manila, and overseas trips were made individually and more to do with business than leisure.

Booked in a tour, we stayed in Canton for a night before heading to Shenzhen and Hong Kong.

As with any tour package, trips to odd companies were inevitable. We endured hours of demonstrations and went through offers and bargains of products ranging from high end jewelry to traditional silk and embroideries; from herbal ointments and teas to souvenir keychains and nailclippers. Not all were game, though. As without fail, the malcontent Pinoy came about with gripes and grumbles, blaming and bitching, criticisms and chidings thrown wildly about throughout the tour. Of course it helped the tourguide knew nothing (save for a few) about Filipino language.

The highlight of the trip was an all-day, free-and-easy itinerary inside Disney. Before, trips to Hong Kong were about Ocean Park, Victoria Peak, Nathan Road (for cheap mobile phones), and yes, the ubiquitous Giordano shops (for the viajeras and first time tourists). And so Disney is a new come-on for Hong Kong visitors with no budget to fly to Anaheim or Florida, or even Tokyo. There weren't enough rides, though. So we did what Pinoys do best on occasions such as then: take photo shots. My nephew was overwhelmed, no doubt; pictures don't lie. First time is always sweet.

Back in Manila, everyone was dead tired. Too tired that my sister left her bag inside a cab whose driver was both cunning and corrupt. All her essentials were in the bag: wallet, mobile phone, passport, digicam, etc. Had she not been quick to collect her prudence and wits and immediately report the incident to airport police and over AM radio broadcast, the bag would'nt be recovered and the supposed happy and sweet family weekend would end on a very sad and sour note.

By Saturday, I'll be flying back to California. The Hong Kong trip was a great way to cap a month-long vacation in Manila. It gave me enough memories to remember the family more by and enough stories to reminisce with them about. A repeat is in order -- no to tours and dubious cabs next time around, though. --D

Of Bean Curd And All Else Chinese

2006-03-09T22:47:00.000-05:00

Ever wake up and stare blankly on whatever image your eyes first lay sight on? And when consciousness finally kicks in, do you start to actually read or make sense of whatever thing your eyes have lingered too long on?

Well, I did. My eyes got fixed on my pillow's tag that read: Made In China.

Strange as it seems, but those three words set the tone of my day (of my entire vacation, perhaps).

I had soya bean curd (taho) for breakfast, rice cake (tikoy, a Chinese New Year treat) for morning snack, sweet and sour pork for lunch, and a halo-halo (shave ice with fruit bits) for afternoon snack at a faux Chinese fast food joint. On top of these, while I was on my way to a dinner with friends at (guess no more) a popular uptown Chinese restaurant, the car radio blared Wishful Thinking by the 80s pop band China Crisis (too much, I know!).

God almighty, everything's Chinese!

I tell you, it's a grand conspiracy. The Chinese are staging a great global invasion. And this is shrewdly happening under the very nose of modern day superpowers, i.e. the US, Britain, and Japan. Those in the academe and into trade and economics are deeply sucked into this phenomenon, juncture, or whatever appropriate word that may describe this development. The idiom China Syndrome has been redefined and, for all we know, there may just be a movement out there imploring for the advancement of this Chinese invasion -- regardless of China's GDP performance -- collectively chanting something like:

Thank you China!
Thank you chow mein and beef broccoli
Thank you cheap labor
Thank you cheap products and knockoffs
Thank you Yao Ming
Thank you China!

Now don't get me wrong. I have nothing against the Chinese. I don't intend to antagonize a future master, or a race that can generate earthquakes and bury civilizations with a series of simultaneous jumping jacks. Hell, no!

Truth is, to show I'm all for anything Chinese, I'm set to spend a weekend in Disneyland... Hong Kong. Thank you, China indeed! --D

'Til Death Do Us Park

2006-03-06T03:31:00.000-05:00

I had a near death experience. Although not as elaborate as any plot plucked from a Wes Craven or Stephen King movie, the experience was a close call.

It happened over the weekend when I spent an overnight get-together with friends (one of those must-attend, meet-and-catch-up kind in my short furlough-slash-vacation of sorts) in the outskirts of Manila. No, the near death experience didn’t occur then -- horror flicks with a climax transpiring at night in the countryside are sooo overrated (although we did watch Sixth Sense by midnight just for kicks).

It did happen the day after, and in broad daylight.

Before I hit the expressway and head back home, I had to make a stopover (an errand, if you will) at this dairy farm the province is famous for to buy cottage cheese and fresh milk for my mom who wanted to take a break from her daily consumption of the usual preservatives-packed, urban supermarket kind of produce. Thinking the purchase would not take much time, I hesitated to park at an open designated spot and thought it best to just pull over at the curb I'm on where old trees provide a generous shade over my already weary but reliable 10-year old Toyota. I was about to switch off the engine when my friends had that look of disapproval and coaxed me to park at the open spot instead. Not wanting to be the odd ball among (obviously) law-abiding friends, I moved my car into the sunny spot and lightly tapped the dashboard, subconsciously saying It's gonna be okay! like a kid consoling his sick dog.

And then, a wild crack and a loud thud followed.

A large branch, the size of a log, disjointed and fell from what appeared to be a century-old tree onto the exact same curb I mulled over to park. The branch tore itself on impact; sunlight pierced onto the debris from where the branch once canopied, and; leaves rustled from a sudden blow of afternoon wind -- as if in grief, as if to mourn.

For me and my friends, shock and disbelief slowly seeped in; and in silence, what-ifs were entertained and prayers were spoken.

It was Sunday. Perfect day to reflect. And in reflection, I took a couple of lessons to heart: One, enjoy the company of family and friends; life is short, carpe diem! And two, park the Goddamn car right! --D

Quote Of The Day

2006-02-18T15:32:00.000-05:00

There are only two emotions in a plane: boredom and terror. Orson Welles

The day is warm as the sun is out. The airport bus took the Pacific Highway, averting weekend gridlocks on 101.

It's 3pm. Too darn early for my 845pm flight to Manila. I stare out. The weather's just perfect. Too darn perfect to waste inside an airport bus.

I need sleep. Why it takes like forever to pack 2 luggages and a carry-on for a short vacation is just beyond normal. It has always been like that. A bad travel habit that seems to die hard. The end result is torture: a hangover deprived of caffeine.

I need sleep, for real.

Perhaps I'll just take a nap. Try to slumber off stress and weariness from last night's lapse in self-organization. And maybe, just maybe, provoke later on the plane an emotion brighter than Orson Welles's sentiments... --D

Homecoming

2006-02-08T18:12:00.000-05:00

After being away for a time, going home is always an occasion to find delight in; to feel excited about; to overwhelm oneself with. This is all the more true when returning home from a long stay overseas that, say, an OFW would overlook travel hassles, i.e. expensive plane fares, long hours of bad airline service, rude immigration officials, and bureaucratic airport personnel, with the thought of or seeing someone familiar (parents, siblings, families, etc.) waiting eagerly across the airport customs counter.

Ah, airport reunions! I kill time on stressful stopovers observing couples or families reunite in sheer bliss and -- allow me to describe without being too obvious that I worked in PR for two years -- these are just absolute Mastercard moments: Priceless.

A week from today, I’ll be heading back to Manila after two months (that capped off a three-year study) in Japan and six months of touring the US (trying hardest to sound like a rock band member here *I wish*). I go home every year and the excitement is always there. Well, almost always; Not this time.

Weird, I know.

I’m not saying it’s completely absent; I AM excited (okay, I’m being complicated)! I guess, what I am trying to say here is this: I yearn to go home but I hesitate to leave just yet. It’s not like I’m in an indecisive situation here (a cut from Gattaca reel suddenly flashes with Ethan Hawke whispering to Uma Thurman “When you finally find the chance to leave, you find a reason to stay,” or something close to that) but I feel I’m home here as much as I’m home in Manila. In fact, if it were not for my visa constraints, I'd postpone my trip back home.

Ah, you say, the plot thickens! Well, yes, not that I intend to omit this bit of a detail that I'm still in the process of earning a green card, but true: I am coming home because my six-month stay is up.

But it's not that I am forced to leave or anything; my visa is still good for seven more years. I don't have intentions to overstay by illegal means either; only a personal resolve to restart my three-year dormant career here in the US. And no, it's not a by-hook-or-by-crook situation but more of a testing-the-waters kind. So, OK, what if I am one of those doomed-if-I-stay, scorned-if-I-leave Pinoys out to look for the proverbial 'greener pastures'? Shoot me!

Nationalism aside (as an entire blog entry might perhaps warrant), G and I plan to settle here in US -- for good. Now, it may seem strange to some but starting out on our own for real (as opposed to being mobile and temporary as it were in Japan) is an exciting experience I relish and deem responsible to go through, i.e., scouting for and furnishing an apartment, familiarizing with neighbors and environment, etc.; thus, the hesitation to leave for home just yet.

But at the end of the day, logic and reason kick in: that I’ll be home to see my family and check on friends (which are exciting altogether) in Manila, and; that I’ll fly back to California after a relatively short month, anyway.

I DO miss my family and I DO want to visit them back in Manila. I reckon I should spend as much time with them as possible before I settle and reestablish (and get tangled up with) my career for good overseas -- what with my mom turning 62 this year.

Surely too, I'll miss G and our new apartment and all else new in our life together here in sunny California but only for a good while. I guess for now, I'm just going through the motions until everything falls into wherever good place they fit.

And while I'm thinking of the brighter side of things, imagine this: two homecomings in a month! Nothing but excitement, yeah? And twice over to boot!--D

Gender And The Gingerbread Man

2006-01-10T14:09:00.000-05:00

On my way to a drive-thru at McDees for another unoriginal breakfast, I tuned in to this FM station that features a Stupid News segment in its morning program. This segment, among other equally outrageous ones, chronicles recent events that people would find, well, stupid. One of the news that stood out was a cooperative in Indiana selling politically-correct labeled pastries with the Gingerbread Man becoming the Gingerbread Person.

Trivial? Yes. Stupid? No.

I say trivial because renaming the Gingerbread was all too forthcoming. In fact, it was done a bit late. Anyone would've expected it to happen soon, what with the political-correctness campaign turning into a movement of sorts in the 1990s. And we are, after all, living in a politically-correct, gender-sensitive, non-discriminating world -- or atleast attempt and aspire to. Surely, Martin Luther King or Rosa Parks didn't die famous for nothing; Surely, Judith Butler's or Gloria Steinem's books aren't just chick lits. They stand for something significant; True testaments of change, of something progressive.

The Gingerbread Person today may tickle and stretch one's sense of humor or strike one's fancy on semantics but at the end of the day, it is the Gingerbread Man no more. Gingerbread Person... yeah, it does sound progressive. --D

Best Of 2005

2006-01-01T09:27:00.000-05:00

Happy New Year!

New Year celebrations are usually attached with feelings of overwhelm that hang on everyone's shoulders almost in burdensome fashion but nonetheless positive. Perhaps it's just the kick of the booze or the high level of revelry that weigh down on someone the morning after; Or, perhaps it's just starting out another year with a clean slate (and a laundry list of rolled over resolutions!).

But nothing beats looking back at the year's past and breaking into a wide grin on thoughts of how good it really was.

A countdown is in order. My own. The best of year 2005:

1. Best Movie: Star Wars III:Revenge of the Sith. So you don't like it, fine. But you've got to give it to George and his franchise. The part when Obi Wan dislimbed Anakin after a gruelling lightsaber fight and was torn whether to finish off his protege or save him from the burning lava (crying out: "I loved you!") was just moving that I had to cry (okay, near tears then -- come on, this is one ultimate guy film as Love Story is the ultimate chick flick). Runners up go to Sin City, King Kong, Harry Potter (not really: see previous blog entry), The Wedding Crashers and Memoirs Of A Geisha (not as good as the book but worth seeing anything about Japan again).

2. Best Athlete: Phoenix Suns' Steve Nash. He's number 1 in assists and voted as the season's MVP, need I say more? I mulled over San Antonio Spurs' Tim Duncan, boxer Manny Pacquiao and Yankees superstar Derek Jeter for this spot, too.

3. Best Song: Greenday's Boulevard Of Broken Dreams. Okay, not exactly a favorite but having to hear it blare incessantly in every nook and cranny of whichever place I was in, I gathered it was begging for attention. Plus, Billie Joe Armstrong and the rest of the band earned several MTV moonmen and a Grammy for the song. Not bad for these punk revivalists (and obviously, The Cure wannabes).

4. Best Band: Maroon 5. Not too heavy, not too pop, not too mainstream, not too preachy. The band is so good that I learned to like Kanye West when Adam Levine was featured in the song Heard 'Em Say. Incidentally, the band's She Will Be Loved track is also my choice for best music video of 2005 (wait, 'twas 2004 wasn't it?). Lucky Adam. She gets to date a cute girl and gets to screw (pardon the slang) her mom, too (images of Anne Bancroft and Dustin Hoffman of The Graduate fame in mind here; or Paul hooking up with Stifler's mom in American Pie; or Simple Plan's Stacy's Mom playing in my head...). Oh, and they got a Grammy, as well (not a good indicator of portent things to come but, hey, an award is an award!).

5. Best Book: This is a hard one, really. There's Dan Brown's Da Vinci Code, which is keenly interesting and probing, not to mention controversial. There's Mark Weyner's Why Do Men Have Nipples? for answers to common and nagging questions. And, of course, Harry Potter And The Half-Blood Prince, which is less rivetting as its prequels and more of a bridge-of-a-book to JK Rowling's seventh and last installment. I choose Jonathan Safran Foer's Everything Is Illuminated. So it was published in 2002, okay, fine, shoot me! I just read it in its entirety this year and, if a segue is warranted, I intend to get his next one: Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, which is published in 2005.

6. Best people on TV: I pick the weathermen. Their rise to popularity is largely attributed to the past hurricanes that hit the US and the South Asian tsunami in late 2004. From obscure, ridiculed, and largely ignored news fillers, weathermen were transformed to action stars overnight! Suddenly, they were plucked from the studio to battle winds, rains, floods, snow, and hurricanes reporting live in (sometimes literally) the eye of the storm.

7. Best new word: There are a few new words but the best ones come from the Washington Post's Style Invitational (bozone, innoculatte, osteopornosis, ignoranus, etc.). My choice would be from an article published in the December issue of GQ magazine: effyu. It's short for f*@# you! Goodbye 'Talk to the hand', hello 'effyu!'.

8. Best prank: Google Bombers/ Activists. Finding Dubya Bush and Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo (and a list of other prominent individuals) in cyberspace has never been this fun (and truthful).

9. Best Xbox game: Dead Or Alive 3. It's either Hayate or Kazumi for the win. Halo comes in close second.

10. Best gadgets: Ipod Nano and Motorola Razr V3. Both are slim, sleek, and highly functional (and I just got both), enough said. --D

Holiday Musings

2005-12-24T21:02:00.000-05:00

It's Christmas eve. And to put a tmesis between Christmas and eve (eg freakin', bloody, f*!?ed-up, or any reviling or blasphemous word that comes to mind) to describe the present state of preparedness for the coming holiday wouldn't help the situation at all.

This blog, for instance, is unattended for weeks: drafts to post, entries to write, messages to read.

Orlando. I haven't written anything about my recent trip with G in Florida. That tops my blog-to-write backlog. Screw the backlog. Here's the gist. Went to Orlando, gray skies, cloudy weather, bunked in an old and cheap Holiday Inn, wearied ourselves in themeparks, blew our brains out from barf-inducing rides, fed ourselves with burgers and chinese (stuck needles of cholesterol is more like it), went wild and carnal, left broke and sick. Whew!

Oh, and a plane crashed in Miami while we were about to take-off. That really capped our weekend trip.

And so, here I am, back in NY (tmesis applicable: happening). Christmas tree is out, spruced and lit up. Snow is absent, odd as it may read. Malls are packed; parking spaces becoming rare.

Speaking of malls, I just came from one and people are everywhere. Lines knot into restrooms, and I am talking about toilets for men here! Same is true with cash counters and fitting rooms. Shopping. It's a curse. Unforgiveable, too. You lose money and tire yourself crazy.

Ah, Christmas postcards! Unsigned and unsent, still. I reckon, by the time it reaches a friend, it would be Easter already. Go ahead, blame it on procrastination. I know I will.

We're having grilled sirloin steaks for the Christmas eve dinner. That's something to look forward to, yeah? That might have to wait. G and I are still wrapping gifts. Last-minute, I know. Again, procrastination. Pinoy kasi!

OK, enough musings (and irregular sentences). Work! Work! Work! The house is a mess! Wrappers, receipts, plastic bags, adhesive tapes, scissors, and chips are taking over the living room floor. Jesus Christ! (Happy Birthday, by the way). Merry Christmas! --D

Guilty As Presumed

2005-12-15T09:31:00.000-05:00

US President George W. Bush -- yes, the man who found himself locked in an auditorium in China two weeks ago (and yes, the same one who tried to mediate between two squabbling dogs in the White House amidst pressing socio-economic problems) -- has finally admitted that the decision to wage a war on Iraq came from 'wrong intelligence' and has taken responsibility for it.

Finally, the (arguably) most powerful leader in the world used his not so powerful IQ and delivered the message to his people: I have poor judgment and made a terrible decision out of it.

The entire world knew the Iraq war and invasion were wrong; The entire world knew the real reason and motive behind the war and invasion; And the entire world knew Dubya and his decisions on Iraq and terrorism, per se, were wrong since Colin Powell made sweeping accusations on Iraq's capability to manufacture WMD in the UN's Security Council back in 2002.

How can Dubya be right when he barks up the wrong tree? How can he mistake Saddam Hussein for Osama bin-laden? How can he fight terrorism in a country where the only exports it sends overseas are not trained terrorists but drilled oil? How can he pass the buck to 'wrong intelligence' when it is clearly his own decision to settle an old score with Saddam Hussein and secure oil contracts in the end under his fumbling (and obviously misdirected) campaign on terrorism?

If there is anything the entire world was guilty of, it was giving Dubya too much benefit of the doubt and entertaining wild what ifs in dire hopes terrorism (and Osama bin Laden, who, by the way, remains at-large) would crumble as hard as the blown down WTC.

Four years later, with more than 2,000 KIA troops and no trace of any WMD, the war on Iraq proves to be the biggest blunder in intelligence and leadership (Dubya, personified).

Despite this blunder, Americans have decided to keep Dubya and his intelligence through re-election. But for the rest of the world, all it had to do was to presume with greater intelligence that Dubya was waging a wrongful war on Iraq.

And now, the presumption is confirmed true: Guilty! --D

Illuminated, Albeit Belatedly

2005-12-14T09:29:00.000-05:00

After laboring through it for a good couple of months, I finally finished reading Jonathan Safran Foer's Everything Is Illuminated. Don't get me wrong; I enjoyed the book in all its comic glory and tragic climax. I relished the book's rich narration of discovering one's roots in Nazi-torn environment even if I'm no Jew. I just have this silly obsession with reading slowly a good book -- mincing every word and rereading exceptional lines, like taking a scrimp-of-a-bite out of a cheesecake for hours (hmmmmmm).

But perhaps because I am no Jew, I felt lost in some parts of the book that I had a crash course of sorts about Jews through Wikipedia on occassions too many. Of course I didn't mind at all. The better for me to understand and appreciate the book.

I'd like to write and a post a blog review about it soon but for now, I am just... illuminated of how great the book turned out to be!

I admire Foer's writing style; there's something distinct and precise about it, especially the way points and punch lines are delivered. I envy his gift. I have yet to shake up my dormant muse and find the courage to write my own stories -- all bottled up in my fickle and already cluttered head.

Anyway, now that I have finally given Everything Is Illuminated it's time of day (heck, months!), I yearn to start leafing through Foer's next fiction Extremely Loud And Incredibly Close. --D

Let It Snow! Let It Snow!

2005-12-04T10:52:00.000-05:00

I unknot the strings of my PJs while I open my bedroom door to psych my contracting bladder wall that I am heeding its nagging (and waking) call. I am pissed, pun intended. I say OK, OK, I'm off to the toilet! As I turn the knob and pull the door, I start to squint my eyes bracing them from my pitch-dark bedroom to the usual bright, sunlit living room.

The door flings open. I stop squinting. It's still dark. I check the time: 8AM.

Weird.

I walk towards the window pressing my you-know-what from exploding, half expecting to see an element that resembles something close to any Spielberg or Shyamalan movie. The window glass is misty, so I give it a quick rub with my other hand. And there it is: A wide blanket of snow on rooftops, pavements, trees, posts, vacant lots, and the entire neighborhood!

I don't know how others feel, but seeing snow is a fascination G and I relish. Perhaps because we were both raised in tropical Manila that expecting and experiencing snow are affairs we earnestly take interest in. On our first winter day years back, we posed in every snowy nook and wearied the camera and tolerated the usual encumbrances of chapped lips, dry skin, and numbed jaws from the winter cold.

Today, it snows. And I say a warm hello! to the start of winter.

Time to ready the camera and poses; Time to pull out the thick blankets, heavy coats, scarfs, jackets, mittens, and bonnets; Time to turn up the heater and put the airconditioners and fans in the closet; Time to think of Christmas and the holiday season, and; (taking cue from my bladder-in-protest) Time to rush to the toilet and relieve myself... --D

If I Were A Movie...

2005-12-03T02:25:00.000-05:00

.
.

My life is rated R!

Life Rated R

What is your life rated? (MPAA Scale)

Take Other Caffeine Nebula Quizzes

You can tell, I am bored...

Foul!

2005-12-01T13:21:00.000-05:00

Politics in Manila reared its ugly head yet again as the Philippine Olympic Committee (POC) finally scrapped basketball from the official sports list in this month's staging of the 23rd Southeast Asian Games (SEAG) in the Philippines.

The controversy-ridden Basketball Association of the Philippines (BAP) has been suspended from the roster of accredited sports bodies under POC for reasons (1) BAP failed to honor its commitment with the POC in the formation of a national basketball team from major leagues to compete in international competitons, and; (2) the BAP chair (along with some basketball players) was found to be a non-Filipino, which is unconstitutional.

Officials of both sports bodies have been at odds for months and the stand off has hurt the participation of national players in basketball games overseas including the Southeast Asian Basketball Association (SEABA) Championship in Malaysia. The International Basketball Federation (FIBA) is poised to suspend BAP, as recommended by POC, and prevent the Philippines from fielding a national team in any international game. Because of this, Filipinos will be deprived of a basketball team in this year's SEAG where the Philippines consistently dominate and reap gold for years.

Sad, really. Politicians are spoiling the very passion and pastime of every common Filipino. Basketball is a national Philippine sport as soccer is in Brazil. Sure, Filipino players are not as tall as the Chinese; not as disciplined as the Japanese; not as superstar-like as Americans, but the display of skill and heart to play is always there. So much so that Filipinos revere basketball players, raising them up on pedestals as heroes, idols, and even Gods (and elect into politics -- ah, the irony!).

Basketball championship in SEAG may yield only one gold, but if history will repeat itself this year as in 1991 when the Philippines lost overall SEAG championship to Indonesia by a mere gold, these politicians embroiled in the suspension of basketball will reckon the nation's wrath of political disenchantment and disgust.

No basketball in SEAG? What an injustice! It merits a 'foul!' call, indeed. --D

Goodbye Booze, Hello Beef

2005-11-20T00:00:00.000-05:00

You read right.

Goodbye beer and soda. Hello Gatorade and sport drinks; Goodbye sweets and carbs. Hello grains and protein.

What gives?

Hav'ta shed the beer belly and tone up for next year's wedding.

Serious. For real. No kidding (OK, I get the drift... I am convinced!).

To my fitness buff-slash-guru friend Michael, yes, the dormant six-pack challenge is officially on (again!?!).

To my fiancee, yes, more washboard abs and less love handles for, well, you know what.

To my grade school bully, watch out!

To myself... good luck! --D

Harry Potter And The Goblet Of High Expectations

2005-11-19T02:46:00.000-05:00

One of the disadvantages of satisfying one’s habit of reading (and reading some more) is the constant craving to see a story and its characters come to life on silverscreen. Once one is under works, readers (the rabid, avid ones, especially) get intense, emotional, and all-too-giddy in anticipation. Armed with high expectations, come screening day, they are usually the extremely critical ones on how the film adaptation fared. They are dead-serious and unforgiving about details and nuances richly told yet absent in film; they cry ‘injustice!’ and shout ‘rip-off!’ all too easy on such occasions.

JK Rowling’s Harry Potter book series is no different.Catching Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire on its midnight premiere yesterday, I find the film flaccid, faulty, and flawed.

Sure, the cinematography is superb as Cuaron’s Prisoner of Azkaban. Its near-noir quality makes the dark, tragic, and foreboding premise of the dark Lord and his reign’s return a welcome treat, like Rodriguez' adaptation of Frank Millers' Sin City. Sure, the special effects weave the real with the surreal (the Horn-tail dragon looks menacingly dangerous), thus satisfying one's delusion that Hogwarts exists in a parallel universe. And sure, Voldermort looks eerily scary and ghoulishly grim and demonic, like Freddie Krueger of 1665 Elm Street.

The acclaim stops there.

Newell's Goblet Of Fire is a decapitation of Rowling's finest Harry Potter novel (until Book 7's release). Ah, where to even begin? OK, first off, the International Quidditch match barely lasts 2 minutes without the much-awaited Veelas (come on, weren't you keenly curious how they would live up to Rowling's pretty and sexy description of the Bulgarian bunch?). Two, Winky the elf is peculiarly absent. Three, character miscasts: Mad Eye Moody is supposed to be short and frail with a wooden leg and a face that 'looked as though it had been carved out of weathered wood by someone who had only the vaguest idea of what human faces are supposed to look like, and was none too skilled with a chisel' -- not round, tall, steel-legged, and pomp; But the greatest miscast and murder of all is Albus Dumbledore. Richard Harris' untimely death is a big loss to the film franchise. The new one (Michael Gambon) is anyone BUT Dumbledore. He doesn't personify the calm and collected Dumbledore; unsymphatetic and uncaring to Harry; and appears unwise in the affairs of Hogwarts and the non-Muggle world.

Of course there are more. Hermione's brilliance is overlooked. The film fails to emphasize Hermione's uncovering Rita Skeeter's animagus-of-a-secret (Skeeter being essential in the Order of the Phoenix). And the Maze! No Sphinx, no blast-ended skrewts, no boggarts. What a misadventure that task is!

The popular conjecture is Newell has only read Book 4 and not the entire series as his interpretation (and murder) of events is highly suspect.

Again, the disadvantage of reading a book is having high expectations of the film adaptation. And in the case of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, the expectations are not met... not even close. But of course, being Harry Potter fans, G and I are sure to watch it again (and probably again). --D

. ___________________

at last, the long wait is over. harry potter and the goblet of fire is now in theatres and i, the devoted fan that i am, caught the midnight screening of the film with a huge grin plastered on my face the whole time.

GoF centers on harry's fourth year in hogwarts and his participation in the triwizard tournament, albeit unwillingly. and in between the tasks he needs to do, harry begins to face the struggles of a normal fourteen year old boy like mending friendships and asking a date to the school dance.

the film succeeds in transporting its viewers to the magical world of harry potter (a parallel universe to avid readers like me) - from the opulent staging of the quidditch world cup (minus the actual game) to the execution of the triwizard tournament challenges. it brings to life legendary beasts and mythical creatures that we can only imagine in books. and true to the central theme of the books which is the constant fight between good and evil, the film gives us a glimpse of the darkness that seethes within harry's world.

but for all its cinematic grandeur and technological innovations, and the media hype that surrounds its release, the film is not even half as good as its printed counterpart. the movie fails to show the nuances and subtleties that make up the story as told in the book. the screenplay does not include essential subplots which bear significance in the latter part of the series, ie harry giving the twins his winnings from the triwizard tournament, percy weasley becoming a Ministry employee and transforming himself into a git in the process, Hermione discovering that rita skeeter is an unregistered animagus and the parting of ways between fudge and dumbledore. there are some things that director mike newell leaves unexplained like the essence of priori incantatem. more importantly, the film makes us vaguely aware of the gamut of emotions that j.k. rowling has so carefully woven in her book.

the harry-ron fight is an example. in the book, ron's insecurities are rooted deeply on his background. we can empathize with him because he comes from a poor family; almost everything he owns are hand-me-downs including his ghastly dress robe; and, he always plays second best to his older brothers and harry. his jealousy over harry's selection as a triwizard champion is not merely because of his personal desire to eternal glory, as implied in the movie, but to rephrase hermione's line in the book, it is one time too many for ron to be overshadowed by harry yet again. this bit of sensitivity to ron's character and the drama of the reconciliation between the two best friends are somehow lost in all the action surrounding the film.

the blossoming of young love between ron and hermione is surprisingly downplayed too. j.k. rowling peppers the book with so much hints on the sexual tension that begins to arise between this pair and yet we don't see much in the film except during the yule ball. and while emma watson shows a superb acting when she delivered in her choked voice one of my favorite lines, "next time there is a ball, ask me first and not as a last resort", i would have loved to see j.k. rowling's idea of ron and hermione screaming at the top of their lungs and making it more obvious to everyone that they fancy each other.

on a positive note, certain parts of the film are to be commended. for one, the film successfully depicts how the yule ball ushers the trio of harry, ron and hermione to the threshold of adolescence. i love how neville and ginny are given more exposure, preparing the viewers of the bigger role they are going to play in the succeeding films. and, fred and george finally getting the screen time they truly deserve as they embody too well the humor and antics of the twins in the books.

rupert grint as ron weasley gives out the best performance in the film. unlike in the prisoner of azkaban where he is mostly reduced to the scaredy-cat bestfriend of the boy-who-lived, ron shows the many sides of him in this film. he is absolutely hilarious from his first scene way up to the last. rupert is ron weasley personified and i couldn't imagine someone else playing ron but him. the worst actor for me is michael gambon who plays dumbledore. he doesn't convey the calmness, charisma and wisdom that is dumbledore in the books. when he confronts harry about his name on the goblet of fire, he comes off as harsh with violent-like tendencies, which is an insult to j.k rowling's characterization of the hogwarts headmaster. dumbledore, in the books, is always the voice of reason; the one who believes in harry when no else does.

overall, the film is good (i see D shaking his head), definitely better than its predecessors. it combines humor and drama, action and thriller in a fast-paced story that mirrors j.k rowling's writing. it is a good source of entertainment for the loyal harry potters readers and non-readers alike. but it does not, and cannot in any way, equal the rank of lord of the rings as the best fim adaptation of all time (at least in my opinion).

i have always told my friends who enjoy harry potter films to go and read the series because the movies do not give justice to the vastness and depth of the world that j.k. rowling has created in her books. this being said, i'm off to read the Goblet of Fire... for the nth time.

Film Rating: 6 OWLS

--G

Finally, Feminism!

2005-10-25T19:06:00.000-04:00

Timing. You've got to give it to the Japanese.

When the Chinese closed its doors to Western-led global development during the Qing Dynasty, Japan's Meiji era opened and started its Western-style modernization. When colonization was turning into old school in the West, Japan started its Greater Co-Prosperity Sphere campaign. And when Hollywood movies were lording over world cinema in the 1950s, Japan created Godzilla (OK, the segue isn't exactly brimming with logic here).

Half a decade after the 21st century began, Japan is about to do something the world has (arguably) embraced since Godzilla's debut: a leapfrog to feminism.

Recent news reports the Japanese Parliament is set to allow a female royal succession into the Imperial Chrysanthemum Throne with Prime Minister Junichiro Koizumi endorsing such an unprecedented move. This development could not have come at a better time when (1) an overwhelming pressure to produce a male successor to the Imperial line from Prince Naruhito and Princess Masako reaches a disappointing turn with Masako openly admitting stress and depression have eaten her Harvard-trained, high-brow upbringing self; (2) the dominance of the Japanese salarymen -- the Japanese patriarchy personified -- is demystified and dissipated, and; (3) the population in Japan is dwindling and aging.

What's wrong with having a female imperial leader anyway? Queen Elizabeth has been ruling UK for more than 50 years. There's Beatrix of Netherlands and Margaret of Denmark, too. Women presidents and ministers have come and gone. And so fussing over the possible female rule over the Imperial Household of Japan should not become an issue, at least in the eyes of the more progressive and open socities, but should be considered an inevitable reality (as inevitable as having a female or an African-American president).

It's hightime the Japanese eat up its traditional past and embrace change. Feminism in Japan? Finally! --D

On Ulcers And Misconceptions

2005-10-15T22:42:00.000-04:00

Ulcer.

I was 6 when I first heard of this medical jargon from an uncle whose profession is both a physician and a smart ass. 'Pep' in peptic ulcer was supposed to stand for Pepsi (how plainer can it get?) and drinking too much, especially early in the morning results to, well, ulcer. I had to suck everything in without question. But my smart ass of an uncle failed to mention that early research findings listed alcoholic and caffein beverages as contributing causes of ulcer, too, so (had I put my nerdish pursuits to good use then) I should've made a smart ass of myself and admonished his fondness for beer and capuccino.

Fast forward to 2005.

The recepients of this year's Nobel Prize for Medicine are scientists Barry Marshall and Robin Warren, whose research on ulcer makes them more than winners but winning smart asses as well. As early as 1982, these Australian scientists discovered the Helicobacter pylori bacterium (now known as the ulcer bug) that breeds and infects the stomach lining. But instead of shouting 'Eureka!', the medical community saw this discovery as a product of two smart asses out to debunk the popular belief that ulcers are caused by acid, stress, and (to some) spicy food: Earth became the center of the universe all over again and Marshall and Warren became the Galileos of the 20th Century. Popular Belief: a common conundrum encountered by smart asses.

Well, thanks to the Nobel Prize, this conundrum was reduced to misconceptions on ulcers; thanks to the Nobel Prize, the smart asses were acknowledged and recognized to the hilt.

And so we find that ulcers are mere infections that can easily be treated by doctors with simple antibiotics. Hail to Marshall and Warren for their discovery for we can now truly enjoy drinking beer, soda, and coffee without worrying about ulcers! The only symptom to worry about now is gaining pounds and the dreaded beer belly. --D

Engaged!

2005-10-12T21:57:00.000-04:00

G and I are engaged!

Although momentous, this development was welcomed by most family and friends as highly overdue and anticlimactic.

Not too surprising.

G and I have been a pair for six years since our film school days in Manila. We both worked in Public Relations for two years before spending three years studying (yet again!) in Japan. Six years is quite considerable a number for people to expect nothing less than marriage or engagement even. Six years is quite considerable a number for a couple to dismiss and end up disengaged and unwed. Well, we live up to such expectations and we don't dismiss a single day spent together. We put premium on marriage and the sanctity that goes with it. Of course marriage is more a social caprice or prerogative than a social requirement or responsibility these days but the sucker for social conformity and convention overwhelms the avant-gard and cosmopolitan in us.

And so after a year of plotting a proposal worth remembering – nothing ostentatious but at least teeming with brilliance – I finally popped the question, in Times Square no less. OK, so the place wasn’t exactly brilliant – some might regard it as something short of mediocrity – but I believe the moment was there. It was supposed to be in Pearl Harbor, Hawaii on her birthday but a month’s delay and a change of venue didn’t diminish the intention and purpose, at least in my book.

It may not be surprising to others (I imagine eyes rolling and a nonchalant 'Finally!' expression here), but nothing beats the experience of devising a grand plan, buying an expensive ring (albeit cash-strapped), conspiring with relatives and friends to finally ask the right person to marry and spend a lifetime of bliss and surprises with.

Engaged, at last! Overdue? yes. Anticlimactic? yes. Surprising? I say yes, too -- for us both and the years ahead. Kampai! --D

_____________________________________

for lack of better words to describe the overwhelming emotions of being asked by the only man i'd say yes to (with apologies to the carpenters):

one love, in my young life took me

somewhere i had never been,

and i want to live again,

breathe again in the shelter of his brightly woven love song.

so long i have wanted love to be sitting just this near to me.

now my waiting here is free.

few are the choices we are given,

the sands of time pass quickly by.

one dream of my young life now stands holding out his hand to me,

now I can't help but believe that my whole life will be

spent in one love. --G

Serendipity

2005-10-12T13:40:00.000-04:00

While taking photos in bustling Times Square in Manhattan, G and I came across a common friend in college. Finding a familiar face whence I grew up among 1.5 million diverse individuals streaming in and out of Times Square was like finding the proverbial needle in a haystack.

Small world? Not quite. After all, the Small World Phenomenon -- popularized by Yale theorist and psychologist Stanley Milgram -- is not only a widely misused concept but also a disputed one. I will not belabor this argument but make merry the point of finding a familiar face in an otherwise unfamiliar and unwelcoming place as Manhattan (OK, OK, so I’m a newbie in NY).

G and I, taking a respite from the daily bum-of-a-life in suburban Long Island, were wandering in Times Square on a cloudy Tuesday afternoon; The purpose of the supposed aimless wandering about in NYC was suspect given a personal agenda I intend to make a blog of later on. But finding our fickle and indecisive selves at the center island of Times Square, pondering heavily whether to stay a bit longer (and relish the busy-ness absent in suburban living) or proceed to Central Park (and exhaust the camera to its weary end), led us to a seemingly pre-destined situation of meeting our friend, who we last rubbed elbows with a good six long years ago.

Imagine that scenario! We could've been on opposite ends of Times Square; We could've been in the same place but on different occasions and different times; We could've been walking and walking further on parallel paths where high rise buildings or speedy taxi cabs demarcate us -- oblivious to possible what-if encounters (thereby negating the thought of crossing paths altogether as merely wild and unlikely a probability).

And yet, there we were: In the same, invariable, exact time and space! I couldn't think of an appropriate word on top of my head to describe the happenstance but the banal slang-of-a-word COOL.

OK. So you might conclude that it IS a small world. But I'd like to think more of it as English author Horace Walpole would call serendipitious -- an instance of making a fortunate discovery by accident. Indeed, finding an old friend in New York is a remarkable discovery; A fortunate accident worth running into; An occurence deserving a celebration.

And so the next time G and I encounter a friend or an acquaintance in a seemingly impossible situation, we would perhaps compound the events that led to it not as a case of the world being a small and dense one but a divine phenomenon called serendipity. --D

Jinxed!

2005-10-10T14:37:00.000-04:00

I came across an article today on the internet as I was on my usual daily news browse binge. It's quite interesting, actually. The article is titled: Science Behind Travel Troubles with a subtitle saying: You May Not Be Able To Avoid Travel Woes, But You Can Understand Them.

The article suggests that external factors such as road conditions, weather, and traffic are part of travel that should be understood, not cursed by the ordinary traveler: Tires skid water-pooled pavements because of hydroplane effect (heavy build up of water in front of tires) for drivers to easily lose control; Traffic moves faster and safer when almost bumper-to-bumper; And, violent winds are main culprits for flight delays, not thunderbolts.

But what about lost luggage? On our 14-hour trip to New York from Hawai'i last week, one of our 6-piece luggage didn't come out of the airport baggage carousel. It was frustrating, simply put. We were deadbeat from the trip; with two stopovers, bad in-flight service (headsets were sold for $5! -- how were we supposed to watch the friggin' movie?!?!), and unnerving co-passengers (three young moms with wailing infants in tow -- enough said), waiting for a lost luggage was just like trying hard not to scratch the sore tip of a nasty zit.

One week since and still no luggage, I googled for a scientific explanation on such occurence (the rate of which is, according to Men'sHealth magazine, 6 bags lost per 1000 passengers!), and there wasn't any.

Why, oh, why does this happen everytime G and I travel?!? If it isn't a late express airport train (the irony! the irony!) or a delayed plane that puts you on wait-list, it's a lost luggage!

Friends rib us if either or both of us have cursemark on our behind. I checked. There's none.

Jinxed is the word.

If it weren't for the $2500 luggage insurance (and the one time my seat was upgraded to business class), I'd seriously think we just might be.
--D

_________________________

my two-piece business suit that i am saving for a real job interview;
my 'ally mcbeal' blazer;

my bohemian white skirt that i only used oncemy tommy hilfiger summer dress;
the perfect-fit chinese dress from my chinese friend ning;

my black kamiseta shirt from yani;

the pink-and-white blouse D gave me last christmas;

my pink gap skirt from tanger this spring;

the new brown jacket i was saving for a planned pictorial at central park this fall;

the RL pink sweater i have never worn;

an old navy red preppy jacket i got on sale;

my long-sleeved guess blouse reminiscent of my PRISM days;
my black hooters shirt from auntie pia and uncle gary;

my four tube tops (green, brown, yellow and white);

a pair of jeans i only wore once;

my white colegiala jacket;

assorted tank tops, blouses, shirts and pants i have collected in less than a year;

my first harry potter book;

the certificate of academic merit award i got from APU;

my old but reliable eyebrow tweezers;

the last pair of undies i wore in hawaii, and;

some more items i can no longer recall.

in case you're wondering where they are now...

northwest airlines has lost my luggage. --G

Forever Young

2005-10-08T13:03:00.000-04:00

"It's so hard to get old without a cause [...] So many adventures couldn't happen today. So many songs we forgot to play. So many dreams swinging out of the blue. We'll let them come true. Forever Young. I wanna be, forever young..."

Ah, bless Alphaville for such a song; A nutshell of a song that contains my sentiments (frustrations, mostly) as I turn a year older today. Yep. Today is my birthday.

Happy Birthday!

Rewind. Year: 1998. Place: Venom Bar, Singapore.

Out clubbing (how 90s!) with my friends, I was dancing and boozing the night away. It was, after all, a Friday. The DJ popped Alphaville's Forever Young on the turntable. As the song started to blare, yuppies threw eager wails and mimicked faux epileptic fits on the dance floor. They sang the song as if it were an anthem and danced wildly through it as if it were their last. What gives, I asked? None of my friends knew for sure.

I know now.

They were reliving their youth; Revelling the good, carefree times and rebelling from the routine, work-cuffed life today.

As I turn a year older today, I feel I'm still in a good and carefree time. Untied from big responsibilities, uninvolved in social complications, undaunted by life's challenges, and still unrealistically idealistic. I know these will not last for long. Times change. And so must I.

As I turn a year older today, I'd like to move on. Take risks. Compromise. Dive into the unknown and douse doubts with possibilities. I'd like to discount age to mature ("age is a high price for maturity" -- Coelho) and find a betterman in me.

But as I turn a year older today, I'd still like the feeling of being Forever Young to linger on. I'd hate to see myself too serious and work-driven to watch MTV or enjoy theme park rides. I'd hate to part ways with my sneakers for a moccasin pair of shoes (hiyaiks!) or trade in my Low Rise for pleated starched pants (Noooooo!). I'd like to keep some Peter Pan in me as I grow and mature . Besides, if there's anything I put to heart from Nietzsche, it's his take on maturity: "A person's maturity consists in having found again the seriousness one had as a child -- at play".

So happy birthday to me, yeah?

Got to go start and find a cause, make adventures happen, play songs, and turn dreams true to feel forever young! --D

Iced

2005-10-01T22:02:00.000-04:00

A trip to Hawai'i is dousing oneself with the three S's of ideal vacation life: Sun, sand, and sea. Sun is all around the powdery beaches and cool waters of the Pacific Ocean (okay, so it's not a sea).

Of course, Waikiki beach is the most popular one in Hawai'i, but for backpackers and ordinary tourists (read: no money!) there are plenty of public beaches to go. Two of these are Waimea and Northshore, both located near the historic Hale'iwa strip -- the same strip preserved to provide tourists a glimpse of the old plantation town life in the islands.

An added attraction to this part of the island is another essential S: Shave Ice. Not just any other shave ice but a Matsumoto Shave Ice. As Japanese immigrants in Hawaii, the Matsumotos pioneered shave ice back in 1951. Back then, it was just a come-on for surfers and tourists to visit the Matsumoto general merchandise store (as there were a string of stores that peddled the same stuff). As fate would have it, shave ice took a popular turn with the emergence of the hippie generation when all things bright and multicolored (and addictive, hehe) were, well, cool.

Shave ice are far different from snow cones, as any native Hawai'ian would argue. Shave ice are finer in texture and the syrups are not artificially flavored, unlike the real (exotic, even) fruit syrups of shave ice (although, this part is arguable what with shave ice bubble gum flavor). The best part of this Hawai'an concoction is the ice cream underneath. After eating the powdery flavored ice on top, one finds a generous serving of ice cream treat at the bottom of the cone *yumm-eh!* Just a bit of advise: Don't oggle at the shave ice too long, it (as any frozen produce) melts!

So if you ever take a vacation in Hawai'i, don't forget to add the extra S in your SSS itinerary, okay? --D

It's Havai'i, Stupid!

2005-09-26T21:56:00.000-04:00

How does one spell Hawaii? With an apostrophe (or 'okina in local vernacular), stupid!

Hawai'i.

How does one pronounce Hawai'i? Like a South Asian, stupid!

Hava-i.

Well, one learns something everyday, yeah? stupid or otherwise. --D

Katrina and What Ifs

2005-09-13T02:28:00.000-04:00

Reading The Collected What If? (subtitled Eminent Historians Imagine What Might Have Been) while tuned to CNN’s marathon coverage of Hurricane Katrina’s aftermath in the US Gulf Coast, I couldn’t help but give thought to my own What Ifs on what is being touted as a humanitarian crisis akin to the Great Depression of 1930s.

1. What if – and this being the biggest What If wildly whirling in my head right now – George W. lost to John Kerry in last year’s presidential election? Would Kerry pass the buck, too, onto the federal government of Louisiana or FEMA for the lack of preparation and action? Would Kerry appoint inexperienced, ineffectual FEMA officials (as many charge embattled director Michael Brown) as political pay off? Would Kerry be caught in a prolonged vacation in Texas and survey Katrina's aftermath on a presidential plane than on ground with the displaced people?

Would the reported 3,000 of Louisiana's 11,000 National Guard troops stationed in Iraq make a difference in the rescue and recovery operations had Kerry won and withdrew American troops in the Middle East to usher in what he calls 'a smarter, more effective war on terror'? I mean, helping displaced fellow Americans from problems caused by a natural disaster would look more honorable than fighting insurgents in Fallujah – a problem arguably caused by the US itself, wouldn't it?

2. What if Louisiana took the necessary precautions, i.e. early evacuation of all residents, sufficient logistical support such as transportation, accommodation, and emergency supplies? Would there be as much social disorder (e.g. looting, violence, death) as reported?

3. What if France didn't relinquish Louisiana in the early 1800s? Would a French-built levee (which is French for lever, by the way *geek!*) stand stronger than an American one to not collapse in a Category 5 natural disaster as Katrina and skirt the displacement of millions of Americans (okay, French then) altogether?

4. What if Katrina didn't change course and hit Florida instead? Would there be as much damage, destruction, displacement, and deaths as those in Louisiana? Would oil prices be steeply pegged as nowadays (Man, I stopped checking at $4.05/gallon!)?

Ah, so many What Ifs to ponder heavily about. But for all its worth, these 'counterfactuals' (as historians call them *geek yet again!*) are, as the book suggests, 'tool(s) to enhance the understanding of history (...) reveal, in startling detail, the essential stakes (...) and potentially abiding consequences.'

Indeed.

Otherwise, Katrina (and its purpose as a big wake up call for reforms) will just be that: a big What If? --D

True Champ 2

2005-09-11T02:56:00.000-04:00

Timing could not have come at a better time when wearied and burdened Pinoys from the political storm in Manila witnessed Manny Pacquiao emerge as a salvation-in-flesh with his stunning triumph against Hector Velazquez in today’s boxing match in Los Angeles, California.

The match lasted only six rounds in 12 short minutes for Pacquiao to outpunch and outscore Velazquez to the delight of thousands watching in Staples Center and millions more who shelled-out 15 bucks for the pay-per-view event on TV (me, included). Too short and too intense, in fact, that I didn’t get a chance to touch the hotdog sandwich, chips, and beer I prepared for what was supposed to be a long 12-round match! Geez, now I appreciate the long commercial breaks and delayed telecast of boxing matches in Manila ;-)

Gloria Arroyo should be thankful as she probably heaves a heavy sigh of welcome relief with this spectacular win-of-a-diversion from the worst political turmoil she has embroiled herself in.

Pacquiao put a scare in the first round as he wriggled his way out of tight confrontations only to corner Velazquez in the succeeding rounds with a rally of heavy punches and precise hits, forcing the Mexican boxer down to his knees, glassy-eyed, and scatterbrained. The score was 49-46 before the referee announced a TKO win for Pacquiao.

Aside from giving Pinoys a respite from the chaos that resembles Philippine politics, Pacquiao restores lost glory and pride pilfered away by Mexican boxer Erik Morales (who, in the following match lost to US Olympian Zahir Raheem) in a controversial and grisly match earlier this year.

Well, today indeed is a triumph for all Pinoys. Time to take off the beer caps and celebrate. A big kampai to a true champ, Manny Pacquiao! --D

See related blog entry:True Champ (Posted 20 March 2005)

Sound Trip

2005-08-30T01:38:00.000-04:00

Browsing through my PC songs, I couldn’t help but wince with peeve to find folders upon folders of sentimental, slow, and love songs downloaded and saved by its brief owner – my younger sister. The PC is barely a year old and, as its new owner, I find it fitting to break it in with the kind of songs I fancy – especially the ones that spin busily in my head of late.

As I believe I’ve written in previous posts, I am keen on pop-rock-alternative type of music. But I also dig world music, having lived overseas for quite a long while. Some may say my taste is a bit eclectic, but these days, one can’t distinguish one music genre from the other (Metallica performing with the Frisco Symphony Orchestra in 1999 comes into mind) so who cares, really?

So today, I am on a downloading spree. I am using soulseek.org. Downloading isn’t as fast as I had hoped but with its ‘no spyware, no unwanted ads, no pop-ups’– or anything that might crash my new PC – guarantee, I am exercising extreme patience and keeping a positive outlook.

And everything pays off. I’ve converted 122 songs into my iTunes library so far. Here are just a few of them:

1. Green Day overload: Holiday and Wake Me Up When September Ends – just a couple of reasons why Billie Joe Armstrong and the rest of the band deservingly reaped (and swept) a slew of MTV moon men this year.

2. We Believe by Green Day and pop-punk spin-off Good Charlotte. Save for Joel Madden’s taste of a girlfriend (read: Hillary Duff), Good Charlotte has grown on me since the hit release Lifestyle of the Rich and Famous album. Besides, this song talks about peace and disses the resurgence of war (Wow! APU has rubbed a great deal on me). I dig such themes of late, which, coincidentally is portrayed in Green Day’s Wake Me Up When September Ends’ video, too (albeit, a bit cheesy).

3. Bonnie Raitt's 90s classic I Can't Make You Love Me. Okay, this one is a bit off my musical palette but I fancied the song in the movie Duets (I actually bought the CD, to be really upfront about it) in 2000. But, I rekindled my fondness of this song after some hot chick (pardon the sexist label) sang it in VH1's Rockstar: INXS reality show.

4. Luciano Pavarotti's Nessun Dorma. I am not really a big fan of opera and theater, but this song (from Puccini's Turandot) struck my fancy after hearing it over and over in several contemporary and commercial films (the type that spends a great deal of moolah on production that it couldn’t afford any of Danny Elfman’s or John William’s original compositions); The Sum of All Fears, The Killing Fields and Bend It Like Beckham just to name a few. Turns out, Turandot is equally interesting a story to read. I’m buying the novel soon (but that's for another blog entry altogether).

5. Dave Matthew’s Dreamgirl. I didn’t know Dave Matthew’s released a new album until I caught Julia Roberts and her ridiculously-masked stalker in the band’s latest video on MTV the other day. Good choice, Dave!

6. And then there was Lifehouse. Of course, You and Me was on top of my list given its current popularity in the charts but I also downloaded Breathin’, Simon, Take Me Away, and my Karaoke fave, Sick Cycle Carousel from previous albums. What can I say? I am a fan. Incidentally, Jason Wade and the rest of the band is set to perform here in Hawaii next month; Can’t wait for that one, really.

The list is long, I tell you. I’d better dust my earphones; this is one sound tripping I’ll have to sit a long while through. --D

Leaving Japan

2005-08-20T08:07:00.000-04:00

The plane taxis its way from the tarmac to the long concrete runway. It's almost 2 pm. G and I are on board Korean Air flight 721 bound for Incheon, South Korea. Final destination: Honolulu, Hawaii.

The thought of sun, sand, sea, and Matsumoto's famous shave ice escapes my consciousness as the plane’s tires speed away for take-off. I poke G away from her tired, sleepy self and point her attention outside the window. There isn't anything much to see but a long row of steel and concrete that makes up Kansai International Airport; Nothing much except catching the fleeting moment of finally leaving and bottling three years of life spent in Japan.

As the plane wades its way through the afternoon clouds, I couldn't help but feel sentimental and sad. Japan has become a second home. It wasn't love at first sight – in fact, sushi and haikus are still alien to me, but Japan (and all its eccentricities) eventually grew and rubbed on me as days turned to months and months to years. I have imbibed a great deal of Japanese-ness that my heart bleeds to leave. I crack a smile then frown at the thought of living a life without the ubiquitous karaoke, ramen noodles and miso soups, shallow and searing onsen baths, the osteoporosis-ridden obachans, high school girls in skimpy skirts outside combinis, and the ingenious toilet seats.

Wow! I'm going to miss a lot. And I haven't even fully thought of the friends I left behind.

My stream of thoughts is interrupted by the stewardess' voice. What drink do I prefer? she asks and I promptly say soda and water with a friendly hello on the side. I would have thanked for the distraction away from thoughts about Japan but as I drink my cup of Coke, I stop and smile: I just had a conversation in nihongo. --D

See related blog entry: Missing Japan (Posted 31 March 2005)

Xboxed

2005-07-31T02:54:00.000-04:00

I think I have calloused indices.

I have been playing Xbox for months.

I think I am addicted to it.

I love/hate Bill Gates!

Love him for his innovation; Hate him for the addiction.

Help?

No, not to win games but to sobriety from my Xboxed self. --D

Quo Vadis, Philippines?

2005-06-27T02:44:00.000-04:00

Judging from recent political events in Manila, another President is likely to be overthrown (another, being the operative word). Save for a competent alternative, all the elements for a power shift are underway (e.g. underpinning evidence, relentless opposition attacks, organized street demonstrations, heck, even ubiquitous mobile phone ring tones!). I will not belabor on these details as they are given prominence by local and even international media of late, anyway. What I am going to harp on is the quintessential question on when the country will ever move forward away from politics and towards real social and economic change?

Perhaps one disadvantage of living overseas is to become overwhelmed with the successes other countries constantly achieve on one hand, and become too critical of the country I consider home on the other. A recent short ride aboard the Shinkansen, for instance, made me ponder why a country, separated by islands by the thousands, like the Philippines can’t improve its railway system to enable efficiency in transporting people and produce? In the same vein, why can’t traffic conditions be improved in Metro Manila for people to use time productively than idly moving in long gridlocks.

It’s sad how bad the country has turned up. Although I take pride in the claim that the Philippines ranked next to Japan in the 1950s, I begrudgingly agree how it has become an economic basket case in Southeast Asia given the economic performances of neighboring Singapore and Malaysia (and now, even Vietnam!). Although the economic performance under the Arroyo administration is relatively on track to recovery (given the surprisingly above-average economic indicators), the possibility for it to translate into full development is threatened by the political turmoil the country is now embroiled in. I’m not saying Pinoys do nothing about the President’s electoral impropriety and, using her own words, ‘lapse in judgment’. By all means, strip her out of public office. But do it using legal means; seek it through legal avenues. Impeachment is most favorable; re-exercising ‘People Power’ is inauspicious.

I agree that the concept of a ‘People Power revolution’ is an overused, hackneyed process towards change. Especially now when the political climate is not as clearly polarized as in the Marcos dictatorship; it is not between good versus evil anymore. Rather, it is choosing among lesser evils (if not, worst by today’s standard of corrupt individuals). Who is to take over if Arroyo is booted out through unconstitutional means? De Castro? Estrada? Lacson? A professor in my university hypothetically proposed that illiberal governments or countries under political instability submit to re-colonization. A bit extreme, I know. But therein lies the dilemma: How do we enable change?

The best solution I can think of in this quite sick cycle of a situation is to strenghten legislative powers to revise the constitution in such a way that (1) Politicking is minimized to favor economic growth; (2) modernize and improve the election process! If elections are done in a fast and efficient manner, then results would be less prone to cheating and manipulation; (3) raise the standard of qualifications for those seeking the Presidency. In this day and age, a high school diploma is not enough for an individual (however best his intentions are) to steer a country and its people to a real and tangible development.

Until then, quo vadis, Philippines? ad nauseam, perhaps.

Travel Pains

2005-06-05T00:08:00.000-04:00

My trip back to Japan was haphazardly moved to an earlier date due to a training I need to attend over the first June weekend. Plans for the Memorial Day weekend were scaled down to accommodate changes in the travel itinerary. And because it was a holiday weekend in the US, G and I had to content ourselves being listed as standby passengers given the heavy flow of holiday travelers.

If past trips were to consult by, we were sure to miss the ideal flight and get stranded for a day or two before finally securing plane seats. Luck seems to dodge us on occasions when we travel that (again, if past trips were to consult by) we lose track of our luggage, get short of moolah, run out of cheap hotel rooms, or find ourselves locked out from an airport (Fukuoka!). Moments like these are primarily the bases why this blog was aptly christened as The Adventures of D&G.

But wonder of wonders, we got on the first flight to Japan; luck empathized and had a change of heart.

It was a welcome relief, indeed. But after 18 hours on board a plane, we still had to go through the motions indentured to living in bucolic Beppu. We took another two hours by plane to Fukuoka, then a couple more on bus, and finally a seven-minute cab ride to our apartment. All in all, an entire day was spent on traveling. Whew!

Phsyically dead-beat and energy-deficient, here I am detailing the day's experience in the hope of exorcising whatever travel pains left. Praying too, the next travel wouldn't be as exacting as the last. --D

Choc'lit Overload

2005-06-01T23:40:00.000-04:00

Today I lived a childhood fantasy. I became Charlie Bucket in Willy Wonka's world for a day. Yes, I went to a chocolate factory.

Taking a Memorial Day weekend trip to Pennsylvania to spend the remaining days in the US, G and I (along with her sister and close friends) went to Hershey Park. Although relatively close to NY, driving to Penn was long and tiresome. I traded the driving chore to Christine, a family friend and slept the road trip away. But as soon as lampposts with bulbs that resemble huge chocolate Kisses emerged from the mid-afternoon view, I became a kid again with plenty of energy to spare and spend away. The environment made my endorphins go berserk as did my chocolate cravings.

The park was huge with a theme park, museum, zoo, golf course, hotel, spa, and of course, the chocolate factory to explore. The place was dreamlike, like a mirage in the middle of a dry desert -- although this one is for real. Imagine having a spa treatment out of chocolate! Free chocolates were also given away throughout the tour that my early cravings were replaced by a considerable degree of addiction at the end of the day.

Of course one should learn something from an experience, especially those as momentous as this one. Today, I learned chocolate from Hershey's comes from cocoa beans shipped from Indonesia and Ghana. I am therefore indebted and bound to pay respects to my Indonesian and Ghanan friends back in the University. I also learned that Hershey's is not purely a business affair but a charitable company dedicated to special children and supporting and supplying essentials to soldiers in times of war.

By the time we reached NY, I was extremely exhausted. But I was also intoxicated by the chocolate overload I've lived through the day. And judging by the bagful supply of chocolates G & I bought, I probably will be for a few more days... --D

Pervster

2005-05-23T23:25:00.000-04:00

Let's be honest. Friendster is a good chore. For many, a daily one at that. Addictive it has become.

Logging in enables one to check out how friends and relatives are.

But what I really like about Friendster is its function to kill time, especially when I am dead-bored and stranded in, say, an airport terminal or taking time out from whatever work that I am hell-bent busy with.

Boredom is a personal peeve.

It lets my mind wander aimlessly about like a poet in a mid afternoon Chemistry class.

When I am bored, I busy myself reading practically anything I can glue my eyes on. And so browsing through my Friendster today and finding no messages or new friend requests, I found one column on the right side of my PC monitor with the banner saying: Popular Network Searches.

Intrigued, I scrolled down to see what my friends are googling for these days; what's in, what's hip, and what's hot.

Surprise! Surprise!

The 10 popular searches in my network reads: (1) Filipina Babes, (2) Sunshine Cruz video, (3) Bold Filipina, (4) Body Language Flirting, (5) Cute Japanese Girls, (6) Love Spells, (7) Latest Nokia Phones, (8) True Love Quiz, (9) Asian Biker Babes and, (10) Viva Hot Babes.

Save for popular search number 7, all are treading on perversion and sexual delinquency.

Plus, I didn't know the word 'babes' is popular, let alone sexy.

Ah, perhaps the list reflects the end result of my network of friends being schooled in Catholic all-boys insititutions (okay, I was, too). All the sexual inhibitions finally let loose (and brought into the realm of technology) like newly-wounded cacti in a year-round dry desert.

Well, that's just a theory.

Perhaps the list is just random. Maybe a webmaster's malpractice or perverse contrivance, even.

In any case I get bored again and see the same list of popular searches, I'll probably check it out and see how my network has become a Pervster instead. --D

Deferred

2005-05-20T02:57:00.000-04:00

There is this belief in Film circles that one can claim a movie is extremely good if it still arrests one's interest and attention in succeeding screenings.

Having said this, I am restraining myself from saying anything about 'Episode III:Revenge of the Sith' until I get to watch it again.

I can only describe my impression on my first screening using one of Richard Gordon's circumscribed vocabulary: Wow!

Enough said.

A review, thus, is deferred. --D

I confess that I am not a Star Wars fan. Truth be told, I haven't seen the original Star Wars trilogy (Gasp, if you must). I know nothing about Luke Skywalker nor Princess Leia; I have no idea what 'The Empire Strikes Back' nor 'Return of the Jedi' mean. I tried. I really did. Unfortunately, it was the time when movies were not digitally copied (read: VHS). The audio of the tapes (how 80s!) I rented from a neighborhood videoshop was subpar. As a film buff, this is a big no-no. Suffice to say, I lost my patience and skipped viewing the trilogy altogether. And so, forgive me, the plot I am familiar with is confined to the prequels giving sappy life to Anakin and Padme's romance and the galaxy where alien bimbos named Jarjar Binks exist.

But due to D's eagerness, I caught 'Episode III: Revenge of the Sith' today here in NY. The film is technologically superb (I am now ready to reattempt to watch the Star Wars trilogy, sans any audio malfunctions given the digital remastered version). The story on how Darth Vader came into being is interesting (I expect almost everyone anticipated with restrained breathing that part of the film). Good pacing and storytelling, although the chase sequence in the opening scenes is a bit dragging in my opinion. A major downside of the film is the cheesy dialogues that Hayden Christensen and Natalie Portman were asked to deliver.

The film is enjoyable although it wasn't able to convert me into a fan, unlike D and a couple of Star Wars disciples in the theatre who couldn't contain their emotions as soon as the line 'In a galaxy far, far away...' appeared on screen. My loyalty holds true to LOTR, the greatest trilogy ever to hit the silverscreen in my book. Well, I'll let D do the review. May the force be with him. --G

Scrapbook

2005-05-04T16:57:00.000-04:00

The printed photos look nice.

I’m on my 19th printout and, at this rate, I fear I’ll run short of colored ink soon.

The photos are inserts to the mother’s day cards I plan to send tomorrow for my mom and sister. And while printing, I get to recollect the moments captured digitally on camera. One picture shows me smiling while driving along the freeway to Virginia. The smile was not fake. I was giddy to go camping and see the sights outside the tri-county area of New York. But if it was taken during the trip back home, I’d probably be faking it. I was deadbeat driving. My right leg was numb and lifeless-like as it hit the gas pedal for six straight hours.

Another one shows me and G pitching tent: I, getting busy hammering the peg while G, showing off the tent like Vanna White displaying the solved Wheel of Fortune puzzle. Save for a big downpour in Day 1, the tent was cozy a space to sleep into for the 2-night camping.

I also have some showing me and G toasting marshmallows on a bonfire. What the photos don't show is the tedious time putting up the bonfire with kerosene on, as we soon figured out, moist-wet chopped logs.

There are several photos taken from a stroll in Virginia Beach Pier. The beach photos look nice as we, in boardshorts, stand on the sandy shore with the Atlantic Ocean in full view. One picture, however, shows how bad the weather that day was: dark rain clouds hovering in the horizon. No chance to swim, unless we wanted to die from the chilly winds and waters. Brrrrr!

Taking a detour in Washington, D.C. we ended up taking more photos in landmarks such as Jefferson Library, Smithsonian Institute, Lincoln Memorial, Capitol Hill, and the White House. If pictures can only talk, they would probably say: That's not the White House, idiots! as we pose on the Capitol Hills steps.

And if we kept clicking the camera away when we arrived in New York at 2 in the morning, I might be printing pictures showing weary, haggard-looking, and dog-tired excursionists eager to sleep the entire trip away.
--D

May Thoughts

2005-05-01T14:13:00.000-04:00

Today's May 1.

It's Labor Day weekend in the Philippines. But since I've postponed my career for scholastic pursuits in Japan, there's no point celebrating just yet.

May is a hot month in the Philippines. Pool excursions and out-of-town trips are part of the month's itinerary. Actually, any activity within the confines of anything cool (i.e. pools, beaches, airconditioned malls, movie theaters, get the drift?) is worth involving oneself into.

G and I went to a friend's province down south once and dipped and swam into a virgin river for hours only to find an old man bathing his pet horse upstream (Ah, natural mane and tale shampoo and conditioner!).

May is also the time to visit old relatives living in equally old houses canopied by fruit-bearing trees, inhabited by farm animals, and colonized by blood-sucking mosquitoes. Sleepovers are usually a bore. Curfew is at 9, TV reception is poor, and sari-sari stores close at 7. Food, though, is a plenty. Rice cakes are a daily fare and lechon is served for lunch.

Picnics and barbecue parties are also May events. Kids get to run around parks or backyards playing pretend-games while grown ups busy themselves with grilling porkchops and hotdogs, playing cardgames, and fanning their sweaty temples and armpits with ripped biscuit carton scraps.

Ah, I miss May in the Philippines. I miss being a kid, too.

Well, incidentally, theme parks open in May here in the US. I guess I'll get to be a kid again, at least for the entire month of May... --D

Brown Lessons

2005-05-01T02:15:00.000-04:00

Today, one of the kids we were charged to oversee saw D eating a bagful of Snickers. Perhaps out of nothing better else to say, she said:

You always eat brown food that's why you're brown.

We shrugged the expression thinking it was just the usual babblings of a five year old kid.

But after a while, seeing D gobbling his nth bar, she nonchalantly threw an unsolicited advise:
You should stop eating brown food and eat more white food. Brown food makes your skin brown.

It was amusing but was also bordering on politically-incorrectness, so I had to ask what was wrong with having a 'brown skin'?

She answered without caution:
Because the Indians have brown skin and they are stinky...

And there it was, too fresh and raw to let pass. I plucked my grown-up instincts and delivered a sermon on racial discrimination and respect for the diverse in us all. I made a big deal of she having a Filipino lineage (both her parents are Philippine immigrants) are brown too and should be proud instead than picking on non-white people. I went overboard but one needs to learn the right lessons young.

I dunno how kids get to think of such twisted ideas (from TV, I reckon) because last year, I was in the same situation with a bunch of Japanese kids. It was in a birthday party and this boy unabashedly commented that he didn't like one of his playmates because she was part British (his dad being English) and thus a gaijin (foreigner). He got lucky that I wasn't fluent then in Japanese language, otherwise, I'd lash him good on babbling such racial rubbish and slur.

Sure, I sometimes make fun of other people too. I am not fond of how South Asians and Africans smell but I don't take it against them. I believe in the innate goodness of all people. In fact, I have friends from such ethnic backgrounds. I enjoy their company because they are a happy lot. I also trust the Indian boyfriend of my bestfriend, even if I haven't met him in person.

And children should not be any different. When children pass judgement, racial or otherwise, to other people, it should be stopped early on. They may be cute or funny, but not entirely free from malice. They may have the purest of hearts but then they may also be misguided to think ill or less of other people and be blinded to see the real beauty within others. It is imperative that children learn about the equality of all people regardless of race, color, religion or nationality at an early age. And grown ups are tasked to break the sick cycle of intolerance and discrimination among children.

I used to think that the idealist in me died when I left UP but after some moments of contemplation, I realized I still have it in me. I dream of a world free of bias and hatred; of pride and prejudice; of gender differences; of colors that divide us all. And, perhaps having to lash out a sermon or two on erring kids, I believe that this generation can start building that kind of world. --G

For the record, I resent the line in G's entry saying 'eating a bagful of Snickers.' Sure, I ate a bar or two, but a bagful is a bit of an exagerration.

It is funny, though, to put in deep thought about how eating too much chocolate results to a darker skin complexion. If that's the case then I reckon Pinoys would've abstained from chocolates altogether given the prevailing opinion that a skin tone close to that of a Caucasian is a God in the Philippines.

Funny, yes. Twisted, all the more yes. And coming from a kid, it is just pitiful. Martin Luther King would've dug himself out of the grave in protest.

I guess we have yet to become more politically-correct in our day-to-day interaction with people and ensure kids learn well, too. But in any case we make a slip, we can always, albeit sincerely say sorry and drop a 'tao lang po' remark. --D

Sinful

2005-04-15T00:13:00.000-04:00

If there was one thing that glued me hard to Film Studies in UP, it was Film Noir.

Brandon Lee's screen performance of James O'Barr's comics The Crow imprinted a personal fascination of the dark and dingy (contrasting blacks and whites), grim and gloomy, and seamy and sadistic shots, plots, and characters in contemporary cinema that I ditched Business School and shifted to Film in sophomore year.

I learned a great deal of Film Noir through classic films such as the German avant-garde The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, Orson Welles' Citizen Kane, Brian DePalma's Scarface, John Huston's The Maltese Falcon, and Ridley Scott's Bladerunner. The pervading environment in a Film Noir is usually brutal, cynical, inhumane, seamy, and fatalistically pessimistic, which characterize the early (and current) gun-toting, crime-ridden, morally-deficient, and socially-decaying American movies.

And Robert Rodriguez' adaptation of Frank Miller's Sin City smacks right up the Noir alley.

G and I caught the matinee today with high hopes of stirring our visual cravings for the film buff in us; and Sin City didn't disappoint but delivered -- and delivered exceedingly beyond expectations. Excellent would be an understatement, and; Engaging would be too modest words to describe the movie.

Here's why:

1. Director(s). It's a Robert Rodriguez opus with a directorial bonus: Quentin Tarantino. Sin City is like El Mariachi meets Kill Bill or From Dusk 'Til Dawn meets Natural Born Killers (although, arguably, the latter ones are more of Tarantino's than Rodriguez). And with a gun stuck in the temple of Jackie Boy's talking, dismembered head throughout the latter part of the film, Tim Burton would've been a brilliant add-on!

2. Action. Largely due to number 1, Sin City is inevitably a virtual gorefest. Of course, blood and gore are prime elements in Frank Miller’s cartoon novels but credit goes to Rodriguez and Tarantino to celebrate these elements on silver screen. Rephrasing Peter Parker’s line, Sin City is not for the faint at heart but for the morbid kind. The incessant flesh slash, head splits, body mutilations, and vengeful violence and boorish blood bath are a welcome motif throughout the film without the cringe, disgust, or repulsion.

3. Cast. Although the genre and cinematography alone would have carried Sin City to greatness, it had to employ an all-star cast that makes the movie all the more worthy of $6.50 ticket (and repeats as well). The cool, calm, and collected (comparably better -- bars higher -- than Batman's Commissioner Gordon) John Hartigan is played by Bruce Willis; Kidnap and child-rape survivor Nancy Callahan portrayed by Jessica Alba; Kevin, a young Hannibal Lecter brought to life by Frodo, er, Elijah Wood; Brittany Murphy as the sexy and slutty waitress Shellie; Clive Owen as the private investigator Dwight; Benicio Del Toro as Basin City's corrupt cop Jackie Boy; Rosario Dawson as hooker ring pimp Gail; Devon Aoki as the Samurai sword toting Miho, and; Alexis Bledel (of Gilmore Girls fame -- a miscast in my book, though) as double-crossing prostitute Becky, among others (including Josh Hartnett and Michael Clark Duncan). Oh, forget not (lest I commit sacrilege) Nick Stahl as the pedophile yet erectile dysfunctional Yellow Bastard. Whew!

4. Plot. Three of Frank Miller's novels comprise the film adaptation of Sin City, which in Pinoy vernacular is sulit! The intertwined stories reflect the Noir genre highlighting the dark, sadistic, and inhumane sides of human experience. Flashbacks are employed to link characters and plots in highly oppressive environment where the protagonists operate. I rooted for Hartigan as he pushed his priniciples to the extremes to save a hapless child victim from crime and cruelty largely instigated by the Yellow Bastard and a corrupt society. His determined suppression of personal feelings toward Nancy proved as Noir as Frank Miller's stories can be: Fatalistic and heroic; Choosing pain and eventual death over doomed love. Ditto for Marv over Goldie against Kevin and Cardinal Rourk. And as in any FPJ movie, the underdogs triumph until the very end -- gore and all.

Sin City is just an absolute treat. An unhealthy, intoxicating treat that is all eye catching, addicting, and drool inducing, which cannot be dismissed once peddled or teased to one's senses. All one needs to do is to just suck it all up and go with the stimulating flow. Woohoo! Watching Sin City is plainly just that: sinful. --D

Parked

2005-04-08T00:41:00.000-04:00

I didn’t ask for an extra five minutes.

I woke up shortly after a conscious thought was shaped. It took a few seconds to sit up and a few more to stand and head to the john.

A splash of cool water from the tap and a quick glance at the mirror stirred me to think, smile, and fully absorb today’s itinerary: Central Park.

I got giddy, so much so I skipped breakfast and stood at the bus stop 15 minutes early. Bucked the idea to drive to the city; Traffic, parking, and complex routes would’ve spoiled the day. And so G and I opted to take the N24 bus to the subway to Manhattan.

The subway reeked, but for $2 and the thought of Central Park, I couldn’t have cared any less.

By the fifth station, the coach was crammed. I had a hard time glancing at my subway map – a colored printout I prepared last night to navigate around – with two guys in silly trench coats standing closely by. G had a probing look; her eyes busy, looking around as if we were helplessly lost. I had to take another glance at the map. I looked stupid. The guys around me perhaps thought so, too. Bah! I didn’t flinch; In fact, I let my eyes lingered on the map longer – long enough for the others to frown and say, “Another tourist!”

Rockefeller Center Station. Time to change platform. Growl! Hunger tolled. G and I yielded. After snaking through the labyrinth of an exit, we found ourselves on 5th Avenue. St Patrick’s Cathedral beckoned ahead and we gave in to the tourists in us: We took pictures, oblivious to the scornful gaze of New York city dwellers.

Lunch was at Friday’s. It wasn’t the ideal choice. Proximity took command. And after 40 mins. of bad lunch special plates, bad service, bad priced bill, I reckoned nothing could make the day worst.

I was wrong.

Back at the subway, the B & D trains (the orange lines in my map) – the ones that were supposed to take us to Central Park – were out of service. It was past 1 pm. Shit! Half the day was put to waste.

I plucked my folded map from my denims. There has to be a way, else New Yorkers would’ve done an EDSA revolt of sorts. Ah! I coursed my finger through the map and followed a red line parallel that of the orange one, and, whoa! I found Central Park West Station four stations away from 7th Avenue Station. We had to walk though, much to G’s peeve.

The walk was a pain. A block in Manhattan is measured twice over than the average suburban one, or so my feet found fault on. G spoke nothing. She was pissed, I could tell. 7th Avenue Station was a stone’s throw away Times Square. Not even the Square comforted G. All she wanted was to sit to rest her Elle Woods legs.

The subway ride was swift. The walk to Central Park wasn’t.

We passed by Broadway Avenue and a row of apartments and high end residential flats until Central Park beckoned. Alleluia! G finally allowed a smile to slip. It was close to 3 pm and I was exhausted. I needed a Gatorade and there was none but Pepsi from the hotdog stand. I was parched but managed to resuscitate bliss within seeing Central Park in all its beauty. It was my third visit and it was and still is (to quote Fred Savage of Wonder Years fame) mesmerizing -- all 800+ acres of it.

Today was a great day to stroll around the park. The weather threw a warm 58F and a clear and sunny sky. Perfect. The leaves were few yet budding; the grounds were strikingly sodded and landscaped; the people were surprisingly laid back and easygoing, and; the squirrels were out playing leisurely and oblivious to the human activities around (squirrels! in the wild, no slingshots to hunt with.Darn!).

G and I just sucked everything in, like preschoolers on a first field trip to the zoo. Of course, the camera clicked, and clicked some more. Every possible nook, especially where scenes from sappy films such as An Affair To Remember, Breakfast at Tiffany's, When Harry Met Sally, You've Got Mail, Home Alone, Maid In Manhattan, and (although arguably) Annie Hall were shot, was picture perfect.

My watch ticked 5.30. I frowned. I took a last survey of the park then sighed; 'Had to head back to Long Island lest we get caught in the heavy throng of rush hour traffic.

The subway train ride wasn't as bad as before. The orange line was in operation and, although still crammed, the coaches were okay. Save for losing the subway farecards, I'd say the trip back home went well.

We promised to go back really soon, though. We only covered the West side of the park. More sights await and ready for the suck in. Well, we'd gladly oblige (and indulge) anytime. --D

Blending In

2005-04-01T23:24:00.000-05:00

It was time.

There wasn't any clock to peek at so I kept my eyes shut.

I just knew it was time.

Half awake, half asleep, I struggled. Five more minutes, I promised.

I tried to get back to the last dream sequence. I couldn't. The poke of consciousness suspended all thoughts.

My bladder summoned, too.

And so it was time.

Wake up!

I stood and pulled the door open; Sunlight pierced my eyes.

Forced by habit, my mind directed my feet to the toilet while recollecting the last thread of the dream before. And as the burning pee was released, so was any hope of ever remembering the dream and what became of it.

I was awake; Fully conscious.

Like a newly gassed-up machine, my mind began to churn to think. And so I reckoned the toothpaste was nearly drained; the sink was a bit dirty; my hair was a mess, and; the clock ticked 10.13.

Then it hit me. Today's April.

I have been three months old in New York -- the longest, by far. No wonder I got sentimental yesterday and sorely missed Japan.

Thinking back, I knew I know I am getting older in New York. The signs of an accustomed me were all around -- half-consciously condoned and overlooked: I know which corners to turn to, what streets to pass by, and what landmarks to watch out for when driving around the suburbs; I get discounts from and exchange pleasantries with the corner deli neighborhood store owner; I cut my laundry time in half and operate the machines like a pro; I breeze through the self check-out express lanes in supermarkets with utmost efficiency (cash or card); I know what program is on and which channel to tune into at any given time and any given day (no need to surf!); I need not offer directions to the Chinese Food delivery guy; I mean Manhattan when I say 'city', and; I'm on a first name basis with everyone else.

Well, these will all end in a few more weeks when G and I return to Japan. Yes, to reinforce last words in my previous blog entry, I'll miss New York, too by then. But today, I'm just blending in. --D

Missing Japan

2005-04-01T00:28:00.000-05:00

I live in Japan for almost three years and it has become my second home by default given my scholastic pursuits and during these times, although arguably, I imbibed a good deal of the Japanese way of life. Having said that, in a sudden gush of forlorn and a hard hit of semblant homesickness, I miss Japan today.

Perhaps because I am overstaying in New York that its luster has somehow diminished, I am slowly veering away from feelings of overwhelm and excitement to treading into familiarity and indolence. Yes, New York isn't as orgasmic an experience as it was two months ago (or last 2003) and my restless self is probably shaken from deep slumber to harbor today's sentiments.

Sure, Japan turned out to be too novel yet too mainstream to sustain my interest, like the fate of The Vapors and their 80s one-hit-wonder 'Turning Japanese', as soon as I realized life was not as fun and adventurous as the countless anime cartoons I avidly grew up watching on TV. But having to sit out my studies for years, I learned to let Japan grow on me and, surprise! surprise! it somehow did.

How do I miss Japan? Let me count the ways...

I miss the Japanese toilet bowl. Gross as this may read, the Japanese toilet is an ingenious technology I give a great deal of shit about (pun intended). It has a built-in heater, sprinkler, deodorizer, and automatic flush that discharging impurities becomes a chore worth doing (even in public toilets!). It's like empowering one's bowel movement; or spoiling one's colon (get the drift?). Basta, shitting becomes an activity to relish (okay, the analogies are getting a bit out of hand...).

Next is the ubiquitous karaoke parlors. One's visit (let alone living) in Japan is fragmentary and even adulterated without singing the lungs out on one of thousands of recorded instrumental songs in a karaoke machine. Okay, for those who know me since kindergarten, I was never a singer. I hardly sing except on occasions confined in the bathroom. But, thanks to my stay in Japan, karaoke parties are an added occasion to belt out a song or two.It took a lot of coaxing and courage (and yes, practice) to pluck out the singer in me but, in time, I manage to carry the tunes of a very (and I mean very) selected repertoire of songs in a karaoke room. I discovered my music genres, and (brace yourself) they are alternative, rock, and a bit of the oldies; Pop, R&B, and love songs are an agony to carry out (much to G's dismay).

Hot springs or onsen. I study in a place in Japan where hot springs are like McDee's: popular and all over. For US$5, one can relish, revel, rollic, roister in a pool of hot, relaxing, and therapeutic spring water for hours until one's fingers are white and wrinkled.

Ebi tempura (breaded shrimp), yakiniku (grilled meat), and tabehodai (eat-all-you-can). I am not fond of Japanese food. I barf sushi and gag at any food with any hint of wasabe. But I gloat at the sight of and pig out on ebi tempura and yakiniku, especially on tabehodai parties. What is there to say but there are always an exception to one's gastronomic rule...

Gym. I sorely miss my gym workouts in APU. I go thrice a week for two hours each session. My well being was reduced to time spent on a treadmill and doing rounds and reps on machines that kept me fit and, well, sexy (at least for G). And, whoa! I never complain. Workouts discipline me more and offer good results (however relative) than learning kanjis. Now that I am away, my workout routines are irregular, heck, even palsied! This morning, I jogged five blocks and I figured I was out of shape after the first block with shortness of breath, muscle pains, and a throbbing headache. I walked instead and felt just as bad as the one time I lost my gym card.

Sakura. Spring in Japan is a sight to behold with cherry blossoms all around. I'm not really into flowers unless enroled in Botany (which was never, either) but the small and colorful sakuras dot avenues and parks that one can derive pleasure and marvel from by just looking! So much so, the Japanese churn out festivals and events celebrating the cherry blossoms, including picnics and BBQ parties. This year was supposed to be my last year with the sakuras, but since I am in the US, I guess I'll just go find the next best thing... Washington!

There are probably a laundry list of things in Japan I miss. Unfortunately, having to remember them is torture and as bad as nursing my current feelings of forlorn and homesickness. Perhaps, in time, I'll get to miss New York and all the other places I got to travel to, too. But for now, my restless soul needs to lay still and catch up on sleep. --D

Two weeks ago, some friends treated us to a nearby Japanese restaurant. Now, I am not really fond of Japanese food (I hate sashimi) except for a few I consider 'edible', but I tagged along nonetheless -- it was a treat for crying out loud!

The restaurant was an eat-all-you can/ US$20 plate buffet. The selection was considerably wide, although I had reservations as I walk through the buffet table. For one, chicken katsu (which I was craving for) was not in the menu; there was no more miso soup (how sad!), and; the ebi tempura didn't look and taste authentic at all! I was frustrated but I wasn't there to mope or complain; I was there to eat and enjoy the company of friends. And so I relished the next best thing: yummy green tea ice cream. It took me three cups to get me nostalgic of Japan once again.

I miss Japan. Never in a million years have I thought I would say so but I do yearn to come back 'home'.

My love affair with Japan is akin to my liking of green tea.

I nearly puked when I had my first taste of green tea some years ago. But over time, I have come to love its almost bittery taste. The strong flavor grew in me that I now take pleasure in drinking Starbucks green tea frappucino and in eating green tea candies and mochi.

I came to Japan three years ago, armed with a few Japanese words and phrases I learned from the Nihongo course I took in the Philippines. I never took the course seriously because I thought the Japanese were capable of communicating with English anyway. Boy, was I wrong!

I have always imagined Japan as a cosmpolitan country and so I was not prepared to the slow-paced life that welcomed me in Beppu. I felt strangely disillusioned with the absence of skyscrapers, tall buildings and condominiums, large shopping malls, Western fast foods and restaurants and the hurried lifestyle that define the quintessential highly advanced nation. Evidently, I did not read much about my university and where it is located. And at that point, there was no turning back.

In time, I have learned to accept the fact that Pizza Hut is alien to Beppu and to eat pizza topped with corn kernels and mayonnaise is a norm; that life’s simple joys are going to onsen and karaoke; that everything in Japan literally comes with an expensive price tag.

And then there were the phrases. Over time, I have acquired the silly habit of mechanically saying hai! (yes), even to questions I could not fully decipher and sumimasen (excuse me) or gomen nasai (sorry) even at the most trivial of circumstances.

With all its oddities and eccentries, I have grown to love Japan. And I may even shed a few tears when I leave the place for good in a few months time. --G

Easter Reflections

2005-03-27T21:51:00.000-05:00

Holy Week was never my favorite time of the year. Back in Manila, I always associated it with hot, long, boring days. Malls were closed, TV programs became Christian specials, any fun was taboo and fasting and abstinence were practiced. Even bathtime was regulated and taken before 3pm on a Good Friday, something that I could still not fathom up to this day.

When I was a kid, my mom and aunts would drag me to climb that Grotto in Novaliches and to pray the 14 stations of the cross. Boy, those were really walks to remember by! If my feet could speak, they would've cursed my supposedly holy-state of being. To this day, I have no intention of doing any repeats, ever. The only consolation I got from those trips were the yummy kalamays I bought home.

I also tagged along and did the Visita Iglesia once where, as practice dictates, one need to visit seven different churches on a Maundy Thursday.

Then my mom became active in church. She started hosting the week-long pabasa every year until my family migrated to Hawaii. I never tried singing the pasyon, though 'cos I was too self-conscious then (if I had my karaoke-motivated voice then, I would've done it in a more pop-ish way and literally would've rocked the night away!).

When I started working, my feelings about Holy Week sort of shifted accommodatingly with less work and longer weekends (starting Wednesday afternoon until Easter Sunday). It also meant taking out-of-town trips and exploring places with friends. My last Holy Week in Pinas was actually spent in Mauban, Quezon province with D and friends . We were up to the task of fasting and abstaining by eating pork for breakfast on a Good Friday and swimming in a beach island resort most of Black Saturday (sarcasm included).

In Japan, Holy Week passed by barely noticed because, one, classes are held as usual, even for the supposedly devout Catholics. Second, Lent always fall on the first weeks of spring when the weather is cool and breezy to pass up for a picnic at the park or a stroll along the beach.

There isn't much of a difference here in the US. Although schools and some offices are closed, everything stays pretty much the same. In fact, we had a grand dinner at Cheesecake Factory last Thursday, shopped the next day and practically did the same things Saturday.

The question, hence is: Does that make me a bad person? If you say yes, then go and throw stones at me. If you think otherwise, may God bless you.

To each his own, 'nuff said

Happy Easter everyone! --G

Easter. Christ has risen from the dead and redeemed mankind. Men were freed from sins and began a new life.

New life. It has a nice ring to it, like a reprieve for a man on deathrow.

I had a made over this week that harbingered an improved me come Easter. I had a haircut Monday; Gone with the old, long hair and hello to a short-cropped, wash-and-wear hairstyle. I confess, I hate having a haircut. It is a risky process with a relative outcome. Worst part is, one is compelled to give tips as if to abet malpractice among barbers. But Monday, I had no complains. After a 10-minute, 12-dollar (plus 3-dollar tip) process, I was driving home with a new look and a satisfied grin on my face.

Then came today. Early today I shaved my goatee off. It was a crucial decision, mind you. I kinda got the hang of the image I was trying to wear: dangerously gwapo (okay, modesty is a virtue I need to learn yet) with the goatee and all. Besides, I grew fond of the protruding goatee strands (heck, I even shampoo and comb 'em). But with my long hair cut short, the goatee seemed out of place and out of character already. Thus the shave off.

Standing in front of the mirror, I looked, well, different -- in a good way, of course. The image was a 90s flashback and I liked what I saw (vanity aside).

For the Easter Mass, I opted to tuck my polo shirt. It has been years since the last time I tucked a shirt in a pair of pressed jeans, and today was a good time for a comeback. All was clean and simple.

However superficial the self-improvements are, in analysis, I was going back to basics; to things that were and things that are supposed to be. However hard I try, I'll never be able to shrug off my good-guy persona. No goatee or long hair or leather pants and boots on a Harley me can do so.

This Easter, I took the new out and brought the old in to begin a new me. --D

It's Miller Time

2005-03-23T16:00:00.000-05:00

He is no Kareem Abdul Jabbar in career-high points or Michael Jordan in best game showmanship but Reggie Miller is one NBA player I respect. Sure, I did label him as a velociraptor look-a-like when I was rooting for LA Lakers to win the 2000 NBA Finals (with the Bryant-O'Neal duo, who wasn't?), but then he was the only scorer from the opposing team to watch out for.

I respect the guy for a number of reasons. I'll only name a couple, remarkable ones at best. First, he has an underdog character. I like the underdogs -- simple and modest, no pretentions, nothing ostentatious in getting things done and eventually win good-natured girls in the end. And Reggie Miller's one of them. He was born with a deformity (I think it was his hip or leg) and had to wear leg braces until the age of 4. He pushed himself hard to make up for a slow and painful start and enabled his way through college at UCLA (as varsity, he was second in total score points next to Kareem's record).

Two, he is loyal. He hasn't changed jerseys as most players do since Indiana picked him back in '87. He was 11th draft pick overall with Bull's Scottie Pippen in 5th and Spur's David Robinson in 1st spots. Not bad. I mean, he's no Lebron James for a rookie but since then, he has played for the Pacers breaking Larry Bird's three point record as a rookie in the first season and averaged 24 points in the second. Three years after, he joined the NBA All Stars (beat that!). Although, yeah, Indiana never won an NBA crown but Reggie led the team to its first ever playoff series back in 1994. Now at age 39, his team mates share the same reverence to his leadership and love for the game, referring to him as "Uncle Reggie".

I'm not really a Reggie Miller fan but I like him, nonetheless. I guess he got my attention when he scored 25 points in one quarter against the Knicks in 1994 (or was it '95?). Either the roster of Pacers' players were really lame or Reggie Miller was just that driven. Since then, he was a player to watch out for in my book. In fact, I dread the times when "Miller Time" was on (especially against the Bulls in the '94 Eastern playoffs).

And today is not just a Miller Time but a Miller Day. Reggie hit the NBA league history books after scoring 25,000 career points and leading the Pacers past the Spurs. He joins 12 other players, including Kareem and Jordan, in the league's elite club. And his reaction to this recognition: "It's a nice accomplishment". How modest can the usual self-absorbed and cocky NBA players get?!?! Just ask Reggie.

It won't be long until Reggie hangs his jersey for retirement -- next season, when he turns 40, to be precise. Well, up until then, I suppose we'll see more of Miller Time! --D

Who The Fuck Does She Think She Is?

2005-03-21T18:43:00.000-05:00

How to ever even begin this entry? There is just too much to rant about. An overwhelming animosity has reached a personal sore point against this woman.

And to even belabor and chew out a mouthful of grudge on my blogspace is already burning the candle at both ends or, in Pinoy vernacular, OA. The adage "Hate must make a man productive. Otherwise one might as well love," is spoken true. This hate blog entry is me being productive.

C'mon, save for her mother, who doesn't hate Kris Aquino?!?!

How many moms have passed on the advice, "If you dislike something that is not good, avoid it"? Well, my mom did but Kris Aquino is just friggin' everywhere! She has splurgely personified pop culture with TV programs, movies, commercials, billboards, newspaper articles, gossip columns, product endorsements, websites, and host of other stuff that has her face or name on it. She is like a shirt stain that won't wash off or a misspelled tattooed word on a bare arm. She is Jolina Magdangal on a higher peeve degree.

I would've happily avoided her omnipresence overseas but no thanx to TFC.

And so having to sit beside G yesterday watching the equally irksome showbiz program Buzz, there she was, in all her self-serving and snooty self, talking at length about how pretty and poised she still appeared despite being sick for two days and undergoing treatment in a local hospital a day prior (gee, how cute! too much lipo, perhaps).

Well, however popular she may get; however endless the endorphins she may derive from flaunting her IQ, Kris Aquino will always be that botoxed, liposucked, nose-lifted, boob-enlarged, balls-crushing, screaming, Carlo-J-Caparas bimbo-slash-bitch who falls for old, balding, and ugly men (dont quote me though. I cant afford lawyers).

What is more disturbing -- heck, even perilous -- are individuals glorifying Kris Aquino to a dangerous point of idolatry. Imagine young girls molding their lives as future Kris Aquinos in-waiting! Whatever happened to following the ideal pursuits of Salonga, Yorac, Nicolas-Lewis, Natori, Magsaysay-Ho, Rosales, Hagedorn, Pedrosa, or even the other Aquino? Come on, are we supposed to let someone whose best book ever read was Sidney Sheldon's Bloodline lord over our lives almost 24/7?

Let's raise the bar a little higher, please.

Am I right or am I right? Corrrreeeeeect!!! --D

True Champ

2005-03-20T04:58:00.000-05:00

I was crushed.

My heart bleeds for Pacquiao and his recent defeat against Morales.

I was rooting heavily on Pacquiao to win not because I am a Pinoy (well, to a certain extent, yes) but because I believe in him. He is, as the HBO commentators attest, a warrior. A poor boy from the South who, yet according to the commentators (in digging up some facts as prep for the main event), peddled yosi in the streets of Manila to make both ends meet. He boxed to survive. His passion to box is for life itself. I suppose all boxers are. Mike Tyson was a lawbreaker and a high school kickout in the Bronx before he was plucked from a youth institution to box; Cassius Clay had to learn how to box to reclaim his stolen squeeky bike, which he used to pedal blocks away from his small house to school to become Muhammad Ali; Sugar Ray Leonard had to win boxing matches to defer rising medical bills incurred by his ailing dad; Joe Frazier worked his ass off working in a squalid slaughterhouse to support his own family after getting married at the age of 15! He boxed at nights after work in a local gym to earn bets for extra cash.

Pacquiao is no different. He was poor and used it as a motivation to win boxing matches. And despite his new found millions and fame, I saw on TV how he shares his money with the poor and remains rooted in his past, faith, and values. How can one not throw in all possible support to such character?

And so with every jab, punch, blow, hit, nudge, strike, and thrust on Pacquiao's cut, bruised, and bloodied face translated to a heavy wince, cringe, and recoil from Pinoys; And all offensives against Morales became moments of pride and respect to a poor guy from the South who shouldered and burdened upon himself the same pride and respect of an equally poor nation on a battle ground in a foreign land (how profound can I possibly get?).

Never mind if I stayed up late to catch the match. Never mind if it was a $50 pay-per-view TV special. Never mind if I stood witness to a 12-round gorefest (I grew up watching WWF, anyway). Never mind if I ended up with a hoarse voice (from shouting my lungs out) and in a depressed state-of-mind.

It was all worth it. I will sleep tonight as I did after Pacquiao's matches with Ledwaba, Barrera, Marquez, and Fahsan: Proud to be Pinoy!

Pacquiao is a true warrior; A source of pride. And in my book, he is a winner, a champion. --D

I was never fond of boxing. I've always thought it to be too violent for my taste and too painful to watch. I've always preferred watching ballgames and more refined sports like figure skating and gymnastics. But last night left me with no choice. I sat with the whole Siton family gathered around the living room like true boxing fans for the pay-per-view match between our very own Pacquiao and Morales. It was the very first boxing match I watched.

I never really understood anything about boxing so I had to turn to D who promptly gave me a crash course of the game. It was actually easy - the opponents face each other for 12 rounds with 3 minutes each, the judges give points for the boxers at the end of every round, whoever accumulates the most number of points wins the game unless the opponent serves him a knockout.

But the game was no ordinary match for millions of Filipino viewers across the world. Aside from the media hype and the high stakes of prize money and bets that surrounded it, the fight was about Pacquiao, their kababayan who catapulted to international fame because of his previous boxing titles. I suppose that every Filipino watching the game felt a surge of national pride as Pacquiao took the arena. It was probably one of those rare moments when all the hearts of the Filipinos beat as one.

I watched with my eyes half-closed as Morales mercilessly threw punches and jabs to Pacquiao. I cheered endlessly as Pacquiao threw back his offenses. But a cut on Pacquiao's right eye, which could have been caused by a headbutt as others claimed, made all the difference in the fight. Pacquiao was bleeding most of the game, he could hardly see and yet he stood there and fought back with what remained of his strength and his visibility. He endured the pain and bravely battled until the very end.

Pacquiao lost to Morales. It was probably one of thos rare moments again when Filipinos all over the world shared the same feelings of sadness and disappointment. But knowing the resiliency of every Filipino, I suppose all share too the same feelings of hope and a new found respect for Pacquiao. Everything is not lost. There's always a tomorrow for a true believer and fighter of dreams.

Pacquiao may have lost to Morales but I know that he has gained a legion of fans from all over the world because of his unrelenting fighting spirit. I still don't like boxing but I sure will watch when Pacquiao is ready to rise again from his defeat. Now that is something I look forward to.
--G

Clean Slate

2005-03-19T00:03:00.000-05:00

We are starting fresh. A clean slate -- the hamper, that is.

Today was laundry day.

After a late breakfast of cream cheese-smothered toast and a TV rerun, G and I went to a coin laundry station nearby, soiled clothes-stuffed duffel bags in tow. The bags numbered to four with clothes separated according to wash-type (eg whites, coloreds, knitted, etc.). G, the self-confessed laundry person (given the choice between washing or pressing clothes) had everything expertly sorted out. Yes, I admit, she does my laundry back in Japan. And save for a couple of white shirts turning pink, she has mastered the art of doing laundry. The washing machine back in our Japan apartment concurs. And if it were her slave, she would do her bidding without any feelings of remorse, discontent, displeasure, or even abuse.

Here in NY, the laundry expert in G endures. Too much of an expert in fact that she volunteers to do her sister's heap of laundry too! And so instead of washing one, we ended up washing four bags full of dirty clothes. No complains, though. We didn't have anything else to do anyway but to kill time in front of TV today.

At the coin laundry, the smell of detergent and softener blanket the air. There are five areas in the elongated space: (1) Rows of washing machines and (2) dryers, (3) two-layered boards for folding, (4) a laundry counter, where one can buy detergents, softeners, and other laundry paraphernalia. One can also store his washed clothes ready for pick-up later; (4) a waiting area where a row of seats and newspaper and magazines are located. TVs are also installed to kill boredom. And if you get hungry or thirsty, (5) vending machines are on standby. The coin laundry is an excellent social place as well to befriend neighbors and strangers who, like G, share passtime passion doing laundry. How many sitcoms can one think of with coin laundry as backdrops? Friends for one with Ross and Rachel flirting around in between wash and rinse and around clothes carts and baskets.

At $2.50 per wash and a dollar per spin-dry load, we ended up spending 20 bucks to finish the entire laundry (did I mention we had two extra bags of towels and more whites?). I had to haul six bags back to the house and man! they were a heavy lot to carry.

After folding a heapful of clothes (that took hours to finish!) and neatly putting them in order and on the newly-washed-clothes basket, a sense of accomplishment commenced. It felt good to dirty my hands and carry the laundry load (literally, too!) that I had to give more respect and credit to G and her laundry fixation.

Now that the hamper's clean and empty, we're starting a virtually clean slate stay in NY. --D

I am a self-confessed 'laundry' addict. I was probably a labandera in my past life (harhar, what a letdown!).

Call it obsessive-compulsive behavior or just plain nerdish but I love reading the labels on clothes that say what kind of fabric and how to properly wash it and using what type of detergents, etc. (generally they read something like: Machine wash cold with like colors, Tumble dry low, Bleach when needed, Lay flat to dry). I take pleasure in sorting out the whites from the coloreds and the delicate fabrics from the regular ones. I delight in the mere sound of the washing machine spinning in cycles. Call me weird but that is how my love affair is with doing the laundry. Sick at it may sound, I still am productive.

But enough about me (D has told a mouthful already).

On the other side of the weird coin, D's has moments too doing domestic stuff like laundry. He is very, very (VERY) meticulous when it comes to folding clothes to a dangerous obsessive-compulsive disorder point. He folds clothes like they do them in department stores, heck, even better! (to be continued...) --G

On Fast Food

2005-03-16T18:59:00.000-05:00

Putting Morgan Spurlock's edifying docu Super Size Me aside, honestly, fast food is, and will always be, a part of everybody's life. It is convenient, always available, and affordable without the usual hassles of cooking, baking, or any activity inside a kitchen.

In one of those lazy afternoons, G and I ate snacks at a Burger King joint after spending long a time in a local Borders bookstore and came up with a list of fast food items that fit right in our pop culture-doused palate. Turns out we have our own preferences (save for a couple):

Favorite Cheeseburger
D & G: Tropical Hut cheeseburger. No other burger beats the classic.

Favorite Fries
D: KFC. I like my fries thick.
G: Twister Fries and Mc Shaker (McDee's) and Potato Fries

Favorite Chicken
D & G: Jollibee Chicken Joy and gravy overload!

Favorite Ice Cream
D: Wendy's Frosty or McFlurry Butterfinger (McDee's)
G: McFlurry M&Ms (McDee's)

Favorite Burger
D: Wendy's Spicy Chicken Fillet Sandwich or Burger King's Angus Ranch Double Beef Burger
G: McDee's McChicken Sandwich

Favorite Breakfast
D: McDee's Longganisa Meal. The egg is a bit overcooked but if you mash and mix it with the fried rice and put a squirt of ketchup... yumyum.
G: Jollibee's Longganisa Meal

Favorite Pizza and Pasta
D: Sbarro's Baked Ziti with white & meat sauces and chicken parmigiana or CPK's Fetuccini Alfredo (okay, that doesn't qualify as fast food)
G: Sbarro's white cheese pizza or Sbarro's Spaghetti with white sauce and chicken parmigiana

Favorite Dessert
D: Starbuck's Oreo cheesecake. It's a sin eating one (no sharing!).
G: Ube cake (Red Ribbon)

Favorite Drink Other Than Soda
D: Lemonade, preferrably bottomless.
G: Iced Tea and McFloat

Favorite Rice Meal Other Than Chicken
D: Salisbury Steak with mushroom gravy
G: Fried Bangus with vinegar (Red Ribbon)

Favorite Condiment Other Than Ketchup
D: Parmesan and Chili Powder
G: Mayonnaise (for my McDee's fries)

There ya go! Of course nothing is definite. Taste buds are a fickle lot and so, tomorrow we might have a new list (and another blog entry altogether)...

Overkill

2005-03-16T02:46:00.000-05:00

Current affairs hit an opinionated nerve again.

News about a day-long prison standoff in Manila ended in a shootout between prisoners and police, resulting to 23 dead and criticisms afire. The prison takeover started with a jailbreak attempt by some Abu Sayyaf leaders by overpowering guards and gaining control of ammos. How that happened is beyond me. My idea of prison guards is The Rock, Michael Duncan, or Shaq. But I reckon there aren't too many bouncer-type Pinoys out there. Prison guards probably took the Angelo Dela Cruz form -- overworked, underpaid, haggard, malnourished, and poor; Or probably like Chief Clancy Wiggum (of the Simpsons fame) -- overworked, underpaid, haggard, potbellied, corrupt, and incompetent.

In contrast, the Abu Sayyaf prisoners were driven by a motive (however evil that may be), prepared (intelligence reports say a breakout was planned as early as last year), and determined. Never mind if they are ill-fed, unfit, and undersexed (all the more reason to be driven to escape), what mattered was to carry out a mission, conviction, or any Dr. Evil-inspired plot.

Of course this may be reduced to good versus evil. Black or white. Right or wrong. The authorities being good and the prisoners as bad.

But all I can think of was the actual shootout. A batallion with assault firearms and weapons against 5 armed prisoners and 30 or less prison supporters. How many bullets did they fire before they were outshot by the police? It was probably a field day for the police to aimlessly pull triggers and get into the action. With busted lights and earsplitting gunshots and teargas afloat in the air, the situation was like a scene plucked from the 1994 Oliver Stone classic Natural Born Killers. And all that blood and gore! whoa! Carlo J. Caparas was probably not afar, busy conceptualizing a movie and his infamously long, inspiring-scornful-pity, God-calling titles. The Bicutan Shootout Tragedy: Lord, Our Father, Save Us! would be a good one.

The fact that it took 27 hours to negotiate and a bloodbath to end the crisis reflect the incompetence and inefficiency of the Philippine police. The prisoners were clearly outnumbered in men and ammo. It was pure overkill, plain and simple. Now, the unsolved criminal cases brought about by past or recent terrorist acts of the Abu Sayyaf prisoners are now good as, well, dead. --D

Lucky Strike!

2005-03-13T02:39:00.000-05:00

There were no telltale signs, no warnings; Not even Madam Rosa's "Laki Dei Tudei" line.

I struck gold today!

Saturdays start slow as in any weekend. Breakfast was continental: eggs, spam, cereals, and orange juice at 11 am. Nothing special, nothing ominous except for a busted kitchen light and heater. The apartment manager-slash-repair guy was due mid afternoon, so G and I went out to beat the cold.

We went to a local mall where the throng of weekend shoppers was enough to warm the enclosed space. Luck didn't happen until after having a bland and pricey lunch (a 11-dollar Chicken Bourbon that was more adobo than anything Southern American). We made the rounds and did a few on-sale shopping. Fell in love with a moss green-colored jacket at H&M. It was expensive even with a 30% reduction. So I moved on, albeit begrudgingly.

And then there it was, ready for the taking. A crumpled US$20 bill, conspicuously dropped under a rack of on-sale scarfs and other winter paraphernalia. I had to pick it up. Not even a lady in her mid40s walking towards my direction could have made me think otherwise. Of course I made attempts to appear inculpable, guilt-free, and faultless; I handed the bill to G (who just bought a pair of sunglasses) to suggest she dropped it. She was as shocked as I was but tried best not to show any trace.

I know it was a bad knee-jerk reaction but what else is there to say but Pinoy kasi e!

But no, I deferred (restrained was more like it) buying the jacket until the next round of window shopping.

All went well after that. I baked my now famous ziti and turned out pretty popular and yummy for a dinner-slash-birthday dinner. I also received emails that read my mom and godparents are sending over some moolah for my stay here in New York. I was on a roll! I suspect if anyone put me in front of a pachinko machine, I'd hit jackpot at first crank.

Well, almost. After the ziti dinner, the weekend game of tong-its began. I let G play, as always. She seems to get along with the game, anyway. I was more of a pekwa player. Fast forward to last game. The pot was made richer by a single bet-all stunt. Hell broke loose. Everyone had to dirty their hands and play for the pot. So I played beside G. A little coaxing (that might just qualify as cheating) and G had to throw in a favorable card. All my cards were thrown on the table except for a King of Diamonds. It was a gamble with a King being a high-value card in the game. Before I knew it, a string of 10, Jack, Queen of Diamonds was thrown on the table and all I had to do was draw a card, link the King of Diamonds, and throw out the extra to win. Suffice to say (without sounding a bit OA), I won -- big time!

A lucky day, indeed. Hopefully more tomorrow, and the next, and the day after next.... --D

I have always dreamt of hitting the lotto jackpot (who hasn't?). I have always imagined what I would do with all the money I am going to win - what to buy, whom to share with, where to put the rest. Just the other day, while passing by a row of nicely built (okay, fancy) houses in a classy suburban New York village, I was telling myself a lotto win would enable me to purchase one. Of course, I could always choose to work hard, save enough dough and build my dream house with my own sweat but the truth is, I want easy money. I mean, who doesn't take shortcuts?

I was watching this silly game show on TFC (Wowowee! -- ok, I succumbed to jologdom bigtime here) and it was quite shocking how people would queue for days under hot and humid summer conditions just to become a contestant, answer equally silly questions, and pray to outwit 100 other contestants to take a crack at P1M cold cash. It is beyond me why people would rather join such silly, long-shot opportunities than work (then again, there arent much jobs in RP!). Wowowee is probably the stupidest game show ever created on TV but I can't really blame people if they want to join the show. Money, in all its corners, makes the world go round indeed.

Before leaving for Japan, I also thought of joining that annoyingly hosted show, Game K N Ba? because I was in dire need of some money at that time (smart me aside). The plan didn't materialize though because I was afraid that I won't get in the final round and I would end up as an embarassment to my family and friends who think I am smart enough to win cerebral-oriented game shows. And so, I just play lotto occasionally and pray that the gods may favor my long desire to strike gold! --G

Turning Six

2005-03-12T01:19:00.000-05:00

Six.

Some say it is ominous; others say it means fortune.

Well, today, G and I are turning 6. Officially 6 years as a couple and 8 years as best friends. That's an entire phase in primary school; Or Med school altogether! Imagine that.

And in those years, we managed to discover each other's likes and dislikes. G likes tea over milk. She's lactose intolerant, which is half true with her appetite on cheese and ice cream. She'd rather wash the dishes than cook one. She's into dancing and bowling but hates to break a sweat. She's punctual and intolerates tardiness (unless of course it's me and my long list of excuses). She likes to watch animals, wild ones even, but cringes at rats and anything that crawls. She likes her egg sunny side-up and considers bacon as dinner. And if you happen to bring her to a karaoke parlor, she'd readily look for and sing Disney's Part of Your World and Sharon Cuneta's Bituing Walang Ningning.

Oh, and she's into pink these days but green is really her favorite color.

Today is not as before when flowers, cards, and expensive dinners are in the day's itinerary. Not that we've grown tired of celebrating anniversaries, I mean 6 years is a feat! We're just hanging out together and enjoying simple pleasures here in NY. And maybe, tomorrow or the next, we'll go on a date and reminisce how 6 is more of fortune and blessings than anything ominous.

Happy Anniversary! --D

Once, someone asked D and me if we can still find things to talk about given the six years spent together. It probably seems unimaginable to some people that D and I spend all our days almost together, from waking to sleeping time and yet we never run out of things to converse about or do together. In truth, our relationship operates in a comfort zone where we can pick noses or scratch an itchy butt or do anything crazy anytime we're together and not make a big fuss about it (of course, a squint or wince sometimes slips). This kind of comfort tranlates into bliss and a level of contentment. And so we find ourselves happy in anything we do together -- be it on an expensive date or a pizza and popcorn Friday or traveling to someplace or staying indoors all day.

Sometimes I ask myself what I have done in this lifetime or in my past to find the perfect friend and the perfect partner in one soul. D is my bestfriend, my confidant, my adviser, my movie partner, my singing coach (harhar), my scrabble nemesis, my wardrobe parent ("Don't bare too much!"), my walking dictionary, my current affairs informant, my travel guide, my loving cook (dietician, too!), my blogging companion and many more.

Our lives have become closely entwined; our thoughts closely linked. I could finish off D's sentence for him and I could read his mind even before he asks me too. Just the other day, he was telling me about how he surfed this Internet site for the nth time and I instantly knew what he was talking about, without even thinking (no it wasn't porn, hahaha).

I never knew I was capable of loving and living with anyone this much and this long until six years ago when I fell in love with the same guy who I promise to love until the last of my days (too Hallmark-y, I know).

Six years and counting... cheers to us! --G

Brrrrr! Part 2

2005-03-09T22:46:00.000-05:00

Snow fell pretty hard early this week. Last week's snow storm of sorts was supposed to be Winter's last hurrah and a welcome segue to Spring, but with this week's snowfall, I doubt if that transition will come any sooner.

Snow hit hard that classes and work were suspended Tuesday. Five inch snow made roads and pavements slippery. Silly me, I went out to help park the car wearing slippers! First step was a cool squish on the snow covered driveway -- the slipperprints were actually cute -- but having a pair of cold and wet feet afterwards was anything but cool (or cute).

The heater was slow, too. We were on suspended chill for a few longer hours before warm air finally kicked steadily in. Now I know how it feels to thaw.

And then there was lunch today.

Mornings after a snowfall are usually a panorama to behold but unparking a car is upsetting an effort to carry out. We were supposed to eat out for lunch but the car wouldn't budge out from the snowy quarry it found itself in. I pounded hard on the gas pedal as the tires skidded on stubborn and icy ground. I looked stupid. And the neighbors probably thought so too.

And so we ended up phoning for a pizza. Medium sized, thin crust, with cheddar cheese, beef, and mushrooms on top. For all that, the bill went up to US$15! Man, that was one expensive pizza. All the more reason why this week's snowfall was an unwelcome occurence...

Well if weather forecast tomorrow is to expect by (Partly Cloudy, 25F), there wouldn't be much to do but stay indoors, sleep longer, surf TV, and hope for clear skies and sun the next day.
--D

Tuesday morning. Clothing company Old Navy advertises its shorts collection for spring on TV. That same afternoon, snow fell really hard ("isn't it ironic, don't you think?..."). It was as if Edward Scissorhands had gone mad, sad, and blue by snipping and shaving off the icy East Coast mountain peaks (if you're clueless, go grab a copy of this Johnny Depp film). The weather was terrible. Strong, gusty winds spewed snow in all directions. It was also the coldest day we have experienced thus far since arriving in NY. Imagine me (size XS and all) garbed in three layers of clothing covered in three blankets in sleep. Brrrrr, indeed.

Back when I was dorming in college, my landlady would throw the all-too-concerned question: Are you cold? with me coming out of my room in thick PJs and socks on. If a tropical country like the Philippines could make me shiver in cold, how much more in a place where temperatures can sometimes drop to negative. What can I say? I'm a tropical girl, plain said.

What I hate most about winter is that it makes people seemingly paralyzed and immobile from where they are. Trains get delayed; cars get stuck at the middle of a snowy road; and, most people would rather prefer to stay home and mope around all day. Well, thank heavens for the Magic Sing Karaoke Microphone! All that rummaging through a pile of garage stuff in corners that remain idly and dusty by finally paid off. We were able to kill time indoors singing our lungs out in a hobby we sort'f specialized during our stay in Japan: Karaoke. Plus it kept us from cursing endlessly at winter.

the first snow on winter time is cinematic, almost magical, especially when you are strolling along central park with your loved one or playing and throwing snow balls like little children (and, of course, taking countless photos). But, trust me, once snow piles up on the ground and forcibly grounds you indoors, you'd start wishing for Spring to come soon. Sadly Spring won't come tomorrow or the next day. Weathermen expect more snow in the next two days.

Bummer! --G

Brrrrr!

2005-03-03T14:48:00.000-05:00

No bonnet, scarf, gloves, not even thermal underwear on a 2-degree celsius Thursday night stroll in Times Square.

What can I say? I was underdressed, unprepared for a night out with G and friends. Not that I am particular about what I wear (okay, I do but not all the time!) but today we were supposed to just do research for thesis in Queens Library. No reason to wear anything fancy, unless of course I'm into four-eyed, cranky librarians.

The library was huge -- eight story high to be exact. In the library (and I am going to drop this line in the most non-nerdish kind of way), the books were overwhelming. It was like stepping in Borders and browsing through hardbound covered, first edition books while seated in a cozy couch, sipping a hot cup of coffee with piped-in Norah Jones-type of music for the first time without the constant guilt, fear, and dodge from civilian bouncers like in National Bookstore. So it wasn't at all bad to fit in a shirt and long-sleeved crew, jeans, sneakers, and a winter jacket (that went on sale for $30 in Japan). The library was warm, tropical-temperatured anyway. A sweatdrop even trickled while snaking through the huge labyrinth of bookshelves.

So it was a surprise to step out and find our bones-shivering, teeth-chattering selves running towards the car, parked sadistically a block away from the front door. It was like under a hard gush of cold shower on a Monday morning.

After a heavy dinner at this Mexican diner in Queens, we thought having being stuffed and full would help keep us warm with the plan to stroll in the city. We thought wrong. At least (and good for) G, there were spare girlie jackets and gloves in the car's trunk. I had to go through with the plan as lightly dressed as in the library. Brrrr. And to think there wasn't even a trickle of snow in the chilly air!

Well, Times Square is still Times Square. Flashy, crowded, busy, dirty, and breath taking -- at least for us who study in a bucolic, ho-hum, hilly kind of town called Beppu, Japan. So we took pictures, and more pictures. And, perhaps, even to the untrained eyes, I'd still look cold and blue, like that naked guy crazily fishing on a frozen lake in the new Subway TV ad.

Yes, the pictures were not worth developing or posting in friendster (which, insanely is a factor to consider these days when popping the cam, 'di ba?) ;-)

Anyway, the moral of the day is to bring an extra jacket and/or a cap in lieu of an umbrella in winter. Especially, most especially when going out to a famous spot. Otherwise, taking pictures or sightseeing itself would end up futile. --D

To say that I love Times Square is an understatement. I absolutely looove it. Manhattan is my favorite city in the entire world (but then again, I've never been to Paris yet so this one is subject to change without prior notice. hehehe).

I missed no chance of having my pictures taken in various spots that I liked. I came prepared, fully dressed with winter accessories including a muffler, bonnet and hand gloves (never mind if the colors of my muffler and bonnet didn't match) so I wasn't at all affected by the freezing cold weather of the night (the extra jacket was a plus). I even treated myself a cup of Starbucks cappucino to complete my Carrie Bradshaw look. I felt like one of those characters in the now-defunct show Sex and the City, wandering the streets of New York on a Thursday night and simply celebrating life as it is!

If ever I work in Manhattan, I probaby wouldn't resist the urge to bar hop every night or to shop midday til I literally drop or to hang out with friends in some diner or coffeeshop whenever I feel the need to unwind after a long day of work. There are just so many things to do in the city, and many more to discover and I'm sure that all of them are enough to make me fall in love with New York over and over again, cold or otherwise. --G

Becoming Billy

2005-03-01T12:55:00.000-05:00

Oh yes! I'm turning into a Billy, a fine-looking one at that (whooosh!). Thanks to my month-old goatee. It's hard to sport one, though. It itches occasionally and I look like an Abu Sayyaf hostage in mornings. It's also high maintainance. It needs shampooing and a little grooming.

Still, I like it. I was hesitant at first. It is a by-product of laziness and procrastination, to begin with. I also skipped shaving the chin area not on purpose but in haste. I have this habit of shaving at the last minute, especially on occasions when time is sparse, and so I end up shaving less (the upper lip area, to be exact) and leaving the rest as they are (the rest being facial hair. I like all else a bit bushy, if you know what I mean...).

Thus, the goatee.

I feel different wearing one. I feel bad. In a good way. Labo 'no.

Okay, I feel like... uhm, Johnny Depp in Pirates of the Carribean without the grease and eyeliner. Dangerously gwapo (naks!).

Don't scowl. Give me a break. I am Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes, Dilbert, Milhouse van Houten, Peter Parker (minus THE alter ego) since kindergarten. If sporting a goatee is a phase, it's definitely a welcome phase for me.

Well, at least until I get tired of it (or until G is amused). --D

May I just say thatD's goatee is a welcome change to his usual "good boy" image.

I have stood (and still stand) witness to D's many attempts to reinvent his image and transform himself from a nerdy kid to a cool guy; from wearing colorful rubbered braces to his bit, fraction-of-a-second exposure in a Close Up toothpaste ad in 1999; from sporting a cool teen Pacey Witter 'do to a dino of a Ross Gellar look; And remember those non-prescribed reading glasses he strutted around with after College?

And yet through it all, he never sways away from his trademark 'good boy-slash-guy-next-door-type' persona (biased observations, I know).

With the month-old goatee, D has added a new dimension to his personality. Yes, there's something rough and dangerous with a sexy overtone. A welcome change, indeed.

But of course, I love him with or without the goatee. --G

On Oscars

2005-02-28T23:03:00.000-05:00

So how did it finally feel to watch the Oscars from beginning to end without the dreaded commercials and delays courtesy of Channel 9? Ho-hum, highly overrated.

Where do I begin?!?! Argh! First off, the performances were a bore. Beyonce is, well, bootilicious on MTV, but in the Oscars? I'm no expert in fashion but without the hip-high slits, see-through fabrics, eye-popping bust lines and cleavages, and butt hugging clothes, I'd rather wait and see an NFL half time show where the likelihood of a Janet Jackson wardrobe malfunction is high than see stars in classy gowns and borrowed blings in Oscars. And why, oh why should Beyonce sing thrice? Don't they have anybody else? It was like watching those Sunday noontime variety shows seeing the same singers belting out songs for more than two hours. Pure overkill!

Next, the winners. Too predictable. No surprises. In a time when upsets were badly expected, the academy voted by the book. Hillary Swank, yet again? Manong Clint Eastwood over Martin Scorsese? Come on! What's wrong with you people?!?! They might as well let Leonardo DiCaprio win!

Then there was Chris Rock. This guy is funny but come Oscar night, he was reduced to a teleprompt reader delivering jokes as stiff as the Oscar statue itself. Good ol' Jeremy Irons took Chris' job more seriously when he delivered his impromptu "I hope they missed" line after a loud thud backstage. I vote for Jimmy Fallon as next year's host.

Ho-hum, really.

I should've opted to watch reruns instead. Or, if I were in Manila, Channel 9's commercials were probably more entertaining than the show itself... --D

This year's Oscars was the most boring, least star-studded awards ceremony that I have ever watched for the past seven years. It was quite disappointing considering that I watched it at live telecast from LA, without the usual delays from TV ads and time differences.

I watched the Red Carpet event when stars came down from limousine, model their designer gowns and suits for the fashion police to criticize or commend and then answer a few questions from entertainment journalists on the sidelines. Fifteen minutes before the scheduled commencement of the ceremony and still, only a handful of stars had arrived. No signs of Nicole Kidman, Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston. I suppose that was an omen to a bad show.

The awards ceremony was so-so. It was way too predictable except when Martin Scorsese lost for the fifth time and Clint Eastwood was named Best Director for Million Dollar Baby, which was latter proclaimed as the Best Picture of the Year. I was hoping Finding Neverland would win in that category. Although I slept in some parts of the film, I know that it is a good film with a wonderful story filled with hope. Now if only the Oscars went to this movie, the overall outcome of the awards night would have proved to be a memorable event to film critics, movie buffs and even the regular viewers. It would be the night when the Oscars honored the innocence of the kids and the optimism that Peter Pan brings to both the chuldren and the adults. --G

Weekend on Ice

2005-02-27T15:08:00.000-05:00

So it's still winter.

Last Saturday, we all went snowtubing at West Mountain in upstate NY. We got up early in the morning and prepared for the three-hour drive that would take us to the two-hour fun on the snow. We went on a convoy since there were just too many of us to fit in one car. The trip was going smoothly until we got caught overspeeding. D was driving the Jeep so he had to hand in his international license and get his first overspeeding offense overseas.

In West Mountain, everyone was just so eager to come up the hill and try snowtubing. Snowtubing is akin to sledding, only one has to sit in a rubber tube (still lost? ok, imagine skiing with a salbabida) while pressure and gravity pull you down the icy hill (ok, so i'm not sure about my physics here but, heck, who cares?) The only downside of snowtubing were the loooong lines we had to endure to get a lift up (yes, there were pulleys to bring our butts on a tube up) the hill and to tube down.

Out of frustration from the long queue, we once climbed the hill with our tubes in tow. Much to our regret afterwards, the uphill climb was tiring and backbreaking! I especially had trouble walking up because the ice was slippery (we had our rubber shoes in lieu of boots!) and I couldn't stop the morbid thoughts running in my head - what if there's an avalanche? what if i slip? what if the person in front of me falls down?

I also had bouts with fear of heights that stopped me from taking the tube plunge myself, else I end up rolling down the slippery slope by myself (without the tube). And so first, I coaxed D, Tin, my Ate and even Nina to ride down with me -- like a choo-choo snowtube roll. Second, I went with D (lovers roll). Third and last time, I accompanied my sister (sibling roll) who, turned out, was even more scared than I was (are we sisters or what?!?) And for the spirit of fun, we hooked our tubes together and experienced the thrill of snowtubing one last time.
--G

Snowtubing. Snow what? I hit the wall thinking what winter thrill snowtubing exactly brings. For me, it's difficult to pluck pleasure from any activity on ice since taking (and eventually dropping out from) ice skating as a PE course in UP back in '98. Man, my butt must've developed several calluses hitting the ice floor hard many times over. After that, I swore no more ice skating. Bowling was a lot more fun!

So, back to snow tubing. It's like skiing down an icy slope using a round rubber lifesaving raft. First try was a great plunge, like a dive from a rollercoaster without the straps. Second try was with G. Third and last was a solo plunge -- not as thrilling as the first but still a heck of a gripping ride. A few hitches, though: One, like any lifesaver, there's a hole in the middle. One's butt thus pokes in the hole. The hitch is the plunge itself with the butt coursing through the icy slope (Yes, wet and chilled). Two, the long queues to get to the top of the hill. Waiting is a drag in any given time; Imagine waiting in freezing cold. Climbing the hill as alternative to waiting in line was not a good idea, either -- not with rubbershoes instead of boots on and the 50lb lifesaver to pull up. It turned out like a drill in military school than a time-saving effort.

Three, the price. It's not a cheap thrill, mind you. US$16 for a couple of hours plus US$20 gas to and fro Long Island and food.

Four, unforseen instances (read: misfortunes). Getting caught overspeeding on the freeway, for one. Running 80kph on a 65kph minimum speed is not that bad. Unless, of course, a laser-equipped mobile patrol catches you. It's not entirely my fault; I was just tailing a friend's car -- a convoy, if you will. Well, not good enough an excuse, though. Still, at least I got to prove the international driver's license I got from Manila wasn't fake or anything ;-)

Overall, the weekend on ice experience was a welcome delight. Cool is an understatement; Fantastic is best to describe the trip. --D

Unmistakably Pinoy

2005-02-24T21:54:00.000-05:00

It's a drag to read or watch anything about the Philippines these days. Almost everything is downbeat and upsetting, ie the recent bombings, kidnappings, power grabbing. argh! downright ugly.

And the news about a population boom in the Philippines is all the more disquieting. All the talk against contraceptives to favor natural birth control and family planning are a plain bull. It's one thing we pride ourselves as Asia's only Catholic country and it's another if we still base social policies in Jesus' times.

Bah! Who am I to rant? All I can possibly do is bring out the best Pinoy in me: being wickedly optimistic.

And how to be optimistic with the influx of Pinoys but to find a kababayan in every nook and cranny of the globe and getting by pretty well, right? Right!

Jessica Zafra theorized a world domination of sorts of Pinay domestics and nannies soon. I agree, but more! I think we're out to do what was done to us: Colonization (payback time!). If the Philippines produces 2-3% increase of its kayumanggi race and a quarter of the population move out to another country a year, Pinoys might just overrun the Indians and the Chinese in no time!

Now that I am in NY, it's amazing how easy to spot a Pinoy that not even make up, bleached hair, and cosmetic surgery may mask. First, the high pitched voice in a public space, usually spoken on a mobile phone as if to suggest the person on the other end of the line is either deaf or, maybe, non existent (read: walang kausap). The voice is also accompanied by a brag or two with the pitch reaching its peak when a fellow Pinoy walks by.

Two, the familiar Pinoy twang on the all-pervasive American slang. Once let loose in an unfamiliar space, the adaptive Pinoy imbibes everything -- from clothes to culture; lifestyle to language -- to blend well in. And so if one is thirsty, buying 'softdrinks' (in sari-sari store no less) is strange while popping a 'soda' is cool; Friends aren't pare or 'tol or even berks anymore, they are now dude or bro (not brad!) with the yo! and wazzup! holler on the sides; Taking a pee doesn't happen in a CR (comfort room) rather in a toilet or restroom; And 'yes' becomes 'yeah' or 'uh-huh', 'no' becomes 'nope' or 'nah', 'Ay!' becomes 'Ooops!', and 'siguro' becomes 'I guess' or 'whatever, duh!' if it warrants sarcasm. Moreso, the perennial use of 'something' or 'like...' as sentence fillers and the konyo Taglish mix! argh. Few people can pull it off, especially the pretty ones (hehehe) but most are all Kris Aquino-like... dangerously annoying! Making worse things worst, the Tagalog words suddenly sound either like tongue twisters or as encrypted entries in Webster's English Dictionary (eg "It's okay for them to search my house but barging in to, like, uhm, make kalkal my stuff, it's not nice!").

Three, if you see a Caucasian incessantly looking at his or her watch in a station or anywhere, chances are, he or she is waiting for a Pinoy. Need I say more?

Four, when two or more Pinoys talking dead seriously in a corner and in a deep hush, it is highly probable they are either trading gossips or finding fault/ poking fun (eg appearance, clothing, makeup, hairdo, built) on others within proximity. Laitero (if a word exists) ang mga Pinoy. So it is imperative to look best when with a Pinoy. If only Pinoys will have their way, the 11th Commandment would read: Bawal ang pangit!

Perhaps related to #4, five is when one goes inside a Pinoy joint (be it a restaurant or a grocer's deli), there appears to have a unspoken tension between Pinoys as to who is better off and who has best assimilated in society when, in truth, they eat the same adobo and/or buy the same chicharon.

Of course there are the givens. The tabo and panghilod in the bathroom; The nonverbal gestures (pointing a direction using one's lips or shaping a rectangle in the air for a bill); The religious icons and school diplomas enshrined on walls; The baon for school or office lunch or snack; Anything long and beaded on the car's rearview mirror; The stored used grocery bags for take homes and stock piled rolls of tissue for rainy days, and; A sat dish for TFC cable.

Well it's not bad to have more Pinoys in the world. Fact is, it's impossible not to, especially during brown, er, blackouts. It is just unmistakably Pinoy. --D

The Aviator

2005-02-24T10:07:00.000-05:00

Nope, this is not a review of Martin Scorsese's Oscar nominated film. I didn't know anything about Howard Hughes until I saw the film yesterday, hence I couldn't comment on the authenticity of the biopic. Funny how Howard Hughes never figured on my research materials for the thesis I am writing (ok, supposed to be writing), after all he was such a big name in the aviation industry, but I guess that says about my laziness to do my thesis.

Before the movie started, I was hoping that The Aviator would find me the muse that I was looking for. Or maybe give me some fresh insights about aviation that will inspire me to get my thesis going. Unfortunatelty, it didn't, although it stirred up some memories from my childhood.

When I was a kid, I dreamt of becoming a pilot; of entering what was once a man's realm. I asked my mom if it was possible that I become a pilot someday and she said yes without apprehension. She told me that I could be one of the first female pilots in the Philippines and for some time, I harbored that dream. But being an indecisive and fickle-minded child, I quickly changed my ambition into something else.

I also wanted to become a flight attendant to be able to travel and see the world for myself. But my dreams eventually became grander and I decided I'd rather be a doctor or a lawyer. Besides, I realized I had stopped growing and could no more attain the minumum height requirement for flight attendants.

And so I went to college, took up Journalism and then shifted to Film, worked for a company not related to my undergrad course, went back to school under a scholarship grant and took up Tourism as major. And as Celine Dion would have put it It was long lost ago... But it's all coming back to me now.

I'm currently doing something about civil aviation for my thesis. I plan on working in the airline industry after I graduate, although not as a pilot nor a stewardess. I figure I still want to travel and to see the world; to relish the perks of working for an airline; to fulfill my lost childhood dreams in one way or another.

But for now, I have to work on my thesis. If Leo gets the Oscar Best Actor trophy for his portrayal of Howard Hughes in The Aviator, I'll take it as a sign that the universe is directing me to start writing my thesis, otherwise I'll be doomed. If he doesn't, oh well I have to start writing sooner or later anyway. --G

I'm not rooting for the Aviator come Oscar night. As in most biopics I watched, it proved to be a bit of a bore. Yes, there were the spectacular plane shots, crash scenes, and Hughes's eccentricities that might stir a delight or two from Tim Burton fans. It's not Scorsese's best. I miss the gore and fight scenes that thrilled me in Gangs of New York and Goodfellas. Still, I hope he wins the Best Director award. He deserves one. He is an underrated artist in an overrated industry.

Back to the Aviator. The casting sucked. Why pair Leonardo DiCaprio with Cate Blanchette? It's like watching Vilma Santos and Aga Muhlach in one of those 80s romance-drama Pinoy movies. Hiyaiks! And Leonardo? He'll always be Jack of Titanic -- that teenaged bum who got to score an undersexed snob. Nothing more.

My vote goes for Johnny Depp on Finding Neverland and Kate Winslet on Eternal Sunshine. I root for the underdogs. Hilary Swank should run for Best Actor (Boys Don't Cry and now, a boxer in Million Dollar Baby? Something's really amiss!) instead.

Best Picture for Sideways in my book.

There. --D

Lethally Lazy

2005-02-20T22:22:00.000-05:00

God I am turning lazier by the day.

Laid back is too kind, lethargic is so-so, indolent is a bit harsh, and sloth is an overkill a word to describe my state-of-being of late. Lazy is okay, albeit lethal if unchecked.

I wake up way late. Eleven is my clock's number and brunch is my menu in the morning. I lounge around in my peejays 'til about three, either surfing or glued on TV in between, and killing time on the internet to call my day busy.

And to think I am in New-happening-York!

Okay, so I am on vacation. I am licensed to be lazy. But duh! not to a brink of self destruction (eyes rolling here)!

I have my thesis and my grad school application to keep my ass busy with and so far, I have not made any progress at all in both endeavors.

And New York's weather is not of help these days either. Sun's almost a no-show and winter chill justifies my jetlag and bed heating (not warming) -- I haven't even been to the city yet, can you imagine?!?!

To make matters worst, my diet's a wreck! My calorie and carb intake is on an all time high and my exercise routine is postponed and on a cob-webbed closet. I have ranted on this in my previous blog but I need to rant on it again like an incessant hammer bang on a non-budging nail.

Yes, I am Juan Tamad in the flesh!

But what I really dread is to walk and see people gawk at me in disgust as if I have a large post-it on my forehead that says Loser! or Bum & Proud Of It like a twisted scene plucked from a Twilight Zone rerun. Just a while back, I drove to Dunkin Donuts and Wendys in a worn-out gym pants, a creased white shirt, and a pair of slippers. I could have been more creative with a gin bottle on one hand and a stolen grocery push cart on the other to pass as a homeless prick, but, nah! I won't push and make pun of myself. Not in New York! I still have a half bloated pride in tact.

Call this an excuse but I am just waiting for good ol' muse to push (no, shove is the word) me to write, and write more. Seriously, I need to get started on my thesis... and believe me, there's no room for anything lazy to beat its deadline soon.

But, for now, I need to take a shower. It's 4 pm. I itch. Now, if I could just lift my ass off this chair.... argh! God, I AM lazy! --D

Sari-Sari Invades the US

2005-02-20T16:16:00.000-05:00

we're going to the filipino store, what do you want me to buy for you? so asks my ate.

being in new york (or probably in any part of the US) is close to being back home (in pinas). one cannot simply ignore the existence of filipino diaspora with the hundreds of filipino stores and restaurants scattered all over the state. true blue filipinos cannot miss eating pinoy specials like karekare or dinuguan because all they have to do is make a quick stop at queens and presto! they can satisfy their gastronomic cravings, complete with the pinoy carinderia ambiance and typical pinoy tsismis on the sides.

in contrast, in japan, we still have to import and stock cans of argentina corned beef, sachets of sinigang mix and bottles of cheez whiz so as not to miss the taste of our own food. although japan is also home to many filipino entertainers and brides of japanese residents, the filipino community remains intangible insofar as consummable goods are concerned. there are no shops, no restaurants to serve the needs of thousands of filipinos living there.

do you want eskinol? asks tin.

i laughed. that is how extreme the list of philippine goods sold here in the US. from face astringent to vaginal care, from common candies to seasonal fruits, from native delicacies to exotic food, from milk to cigarettes, from the baduy to classic OPM hits, from bakya to box-office movies --name it, they have it. --G

Meet The Pekwas

2005-02-18T15:57:00.000-05:00

When in Rome, do what the Romans do.

Well, in Long Island, NY, they do cardgames -- in Filipino diasporas, at least.

The national pinoy cardgame, Tong-its, reigns in the Siton household. But since we dipped our amateur hands in the roundtable, another ubiquitous cardgame commenced:

Pekwa.

If connecting domino tiles (or dots) is for kids, playing pekwa is for adults. It's darn easy. Just throw in the sixes and drop the rest in numeric and type order. First to finish wins and gets to keep the pot of bets. A bet is worth a dollar. So, the more players, the bigger the cash pot. It's easy cash for the cash-strapped winner and a small-time gamble for the willing loser.

It is fun and kills time in an entertaining way.

Two things that bug me, though.

One, playing pekwa hits me with the realization that I am getting old. Yes, my nagging pet-peeve and frustration is in cardgames as well! I remember having Sunday lunches in our Don Antonio backyard with my cousins and immediate relatives. After every hearty lunch, me and my cousins would rent a video or play some silly backyard games while my mom and other adults play, well, pekwa for hours. At P10 per round, the winner rakes in moolah with a few pesos to spare for a half-gallon ice cream for after-dinner dessert. With money as bets and a curse or two flying in between games, we were off limits the pekwa roundtable. And with me now cozily seated in the roundtable, it's hard to dodge the age issue. I'm turning 27 this year (okay, 28!) and to hold and throw cards and be in the game are like rubbing salt in a gangrened wound (Ouch!).

But I think as long as we win, age becomes an oversight :-)

The thing is, two, it's difficult to win. We're surrounded by cardgame hustlers! Yes, we win games but lose as much. It bugs me in a competitive way. Playing with the Sitons is a challenge, especially if we have limited bucks to bet with.

Well, we're new in the game. I suppose we'll play better and in a more gung-ho fashion in the long run... Mwahahaha (sinister laugh!) --D

A Lot of Love

2005-02-17T00:32:00.000-05:00

Oh yes, I'm getting a whole lot of lovin' since leaving Japan almost three weeks ago.

Love handles that is.

A fat and flab build up around my midsection is in progress. I shelved my exercise routine, as well as my low carb-high protein diet; I eat and sleep more, at least while in New York. I'm on vacation, for crying out loud! I can have an unrestrained and unchecked supply and dosage of calorie-rich soda, choclits, pasta, pastry, and pizza without the guilt and the obsessive-compulsive glance at any product's Nutrition Guide label.

Then the sight of love handles. Ugly. Why these bulges become love handles is beyond me. The feel of flab is not exactly something to excite one's sexual drive; Fat is more tasty and tempting within one's gastronomical pleasures, perhaps, but not a wattle to find arousal from.

G is not keeping mum about my lovehandles, either. She gets to drop a line or two (on best-timed occasions, at least) that I am packing in more fat than developing a 6-pack abs.

Browsing over fancy magazines and watching programs (from 500+ channels!) are not much help, too. Torture, even. I endure the sight of flat hard ab Calvin Klein type guys and end up either frustrated or challenged (the former more recurrently).

I miss my gym sessions in Japan. I used to visit thrice a week at least with 20reps per machine and a full 30 min/12kph run. I took pride at staying fit and toned. Now, I dread to weigh or measure myself.

Okay, so I need not stay frustrated nor embarrassed.

I need to be challenged.

I've always wanted to try to jog around Central Park. I played this thought over and over while I was on the immobile treadmill in the gym in Japan. But given the proximity between Long Island and NYC, I thought of just running around the Jericho Turnpike block since arriving early this month. Still, with winter chill in linger, I yearn to opt and try the stationary bike beautifully decorated (as it is still unused) beside my bed, instead.

Three weeks after, none materialized (save for a visit in a local gym two weeks ago). Again, the word is frustrating.

Okay, challenge. I need to be challenged.

I'll start slow. Tomorrow, I'll hit the bike. Next week, I'll probably cut my carb intake.

Sounds good, you might say. Well, remind me! --D

New York! New York!

2005-02-01T21:29:00.000-05:00

Touchdown, finally.

We arrived in La Guardia butt-tired and sleep deficient. Fourteen hours on economy air with a two-hour stopover and two flight delays, New York welcomed us with its crisp winter breeze and familiar busy-ness. We tried to be as enthusiastic as our first time in Summer 2003 but the weary soul, the onset blow of jetlag, and the inviting bed at 329 Jericho Turnpike smogged whatever glimmer there was left. Still, New York, we have arrived!

Rewind September 2003.

We hoteled in Tokyo for 2 nights (and G had to grunt a tear or two) before we finally got on a Delta plane to Atlanta. Eleven hours later, we found ourselves stranded in Hartsfield: All flights to New York were booked. The travel pains on labor day weekend.

A weekend with the Bowers and the Nagaj's later, we took our overdue flight to NY.

Fast forward February 2005.

(In no particular order) Lost Green Card. Moved out from apartment. Packed late. Last airport bus. Midnight airport lockout. Ate Ning. Spaghetti dinner at JR Station. Lost in Fukuoka (heavy bags in tow). Airport hotel. 0745 Tokyo flight. Luggage Locker. Subway. More subway. Walk. More walk. US Embassy. Good news. US$300. Friday's lunch. Karaoke. Tokyo hotel. Jonathan's. McDee's Lunch. Counter D. Take off! (Whew!)

Ah, New York.

Perhaps because of the string of bad lucks we encountered just to get here, being in NY is a welcome treat by itself. G and I agree NY is a city that is easy to fall in love with (from a tourist's point of view, at least). It has a certain magnetism (okay, aura) that drives one into, like the forest house built of bread and covered with cakes where Hansel and Gretel were enticed in (Bad analogy, I know. Unless the Grimm brothers hinted on incest, I can never be Hansel and G can never be short for Gretel). From the bright lights of Times Square to the panoramic sights in Liberty to cheap delights in Canal and Chinatown, NY is just overwhelming (I haven't even mentioned Central Park, at that).

Then again, we haven't been to Paris or Florence. But for now, NY tops our fave spots list. --D