The Idiot Board

The Poison Tree

2010-09-05T21:38:00.008+08:00

This is one of the lesser known poems written in 1794 by the amazing William Blake. It doesn't take a genius to deduce the magnificence of its meaning.

Check out this song entitled "Magpie" by Blur of "Girls and Boys" fame in which they verbatimly took Blake's Poison Tree and transposed it into song.

... and here's my version of the poem:

The Poison Tree

Sow the seed of anger
and water it with time.
Sunned by patient waiting
the tree that bears the crime.

So until that torrid summer
that tree of brilliant fire
whose leaves now let a crackle
of unextinguished ire.

Upon a branch an apple grew
heavy with acute desire
hidden in its crimson hue
the sap to strike the pyre.

Then a foe I knew before
whose path I once had crossed,
smiled and walked towards the tree.
Into her hands, an apple tossed.

And so with glee she ate it all
deserving of what she's fed
and when i walked towards my tree
there she was, lying still and dead.

The Star

2010-05-09T02:35:00.004+08:00

The Star
by Julsitos

You were once the star that guided me
whose firmament remains strong and true
where your light shines upon my compass,
illuminating and new.

As I borne upon the winds of change
coursing and blowing my sails from sea to sea
and yet my star twinkles in the night
beckoning its siren song to me.

But through the years I grew attached
to the thought that she is set
upon the crown that shines so bright,
her guidance I do not regret.

Still I thought that all is fine
my star continued smiling radiantly
to the earth that holds her very dear
with her fire caring patiently.

Alas! Her light that shines for me
began to flicker and to dance
Alarm was I that I scoured the heavens
the cause for this awful chance.

The star I knew, I have discovered,
has spent her remaining rays
never telling that she is tiring
her once so brilliant days.

And in despair I tried to fix
and stoke the remaining light
but just like the ebbing of the evening shore,
my star longs her return to night.

And when the dimming of her light
extinguishes what is above
to die, and never to behold
the star that I once loved.

The Seville Communion: A Review

2009-12-04T18:28:00.002+08:00

“The Seville Communion begins in the Vatican with a hacker code- named “Vespers” breaking into the pope’s personal computer and leaving a cryptic message: “In Spain, in Seville, there is a place where merchants are threatening the house of God and where a small seventeenth century church kills to defend itself…” Pérez-Reverte then introduces his flawed hero, Father Lorenzo Quart, a valuable operative in the Holy Office’s Institute for External Affairs (known as “the dirty works department,” by some members of the Curia). It’s his job to go to Seville, investigate two mysterious deaths at Our Lady of the Tears and discover the identity of Vespers.Once in Seville, Father Quart finds himself collar-deep in intrigue: There is the wealthy banker who wants the land the church stands on and his beautiful, estranged wife who will do anything to thwart him. There is Father Ferro, the fierce parish priest and Sister Gris Marsala, an American nun and architect, both intent on saving Our Lady of the Tears. There are also three endearing villains-for-hire who steal every scene they are in. Perez-Reverte skillfully weaves murder, mystery, and corrupt politics–both sacred and profane–through his story before arriving at his trademark unpredictable ending. ” -Amazon review

That in a nutshell is what the whole novel is about. The plot is smouldering, the descriptions are bathed in the warm Sevillan sun and perfume of orange blossoms. Unfortunately, this had some flaws that will turn-off readers.

1) Arturo Perez-Reverte is exhaustingly enthusiastic in writing the names of each bar, each street, each building, all with long-winded Spanish names in the hope of injecting local color into the scene but ends up alienating readers with its tiresome and hyperspecific names. For instance, instead of saying, “the bald man met him at the corner cafe”, he would instead write, “Don Verbano de la Rama met Querico Ignacio de Viver at a table inside the La Scala de Sevilla Cafe fronting the Nuestra de la Paz Church.” For the first two chapters this seemed quaint but having to read it until the end makes me want to hurl the book at his face.

2) Plotwise it is Agatha-Christiesque predictable but thoroughly unsatisfying. The arguments and mystery elements are weak and definitely not funny. It’s like building the tension of a wonderful mystery only to find out that there’s no mystery at all.

3) The characters are stereotyped and flat. The protagonist seemed clueless as to the mystery even when the book was nearing its end. The villains look as if they were plucked out from a Loony Tunes cartoons and their characterizations are stupidly Sevillan- a flamenco dance, a matador and a Hemingway wannabe from Cuba. Even though they were meticulously described from birth to their last indiscretion, it still falls short from being well-rounded. Hence, it will not make you sympathize with any of them.

4) Perez-Reverte does not let the dialogue describe his characters, but rather he explodes in a hurried exposition describing in excruciating detail all the character’s history just like an overbearing essayist. I really do not care whether the villain’s lighter was given by Hemingway or not.

With such kind of literature, it’s no wonder that I’ve found it stacked inside the National bookstore bargain bin.

Hannibal Ibarra Redux

2009-11-06T19:22:00.004+08:00

Hannibal Ibarra, one of the low-key komik artists here in the Philippines, is renowned for his watercolor works on faeries and other creatures culled from Pinoy mythology like the Tikbalang. Details of his biography or even of his listed works are scant and wanting. This probably adds to his mantle of obscurity as an illustrator (for most people outside the komiks circle), but nonetheless, his works are being collected and are highly sought after by Filipino and foreign sequential art aficionados. Even if his' is a niche market, acquiring one of his works is already worth the price, and collecting his masterpieces is a delight more because of the aesthetic pleasure it brings to the viewer rather than the possibility of immediate financial return.

It not for the bragging rights of owning a work by a Filipino master that makes one smile, but to see the lines, the balance of the subjects and the gradual mottling of colors held together by a professionally made frame gives you that giddy feeling of well-being. His watercolor work as seen below is further enhanced once it was placed inside a frame- a work worthy of anyone's gallery.

Waiting and Waiting

2009-11-04T14:17:00.002+08:00

Tiger, tiger burning bright
in the darkness of the night,
tail uncoiled, claws now curled,
waiting for the trap unfurled...

Why I Love Bacolod

2009-10-07T19:41:00.001+08:00

The video below says it all

NITI - Bacolod City Tourism AVP from Gary Lake Liza/Leo Vision on Vimeo.

Magkari na sa Bacolod!

Cory Aquino, Going Home

2009-09-06T17:11:00.006+08:00

Going Home
by: Libera

Going Home, going home
I am going home
Quiet like, some still day...
I am going home

It’s not far, just close by
Through the open door

Work all done, care laid by
Never fear no more

Mother’s there expecting me
Father’s waiting too
Lots of faces gathered there
All the friends I knew

Ahh!!...

I’m just going home

No more fear
No more pain
No more stumbling by the way
No more longing for the day
Going to run no more

Morning star lights the way
Restless dreams all gone
Shadows gone, break of day
Real life has begun

There’s no break, there’s no end
Just living on

Wide awake, with a smile
Going on and on

Going home, going home
I am going home
Shadows gone, break of day
Real life has begun

Ahh!!!...

I am just going home.

A very sad and soulful song. This is my Tribute to the lady in yellow, Cory Aquino whose life and death fascinated Filipinos from all walks of life. Many saw Cory as a beacon of democracy. Others, she symbolized justice and peace after the tyrant's rule. For some, she epitomized the virtues of single parenthood, of being a mother, of being a widow. For me, she symbolized the last branch to be cut off from the Aquino children, and whose death can be palpably felt by the immediate family just like the loss of anyone's loved one.

Also, the melody of Libera's "Going Home" is lifted from Antonin Dvorak's New World Symphony particularly in the Adagio portion (2nd movement, part 1). Dvorak, that Czech emigre who worked at Carnegie Hall, is one of my most beloved composers along with Mozart, Haydn, Berlioz and Rossini. His New World Symphony is redolent with North American folktunes, Indian themes (think: Haiawatha and Sacajawea), and that palpable American optimism. Below is the original theme of "Going Home:"

Eggshells

2009-09-03T00:43:00.004+08:00

For the past few years, I realize that people do change more because of the environment that has shaped them. Personalities, it seem, are as fluid as the ebbing of the tide- it may not be as apparent at first sight but if one looks into the minutiae of every action and intonation, one may detect a change in the way the wind blows.

Being introspective, I realized I had changed in which direction I cannot say right now. I learned how one becomes morose, more circumspect where one tends to have squashed whatever joie d’vivre is left. Of course it’s not an overnight learning. It’s the sum of all experiences that produces whatever effect one feels. From all the deaths and despair you see in the patients’ families, the emotional challenges brought about by your peers and consultants and the workload one has to bear has buffeted me into silent seclusion. While others become enlightened, others wind up defeated, others become obfuscated. It is as if we are the stones in the river being constantly battered by the strong currents. Life is like that. Forces outside our control shape us into that which we cannot recognize anymore.

Others would complain that their personality is consistent from Day 1. No one can say for sure one stays the same. It’s just not in the nature of the universe to remain in its axis. Everything proceeds according to the law of entropy where all systems are in constant flux. This, I feel, applies to people also but with a caveat that what is apparent is not entirely the whole picture. We do change but the rate of change depends on the person itself- to disguise it temporarily, to accept it entirely or to deny it endlessly. Many I know disguise these changes momentarily but Fate makes it difficult to sustain it just like food being retained in the mouth, one can't help but chew it and swallow.

According to James Clavell, the Japanese have three hearts: one that is shown to the public, one that the person only knows, and one that is secret. I guess that’s also true for humans. What you see is not what you get. What is merely shown is just the persona- not the person itself. One tends to cling to that which one thinks is rightly acceptable to the public face thereby creating shadows of our own design. By doing so, we become eggshells of our former selves. Gaston Leroux's Phantom is a personification of this. We try to preserve that previous persona while trying to understand and assimilate the new ideas and experiences we acquire. The smile one exudes or the gregarious manner one speaks may not be way he or she thinks. It is not being plastic. It our defense mechanism to compartmentalize these new changes while preserving the former ego so that the system could still function smoothly. Think of it as feeling of frustration of using Windows Vista because one is used on using Windows XP but you don't actually whack the CPU. Another example is when one tries to enjoy drinking and carousing late at night with the barkada but quickly loses interest in this former hobby because you’re already accustomed to the domesticated life.

However, we try our best that this change are not felt by others because we want to continue the present relationship we have with them. We don’t want to alienate them for we know if we shout at them a bit more or be sarcastic at them more often, we change the pulse of the moment thereby disrupting everyone’s harmony. It’s good if people try or do understand us. What if there are more who do not and take our change in personality at face value? We lose face in the process. That is why we put up these walls, these masks, these eggshells of our former selves- to protect our own ego from change.

Unfortunately, no matter how hard we try in putting up masks and fences, the inner gurglings of our hearts seep through the sheets staining them red or black where everyone can see it. Fate has that way of ferreting out the hidden aspect of your Self that in one unguarded moment, you fall flat on your face. For instance, one may feel that your voice doesn’t carry that certain friendliness despite whatever civility your words may imply. Or that despite your prudishness, you drop Freudian slips when referring to a certain person. No matter how hard we try hiding our hidden heart, it escapes our clutches for everyone to see.

That is the tragedy of it all. Where all the king's horses, and all the king's men, couldn't put Humpty together again.

Gerry Alanguilan's Elmer Set

2009-06-08T00:29:00.004+08:00

One fateful afternoon, I arrived home happy to see that the package from Gerry Alanguilan had arrived. I took a cutter and carefully opened the box.

I was pretty much impressed on how much care and diligence the package was wrapped. It was neatly bubble-wrapped so that no matter how rough the transit was, the contents would arrive safe and sound.

Out came the box. From the outside, the product was indeed a product of love. No mediocrity here and the craftsmanship on which it was made was very much palpable.

I was anxious to open the Elmer box set probably because I was afraid that my fingers would smudge the box and the pages of the graphic novel. I hate having oily fingerprints all over the surface but I wouldn't go into extremes like gloving my hands as if I was in the Vatican Library. What makes this set more special is the fact that only 20 of these exist and yes, it was Filipino made. Thank you Gerry and Ilyn for offering such a unique item.

Hannibal Ibarra

2009-06-07T18:06:00.004+08:00

Hannibal Ibarra, one of the preeminent artists in the realm of Philippine fantasy art, has been drawing and doing watercolors for years now focusing on the "world of faeries". I have been awestruck by its honesty and fluidity that I was compelled to snatch a couple of his superb artworks through connections in the net. He may not be as celebrated as the watercolorist Toti Cerda but all his works exude that originality and artistic quality befitting of someone's bedroom wall. There's no allusions in his subjects, no convoluted symbolisms ala Charlie Co, no pretensions whatsoever. The lines are clean and clear and the colors muted yet sublime. I can't imagine why his works are not that popular with Filipinos considering his technical acumen, probably because of the scarcity of his works in the market. Thus, his works are precious to those who appreciate komiks as an artform and those who are into Philippine pop culture.

The following blurb describes where his influences come from:

A self-proclaimed "fantasy artist", Hannibal is a very private person and doesn't want to disclose much of himself except that his artistic influences are Giambattista Tiepolo and Botong Francisco, and that he is currently a background animation artist working closely with Steve Gan (another veteran and famous komiks artist of the 1970's) in the animation field. What we have known so far from observation and further talks with him is that he is an Alex Niño and Meglia fan, will do only fantasy type comics stories (especially when there are fairies of which he claims to be enthusiastic and knowledgeable about), did some local komiks work wich he doesn't want to elaborate, probably out of frustration or embarassment or both, is into "New Age" thinking, and hopes to do artwork on stories for SIKLAB once his schedule frees him.

-http://www.angelfire.com/creep/tester0/Profiles/Hannibal.htm

The Book Blockade Scandal: A One Act Play

2009-05-17T19:09:00.008+08:00

At an unnamed office inside Benecañang Castle...

Sec. Burgis: Esdilis, my beautiful secretary (even if you're indeed fortyish!) We need more money! Can you think of ways to increase our tax collection? Her Royal pain in the twat wants to have at least 25% rise in the collection so that she can have a bigger largess in the upcoming elections! More is better, I say!

Usec. Esdilis: Yes sir. Um... I think we need to follow up on our tax collections on our friend Ucioso Tan.

Sec. Burgis: (alarmed) What?? Him?? Why?

Usec. Esdilis: Because sir, from our records here, Ucioso Tan paid a mere 35% of the total taxes since 2002. The taxes we have been collecting from him mainly from the tobacco tax, the sin tax and the incise tax amounted only to P20 million, that is considering that the gross receipts is P10 billion. This is I think, sir, the largest loophole we need to cap.

Sec. Burgis: (more alarmed) Don't you dare imply that the department that has been feeding you and your family for the past 10 years has been remissed on collecting taxes! And more importantly, not on Ucioso Tan.

Usec Esdilis: (baffled) But why?

Sec. Burgis: Are you really that dumb as your coworkers say you are, huh? We can't collect the exact amount from Ucioso, not even from Lovit Seesaw, not from Whimelda Varcose, and certainly not from Boracay mansion owner Sherap Pisstrada. I agree that they have to pay a bigger share of the pie, but the truth is, Her royal pain in the twat said not to touch them. She said it's best for her administration not to rock the boat because I think she knows that if she did rock the boat, these people would have heaped a lot of problems on our heads. She wants them satiated inside their little petit bourgeois kingdoms partying, shopping and calculating their monies so that Her royal pain in the twat will have free reign to build up her own strong castle.

Usec Esdilis: If not for those idle rich crooks, from whom shall we get our collections from? You yourself said, sir, not to touch those smugglers from Cagayan Province and those Chinese importers in Divisoria. By the way sir, has Lily Hong paid you your cut from the Japanese chop-chops down in Laoag?

Sec. Burgis: Shush! Don't mention that to me. How about those books I hear?

Usec Esdilis: Oh! You mean the report by our customs examiner down south? But sir, the cut... I mean, our collections from that will be a pittance compared to the bigwigs!

Sec. Burgis: But still, don't you see? That is still something, isn't it?

Usec Esdilis: Barely. I don't understand why we should indulge in such a Pyrrhic enterprise!

Sec. Burgis: Naku! Pa-pyrrhic-pyrrhic ka pa! Use your head! Learn from our Binondo connections. Even if we only get a measly P10,000 from the total tax increase, it's still an increase, yes? An increase means more taxes that are being collected, yes? More taxes means that we're more efficient, no?

Usec Esdilis: I see your point sir.

Sec. Burgis: It's in the act of doing something even if you yourself know it won't amount to anything substantial. And if we send out a circular for an added book tax before the 30th, her Royal pain in the twat will see that we have done something concrete, something back-breaking. She will realize that her minister and her minister's minion are not lazy good-for-nothings who rubber stamp any paper that comes their way be it a contract or a wad of bills. You know what this means for us, my dear?

Usec Esdilis: A new bank account?

Sec. Burgis: No stupid! She will probably be so pleased that she will choose me as a candidate for her party's senatorial ticket.

Usec Esdilis: (puppy bulldog eyes) What about me?

Sec. Burgis: Of course I haven't forgetten you. You shall become my executive secretary. You will have a bigger office and you will have a phalanx of personnel at your every beck and call.

Usec Esdilis: (beaming) Wow! That is a fine idea sir! I can see myself taking a massage inside my office while my secretary's stirring my tea.

Sec. Burgis: Fine! Fantasize all you want! But if you don't get your fat lardy ass moving and work on that circular, you won't even have an office to go to! Remember, 2010 is election year!

Usec Esdilis: Ok sir, right you are! I'll finish the draft tonight and it shall be ready for signing tomorrow morning! (smiling) They won't know what will hit them!

Sec. Burgis: Oh Esdilis, make it subtle please? I don't want to stir a hornet's nest. This may seem trivial to you- hello? booksellers? They may be like those small-time peddlers in Recto and Avenida but bear in mind that the ones who will be affected more are the readers- readers with college degrees, readers who are already professionals like doctors, politicians, businessmen, journalists.... and leftist communists! Make it subtle, ok?

Usec Esdilis: But I don't know how sir!

Sec. Burgis: Are you not a lawyer yourself?

Usec Esdilis: (flushed) Ummm.... y-y-yes!

Sec. Burgis: Don't tell me that your University of Pateros Diploma is a fake? (eyes narrowing)

Usec Esdilis: Ummm... I have been great in college debates sir, and..

Sec. Burgis: (exasperated) No matter! I want you to use your mean-spirited logic and remaining intelligence to convince those book importers that this new tax is justifiable. Understand?

Usec Esdilis: I understand sir! I shall never ever ever fail you!

Sec. Burgis: Good. I know you will because you've never failed me in bed.

Usec Esdilis: (blushing) Oh! I don't know what you are talking about, sir!

Sec. Burgis: Perfect! Now, here are two books you may want to read before you write our new circular.

Usec Esdilis: Hmmm! 1984 by George Orwell and The Prince by Niccolo Machiavelli. Haven't heard of these books, probably pulp fiction from the 198os. Sir, this "Prince" book is the biography of that "Prince" singer, isn't it?

Sec. Burgis: You really are dumb! Now go, my dear and write that circular! Don't come to my office without the draft. Is that understood?

Usec Esdilis: Yes, sir. (Retreating towards the door).

Hence, the start of the Great Book Blockade of 2009.

The Illiterati & The Book Blockade

2009-05-11T21:27:00.002+08:00

Thanks to Robin Hemley, he has brought to light an organization of shadow bureaucrats inside the Bureau of Customs more insidious that that of Dan Brown's Illuminati. They cloak themselves in cheap barongs and three-piece suits but actually they're sarcophageal worms in human forms. They call themselves, the "Illiterati" because all they do is obfuscate justice, corrupt laws for their own betterment and frustrate honest merchants by imposing ghost charges knowing full well that these sellers would rather settle than fight them to City Hall.

Unfortunately for the Illiterati whose minds are so narrowed that no new ideas (apart from those culled from the Dark Ages) could possible permeate through, have been dragged into the limelight when they started the 2009 Philippine Book Blockade. Little did they know that book-loving Filipinos will not take this intellectual insult without a fight. They will burn epitaphs of those who instigated this much like the Nuremberg book burning events and they will ask for the heads of the Illiteratis. I agree if this will come to this. It would be an enlightened notion if all book-loving Filipinos call for the resignation of a certain Customs examinee Rene Agulan and the irksome DOF Undersecretary Espele Sales who infamously implied that novels are non-educational. Perhaps the good Usec was very enthusiastic in displaying his God-given level of intelligence. In the dispatch of Robin Hemley, he wrote:

Customs Undersecretary Espele Sales explained the government's position to a group of frustrated booksellers and importers in an Orwellian PowerPoint presentation, at which she reinterpreted the Florence Agreement as well as Philippine law RA 8047, providing for "the tax and duty-free importation of books or raw materials to be used in book publishing." For lack of a comma after the word "books," the undersecretary argued that only books "used in book publishing" (her underlining) were tax-exempt.
"What kind of book is that?" one publisher asked me afterward. "A book used in book publishing." And she laughed ruefully.
I thought about it. Maybe I should start writing a few. Harry the Cultural and Educational Potter and His Fondness for Baskerville Type.
Likewise, with the Florence Agreement, she argued that only educational books could be considered protected by the U.N. treaty. Customs would henceforth be the arbiter of what was and wasn't educational.
"For 50 years, everyone has misinterpreted the treaty and now you alone have interpreted it correctly?" she was asked.
"Yes," she told the stunned booksellers.

Oh, the bile and the acid. Reading such inane logic as codified by the tenets of the Illiterati will infuriate any intelligient and sentient being. How these worms finished college remains a mystery. How they ended up in the top echelons of government is surprising. Well, not very surprising enough considering that the entire admistration may be full of Illiteratis- each department hiring their underlings and junior Illiteratis.

How this affair shall play out will be subject to further news articles and hopefully, more exposures against the cabal of Illiterati inside the Palace. And such is a great plot for Dan Brown, unless Customs get to tax it first.

http://www.abs-cbnnews.com/nation/05/11/09/rp-book-blockade-irks-miriam-senate-probe-sought

http://www.mcsweeneys.net/links/manila/1dispatch6.html

http://www.robinhemley.com/blog/index.html

Bacolod, the Foodie's Tenderloin

2009-05-10T20:51:00.003+08:00

Bacolod, according to Rogue Magazine is the foodie's tenderloin. I completely agree. Never there has been a city so enamored with its own food. It's equivalent to culinary onanism at best.

Almost all visitors come to the city for a foodtrip because there is not so much to tour at. Apart from the Ruins, Silay, the beaches and the Cathedral, there is little to mark the province mental permanence for tourists hankering for a unique experience. Negros is not like Vigan with its Calle Crisologo or the lighthouse of Cape Bojeador or the Chocolate Hills of Bohol. All we can offer really for the transient visitor are the sumptuous fares that each restaurant specializes in.

I read the Article by Gabrillo in Rogue Magazine and Regie Aspiras' take on our Restaurants and both gush orgasmically about the variety of gustatory treats that they can put inside their mouths. Marketmanila (of marketmanila.com) fame was not spared and thus, he too succumbed to the charms of our Southern flair. Thanks to his hostess Margarita Fores of Pepato fame, Marketman inevitably gushed about the freshness of the fishes in Burgos market, the diwal of Valladolid and the Batchoy of Bar 21 restaurant.

Such journalistic sycopantism is never contrived just because they wanted to please their hosts but rather they find that Bacolod is indeed a foodie's paradise. Even Claude Tayag would perhaps agree that Ilonggo cuisine of the Ilo-ilo & Negros corridor is far far better than his own Pampangan cuisine. Frankly, I'd rather have dulce gatas than Razon's halo-halo or chicken inasal over their signature sisig or batchoy over their papaitan and goat soup. Furthermore, I'd rather eat diwal than their crispy camaru. It's simply a matter of taste really. At least here in Iloilo and Negros, extreme fear factor foods are extremely rare to come by.

Negros food is indeed delicious and deserves more exposure. And I hope there will be more in months to come.

Requiem for Rio

2009-04-28T22:24:00.000+08:00

I am now publishing for all their worth previous drafts that have been sitting in the back burner. This quatrain was written 10/05/04... already 5 years ago. I couldn't imagine how fast time flies and yet how insignificant all our mortal exercises of building sandcastles truly are. Rio Diaz Cojuangco was a cancer patient who used her last remaining energies for the good of mankind, but just like all things impermanent, only a few ever celebrate her golden deeds today. She is now but an epitaph writ in stone, an empty reminder that even for all of our noblest intentions, life remains like the ebb and flow of the afternoon tide.

Requiem for Rio
by: Julsitos

Your heart of white and gold and jade
Face golden, its radiance true,
Your people breath beneath your shade
from gilded cages built by you.

Trinidad Etong

2009-04-27T21:37:00.002+08:00

Trinidad Etong
by: Julsitos

Close your eyes,
shut your mind,
and breath in the silence of the night.

Let the solitude balm
your fingers numb
and callous,
your pulse the only sound to guide you by.

Take up
that what is in
your hand.
Do not hesitate
for this is what you have been seeking for.

And plunge
to the fate that awaits you
and let darkness embrace you,
the cold white bathroom tiles
to catch your slumber.

No hand shall wake you
for you and the universe are now one.

How Do I Hate Thee?

2009-03-20T23:10:00.000+08:00

by: julsitos

How do I hate thee? Let me count the ways.
I hate thee with such passion that neither
grace nor penance can soothe my discordant days.
And I gladly hope your head shall wither
impaled by knives, your face grey and beaten
your neck slitted like a bastard calf
your nose hacked in two, your eyes gouged, half-eaten
your cursed breast sliced in half
then burnt to cinders and fed to the birds,
your toes avulsed, your legs be quartered,
your arms chopped and divided to thirds,
your flesh to rot, your bones be scattered.
Then I shall dance on your twilight breath,
then shall but love you better after your death.

The Hamburger Monologues

2009-03-10T21:23:00.012+08:00

The evening was nearing its peak and yet the place was still full of Koreans. I'm thankful that these bunch of Mongoloids (as in the race) are actually helping local businesses thrive. They sit down in groups creating their own small hermit kingdoms with nary a Filipino face in sight to break the monotony of the scene. Despite their being immiscible to local society, they provide body heat in areas where Filipinos tend to thin out. And that's a good thing.

As soon as I ordered my hamburger, I sat down at the counter observing my surroundings and took note of the culinary play that was unfolding in front of me.

I was surprised when the mestiza server took my order. She was petite and perky just like those colegiala partyistas we see on TV. With a grey printed shirt that hugged her chest, she opened the cashbox and counted its contents. The dainty limp of her wrist betrayed all the social graces her aristocratic lineage afforded her. The girl smiled but merely kept to herself. Not another word passed between us although my eyes were finishing in its deliberation. There I was, hoping for more owner-customer interaction but from the looks of her smug countenance, only my eyes did the talking.

The booth was manned by these two mestizo kids and one grungy rocker. Let me indulge for a bit on the two mestizo kids, one un fille aux sang chinoise and the other un salaud aux sang castille. Both are probably children of the landed gentry, the local aristocracy. Why on earth would they put up a hamburger joint is bewildering enough. Why not a luxury car dealership or a boutique? I guess having a hamburger kiosk that serves margaritas is hip and fits with the liquor-guzzling, party-crazy yuppy crowd- the crowd these petit aristocrats wants to serve. Still, it is laudable that they are filled with the entrepreneurial spirit to plant their mark in the culinary scene of this city, a mark for which they want to go against the grain that has already stained the youth of the rich folks in this province stereotyped as lazy bums who do nothing all day but play golf, eat sate babis and watch the sugarcane stalks of their fathers grow. Most, I daresay, grow fat in their parents' largess while indulging in superficial and inconsequential occupations like design, cock breeding and horticulture, or worse, become another señorito of the hacienda overseeing the fertilizer deliveries.

In doing this aforementioned business, I can only see a "Jacko" Effect (Jacko from the movie Namets!) which unfortunately does not bode well for its proprietors. The Jacko Effect means that rich kids with enough disposable cash invest in a business that needs a lot of hands-on expertise. They may love the job for a while but soon the interest of continuing and innovating the business wanes and in the end, the business either will fold up or will deteriorate into one greasy spoon joint. They may have a surge of profits in the beginning but if in the latter days the owners' penchant for cold San Migs, clubbing and entertaining friends should eat up the profits, theirs is a business waiting for its untimely demise. Either they WILL devote their entire time to the business (supervising 8a.m. to 5p.m., going to food seminars, etc.) or they will fry the franchise to its doom. I hope not. I sincerely hope not. I wish them all the success in the world... for the sake of those yummy burgers.

Becoming a Pseudo-Horticulturist

2009-02-20T21:18:00.004+08:00

Nana informed me that one of my mom's orchids decided that it was time to show its true purpose for this world. It bloomed profusely with multiple buds clustering on its spikes.

As the photo will tell you, it's a Waling Waling. Scientifically known as Vanda Sanderiana, Waling-walings are endemic to the Philippines specifically Mindanao. Today, this "Queen of Orchids" is being cultivated by countries outside its native soil especially Thailand and US (Hawaii). Because it's already an endangered species thanks to deforestation by illegal loggers posing as decent political families, there have been efforts to mass cultivate this most beautiful orchid.

Vanda sanderiana Rchb.f.

Synonym: Euanthe sanderiana (Reichenbach.f) Schlechter
Esmeralda sanderiana Reichb.f.

Vanda sanderiana, commonly called “Waling-waling” , is one of the most beautiful and popular orchid species from the Philippines. It is a strap-leaf species that contributes vigor, large size, enhanced color intensity, round-shape, and flatness of flowers to virtually all Vanda hybrids. This Philippine species is extensively used as a parent in Vanda hybridization works.

Prof. Heinrich G. Reichenbach originally named this species Vanda sanderiana in 1882 in the Gardeners’ Chronicle, in honor of Henry F. Sander, a famous nurseryman and patron of orchids, of St. Albans, England. Dr. Rudolf Schlechter created the generic name, Euanthe in Die Orchideen in 1914 and transferred Vanda sanderiana to this new genus. Difference in the labellum, most particularly the absence of a spur, separates the Euanthe from the Vanda.

Vanda sanderiana is an upright, monopodial orchid, about 1 meter tall. Its leaves arch gracefully up to 40 cm long by 3 cm wide, with its tips unequally notched, as if chewed by an insect. The inflorescences are upright, and carry up to 10 flowers, each 10 cm in diameter. The dorsal sepal and petals are pale pink with some dark spotting toward the center, the lateral sepals greenish brown with darker brown tassellations; and the labellum are purplish brown. The dorsal and lateral sepals are broadly elliptic, measuring up to 4 cm long by 2.5 cm wide. The petals are also broadly elliptic, up to 3.5 cm long by 2 cm wide. The labellum or lip is three-lobed, about 2.5 cm long by 1.75 cm wide, with wide rounded and upright side lobes, and an upright, oblong to circular mid-lobe. The midlobe has three ridges and the labellum phenotypically has no spur, a distinguishing mark which separates Euanthe from Vanda, and also identifies a true Vanda sanderiana species from that of a hybrid.

Vanda sanderiana is endemic to Mindanao Island of the Philippines, where it is particularly found in North and South Cotobato, Davao del Norte, Davao del Sur, Zamboanga del Norte, and Zamboanga del Sur. It grows as an epiphyte attached to dipterocarp forest trees at elevations of 500 meters.

It was noted by Jim Cootes (1991) in his book that “The orchid world is fortunate for the dedication of growers in Hawaii and Thailand who have done wonderful work in propagating both the albino and normal-colored forms of this glorious species. Vastly superior forms are now readily available to any orchid grower who can provide the cool minimum temperature of 15 degrees Celsius that his species require.” The plant is also being mass produced in orchid nurseries and laboratories in Mindanao since the plant is threatened and needs to be conserved. The plant is in the endangered list.

Because of its beauty, Vanda sanderiana, is described as the “Queen of Philippine Orchids” and was adopted by the Philippine Orchid Society as its logo. The species blooms in the Philippines from July to October, usually after experiencing 3 or more weeks of continuous heavy downpour during the country’s monsoon rain period. With this characteristic, the Philippine Orchid Society celebrates its yearly midyear orchid show every August to coincide with the blooming of this majestic orchid.

This species has 3 varieties, namely:

1. Vanda sanderiana var. albata Reichb. f. in Gard. Chron. ser. 3.2 (1887) 9. Esmeralda Sanderiana var. albata Will.

This plant was described by Prof. Heinrich G. Reichenbach in the Gardeners’ Chronicle in 1887. The growth habit and flower size are just a little smaller than those of the species. The lateral sepals are yellowish-green with white margins, while the dorsal sepal and petals are white with purple spots at base. The labellum or lip has purple dots.

The plant was reported from Davao del Sur and South Cotobato on Mindanao Island where it grows as an epiphyte at elevations to 500 meters. This variety is extremely rare in its natural habitat.

2. Vanda sanderiana var. froebeliana cogn. in Dict. Icon. des. Orch.Vanda t. 12 a (1903).

The plant has bright rose flower stalks; and has very large flowers compared to the species. The lateral sepals are bright yellow, with rose coloration towards the margins, and densely covered with large purple reticulated veins. The dorsal sepal and petals are rose pink color on the upper half, while lower half with brownish-purple spots.

3. Vanda sanderiana var. labello-viridi Linden & Rodigas in Lindenia 1:85, t (1885) 40.
Esmeralda sanderiana var. labello-viridi Will.

The plant is similar to the species except the lip or labellum is green with crimpson stripes.

REFERENCES:

Cootes, Jim. 2001. The Orchids of the Philippines. Singapore: Times Edition. ISBN 981 232 100 4 .

Fessel H.H. and Peter Belzer. 1999. A Selection of Native Philippine Orchids. Times Editions. Singapore.

Golamco, Andres S. 1991. Philippines’ Book on Orchids. Jemma Inc. Publishing Group, Cainta, Rizal, Philippines.

Valmayor, Helen L. 1984. Orchidiana Philippiniana. Eugenio Lopez Foundation, Inc. Manila, Philippines.

Valmayor, Helen L. (Ed.) 1981. The Complete Writings of Dr. Eduardo A. Quisumbing on Philippine Orchids. Eugenio Lopez Foundation, Inc. Manila, Philippines.
———————————————-
Taxonomic Characteristic of this species:

Kingdom: Plantae
Division: Magnoliophyta
Class: Liliopsida
Order: Asparagales
Family: Orchidaceae
Subfamily: Epidendroideae
Tribe: Vandaeae
Subtribe: Sarcanthinae
Alliance: Vanda
Genus: Vanda (Euanthe Jones ex R.Br., 1820)
Species: V. sanderiana (E. sanderiana)
(c) norby_b@rocketmail.com
January 25, 2008
Manila, Philippines

Our Vanda is I think the rarer (therefore, more valuable) Vanda Sanderiana alba. This variety is almost always a winner during orchid shows as typified by the LBOS 2007 Annual Show. Hmmmm... it's beautiful indeed. But it becomes worthy of attraction when people knows it has some monetary worth. People won't give a second look on an object (or a person) unless everyone is clamoring to have it or to be with it (e.g. celebrities).

I only appreciate these things because they are rare and worthy of collecting. I'm not really a horticulturist, our former driver is. Would you believe we had this conversation a while ago?:

Me: "Look over here! There's a Cattleya in bloom! It's the first time I've seen it with those colors!"

Driver: "Uh, they're called Waling-Waling."

To quote Homer of Simpsons, "Doh!" I realized I have a green thumb equivalent of mongo seed sprouter. Although I have my own marcotted Makrut (Kaffir) Lime plants (3 pots now) to look after along with the now decimated Galangal stalks, having this Waling Waling showing its colors is a welcome diversion. My lime is prized for its rarity in its freshest form and for the scarcity of its supply. The Red Thai curries being cooked in our kitchen won't be the same without the fresh Makrut lime leaves. However, my Makrut is for consuming, not for oggling. That's the utilitarian difference.

Apart from my makrut, the blossoming Vanda, the now dead Birds eye chilies and equally dead Galangal stalks, I have little else to give attention to in our mini-jungle at home except when my dog plays through the potted Euphorbiums and knocks it down in the process.

So, when the Vanda flowers wilt and fall away, perhaps this feelings of delight and appreciation for such impermanent beauties will also die away.

Arte Kalye @ Bacolod

2009-02-15T19:09:00.001+08:00

A few days back, I strolled by San Agustin Extension Road, a small non-descript alley adjacent to Riverside Hospital. The street itself is lined with Bohemian restaurants and Internet cafes mostly catering to college students of nearby San Agustin College and Riverside College. However, for the entire month of February this street gained a twinkle in the city’s eyes.

Arte Kalye was born. I was heartened to see such initiative being done by local artists. Spearheaded by the Art Association of Bacolod with artist like Nunelucio Alvarado at the helm, this month-long festival aims to foster the arts among the masses most especially for the university students. In order to appreciate the arts, one must be immersed in it at the earliest juncture of life for knowing the brushstrokes and the uniqueness of an artist’s oerve takes time and effort. It’s not sufficient to rattle off the names like Alcoseba, Olmedo, and Rubio as if one is reading a litany, but it makes a difference if you learn how to love the strong dark lines of Alvarado or the brash colors of Charlie Co.

Loving art will in turn, spur demand for it because one desires such object. And this seeming demand will jack up the prices not only because the hoi polloi can be able to appreciate the paintings but also the landed gentry and petit bourgeois themselves who have enough disposable cash to buy it. Hence, this festival is an inducement for everyone to be exposed to the local arts in the hope of creating an industry. This was done before. Take a look at the Mabini-del Pilar corridor whose 70s artists like Malang, Ben Cab, Salvador Cabrera, and Buenaventura helped ignite the collecting fever of that era. I hope this happens too in my city. Inducements for demand will create more supply. In turn, this shall benefit the artists. A caveat though: Mauro Malang whose prolific works like tinderas with fishes filled Manila galleries has seen his prices plateaued. That is still a bad dream that will unlikely happen to these Negros painters and sculptors. Right now, they need all the exposure they can get.

And with it, I am planning of making my first investment this coming art sale.

Bridges

2009-02-15T19:05:00.001+08:00

Bridges
by: julsitos

Bridges, bridges bright,
In the shadows of the night,
Where no foot shall step across
To that which is a worthy loss.

Death Do We Part

2009-01-19T00:02:00.002+08:00

"But soon we shall die and all memory of those five will have left earth, and we ourselves shall be loved for a while and forgotten. But the love will have been enough; all those impulses of love return to the love that made them. Even memory is not necessary for love. There is a land of the living and a land of the dead and the bridge is love, the only survival, the only meaning."
-The Bridge of San Luis Rey, Thorton Wilder

Ever since the demise of my parents, life has been a surreal nightmare of sorts. It's as if I've been viewing into a dream sequence where all the characters have been playing their designated roles and the setting merely a shell of what I knew before. It's like an altered parallel universe that I really wanted to escape and wake up. I ask myself whether this is real or merely an extended dream wherein closing one's eyes will not change the moment. Vanilla Sky this ain't.

Indeed I have been waking up, going to work, eating my meals religiously and sleeping- just like any human being- in order to function my basic necessities. But apart from this routine, is there something to mark my whole existence in the world? As we pass away from this earth we are forgotten by the world only to be remembered by those who knew us, who encountered us in our respective paths, and those who we had a strong connection to. Everything else is secondary for none shall be brought to the netherworld and memories of the present fade gradually into the sands of time. We are nothing but specks in the course of the universe and the world will not weep or blip in our passing.

Legacies given by great people for which they are remembered for are more because of ideas rather than the persons themselves. Like Rizal for his nationalism and Gandhi for his non-violence, these personages remain in our thoughts because they have something great to teach the world. Even Hitler taught the world Nazism and the horrors that a person is capable to doing. They are distilled and are remembered for their abstract philosophies but not for their personalities, their hopes and their frustrations. The person withers away and only his name remains.

Inversely, who can we be able to remember those heroes, politicians and presidents that have come by? Even in greatness in character does not connote remembrance for future generations. Who can even remember the names of Eduard Douwes Dekker, Albert Schweitzer, Rabindranath Tagore? Only academicians and historians most likely. How about our own Dagohoy, Leon Kilat, Papa Isio, Leo Echagaray, Elpidio Quirino and the rest of the Philippine motley crew? Can one point out their works and their lives? No one most probably. Such reality is a testament that all of us will end up being forgotten as soon as we are interred six feet into the ground. And the world will keep on spinning.

New Hope

2009-01-18T17:23:00.003+08:00

New Hope
by: Julsitos

Where hands of slaves and the oppressed
lift the veil that hung like night,
where stars now shine the dispossessed
fill the void with radiant light.

And all that hope that hearts yearn
into this one it personifies,
may it be as firm as the truths we learn,
with justice and peace it glorifies.

Two Medical Superstitions

2009-01-17T11:46:00.000+08:00

This was a draft during my internship (which happened to be ancient history already)...

1. Seeing Red

Try going to any tertiary hospital and most chances are, you won't see any blazer-clad doctor wearing a red shirt. It was only during clerkship that I was introduced to this curse which says that anyone who wears a predominantly red shirt will have a "toxic" duty that night. By "toxic" we mean that the poor doctor will have the following albeit in different degrees and permutations of stressful events:

1. Internal Medicine - You will have more than three cadiopulmonary arrests going on the same time that you wish you were like the Indian goddes Shiva who has six arms to do multitasking in doing CPR, including one to wipe your sweat off.

2. Pediatrics - Either you will find yourself enjoying a "children's party" at the ER where you alone have to face surly and impatient parents and devil-spawned children who you wish to send to the netherworld ala Orpheus.

3. OB-GYNE - You will realize that it's only on your particular duty where there's a deluge of mothers about to give birth as if there was a dearth of human population. Most have already 5 or 6 spawns to feed already. How these baby factories will be able to send their changelings to high school will remain a mystery.

2. Speak No Evil

It's advisable not to utter any taboo words during one's duty. Words like "toxic", "benign", and the like will have exponential effects towards the participants. Mostly into a spiral downturn into the abyss, victims recall to have uttered these curse words whereby in a span of an hour, a deluge of strokes, breech pregnancies and vehicular accidents came pouring in. And mostly these are indigent patients, so besides being a medical practitioner, one becomes a social worker spewing litanies of the benefits of having money. At times it becomes so acute that one tends to prescribe money towards these patients.

Those who name that-cannot-be-named becomes the immediate beneficiary of head-whacks and snide remarks from those who will be affected. Such is the power of words.

A Repartee on Bob Ong's Ugly Covers

2008-12-27T23:57:00.003+08:00

I was searching for book covers to feature for 2008's fin-de-annee when I saw a familiar entry at a forum over Bob Ong's site where apparently an entry of mine concerning the ugliness of Philippine book covers caused a furor amongst Bob Ong's fanatical fanbase. I can hear the rabid Rah-rah-rahs of his minions. While I don't like his oeurves as a personal opinion, preferring more to the likes of Butch Dalisay Jr. and Conrado de Quiros, I respect the fact that a LOT of teens, tweens and kiddults like his earthy and intimate way of writing. If they like reading what's inside, that's their business. It's similar to the feeling how all teenie-boppers swoon over the Twilight series catapulting it to National Bestsellerhood and yet for the literary value of it, it turned out to be such a tedious mess of words.

Apart from its contents, the COVERS of Bob Ong's tomes suck terribly. If there's a word to describe the creative mind behind all of the designs, it would be "atrocious." Oh no! I can hear the squeals and shrieks of loyal peons ready to burn my blog to the stake. Such Salemesque mentality is not flattering to the author for such heightened emotions reflect the maturity and rhetoric partiality of its audience. It's all about the design and quality of the books, not the contents however sleep-inducing it may be. Anyhow, if they have been keen in understanding what I wrote, they would appreciate the reality that GOOD book covers SELL well. And by having terribly done covers will do a disservice to the author who slaved for months to write those pages. To see it all go for nothing just because a second-rate hack has monochromatic vision is truly an injustice. Period. If they'll publish it as an limited-edition omnibus with good creamy acid-free paper and French flaps and matte-laminated cover design, people will surely stop and buy it.

However, if it was the author indeed who designed those books, then it becomes another contention altogether.

What I can't comprehend is how such an entry became an exercise of fallacies. Fallacies of ad baculum, ad misericordiam, and ad hominem became sparking points in maintaining the debate. It bemuses me to see such caveman antics but also saddens me to note that we cannot have a healthy debate without spiralling into the abyss of mudslinging. Is it because of lack of education? Or because of undeveloped emotional maturity? I don't know. A lot have their heads screwed to their shoulders but many still have that mob mentality when they comment: it's either you're with us 100% or against us 100%. You can't criticize our idol unscathed! Hahaha...

Here's the NY Times Book Design Blog to give you examples on books that failed and succeed thanks to their catchy covers. And another article why we must judge a book by its cover.

Peace!

Anyway

2008-12-15T11:44:00.000+08:00

We are just but humans, anyway,
We are helpless, anyway,
little suckers for little hope, anyway,
looking ceiling-wise, our hands still in our pockets anyway,
I guess it's fate anyway,
waiting for another Godot anyway,
tempting to change the void anyway,
still the same anyway.

Let us escape this in any way,
now.

I Love the Ward

2008-12-07T19:59:00.002+08:00

I just love this Discovery Channel commercial. It always makes me want to smile. ...and now my version of the commercial:

I Love the Ward

It never gets old huh?
Nope
It kinda makes you wanna break into song?
Yep
I love the patients
I love the IV lines
I love reviving
I love when mucus fly
I love the whole ward
And all its smells and sounds
Boom De Yada
Boom De Yada
Boom De Yada
Boom De Yada
I love the bantays
I love when they give things
I love endorsements
I love the fear it brings
I love the whole ward
and all its craziness
Boom De Yada
Boom De Yada
Boom De Yada
Boom De Yada
I love ulcered toes
I love to wake their beds
I love angina
I love to crack their heads
I love the whole ward
Its such a grilling place
Boom De Yada
Boom De Yada
Boom De Yada
Boom De Yada
Boom De Yada
Boom De Yada
Boom De Yada
Boom De Yada
Boom De Yada
Boom De Yada

On Blogging Topics

2008-11-15T19:28:00.002+08:00

"Truth that's told with bad intent Beats all the Lies you can invent."
-William Blake

After a long hiatus, I shall try to incorporate blogging once again into my life. There are so many things to say, to write, and to gripe about but everytime I would open my blog and start typing, the words and sentences always end up in the draft mode.

Most of the time, you develop the passion for writing when inspiration hits you like a brick to the head. These are the days when you are sad, euphoric, excited, frustrated, or mad. Extremes in neurotransmitters controlling the limbic system (a.k.a. the seat of emotions) are usually the trigger points of which one takes up the pen to write the literary hemorrhage being formed in his or her mind.

However, in these past few years, I end up pouring my soul towards another medium- the journal. People with an IQ of tree-monkeys will not understand the logic and impracticability why I chose some antediluvian Moleskine-like medium over the newest technological convenience of blogging. Simple. There are just so many thoughts that cannot be posted here in my blog- my frustrations, my hopes, my dreams, my "what if"s, my anger, my sorrow, etc. It then becomes too damn depressing and embarrassing to read all the dirty linen in cyberspace. While it is true that blogging liberated me into dipping my pen into the inkwell of literary passion, it has also shackled me into the topics of which I write. Most bloggers would agree in varying degrees. Many would restrict their writings to the most inconsequential, be it in the form of book reviews, food critique or everyday mundane stuff. With a journal, no social boundary can keep you from writing what you really really feel.

I was once tempted to write about my relatives from both sides of the fence with the glaring title, "Relative Hypocrisy", but after reading my draft, I decided for fear of irreversible repercussions that the article may bring, I concluded that it was not worth the trouble and shelved it permanently. Same holds true for the rest of the human race of which I had the privilege of meeting in some way or another. In the end, even if I would feel better venting out all my angst here like a bad case of literary diarrhea, I know full well that this site has been marked for public consumption and there is a chance that some of these "characters" I write about may end up reading sordid details about them. In the end, the journal remains the best solution for such type of entry. And I completely agree.

Jussipussi

2008-10-12T21:02:00.005+08:00

Here in the Philippines we have Monay bread while in Finland, they prefer the moist yeasty taste of...

Eau de Corps

2008-08-07T06:37:00.000+08:00

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore,
Send these, the homeless, tempest-lost to me...
-Emma Lazarus

Here in the famed hospital of Corrupt-zone Toxin Memorial Regressional Hospital, the smell of the great unwashed is strong and tenacious. No Ajax detergent in the world will ever rid the stench of human refuse. It's quite hard to imagine that a hospital this huge would have the temerity to be the incubation lab of countless microbes. Imagine a facility where every nook and cranny your olfactory senses are barraged with smells originating from every pore of humankind. If one shall make these into perfumes casing each aroma in a bottle, it would be like this:

1. Agua de Cebollas (by Nenooko)
Take a whiff of the distillated vegetal essences of allium cepa and the tantalizing spiciness of Jamon Jabugo as it excites your senses. It will assault you, it will make you stop walking, it will earn everyone's undivided attention. In fact, it shall make everyone's tastebuds water with delight. Sourced from the best Andalucian axillas, Nenooko gives you nothing but the richest and undeodorized corporal fragrance. Such is the power of Agua de Cebollas, it will catch you dead on your tracks- before and after it kills you.

2. Cool Yellow Water (by Davideaff)
Davideaff's new creation is a new honey-colored heaven characterized by blissful summer days full of bright lemon and pineapple tones embellished with the brazen ammoniacal odor of uric acid. It's a gurantee you will turn heads with this one. All your friends will ask you where you got that unique perfume. It's so familiar, so banal and yet so intimate that in the end, they will be so moved by your scent that they will grab a tissue to wipe that sudden burst of excitement from their, uh, mouths.

3. L' Pied No. 5 (Tsanel)
As experts of hairy armpits and unshaved legs, the French too has mastered perfume-making. The house of Tsanel is proud to announce a new fragrance- inside a sinuous and shapely bottle lies the scent that has, according to Time Magazine, "become the fetish of millions". People are smitten by the exotic and esoteric smell emanating from the bottle. The heart notes of sweet-sick tang of melon, ginger, and the by-products of billions of staphylococcal colonies are tempered by the muskier blue cheese ripened to perfection. It's so intoxicating and heady that you will inescapably catch the attention of patients 50 meters away. They cannot evade the scent as you yourself cannot which is highly recommended to use this sparingly. Anklet and toe ring included.

4. Barfgari pour Homme (Barfgari)
You'll be swept away by the rich scent of chocolate, cinnamon with base notes of rancid butter and fermented fish, capped by the top notes of coconut and vinegar. This perfume will bathe you in warm glow of emesis that others will find irresistable. Your lover shall swoon at your feet after filling up the enclosed unused motion-sickness bags twice. Such is the power of Barfgari pour Homme, you will always emerge a winner.

5. Old Leather (Ex-Christian Brothers)

Such is the appeal of Old Leather- comforting, exquisitely genteel, and classic like an old Master in a checkered bathrobe clutching his walker. This amber-colored inter-generational concoction (in an exclusive wrinkled and corrugated cardboard box) continues to survive and win more patrons with its earthy and smoky musk. It reminds customers where their roots are- a few feet underground. With two centuries since its first conception, Old Leather is here to stay.

Now, which perfume shall you pick?

Atrocious Prints

2008-08-06T21:21:00.007+08:00

Japan, the country that shocked the world with its 1937 Rape of Nanking is also a major proponent for Muzan-e otherwise known as "Atrocious Prints." Based on the centuries-old tradition of Ukiyo-e (or Pictures of the Floating World) where artisans like Hiroshige and Hokusai created beautiful prints of the Kabuki world and countryside scenes, artists old and new tried to go out of society's moral boundaries by composing prints full of gore and amputations. It's no wonder why their horrific acts of genocidal brutality are not considered as an isolated episode of madness- it's perhaps in their blood to explore beyond the realms of civilized taste. And since Japan is a "graphic society", it's no wonder also why almost everything and anything is illustrated in ways the Western mind can never imagine.

From images from the Hungry Ghost scrolls depicting demons from hell torturing humans (which is akin to the medieval paintings of Hieronymus Bosch and Matthias Grünewald) to modern illustrations of eroguro whereby manga characters lop off their partner's head and used the decapitated portion as a sex toy, Japanese taste for the extreme is quite shocking yet fascinating. For those who are only weaned on the missionary position of procreation, the Japanese can teach these prudes a thing or two, but "that" will be a subject for future rumination.

Generally, muzan-e depicts scenes of heroes, usually samurai, in the throes of their glorious death while they carry out their vengeance for their honor or their master's honor. This makes the print tolerable. But contemporary artists like Suehiro Maruo took the genre to another level. While leaving behind the valiant ideas of Bushido where seppuku is being swooned over and over by the likes of the novelist Yukio Mishima, Maruo took the bloody aesthetics and incorporated modern themes resulting into something more disturbing and blood-curdling. For instance, he explored artistically on the finale of Red Riding Hood's untimely demise, as seen below. It really takes your breath away.

Looking at these prints reminds me that the human mind can be cruel and sublime at the same time. Isn't it strange that such beauty and skill is used to depict madness and chaos? These inspires me to contemplate that at least in modern Japan, such notions of violence are only found in ink and paper, and not in blood and flesh. Fortunately for us, we are not Japanese.

Doctor Green Is In

2008-08-05T12:19:00.000+08:00

This was an old entry to which I dare not publish, but since this has already been classified as "history," I might as well declassify this X-file for the sake of entertainment:

I am disgusted by this doctor-consultant. Physically speaking, his paunchiness, decaying wrinkly skin, flambouyant voice and Estrada-style haircut were already alarming signals of how disgusting he can be. I thought I wouldn't have that sick feeling again for I realized that since I'm a doctor, I should already be desensitized to the many gross specimens, body parts and operations. This means I cannot cringe in front of the patient while cleaning and debriding his near-amputated diabetes-ridden feet that smells like a horse's ass. This means that another surprise like that will not easily stimulate my "nausea" reflex. Besides, I think that since he's a doctor, he should the dignity to be decent and professional, but then again, being high in the hospital totempole made him virtually unassailable and untouchable, therefore, he felt he can get away with bloody murder!

My feeling was recently confirmed that this doctor was indeed a veritable slime ball. How? Let me count the ways:

1. This morning, our female senior resident reported on typhoid fever- a disease caused by the fecal-oral transmission of Salmonella typhi. When the discussion reached the part on how typhoid can being transmitted via eating poorly cooked meat or drinking contaminated water, our consultant-moderator asked (while sporting a sly smile), "Can sex become a cause for typhoid transmission?"

Our resident who was reporting stammered and apparently looked embarrassed at such an impudent query. She vainly looked for words that will sugar-coat what is plainly obvious. Duh! Fecal-to-Oral route.... hmmm... Anus-to-Mouth... hmmm... and sex?? How so?? Anyone with an IQ of a baboon can deduce what our consultant was aiming at.

So the reporter said instead, "Umm... sir... Typhoid fever can be transmitted via other sexual positions."

"And so?"

"Umm... can be transmitted by anal sex."

"So?"

"Umm..Umm... Sir..."

Apparently, he wanted the whole kit and caboodle. The big man was eager to hear how anal sex and oral sex could be jointly related. At his age, it was not funny. In fact, it painted him a very dirty old man.

2. As the morning reporting dragged on, it came to a point when the discussion proceeded into the usefulness of urine culture in diagnosing typhoid. And because the patient presented with increased pus cells in the urine, the consultant touched on the fact that males can have UTI too. Normally, females tend to get more frequent UTIs because of their shorter urethras.

The consultant turned his head and asked our male resident, "So (name), gaano kalaki ang urethra mo?" By the sheer sound of it, it was tantamount in saying "How long is your schlong?" It was like asking the female reporter the depth of her... uh, feelings.

The resident just gave a nervous laugh, apparently not at all arous... i meant, amused. Even in another department where some male consultants make lewd jokes about their female residents, they do not go into that territory wherein the victim is publicly embarrassed. In our consultant's case, his remarks made him an embarrassment.

3. Last duty, this doctor and Dra. Hag (a decaying frizzle-haired female consultant) gate-crashed the morning endorsement whereby they nestled their fat assess at our instantly vacated table. After having a bit of small talk, this he began to interrogate the duty resident who stayed in the room.

He said, "So (name), how are you and Dr. (name) nowadays?"

She answered, "Ok naman sir"

Then, turning his head to the other consultant, he said,"You know (name), I'm able to remember (name)'s boyfriend because it reminded me of something bad." He gave out a repressed laughter as if he has something funny to reveal.

"What?", the old hag said apparently enjoying where this conversation was going.

"Eh di, Semilla! Sounds the same eh. Can you imagine if you'll hear from the paging system 'Paging Dr. Semilla!"

My resident blushed furiously (out of embarrassment perhaps), and began to knot her eyebrows. I was embarrassed for her. Only Dr. Green and Dra. Hag were oblivious to their blatant social faux pas.

Disgusting. Period. Shame on you, Dr. Green.

Namets! Namets!

2008-07-01T16:02:00.004+08:00

NAMETS teaser from fiona borres on Vimeo.

This is perhaps a testament to the love of the Negrenses to their homegrown culinary specialties that at times borders already to bacchanalian obsession. Talk to any expatriate Negrense (don't you just love the way the word rolls from your tongue?) and each one shall wax poetic about their favorite Ilonggo meal be it inasal to batchoy to pancit molo to guinamos bisaya to piayaya and puto Manapla. If this will further enhance the prestige of Filipino cuisine, then all food-loving Pinoys and non-Pinoys should watch it. Coming this August to the city that sugar built, Jay Abello's "Namets!" will be one film to savor for months to come.

Pride of Bacolod: Bar 21 / Bar21 Restaurant

2008-06-22T15:57:00.010+08:00

The art of dining well is no slight art, the pleasure not a slight pleasure.
-Michel de Montaigne

This unassuming restaurant at the corner of Bacolod's swanky restaurant row has been serving good Negrense fare for more than two decades already. Known before as 21st Street Food Corner where they cooked simple pleasures like Burgers and Batchoy, it has evolved to become one of Bacolod, if not, its only upscale restaurant where one can confidently bring foreign and out-of-town guests.

Its muted off-white and dark mahogany interiors reflect the choices of its proprietors. It tells about the class and breeding of old families like the Aranetas and Gamboas- sublime, graceful without being crass, strong yet delicate, sumptuous yet accessible. Everything from the old-world twine-wound chairs to the orchid-laden tables (which remided me both of Hemingway) to the barong-clad executioner-looking maitre d' to the attentive waitresses, and even to the incandescent glow from the chandeliers, all contribute to the richness of the Bar 21 experience.

However, the main reason why this restaurant is still standing while its back-neighbor is not is the fact that the food is delicious yet affordable. Yes, it's that simple: delicious and affordable. Period. Probably it's more than that: it's delicious, cheap and classy. It's the only non-hotel restaurant here that serves flambèed desserts. It's the one of the few restos that serve steaks and other high-end products. Patrons won't feel any price-gouging here. You get what you order. Imagine a plateful of spare ribs served with Spanish morisqueta (old Spanish-Filipino term for fried rice as in morisqueta tostada) and fried onions costing you about ~P140 ($3.50) or its bowlful of special batchoy with its cracklings and noodles for only P60 ($1.50). You can have the same fare at a mall restaurant for the same price. This is certainly more filling than a damn PizzaHut pizza where a slice can cost a dollar. This means that the parity of "deliciousness" of Bar21's food to the amount of food is unbeatable, and the ratio of the amount against the price is wallet-friendly. This is why those who eat here come back for another day. This observation is seen also in many of Bacolod's restos like Calea and Bob's.

Another point for Bar21 is for their creativity in making simple food complex. I remember eating their delectable Moist Chocolate Cake with its icing hot and melting. It's more like Chocolate Lava than a cake. This goes to show that even as simple as a chocolate cake was made special by heat. How about their Toasted Ravioli with its parmesan sauce?

A restaurant will not thrive if its patrons feel that their stomachs and wallets are being cheated either by lousy taste or by the disproportional amount-to-price ratio. Perhaps this is why such franchises such as Krua Thai, Bo's Coffee Club and Gerry's Grill cannot compete with homegrown and home-loved joints like Bob's and Pendy's. The former can be logically sustained in a city of 10 million like Manila where the rich and educated can splurge on these restaurants anytime, but not in 500,000 strong Bacolod where local tastes tend to be fickle. And I don't think 20+ years in the business is a sign of fickleness in the city of smiles. Salut!

Bar 21 Restaurant (official site)
Lacson Street cor. 21st Street
Tel: 034 -4334096 /435-3852;
0918-9028800

*pics were "borrowed" from the Bacolod FoodHunters and Wyatt Belmonte's Site. Links below to their sites feature more stuff about Bar21.

Bacolod Food Hunter's take on Bar21's Cheeseburger
Wyatt's Kitchen and his Bar21 experience

Dearest Dad

2008-06-13T19:00:00.002+08:00

Dearest Dad,

Wherever you are, Happy Father’s Day! It has been difficult to celebrate this time of the year when you know there’s nothing to look forward to. I cannot be as excited as my friends are, or be as ecstatic as the commercials are with their broad smiles and celebratory cheers. It’s reality, but a bitter one indeed. No treats for you anymore at an eat-all-you-can buffet at your favorite Japanese restaurant. Remember the time when you encouraged me to try sashimi telling me that even a sliver of raw fish can taste divine. Or treat you to a great WWII dvd movie where we can watch together as father and son. I bought one of your favorite movies, “Empire of the Sun,” just to savor that lingering feeling of you and mom being there. Oh dad, I have saved enough to treat you to life’s small luxuries especially now that your son has been earning his keep. I had hoped it would be my time to serve you, to take care of you, that you won’t anymore open you wallet just as you had before. Your generosity is your lifelong lesson for me, so that I will be equally generous to those I love.

How I wish I can regale you with my work at the hospital- the fastidious folks, the patients that I’ve sent home alive, or even the rare diseases I have witnessed. Isn’t this your life long dream to have a son who will one day become a full-fledged doctor? I had hoped to hear from you asking me for free samples for your joint pains after a round of golf or even advice about your disease when you had your esophageal CA years back.

Remember the time when you drove me to my high school asking me what college course I’d like to apply in Manila? I said I’ll take up archaeology because I have been dreaming of buried gold underneath our garden. You told me there’s no money in that, and I’d be better off being a doctor. You were so happy then knowing I took that path that even when I transferred to my dormitory to start my medical degree, you were the one who cut and applied the contact paper to my dorm table so that my books won’t get scratched.

It’s amazing how I remember all the little things when you are gone. They are like precious nuggets of memories that I try to save just so I won’t forget you, or mom. Since I can’t anymore add to those future milestones, these become important to me- the lessons you’ve drilled into me (like time management because you always catch me at the computer at 1am), the times you’ve berated me (like the time when you taught me how to drive but gave up on me on the first lesson), and your passion for living (like snorkeling and enjoying bangus bellies.) All I could say is “Thanks Dad” for everything. And even though you’re not here anymore, this day is still my tribute to you- by remembering all that you have done for me to become the person I am now and to realize that the dream you once planned for us have come true. Our success in this world is our only gift to you.

Your son.

The Dementress' Overture

2008-06-01T21:58:00.005+08:00

This Modesto Mussorgsky symphony is the perfect composition that captures the beauty of her inner soul...

...but of course, when you see her, all you can think of is Carl Orff's Intro to Carmina Burana.

How I love the classics....

Quote of the Day

2008-05-31T16:58:00.002+08:00

Wash the plate not because its dirty nor you are told to wash it but because you love the person who will use it.
– Mother Teresa

East and West

2008-05-15T21:35:00.005+08:00

"Oh, East is East, and West is West,
and never the twain shall meet..."
- Rudyard Kipling

Before, I had the notion that traditional Asian music can never meld with that of the Classical West with all their violins and French horns. Sure there were composers who tried to make operas with an oriental flair like Puccini (of Madame Butterfly & Turandot fame) and that of Arthur & Sullivan (The Mikado), but all of these were still patterned after Western tastes. Even the instruments used were all traditional orchestral pieces- the piano, the trombones, and timpani. Never was there the lute, the ranad-ek, the gongs, or the koto and shamisen in these works. Yes, the themes were of Asia, but the flavor remains Occidental.

It is fortunate that through Youtube, I had come across a couple of arrangements by conductor and composer, Shardad Rohani. Enjoy. The sheer bliss and syncopation of eastern melodies with western harmonies is exhilarating. It makes me want to immediately fly to my beloved Thailand.

Enjoy.

1.LAOPAN RANAD CONCERTO ลาวแพน ระนาดคอนแชร์โต
Ranad Solo by Chaiphak Phattharachinda
เดี่ยวระนาด โดย ชัยภัค ภัทรจินดา (นิก กอไผ่)
Conducted by Shardad Rohani
BSO - Bangkok Symphony Orchestra
Bangkok : 23 July 1999

2. "Thai Children Choir" & The Closing Ceremony Theme Song of the 13th Asian Games Bangkok '98 "Light of Asia"
Composed by Thai composer "Dnu Huntrakul"
[ทำนองโดย ดนู ฮุนตระกูล]
Lyric : Khunying Sasima Srivikorn
[คำร้องโดย คุณหญิงศศิมา ศรีวิกรม์]
BSO - Bangkok Symphony Orchestra
Conducted by Shardad Rohani
Bangkok : 23 July 1999

A Mother's Day Tribute

2008-05-07T14:45:00.003+08:00

*this was one of my earlier works.... just a tribute for Mother's Day. Cheers!

A Midsummer's Night Lullaby
by: Julsitos

Now rest your eyes, my dearest child,
lay upon your mother's breast,
and feel the warmth, so sweet and mild,
your peaceful face gently pressed.

Hush little one, the day is done,
for you are in my keeping.
The ills of yesterday now begone
its secrets now asleeping.

Can you hear the crickets playing,
hidden 'mong the grasses there?
Can you feel the wind whisp'ring
blowing through the midnight air?

And when you yawn, your face alights
without a care or worry.
To dream in splendid perfumed nights,
is paradise and glory.

In the darkness of midsummer
not a stirring, child and I,
for in sleep we sleep together,
and dream beneath a moonlit sky.

Fishing at Ebay.ph

2008-04-17T01:55:00.002+08:00

The nice thing about ebay.ph is that there are random stuff there that's worth bidding for. No need for credit card accounts, no need for paypal membersip. It's as easy as opening an email account. Once done, you're ready to bid!

These are my new finds: 19th century revenue documents in Tagalog! Let me know if you have translated them. ;)

National Bookbinge

2008-04-15T22:00:00.000+08:00

Oftentimes, patience pays off. Waiting for something to arrive and pouncing upon it at the right time gives one the thrill of victory. It's a victory of scoring a very very good bargain. And now, it's hunting season inside the National Bookstore bins. I usually go for the bargain books, and though most imported books sport a 20% discount, it's the 50+% books that I chase. My last trip to the local provincial branch yielded some pretty exciting tomes, namely:

1. Vintage Twins (Crime) 40% discount - twin volumes that share a common theme and in this case: crime. Dostoevsky's seminal novel, Crime & Punishment is paired by Patricia Highsmiths' Ripley's Game. The special thing about C&P is that its current translation is the best. The much-acclaimed translator team of Richard Pevear & Larissa Volokhonsky did this one and critics say it's the best out there. Also, Ripley's Game is one of the later segments of her "Ripleiad"- meaning that this volume is the sequel to her first work, The Talented Mr. Ripley which I am sure everyone is familiar with since there's a movie of the same name.

2. Vintage Twins (Fantasy) 40% discount - in this twinning comes Carroll's Alice in Wonderland and Haruki Murakami's The Wind-up Bird Chronicle. Actually, I don't care for Alice and her wonderland. She can just wallow there for all I care but as for Murakami's work, ahh... that's another species altogether. If you're interested in the Japan that's urbane, quirky, sanitized, then this volume might pique your interest. It's quite interesting to note that in such sterile society, Haruki can come up with the most surreal of all plots. It's a keeper.

3. Dai Sijie's Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress (50% discount) is one of those rare gems that crop up once in a decade. This is a low-key novel by award-winning Dai Sijie where it talks about the dire effect of Mao Zedong's Cultural Revolution wherein all Western ideas and products were deemed decadent. The prose is sparse and intimate, and the characters well-formed. And for only P125, this is never decadent.

4. Paul Auster's New York Trilogy (40% discount)- this is a bargain for this volume comprises of three novels which normally would cost an arm and a leg. I got this for P140-. I'm not sure whether the bookstore knows how to use the calculator in converting foreign currencies, or this was just serendipity. Auster's Trilogy does not contain your normal linear plotline. It uses the tools in mystery novels and yet it's not a mystery- more of philosophical ruminations of history and life itself. The prose is interesting without being pedantic, the plot Murakami-esque signifying a not-so-delectable resolution. Nevertheless, it's a bargain.

5. Marquis de Sade's Juliette (40% discount) - Ahhh... au bon livre. C'est parfait! This is the bible for atheists and libertines. Marquis is a genius, a philosopher, for he skews the prevailing Catholic faith's grip over the morals of the French people during that time. Remember, de Sade wrote this during the time of the French Revolution, thus, not only was there political upheaval but also spiritual turbulence as well. His views espouse hedonism, self-promotion, and amorality all thinly disguised as novel of decadence. As for the purchase, this work is scarce and not mass-produced, hence the price was a bit higher. Nonetheless, a perfect counterpoint to the book, "The Purpose Driven Life."

City of the Infernal Sun

2008-04-10T01:04:00.007+08:00

City of the Infernal Sun
by: j u l s i t o s

Manila,
city of the infernal sun,
whose gods have left you
to die in your dung.
How fortunate we are
that a morass like you
is dying each day,
your people like termites
festering in your crevices
with its footsteps
and tears.
They drink from your pustules,
wounds of the earth
nursed from decades past,
opened now for the soulless to drink
not knowing the difference
between the joy of death
and sleeping in perpetual hell.

Hasten your decay
so a new dawn will break upon us.
Your over-weightedness,
your avarice,
your ingratitude to History
your indifference to grace and virtue
your amorality
will be your end.
You slit your wrist
on the throne of the Devil
like Faustus
to satisfy your hunger
for quick dry orgasms.

What epiphany shall we see in you?
None! For death is sweet reckoning for you.
Never shall you stand again.
Your empty arrogance is your shackle
to which we hope shall never be loosen.
And praise the day when you shall see
your flesh has withered
and your bones scattered on the earth.
And when you decide that death is better,
only then, I shall help you
bury your grave.

Dead on Arrival

2008-01-26T17:31:00.000+08:00

Dead on Arrival
by: Julsitos

Their bare feet swept the floors herein,
without a sound to paint despair,
but as they stopped to call me in
the smell of death pervades the air.

Dawn of a New Horror

2008-01-20T19:03:00.000+08:00

It has been three months since I pressed "Publish Post" in this blog. I had not realized that it was that long since my brained vomited another entry from its deepest recesses. Work, subhuman at that, has taken it's toll on my system. No juices flowed, no sparks flew. No inspiration came... but now, times have been a bit easier. So, I guess it's time to take a break and start this blog rolling, again.

Love in the Time of Marquez

2007-10-22T21:54:00.002+08:00

There is reason to celebrate Gabo's utterly brilliant novel, Love in the Time of Cholera. Why? It's the new film by Mike Newell:

Even Oprah picked this one for her recent Book Club and I hope with this kind of promotion Gabo's popularity will soar again as he did when he published his One Hundred Years of Solitude.

I fell in love with his books not because of the subject but more for the sheer imagination he has planted into his words where the impossible become possible, the unbelievable become believable. Moreso, his words breathe in that sultry dusty and heady air of South America which is not that different from ours. Think of the cobblestone streets of Intramuros, Nick Joaquin stories, rondalla music, the smell of camphor wood, the waxed sheen of narra planks of old Spanish homes, clip-clop noise of the caretela horse, the rich taste of egg yolks blended into the flan, water stains on limestone walls and mildew smell of the pages of leather-bound books. It's no wonder why a LOT of Filipinos put Marquez as their top choice for a Nobel-prizewinning author. I hope with this new film out, more Pinoys shall enjoy Marquez's works for the pleasure of it, and I'm confident it will be as enduring as Florentino's love for Fermina.

Immodest Proposal

2007-10-15T21:19:00.000+08:00

Students have learned in school that British satirist Johnathan Swift is the author of Gulliver's Travels but most literate people however do not know that he also wrote scathing essays about the pressing social issues of his days.

One of these essays is his "A Modest Proposal", a sarcastic reaction to the overpopulation of the Irish during the late 18th century. His solution to the escalating problem of population explosion where impoverished mothers were spawning kids like pigs in a blanket is to fatten these oxygen-consuming creatures for culinary consumption.

Swift proposed, "that a young healthy child well nursed is at a year old a most delicious, nourishing, and wholesome food, whether stewed, roasted, baked, or boiled; and I make no doubt that it will equally serve in a fricassee or a ragout." And frankly, that will solve the Philippines' malnutrition dilemma. Mothers shall ideally give birth to a maximum of 3 children to be raised as real children and all subsequent births will be reserved for commercial use. Swift planned his scheme as such:

"That the remaining hundred thousand may, at a year old, be offered in thesale to the persons of quality and fortune through the kingdom; always advisingthe mother to let them suck plentifully in the last month, so as to render themplump and fat for a good table. A child will make two dishes at an entertainmentfor friends; and when the family dines alone, the fore or hind quarter will makea reasonable dish, and seasoned with a little pepper or salt will be very goodboiled on the fourth day, especially in winter."

In other words, all lechon-roasters will have an alternative source of livelihood. This is very good news to all nuns administering the orphanages for they shall have a source of income to sustain the upbringing of their poor defenseless wards. But will this thing be seasonal? Swift said that "infant's flesh will be in season throughout the year, but more plentiful in March, and a little before and after; for we are told by a grave author, an eminent French physician, that fish being a prolific diet, there are more children born in Roman Catholic countries about nine months after Lent than at any other season." After the carcasses has been flayed and consumed, Swift suggested that "the skin of which artificially dressed will make admirable gloves for ladies, and summer boots for fine gentlemen" in order to maximize use. Such is the genius of the man.

With such amount of children being born as a mere inconvenient consequence of the pleasures of sex, such proposal may be prudent and timely in order to balance the resources of our nation. Infant de Leche anyone?

Exultate Justi In Domino

2007-09-03T20:05:00.000+08:00

The major reason I love Spielberg's Empire of the Sun is the orchestral music... and this finale caps everything I love about the film:

Can you feel the bass of the timpani? The exultant melody of the oboe and French horns? The majesty of the trombones? The purity of the voices? This should be the ideal music to be played in churches, but because of post-"Vatican 2", I have to suffer with dirge-like Tagalog drivel like "Hindi Kita Malilimutan" or the Ilonggo mass songs penned by a deaf-mute vagrant from the Plaza that are being sung on off-key notes at the Cathedral.

If you love this kind of music, there's this French film I stumbled upon in one of my Quiapo raids. It's entitled "Le Choristes" or "The Chorus". It's one of those foreign films hailed by the world over which ordinary Filipinos will never see in the local sinehan. It's not even a high brow film but more akin to our own "Mga Munting Tinig."

Building a Library

2007-07-31T22:41:00.000+08:00

Living here in the province didn't stopped me from buying great classics and bestsellers at low low prices. Thanks to the availability of Booksale, I am able to accumulate books I feel are worth reading in this lifetime. My latest finds are seen in the aforementioned picture and most prices ranged from P44-70 except for the Kenzaburo collection of four novels which was priced a bit higher. As to when I can read them, only time will tell. And as long they're there stocked high among my shelves within reach of my fickle mind, then I can sleep well.

The books I try getting are those whose settings are NOT in America, whose timeline does not fall within this age of consumerism and whose themes must reflect the ironies of human frailties. The only exception to my choices is the Pulitzer Prize-winning book, Martin Dressler. This I haven't researched on yet, but if such book bested the whole 1997 lot of American Fiction, then at p44, it was a steal.

And newly adopted books from Booksale are then herded to my mini-library (as seen below) where they'll await their duly appointed time. I hope to expand my collection to fill an entire wall of the house so long the wooden floors wouldn't give in.

Must Love Crocs

2007-07-13T19:00:00.000+08:00

My dad was a shoe fetish. I am not. My pairs are his hand-me-downs and the product of hours of trawling inside factory outlets. But today, I received a package from mi hermanas in North America. Inside a plastic bag were two pairs of Crocs, a khaki colored one and a navy blue with an orange strap.

Though their designs are left to be desired, their function as wardshoes are perfect. Why?

1. When working long bestial hours (8 am until 5 pm the next day), a health professional's feet eventually develops edema (swelling due to water retention) and thus must rest. But with Crocs, the orthopedic softness of the material cushions each footfall which means less pressure. With less pressure, fatigue is somewhat diminished.

2. The design has vents to facilitate the release of noxious fumes coming from bacteria and fungi respirating from one's feet. Thus, such ingenuity will eliminate bad odor.

3. Because the material is plastic (and is designed primarily for the beach), they are durable against constant use and abuse. I can use it in the rain, in the wards, in the ER, or even kicking Dr. Caprice's corrupt ass.

4. The shoes have an easy slip-on mechanism wherein at the front it looks like a decent closed-toe shoes but upon seeing the heel, one will discover that it is more of a sandal instead. Thus, comfort and convenience are achieved. With a little compromise in the dignity departmant, that is.

5. Biggest reason to wear crocs is this:

I can't believe I've devoted time and space for this! I guess a "shoe fetish" can indeed be inherited after all.

Tie-In Movies

2007-07-02T05:02:00.000+08:00

There's nothing greater than seeing the works of your favorite writers on the silver screen. I have read them, enjoyed them and breathed each phrase and syllable. Such sublime works should never be missed in one's lifetime. Although such choices are arbitrarily picked, they are mine, so others must have theirs too.

As for screen adaptations, my opinion is that though it saps your imagination by toeing your mind to the photos of the sets, nevertheless, such incarnations provide a feast for the senses, a tangible ambrosia for the eyes and the ears. So if one would like to have a first impression, read the book before watching the film. This shall ensure that one exercises their brain before the film lush cinematography fills one with that of the director's.

So far the ones that have been shown since last year are these: (click on the title to access their literary form)

Patrick Suskind's Perfume

W. S. Maugham's The Painted Veil

Upcoming films this year:

Gabriel Garcia Marquez's Love in the Time of Cholera (Nov. 2007)

The making of the film:

http://www.stonevillagepictures.com/film/inprod/litc.php

Khaled Hosseini's The Kite Runner

The New York Times article...

Lakbayan

2007-06-23T17:32:00.001+08:00

My Lakbayan grade is C! WTF? So Saaaaad! So embarrassing that it inspires one to go backpacking across this God-forsaken yet sublime country of ours.

How much of the Philippines have you visited? Find out atLakbayan!

Created by Eugene Villar.

Yet Another Afternoon

2007-06-17T20:22:00.000+08:00

This Father's day I'm spending my time alone at home simply relaxing and listening to the silence of the walls of my house, walls impregnated with memories gone by. The photos with such smiles that speak of happier times, the blooming Vandas at the gardens that are living reminders of my parents, the flaking paint from the verandah ceiling, are some of the things left to remind me of their existence. And such cannot assuage this reinforcing notion that I am living in a surreal nightmare. Reminds me of Stephen King's The Langoliers.

Apart from the usual folks here: Nana, Norma and Jan-jan, my uncle B and his four Korean pseudo-spawns, there's no one else. My parents are living together in another address which is currently located in a 4x4 ft. hole in the ground amidst grassy lawns and marble headrests. So, while the entire country is spending their salaries to honor their padre de familia, others like me prefer to stay home. This, I empathize with the countless Filipinos separated from their loved ones- OFWs working in foreign lands, orphans languishing in rescue centers, and children whose parents were killed violently. How lonely they must all feel.

Still, it is cruel and arrogant to assume that everyone must fit into boxes marked "Normal Family." Normalcy is relative. Though it is in paper, in reality it's difficult to digest. Still, it would be nicer if we can still have that taste of being in a normal, complete, extended, non-dysfunctional family, wouldn't it?

"Losing family obligates us to find our family. Not always the family that is our blood, but the family that can become our blood. And should we have the wisdom that would open our door to this new family, we will find that the wishes we once had for the father, who once guided us, for the brother, who once inspired us..."
-from the movie, Finiding Forrester

Chanson d'Espoir Perdu

2007-06-09T18:05:00.000+08:00

by: julsitos

Is there a sun beyond this night
to light my footsteps by?
Will they, the stars and moon burn bright
to share the tears I cry?

Tis the darkness, cold and hidden
so far from human touch,
blind, comforting and guilt-ridden,
filling the heart so much.

And yet the Lord has made it so
that men shall not despair
alone in death nor shall they go
consumed without compare.

Though wise men speak in flourished tongue,
to soothe this quivered mind,
to cloak in velvet, dreams unsung
in folly most unkind.

Forgive me, Lord, one cannot cope
the demons that have won.
Sustain this soul where there is hope
and rest where there is none.

The Unbearable Sadness of Being

2007-06-03T18:30:00.000+08:00

The day Dra. Donut Kho died, the whole hospital staff wilted in their grief. From the nurses to the orderlies up to her co-residents, all of them felt a heavy burden weighed upon their shoulders with some even reinacting some parts from the film, "Crying Ladies" albeit trebled at a much telenovelesque tone. I felt bad when I learned about her demise. I saw Dra. Kho during my ER duty but I've never felt close to her- probably that's because I haven't had a one-on-one conversation with her. This is why I didn't cry for her passing.

Conversely, I broke down one ER night when my patient who went back for another check-up died. A few weeks prior to her death, this patient went to the ER due to chest pain. ECG findings showed to be consistent with angina. And Angina is just a Troponin away from being a Myocardial infarction. I strongly suggested to the family that she be admitted at the ICU pending a Trop-I result. This patient vehemently refused to be admitted and her children were helpless in forcing the old lady to do so. In the end, she went home against medical advice. Fast forward a couple of weeks: same patient came in due to chest pain but this time her lungs were congesting. Same ECG findings and her condition was not that good. Fast forward one hour: I was doing an Ocho-ocho on top of this patient's chest when the mother of the adjacent patient who took a swill of pestcide shouted at me complaining, "Why are you not giving us medical attention?! My patient needs help pronto! You're just trying to revive someone who will be dead anyway!" to which I retorted, "You have to ask the children of this patient if it's ok for me to leave her to die just so I can take a look at your patient who by her own stupid free will wished herself death anyway!" With that, the pesticide-drinking freak left my ER along with her ilk, and after a few minutes of hurriedly trying CPR, my own patient left this world.

People grieve for a lot of things but most cry because of a loss of a loved one. My mom once commented among her friends that I was a "dry" person- her acerbic way of describing me as emotionally unattached. That's true. I never feel grave emotions during melodramatic moments, of mushy-mushy sentimental moments or even a death of someone I am apathetic about. But after my parents died, I became more sensitive to the sadness of the someone's immediate loss. I feel terrible when patient's die and worse if I see his/her children, siblings, parents, co-workers wail and howl in front of the deathbed. It gives you a knot in the gut and your lacrimal ducts work overtime. I feel so bad because that patient could have been my mom, my dad, my sister, my other loved ones. And the feeling of death is oftentimes unbearable.

When my parents died, I was still in training and it was frustrating to see that I was helpless to do something for them considering the profession I was taking was the same field that could have saved them. It was gut-wrenching and mind-numbing. Now that I am in a position of direct intervention, I view patients who die under my service as that of my kin too. Perhaps this feeling of pain and sadness is merely a tranference of my own sad experiences, and that I am in a way making up for the times I wasn't helpful during my parents' death. And if my patient's die, I feel as if my own also died.

Naturally, not all patients were created equal, so it is only for those who I had a personal connection with to whom my tears are reserved. And limited they are.

Paprika

2007-05-22T19:44:00.000+08:00

I'm thoroughly looking forward to watching Satoshi Kon's newest ouerve: Paprika. It's one of his most psychedelic piece of animation where the plot goes like this :

With PAPRIKA, Satoshi Kon unleashes another eye-popping anime adventure. The visually striking thriller is set in the not-too-distant future, where doctors are developing a groundbreaking new psychotherapy treatment called PT. This coincides with the invention of a device called the "DC Mini," which enables researchers to enter the dreams of a subject and explore matters of the unconscious mind. But one day, a "DC Mini" prototype goes missing, and the doctors are thrown into a world of confusion. They realize how dangerous a turn of events this could be, and to ensure that things don’t spiral out of control, they embark on a mad quest to track down the missing prototype. The pretty but timid Dr. Atsuko Chiba teams up with the food-loving Dr. Tokita to find his assistant, Himuro, who has disappeared. Unfortunately, it is at this time that Atsuko’s boss, Torataro Shima, tries to commit suicide. Dr. Tokita calls in an old friend, Detective Konakawa, to help the team find an answer to the rapidly devolving problem. As the characters use their dreamworld alter egos to enter the dreams of troubled patients, the line between reality and unreality begins to blur, until no one knows for sure what is real and what isn’t.

Review? Well a 100% from Rotten Tomatoes won't hurt. The music by Susumu Hirasawa works perfectly with the craziness of the whole film. Hirasawa is the same guy who did the music for Millenium Actress as seen below.

Savor and inhale the fantastic opening credits!

Another of his other works:

Millenium Actress:

Tupad Bulata, Sipalay 1

2007-05-19T18:43:00.000+08:00

Another milestone was set in our department: everyone (including the duty residents and our chief service consultant went to the jewel of the sugar isle, Sipalay.) When I mean milestone, I mean that this is the first time everyone went out for a vacation.

Sipalay is one of the remotest cities south of Bacolod. It is in fact 40 kilometers away from the next town, Cauayan. During the 70s, the place was swarming with NPA insurgents and political overlords. The road then was rough, unpaved and rarely used. It was a no-man's land. But now, after being discovered by Germans and with the roads paved with the smoothest asphalt, Sipalay has now positioned itself as the unspoilt paradise of Negros. Today, many Negrenses are willing to travel long hours just to reach this place. Unfortunately, what God has blest this area with good marine life, man in his greed has burned the hills and the mountains leaving them bare and brown. That's what I saw during the zig-zagging roadtrip to Sipalay- entire hills have been replanted with cogon grass and banana plants. It's a sad sad sight, which is probably why the city and all the corru... umm correct political families therein (Familia "Psycho"-path) have only been trumpeting their marine areas.

Anyway, we reached the pitstop after a circuitous route made up of the roughest dirt road imagined, steep inclines, and a wonderful backdrop of dried up rice paddies and thatch houses. Our group was very concerned of the state of our "kansi" cauldron. Kansi as a soup is delicious, but when dribbled over bags and stuff, it turns into the most noxious gunk. Good thing it only splattered on the floor, and thank goodness it wasn't my car. Heh-heh-heh.

When we arrived at the compound, I realized we arrived at the edge of paradise. The house was a two-story California beach villa nestled among the tall coconut trees 10 meters from the seashore.

The owner, a local architect, has good taste structure-wise and interior-wise. His resort-house is compact and yet it has the feel of being in a 3-star resort. His was far away from the usual nipa-&-sawali versions and other bamboo-clad nativist huts that one usually finds in small time resorts like this. Well, being an architect helped a lot. The floors were stone-tiled, the stairs and upper quarters lined with polished hard wood floors, the bathroom was huge that someone even commented that she could dance inside, the kitchen was easily accessible, the porch opened to the sea and the sala with its French glass windows and Barbados-style furnitures makes the whole set-up very relaxing.

The whole group brought in their bags and chilled out at the porch. Most of us just sat down at the pebble-washed porch breathing in the fresh salt air, listening to the swish of the coconut fronds, and doing exactly NOTHING. Nothing productive. Nothing utilitarian. It was sheer bliss. It sure soothed us to think that at this one moment, we can sit down and do what neanderthals did thousand of years before- sleep and eat. Rather than frizzle our brains with esoteric pathophysiologies and worry if our patient is still alive, that day was a day to let our hair down... and it was only the beginning.

Mother's Day Special

2007-05-14T00:40:00.000+08:00

Happy Mother's Day, Mom, though you're already looking down on us from "up" there. Won't forget you. I just wish that there would have been more Mother's Day for us to celebrate, but I guess God had other plans for you. He called you home.

Burn

2007-04-27T07:16:00.000+08:00

Crash & Burn
by: Savage Garden

When you feel all alone
And the world has turned it's back on you
Give me a moment please
To tame your wild, wild heart

I know you feel like the walls are closing in on you
It's hard to find relief and people can be so cold
When darkness is upon your door and you feel like you can't
Take anymore

Let me be the one you call
If you jump I'll break your fall
Lift you up and fly away with you into the night
If you need to fall apart
I can mend a broken heart
If you need to crash then crash and burn
You're not alone

When you feel all alone
And a loyal friend is hard to find
You're caught in a one-way street
With the monsters in your head

When hopes and dreams are far away and
You feel like you can't face the day

Let me be the one you call
If you jump I'll break your fall
Lift you up and fly away with you into the night
If you need to fall apart
I can mend a broken heart
If you need to crash then crash and burn
You're not alone

Because there has always been heartache and pain
And when it's over you'll breathe again
You'll breathe again

When you feel all alone
And the world has turned it's back on you
Give me a moment please
To tame your wild, wild heart

Let me be the one you call
If you jump I'll break your fall
Lift you up and fly away with you into the night
If you need to fall apart
I can mend a broken heart
If you need to crash then crash and burn
You're not alone

... great song... pity it didn't garnered as much fame as their other songs. Trivia: The wife of the guitarist of the now defunct Savage Garden is a Filipina in Australia.

Calea Calea Calea

2007-04-14T22:49:00.000+08:00

One of the most hallowed institutions of culinary arts here in this fair city of Bacolod is Calea. The place is well-known to all and even Red Ribbon (with its dismal sales) will attest to the prowess and sheer tenacity of this dessert place. Only during force majeure will Calea fall. (A matchstick and a can of petrol will do the trick!) In a nutshell, because of its unyielding quality and generous quantity, Calea will forever increase the diabetic curve of my fellow Negrenses. Pass me the insulin will you. Better yet, let me inject 10 'u' Actrapid SQ stat prior to cake consumption.

Calea, hopefully, will not be beholden to the Sodom & Gommorah (that is Manila) when it tries to tempt our cakeshop with the promise of hyperbolic profits. I'm glad that instead of taking the bait and let Manileños have their cake too, Calea is contented to sit and relax and see its three shops here churn centavos in profits. At least this will ultimately force Manileños to order stuff provincially rather than to have everything conveniently bought from Glorietta.

Their main shop sits beside the 3-star hotel called L'Fisher, Lacson Street while the other two are conveniently located in Robinsons and Eastblock. They open from 10? to 10 p.m. Negrenses looking to have their dose of diabetes can get their daily shots there.

But the question remains, what makes Calea very very special?
1. Even though they are located in the heart of this provincial nest of vipers, Calea is able to make cakes worthy of Nigella Lawson with ingredients culled from Bavaria. Take for instance their White Chocolate Cheesecake. It's rich and sinfully so, and is accompanied by a spoonful of raspberry puree. Where in Manila can you find such treat for only P60? Even Sugarhouse cannot afford such luxury.

2. The varieties are endless (only in Bacolod you will find the racist dessert called Black Sambo which is merely chocolate-vanilla layered pannacotta) and Calea is not stuck with the usual regimen of Chocolate cake and Chocolate Crinkles and Blueberry Cheesecake. Each cake is filled with soul and people who have tasted Calea will always point out how "uncommercialized" the taste is. For instance their Blueberry Cheesecake are like the ones being made in NYC and the crust! the crust! How to describe it? A buttery concoction of oatmeal crunch granola instead of the usual graham crust being peddled in Starbucks and Cheesecake Factory. They even have several semifreddos that even Bizu can't come up with.

3. The place (especially in East block) has a great atmosphere. Great concept and lay-out that is more like Sugarhouse with personality. It is fortunate that whoever designed the place didn't get his/her inspiration from Dumaguete's House of Sans Rival because did not end up looking like the interiors copied from a Grimm's Fairy Tale.

4. They serve goooooooood coffee. I don't know what blend or what style (perhaps human kopi luwak?) but their White Chocolate Capuccino is waaaaaaay better than Starbucks.

5. The price! The most expensive cake would be around P60-65. Most cheesecakes are in the P50s range and the Butter pecan slice about P64. In McDo, your P65 is just your typical Cheeseburger meal. Do the math.

Thus, Calea is ours and ours alone to taste and enjoy.

New Blog

2007-03-09T23:22:00.000+08:00

In view of recent job (more like a vocation) experiences, all my quips on that shall forthwith be placed in a separate (and more anonymous) site. Such site will not be mentioned in this blog or in any public forum for fear of reprisals. Let's just say, if you do find my new site, then good for you because it's really a can of worms. And you don't want to get dirty.

And in this site shall remain all the frivolous fripperies that the public may want to peruse such as food items, entertainment reviews, existential musings and everyday mishaps. All other incendiary materials will be torched in the other furnace.

Visions of Padre Pio

2007-02-11T20:19:00.000+08:00

This is my first attempt in doing an English story for the Carlos Palanca Awards this April. It's still a bit crappy, I know, but I hope to iron out all the kinks soon. This is the first installation...

The Visions of Padre Pio

The tropical rains had stopped pouring and the sky began to mellow from steel gray to deep blue. Along the muddy road to Guinigaran was a lone carriage dancing shakily as its two tired horses galloped past burnt cane fields and banana groves. The driver with sweatdrops beading his temples whipped the poor beasts without mercy for he knew he had to reach the parish before dusk for if he did not, the padre will surely beat him again as he did a fortnight ago. Andres knows the famous temper of the padre which erupts into a violent rage and painful ejaculations whenever a sensitive issue arises, and this time, the padre was irritably silent ever since he entered the carriage. He was afraid he might incur his ire just like the time when Ursula Iguaran wailed in front of the padre before mass cursing him why he took her son’s innocence. Andres remembered hearing from the townsfolk how Padre Pio sneered at the kneeling woman and spat on her face before closing the parish doors on her. The woman disappeared the next day, but a few nights after, the Guardia Civil noticed several strays near the river feasting on what seemed to be a dead animal but upon closer inspection, it was in fact the decaying corpse of Ursula Iguaran, her head bashed in, her face inscrutable. Everyone knew who did the crime, but all decided to keep their lips sewn together for fear of incurring the wrath of the Almighty who lives in the cura paroco. .

Andres’ thought was rudely dislodged when the right wheel suddenly struck with all the carriage’s weight into a wayside rock tilting Andre’s seat a bit too steep. He gritted his teeth as he pulled back the reins with all his might. The horror-stricken driver heard the priest growled in the back, “Letsugas ca, Andres! Magmanejo ca nan justo, estupido!” Andres cursed the damn priest for calling him stupid.

Inside, Padre Pio de Iturzaeta shifted his weight to the other side of the scuffed leather seat while he lifted and placed his parchments and suitcase on the floor. He dabbed his glistening forehead with his lace handkerchief, closed his eyes and muttered a prayer intoning a litany of the saints.

His white habit was drenched with sweat. As he stuffed his handkerchief back, he noticed how hideously tight the fabric was over his stomach. He took a mental note promising to lecture Rosario to stop cooking his daily meals full of coconut cream. He winced knowing it would be impossible to regain his former physique but still, it would give him great pleasure to chastise the young maid seeing how she quakes under his presence. It was three years ago that Padre Pio had observed how his thin body gave way to a creeping layer of fat that ultimately ended with a pregnant pause. “Surely, it cannot be from drinking the Lord’s blood and eating His holy bread,” he thought, smoothening the fabric. “Leche ca, Rosario!”

A native of Guipuzcoa, Padre Pio was a sullen and lanky boy forced by his penniless father into priesthood. He joined the Dominicans after being denied admission from every other order in the Basque region because they find him being too pale. After several fruitful years of training, he was first assigned to Bogota where he nearly died from a poisoned blow dart when the Arumbaya Indians mistook him for a tapir, then he trekked to Veracruz where he left behind three daughters all named Piedad, then he was shipped to the Isle of Fernando Poo where a jungle of a beard grew faster than he could shave. Tired and defeated, he was about to return to Spain when his superiors suggested that he take the recently vacated parish of Guinigaran in the Philippines. The previous priest was recalled to Manila for reports of indiscretions done inside the confessional. Padre Pio later found out, from garrulous matrons, that Fray Andres Santander tried to barter absolutions for jewelry which some matrons did in earnest. Luckily for Padre Pio, one matron wrote to the superior-general complaining how the price for absolution has quickly doubled in two weeks!

The carriage gave another heave, and Padre Pio felt a shot of pain arched to his chest. He felt the stress knotted the muscles of his heart and the vessels of his brain that only a minute surge of irritation can bring out the worst in him. For the priest, the worst had come. Padre Pio was deeply troubled at the news his superior gave him. It was sudden, but not unexpected. He knew all along that the new Governor-General would impose some changes to the whole frailocratic system but not this. Gov.-Gen. de la Torre had the temerity to “request” the Archbishop to ask all religious orders to accommodate seculars into their parishes. This would mean, Padre Pio deduced, a loss of influence and funds for the propagation of the faith. Every religious order in Luzon, from Nueva Segovia in the north to Nueva Caceres in the south will never tolerate such impertinence!

His thoughts went back to the morning’s meeting with the Superior-General, Fray Domingo Baltazar. Every Dominican friar scattered among the islands was in attendance, their faces haggard and impatient. The order given was adamant: either attend or be replaced. Even Padre Pio cannot rebuke such an order!

When everyone was gathered and seated in the main hall, Fray Baltazar began his tirade against the new governor-general.

“De malas! Damn the Carlistas and their liberal stupidity! This, this, creature called De la Torre must be stopped before it goes out of control,” the superior shouted as he wiped his habit the excess saliva that clung to his lips.

He continued, “All of us! Each one of you seated here today is in danger, no, rather our whole order here in the islands is in danger! Remember that my brothers!” Fray Baltazar wiped his lips again and his head upturned to the map nailed on the stone wall.

“This,” he said, his hands ejaculating to the florid lines and fawn-colored curlicues, “shall be overturned in a month, perhaps two! We have to act, my brothers! The seculars are salivating in their seats to fill in our churches. The archbishop was asked by De la Torre if we are can, in the name of Christian charity, spare some parishes for these mestizo half-breeds but our source in the Palacio tells me otherwise. De la Torre who is being made into a pawn by Burgos and Gomez, apparently wants us to relinquish half of our areas to these mestizo priests. My source also tells me he has drafted notes on allowing indios to be ordained as seculars. We wouldn’t want that, do we?”

As soon Fray Baltazar’s voice disappeared, a great uproar erupted among the white-robed friars. A few faces turned into ripened tomatoes while others into Japanese white. Their hands knifed the air with their furious discussions; their feet stomped on the clay tile floor.

Fray Baltazar could not help but gave a snort of amusement. “My dear brothers, I completely understand your concern but we must place our emotions into circumspect. Rather than wait here and complain, is it not more productive to chart our next line of action? We need to calm our minds so we can have a clear perspective of the situation!”

A balding friar from the back of the congregation spoke out in a thin wheezing voice, “But how? He has the support of the mestizos and every damn indio! Remember how he requested Padre Burgos to sit beside him during his inaugural parade? The archbishop could only grit his teeth from the humiliation! And the indios loved De La Torre for that! It would be very difficult for us to get the sympathy of every indio in Manila.”

Another friar from the opposite end bellowed, “I say, we pay a mercenary to send the good governor back to the Father’s house.” An audible gasp escaped inside the hall.

“My dear brother, I am shocked to hear such a suggestion! We are not anymore in the era of Torquemada! No, that is not acceptable!”, Fray Baltazar said, a crooked smile crept up his lips.

“Brother-superior, we can perhaps incite our parishioners to protest against De la Torre. A protest march to the Palace maybe? It shall make him treat us with more seriousness I believe,” said an aging friar sitting in the front row.

“Fray Simplicio, are you suggesting that we rouse up the whole population and lynch De la Torre just as we did away with Governor Bustamante?,” hissed Fray Baltazar. “No, no! We live in more enlightened times, my dear brothers. Any direct, violent and sensational intervention will leave a blot on our name. Such rash methods will only mean a loss of support for the religious orders. And that is the one thing the seculars are waiting for! No! For now, what we need is a more delicate way to replace that creature and what perfect way to start our proposal than to persuade the Cortes to replace him.”

A great murmur arose from the white robed congregation.

From the doorway, a young friar brought in a vellum-covered box which he placed on top of the narra table. Fray Baltazar walked towards it and removed the cover, his hands gently lifting several thin notebooks bound in leather. He said, “This is how we shall remove De La Torre from his high chair!”

The whole congregation was dumbfounded.

“H-How?,” one priest shouted.

“How? By collecting all the signatures of your parish, of course,” he said waving the leather notebooks in the air. Fray Baltazar smiled in triumph as if he just thought of the most brilliant idea. “By signing the petition, we can force the Cortes to recall De La Torre and replace him with someone more suitable in this climate. The Peninsulares will sign willingly no doubt. Every indio and mestizo however, must sign these books on the pain of excommunication! Be sure to tell them that! After you have completed the petition, we will send it to the chapter house in Spain where they will deliver it personally to the Cortes. It is not only us who are collecting petitions; every order is doing this just as we speak.”

“How early do you want these to be finished, Brother-superior?,” Fray Simplicio asked.

“My dear Fray Simplicio,” Fray Baltazar beamed at the old man, “if you can gather everyone’s signature by tomorrow, then we can topple De La Torre much faster than he can shout, ‘Viva la Libertad’!”

Another murmur rose among the priests seated, their heads going from left to right, nodding furiously, their tongues wagging like tails, their voices droning the hall into a veritable beehive.

Fray Baltazar laid the notebooks on the table and called the priests by name. Each one walked towards the center and was handed a thin volume and letters of instruction. The meeting ended quickly and everyone left the hall without much ado.

Dozens of black-painted carriages with their indio drivers waited on the courtyard. As soon as the friars appeared at the main door, the drivers scrambled to their horses and steadied the whining creatures. One after another, both priest and carriage left the courtyard like satiated mosquitoes flying off after a meal; Padre Pio’s was the last.

Padre Pio’s mosquito flew past dusty villages and golden fields of cane. It stopped only once when three-year old Celestina Barrero rushed back into the middle of the road to pick up her dropped copper centavo to which her gain was only to be trampled underfoot by the hooves of the two beasts. Padre Pio, unmoved by it all, made a sign of a cross, spat out of the carriage window his form of poor man’s holy water, and stomped on the wooden floor signaling Andres to go.

The friar looked down at the floor of the carriage; his eyes traced the leather notebook sitting atop the pile, quietly thinking how easy his task will be. He took a deep breath confident of his influence among the ignorant peasants and fawning landlords of Guinigaran. He could not control himself but let a slight chuckle escape his lips. His eyes closed, his fingers clasped together, and Padre Pio began to dream the fragrance he whiffed from Rosario’s oil-combed hair.

*** end of part one ***

Semper In Angaria

2007-01-30T21:58:00.000+08:00

Sors salutis...

I simply love Orff's orchestral rendition of that 13th-century Benedictine work, Carmina Burana. It's vulgar and powerful. It's the same opening theme from the movie, The Doors. Even Michael Jackson appropriated it for his tours.

...et virtutis...

Unfortunately, this opening of a piece scares a lot of people for it resembles Halloween and everything dragged out from beneath the ground.

...michi nunc contraria...

Nonetheless, its lyrics are timeless and speaks volumes about the vibrant exchanges of human dispositions. And if you'll take time to find it, it is the theme of my days here at work.

...est affectus...

And it is only here I can pour my innards and let the weight off my chest. I hate being an emotional vampire always complaining about trivial and personal stuff to people who I know are also stressed out.

...et defectus...

If there shall be a Carneades plank floating somewhere in this sea called life, I might just take it for oftentimes, life has become nihilistic.

...semper in angaria.

Infernal Medicine

2007-01-15T21:46:00.000+08:00

"If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'"
-Rudyard Kipling, If

Medicine, particularly Internal Medicine, as a specialization is very fulfilling. You get pure satisfaction seeing your patients improve. Your heart leaps when they tell you "Thank you Dr., you made me well." Great as it is, it's a very very very tiring job. It's so tiring that I begin to envy all those who take an 8 hour job with day offs to boot.

The high learning curve of keeping up with current therapies and technicalities, the pressures from consultants breathing down your neck because you made a lapse of judgment, the humiliation of being made to realize that your management is not so good, the frustrations from stupid nurses who can neither have the initiative to plot a basic vital sign chart nor monitor the blood sugar of a patient, the intricacies of dealing with your co-resident's psychological make-up, and the pestilential disturbances from patients' bantays all boil up to something I don't want to face day by day by day. I am amazed at the "masochisity" of these residents who have already adjusted to this kind of grind. This reminds me of Orwell's seminal novel, 1984 where all the workers gladly accept this kind of life without even questioning the injustice that's built in it.

At each turn of the screw wherein each manpower and life-support disappears, fulfilling my obligations here in this facility is getting to be more difficult. It has that feeling of spreading myself too thinly. How? Hmmm... While on ER with all the toxic patients, nurses from the wards refer to you for management for their deteriorating patients. After two minutes, the wards calls you up because someone's cardiac rate went bye-bye.... Or in the morning after rounds, you eat a 15-minute lunch and go to the OPD only to be disrupted by a call from your consultant that he/she will do rounds with you. Something like that. Imagine a hospital where only 2 residents go on duty for the night and in their hands lay the power over life inside the ER, ICU, and the wards. It's unbelievable. What's more amazing is the fact that they are honed to perfection in this kind of situation. Our recent graduates have proven their worth during their last years and I am confident that the training in this God-forsaken Somalian facility can bring the best in a resident. The question is: can I see myself here toiling like a laboratory rat for three long years (while the rest of the world passes me by?) Perhaps. It's still too early to tell.

Our Doctor

2006-12-07T22:31:00.000+08:00

Our Doctor
by: julsitos

Our doctor
who art in his clinic
hallowed be his name,
his bill shall come
his will be done
on my chart
as it is in my body.

Give us this day
our daily meds
and forgive us all our complaints
as we forgive his advices against us,
and lead us not into infection
but deliver us from sickness.

Siquijor Retroactìf

2006-12-02T19:22:00.000+08:00

Here are some posts from friends pertaining to our nice Siquijor vacation! (A good excuse to pass writing the same things again! hahaha!)

Links courtesy of Ms. Garinungkadol:
1st day (Ratsada)
2nd day (Tampisaw)
3rd day (Putikan)
Last day (Kebab)

Enter the Dragon

2006-11-30T21:06:00.000+08:00

The Siquijor machine will take a backseat as I tune up my PC here in Bacolod. Ahhh... Bacolod! How lovely is your name! So, all the beach experiences are halfway through and will be interspersed during the next updates.

As for now, I applied (and have been accepted) as a 1st year resident at the PGH-equivalent hospital in this fair province. So far things are, as they would say, predestined. All things fall to their own rightful places- from the board exams, to the slot at the hospital, etc. Some may scoff at predestination but a part of me wants to believe that the universe is controlled by order. There is no randomness in the world. Everything is destined to happened in ways we cannot comprehend or even accept. But in my current situation, I'll try to accept that this training would be for the best. It may not be apparent now, but it will be soon.

Tomorrow, I shall start my first day in the hospital. It will be full of challenges and horror stories to which I shall recount in this space. It will be a world unlike the hallways of House MD or the clinics of Greys Anatomy. It shall be a battle zone, a war zone, a fight for wits and sanity for this is no hospital where one takes cases and relays the results to the consultants via phone but this is where I shall have the first and last say. Because of that, I will bring a rosary in my pocket.

This is my first report. Over and out.

Start the Siquijor Machine

2006-11-09T23:23:00.000+08:00

This is our mockumentary of our trip to Siquijor dated November 2006 where we discovered the immense beauty and hospitality of this enchanted isle. It's one of the most undiscovered jewels of the Visayan sea and it deserves more tourists than it gets. Only the stupidest, most ignorant, most backward, most prejudicial and most superstitious Pinoys believe all those exaggerated mumbo-jumbo about being hexed and enchanted by witches. They're the ones who would give any unfounded reason not to visit the island. Well, more of us then. Anyway, I hope this video will help change your mind.

This shall be the introduction of our fateful trip to Siqujor in which I shall post our lunacies and experiences in the upcoming days. C'est la ciel!

Beneath My Feet

2006-11-08T21:13:00.000+08:00

Beneath My Feet
by: Julsitos

There you are
beneath my feet
where the sky cannot
touch you
where the darkness
forever be,
and while I stand
above you
alone
to embrace nothing
but empty air
I always
remember
the days when
you stood beside me,
when you held my hand
closely.
Now, only empty air remains.

Jollibee Scandal

2006-10-28T13:04:00.000+08:00

If people think it's only the Disney characters in Paris who do the most inappropriate things backstage, they should watch Jollibee in action. Ahh, the beauty of Pinoy humor.

Jollibee Gets Lucky:

Jollibee After Getting Laid:

Borat

2006-10-27T13:14:00.000+08:00

I can't wait to watch this uber-hilarious film!

F*@%! So funny!

Pizza All I Can

2006-10-17T15:25:00.000+08:00

Whew! I just had to try Greenwich's promo, the Pizza All You Can. Simply put, you pay P99 VAT-inclusive as price for gorging oneself to all the Primo pizzas one can eat. Yum! Yum! The Primo pizzas regularly cost P240 for the double size and P390 for their family size. Ergo, a P99 meal can easily triple its value which I gladly abused to the hilt. Right now, my mind is reeling from all the pepperoni, salami and mozarella cheese I ate. Glutton or no glutton, it was a deal too precious not to take. Besides, probably 80% of the customers in that branch ordered the same promo meal. Imagine employees, OFWs and students gorging on slices of unlimited pizzas as if there was famine here instead of North Korea. The funny thing was that as soon as the slice of their premium pizza arrived, it was immediately consumed and people began to wait for their next serving. And some would even pester the waiters to refill their plates ASAP. I think I lost count on my part. After that meal, I don't think I can anymore eat a slice of pizza until next month.

Dance the "Hi-Hello" Song

2006-10-15T22:15:00.000+08:00

Before going back to Greenbelt to watch the Chilean film Machuca (P50) as part of the Spanish Film Festival, T and I first ate dinner the G4 foodcourt. As usual, I ordered at Cucina because for just over P114, you can already enjoy a cup of java rice, calamares, chorizo bilbao, soup and diet coke. It was cheap but satisfying. T on the other hand, bought this corn-lettuce-chicken-italian salad for the same price. She wasn't too happy.

But apart from grabbing a bite, T and her ubiquitous radar spotted one of our high school classmates, C. Her radar is fool-proof. She can spot anyone a mile away whereas I only can recognize someone in front of me like a horse with blinders on each eye.

She told me, "Hey, there's C!"

I craned my neck to look, not believing her at first. What looked like an exhumed vegetable was in fact my long lost classmate. I was surprised as to how small the world can be. So if one thinks one can make hanky-panky inside the mall, better think again for if one will base one's probability on Murphy's laws, then that dreaded possibility can and will happen.

C did not see me but it would be rude not to say the obligatory niceties. I recalled back memories during the cusp of my Elementary school years where I still hanged out with their barkada, a motley group of underdeveloped Parokya Ni Edgar wannabes. Unfortunately, I diverged from them during High School and settled with people who could finally understand the definition of sarcasm. But I had fun times with them and I had good memories, albeit impermanent. Most of the barkada back then I could relate with- many were and probably still are down to earth and friendly, but when C is concerned, there was something in him that was unnerving. We avoid talking to each other because there was nothing to talk about, and there were times when we nearly fought against one another because of some childish contentions like sitting on an already occupied seat. If we do talk, it was like hitting the Great Wall of China. And perhaps because he reminded me of a Martian from a 1981 movie, that's why I have misgivings about him. That was very unfair for him, but hey, we were kids then and kids are supposed to be cruel.

Our table still has plates of its previous connoisseur, so I had no choice but to alert the garbage guy who was milling around near C's table. I went to the garbage trolley with imaginary eye blinders hoping for the Ostrich effect. But suddenly I heard my name being called. I looked around and feigned recognition on C. Ha-ha-ha. We exchanged opening remarks, followed by the perfunctory occupational updates and a brief rundown of future plans- all well under a minute. I was surprised he knew mine for I didn't have a horse's ass as to which company he is working now. Oh well. T also went there to dance the "hi-hello" song and she was even faster than I. I was tempted to point it out to her but I decided to keep quiet.

This got me thinking, why is it that after we graduate High School, our perceptions of the people we left behind still resonates to the present day? It is as if their characters cannot be changed, their personalities cannot be made better. It is as if your picture of them got stuck during the time you received your diplomas and it has stagnated at that way ever since. The farther is the distance of your friendship, the more pronounced is your prejudice towards the person. Your mind is forced to dig up his/her dossier inside the deep recesses of your brain in order to paint a mental picture of how he/she looks like, his/her mannerisms, his/her stupidities and virtues. Even if your mental "file" is already a decade old, you still base your assumptions on it. Or initial assumptions, rather.

The cruel thing is that the stereotypes I have about my high school classmate stays with me until now. I know it's bad, but it's true. There was one classmate of ours whom God gave large breasts, and until now, each time we talk about her, it's the fucking same topic. There was one who was humiliated to death during his freshman year because he was suspected to be very "excessively touchy" during basketball matches that even though today he has already two kids, we still have an animated discussion about the past. We had a classmate who steals stuff from the CAT room that until now, we still have a kick talking about her kleptomanic episodes. Unfortunately for her, she had a hypoglycemic attack along the corridor and was publicly disrobed before being brought to the hospital. There was this coño rich yet academically deficient friend who has an eccentric family and spends each night drinking with friends and we were taken aback that he became a freaking chef. How do you like your eggs? I like them very much, thank you. We really wondered if he was able to boil an egg. He has a friend also who during the course of High School was an uncontrollable storehouse of methane and hydrogen sulfide that until now, he's the prime suspect for every fart we find. There was one who because of his small structure and Gollum-like expressions, people call him the Leprechaun and in his yearbook, there was the line dedicated in his space: "where is my pot of gold?" I couldn't believe how cruel we were during those years but it's good to note that once you get to know that person, your perceptions do change, your prejudices are erased. In this case, that person has become a trustworthy friend. That's true for my friend, Lepr... I mean R. As for C, I guess another encounter is needed to establish rapport between us. Or maybe not.

Kwentong Tambay

2006-10-03T17:51:00.000+08:00

Rating: 4.5/5 stars

This blogbook by Mr. David aka "Batjay" is a terrific accompaniment to your bathroom needs. It's funny, irreverent and replete with the greenest of jokes. Although it has been marketed as a joke book from the eyes of an OFW, for me it crosses the boundery into Pinoy 'Benny Hill' show. Each vignette and quip is very well written and always bring a smile to any reader. This is perfect for the beach, for parties, for defecating or even as treatment for somnolence.

Pros: Very earthy, bawdy and does not dumb down its audience. Excellent punchlines. Simple but effective cover- yellow always catches the eye. Fonts are large. . Reasonably priced.

Cons: Wished it could have been more organized rather than mix everything up.

Source: Filbars

Blogsite: Kwentong Tambay

Millenium Disaster

2006-09-29T23:26:00.000+08:00

Typhoon Milenyo wrecked the apartment 36 hours ago. Meralco continued it.

2 hours ago:

I went to Robinson's Ermita to get some candles for the apartment since it has been two consecutive nights of blackout. Due to water conservation, I had dinner at KFC accompanied with a cardio book brushing on my readings on the effects of Lidocaine and Amiodarone on tachyarrhythmias. Robinson's was humid and hot inside, their airconditioning system was blowing warm stale air. My face was wet with sweat as I ate my dinner. While doing so, I cursed Meralco that all their callcenter employees and repair crew shall contract venereal diseases in the next week.

4 hours ago:

Nana banged on my door in sheer panic. When asked what was troubling her, she hurriedly told me she needed to buy ice. she did and when she came back, we hauled all our meat goods and perishables from the fridge and placed them into styrofoam ice boxes. I don't know how long the ice will last but I hope it will keep the goods fresh till the next day. I called Meralco earlier and accosted their call center whether the company will reimburse me for the value of my spoiled goods. Knowing that Meralco employs lemmings to take in calls, I got the usual pre-fabricated answer. They do not know when the power will be restored, they couldn't coordinate or even expedite the rescue crews or even verify if they are indeed on the field and not eating hopia all day long.

7 hours ago:

The firetruck of the Tondo Fire Brigade came to the alley beside our building to deliver water to the Chinese residents living nearby. I guess it was not only us who were affected by Meralco's slow and inept repair service. It was also a good thing that the faucet down at the garage was working, so we did not have a great need to haul water up from the street. Yet.

12 hours ago:

I went out to look for breakfast. The scene outside was pitiful. Trees were uprooted and lines fell down like black cobwebs. There was a scarcity of jeepneys plying the roads today, and many people were outside sweeping the debris, leaves and mud from the streets.

I spotted an open Jollibee which unfortunately had their airconditioning system set to a bare minimum. It was a cruel stituation whereby the heat of the kitchen plus the outside humidity created my breakfast into a bath-worthy event. Before venturing off that morning, Nana offered to cook oatmeal for me but I told her not to bother because we might not have enough water to wash the utensils later. She was placated and proceeded to "toast" her pan-de-sal on top of the wok!

24 hours ago:

It was our 2nd night to be bathed in the suffocating glow of seven votive candles and three candlesticks. The candles were losing their power as the wicks were busily siphoning the wax upward into oblivion. I became impatient. I hardly slept that night becuase I waited for the electricity to be restored. The street across us had their electricity restored already, so I thought ours would be next. After several fitful hours of waiting, I fell asleep.

36 hours ago:

The first day of the blackout was frustrating. Water has stopped flowing and we were forced to collect water into buckets. Mine was still full since the typhoon started, so I was able to bathe, albeit grudgingly. The heat of the sun was becoming quite unbearable, the air was still, making the afternoon stifling. Perishables inside the ref was still hard and cold, so we crossed our fingers that this will last until the end. Candles were prepared for the night, and it was fortunate that there were votive candles stored inside the pantry. That night the apartment looked like the nave of a cathedral with its candles placed everwhere making the mood into a reverential dungeon.

I called Meralco and gave them a piece of my mind. I think they blocked my number after that. hehehehe.... Still, what could these call center employees do? Nothing. And according to King Lear (in his famous rebuff to Cordelia), "from nothing shall come forth nothing." I guess all we can do is wait.

A Long Overdue Booktag

2006-09-13T23:09:00.000+08:00

Dr. Emer tagged me weeks ago and initially, I was stumped on how to do this. So here goes:

Books that changed your life? - Rape of Nanking by Iris Chang- This small book from National opened my eyes to the forgotten Holocaust in Japanese-occupied China. It's full of harrowing details, photos of mutilated victims and atrocities of the worst kind. It made me realize that man is capable of inflicting the worst evil towards his brethren.; One Hundred Years of Solitude by G. G. Marquez opened the doors for me in discovering the wonders of the modern Classics. Because of him, I was encouraged to read Orwell, Maugham, Dostoyevsky, etc, where their works speak volumes of man's struggle against oppression, and whose words are blended so masterfully that you immediately swoon at each line. It made me see that there is life past Paolo Cuelho's The Alchemist & Dan Brown's Da Vinci Code.

Books you have read more than once? - Shogun by James Clavell (The best epic on feudal Japan! The characters simply jump right out of the book.)

Books you would want on a desert island? Perfume by Patrick Suskind

One book that made you laugh? The Decameron by Boccaccio (A very funny, irreverent and sexually charged compendium of medieval lore. Think: Benny Hill Show circa 1450), Short Stories of Saki by Hector Hugh Munro (Best way to sum it up is this: Fawlty Towers circa 1900.)

One book that made you cry? - Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini (Personal reasons. This book will become a classic in the next decade, just like To Kill A Mockingbird.)

One book you wish you had written? - Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas

One book you wish had never been written? - Veronika Decides to Die by Paolo Cuelho (Chick-lit for those who want to commit suicide.)

One book you are currently reading? - A Plague Upon Humanity by Daniel Barenblatt. (The hidden history of Japan's human experimentation camps called Unit 731 and how the U.S. absolved all those charged in the Tokyo Tribunals just so they can utilize the data gathered by those murderous Japanese scientists. FYI: The US used the same biowarfare against the Chinese & North Koreans in the Korean war- the same methods as those made by Unit 731.)

One book you have been meaning to read? -Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov (This should be a required reading in High School!!)

Next people to tag: Pia, Terai, Jake, Cel

A Bank Manager Called Amanita

2006-09-04T20:12:00.000+08:00

Usually, I think of bank managers as people who have reached that level of responsibility and maturity wherein they can think out of the box as opposed to other bank employees and security guards wherein their decisions are based solely on their Manual of Standard Operating Procedures. From past observations, bank managers are there to smoothen out transactions and make the daily grind more efficient. This is natural to many, but this afternoon I had the privilege to experience the most inept and inflexible of all managers.

1:30 p.m.

I went to PCIB bank at the Roxas Blvd.- Ermita branch for the procurement of my sister’s (Thank you!) remittance. This branch I really love because they are efficient in processing my cash, making the experience very agreeable. Unfortunately, they just had a computer upgrade so they could not process remittances but gave me a transaction form to fill up which I can give to other branches.

I remembered that there was another branch at Pedro Gil & Mabini, fronting the new Hyatt hotel, so I hurried there immediately.

2:00 p.m.

I was directed to the manager’s desk where upon I sat down holding my completed form. I was informed that the manager was out so I had to wait for a while. Fine. After five minutes, this lady with Chinese features appeared looking very harassed. Let us hide her name as Amanita Chewbacca. Amanita flitted here and there looking for a printer to finish her “urgent” transaction. Only after which she attended to our needs; “our” means me and a man with an elbow contracture who was withdrawing what seems to be a bundle of $100 bills. With such an amount, it was surprising to see the bank’s head honcho and Amanita verrrry deferential to this customer.

After the rich customer left the bank, Ms. Amanita had the stupi… I meant, the “audacity” to persuade me not to pursue my transaction because according to her, it’s a Monday, so there are tons of transactions and it would be “verrrry difficult” to get through. What she means is that she’s not interested in entertaining me. She then suggested that if I will leave my form, I can get my cash the next day. WTF? She means to tell me that I just wasted my time waiting there for nothing? How impertinent of her to suggest that my time is not valuable. Of course, stubborn as I was I did not heed her suggestion and instead smiled at her and told her, “It’s fine. I can wait.”

I think she became exasperated because she proceeded then to call the PCIB call center. Fine. The quicker I can get out of this bank, the better. I thought we could connect immediately but no, the line just looped and looped with “Please hold on, our lines will be available soon” voice with no end in sight. She asked me to hold the phone and wait for an answer.

“Just press ‘2’ until someone answers you. Then you give it to me,” she said. I complied thinking at least this way I can increase her efficiency.

After several minutes, Amanita’s big honcho went to our desk and complained that the bank has only one line and that there might be transactions that can’t get through. In simpler terms, she wanted me to drop my queue, and wait for the sky to fall. I am not sure this is a bank’s SOP to cut-off transactions because it was difficult to reach their call center. So, we stalled perhaps ten minutes until the coast was clear. Then, she tried again to connect. Suffice to say that in the end, she was able to talk to a call center representative.

Here’s the kicker: After less than a minute on the phone, she told me that she cannot do my transaction. WTF? I waited here for nearly an hour and that’s all she can say? She told me that my name on the form did not match the name on the computer. For instance, if the name on my form was “Mozart, Wolfgang Amadeus”, the call center told Amanita that the name on theirs was “Mozart, Wolfgang Amadeus Wolfgang.” Because of that clerical error, Amanita Chewbacca denied me of my remittance. I really wondered if she took (or even passed) Logic 101 in college for any college graduate would agree:

1. That a customer who holds a unique transaction number means that no two persons with different names can hold the same number;
2. That a customer who had a matched “secret word” means that he/she is privy to that transaction with the sender;
3. That my name was just repeated at the end means that it was near impossible that I was not the same person indicated in the computer.

But since Ms. Amanita has an IQ equal to that of a sea cucumber, she cannot fathom the logic. She may be right and strict with the name game, but any person can see that she was very inflexible and incorrigible. Usually, I do not complain with that rudimentary kind of logic in circumstances that needed my correct name, such as board exam applications, visa applications, or legal proceedings. But with a simple case of getting remittances, she had gone overboard.

In a stroke of utter brilliance, Ms. Amanita Chewbacca gave me these options: a) to produce another identification card showing I was “Mozart, Wolfgang Amadeus Wolfgang”, and b) to call the recipient to amend my name. The first choice was plain dumb. I don’t know how she was able to think of such a dumb idea. What you sow, you reap I guess. And her second option entails more wasted time and circumlocutory red tape. I do not have the patience for that.

This reflects badly on Ms. Amanita because her brain (which is presumably clogged with fat from her thighs) tells her that customers’ time is not a valuable commodity. It also shows that she’s so bereft of imagination that she can’t think of anymore ways to find a solution to such a logical problem. She’s like a frog that immediately stops jumping because a high wall is placed in front of her. It’s infuriating that someone in that position can be so narrow-sighted and unimaginative. I don’t think she deserves to be in that job.

She could just convince the call center that I was the same one on the latter’s computer and go ahead with the transaction. But no, she just reclined in her chair and repeatedly said, “I cannot do anything. You need to have that name amended.”

Sensing how futile this has become, I stood up, collected my things, and curtly thanked her for wasting my time and added that perhaps other PCIB managers have more imagination than her in conducting transactions like this.

3:00 p.m.

In a huff, I went out of that branch while cursing that poor excuse of a manager. Good thing the bank’s security guard heard my plight and directed me to another branch at Robinson’s mall. Full of trepidation, I entered the third branch thinking another mentally imbalanced manager will find ways not to do her job. I was wrong. I should have gone here instead of that awful Mabini branch.

I sat down again at the manager’s desk with my completed form in hand. She was a bit busy explaining to a MidEastern man something about his remittances not appearing on paper. After she had settled that, she took one look at my form and logged in into her computer. She punched in my name and in a matter of seconds, approved my transaction without reserve or suspicion. This cool manager took my identification cards and had it photocopied and subsequently I was directed to the teller where I can get my cash. Talk about efficiency! I noticed that in the printed form she attached to mine, the same "repeated name” was shown, but since she has an IQ befit of capable bank managers, she must have concluded that it was just clerical error. It was a clear sign that she was USING HER HEAD unlike the former manager. This was the way the 1st branch would deal with me. Seeing that it was next to impossible to have different persons having the same transaction number, my “suki” manager would go right ahead and approve the transaction. Perhaps, if I was a VIP client with wads of $100 bills, then such awful managers will do everything to have my remittance cleared.

Moral of the Story: Be kind to animals.

Pirate's Lair 2006

2006-09-02T19:14:00.000+08:00

Two years fast forward from my last entry about the pirate's lair of Quiapo, an update is expectedly needed. There were lots of expansions up to the periphery of the original buildings. DVD quality is going to the rats. Why? They get from China and not from Malaysia. They get those 100-in-1 dvds which degrade the quality. I still prefer the 1 title = 1 dvd since they have the possibility of retaining all those wonderful special features.

The map above indicates the location (yellow) of the pirate stalls and the letters are as follows: a = anime, m = music, s = software.

Entrance Points:
1. From the Quiapo Church (and South-bound commutes), enter the Lacson underpass and cross the street to Hidalgo exit point. Use map indicated above.

2. From the North-bound commutes, jump off at the street where you see a green-tarpaulin signage saying "Hortaleza Vaciador," a local beauty supplies shop. This street perpendicular to Quezon boulevard is Arlegui street. Go straight and use the map above as indicated.

What to Bring:
* Cash - lots of it! Going back is a pain in the neck, so if you find a title that you've been dying to watch, get it!
* Messenger bag - backpacks are sitting ducks for pickpocketers, so having this will ensure the safety of your belongings
* Wear simple clothes. The stench of "Eau de Corps" (More like Eau de Corpse) compounded by the aroma of dried puke, expired cooking oil, mildew and piss is enough for you to wear only shorts and T-shirt.

What NOT to Bring:
* Credit cards - Everything is cash-only basis.
* Expensive cellphones - Snatchers abound. Still, it's an irony to see Muslim DVD traders owning phones more sophisticated than yours.

Purveryors:
Most of the sellers are MUSLIMS! So, if you value your life, do not crack any Anti-Moslem jokes. But you can ask them why Allah chose Isa (Jesus) to come down here during the Day of Judgement and not their beloved Mohammed, and listen to their wonderful and defensive answers. Or you can ask them if whether they prostrate themselves five times a day towards Mekkah right there in the black-colored concrete alleyways with their heads bowed on the filthy floor.

*Caveat: It is unevitable that some touts will accost you along one of the DVD streets enticing you to buy their Adult dvds. You can see them standing on the street with nothing to do but harrass people with their sales pitch. My advice is: DON'T GO. They will lead you the the darkest recesses of this bungalow marketplace where they will trap you in buying their wares. They will "implicitly" threaten you with violence if you do not buy a single one of their overpriced dvds. They don't give discounts because they know you are at their mercy. A college friend of mine who frequented this Muslim quarter ended up running for his life when they forced him to buy their dvds. These shady sellers force you to buy so they can get a commision for leading you to their lair.

Buyers:
All sectors of Filipino society patronize the pirate's lair. From students from MLQU, to priests from San Sebastian Church, to nurses & doctors, to SM employees, to rich SOBs riding their FORD F150, to barong-clad personnel from Malacañang, to DVD resellers coming from the provinces, to Caucasian and Korean tourists in shorts and puka-shell necklaces. No one is exempted.

Sources:
1. Malaysia - they provide the best quality DVDs with their shiny laminated insert and the golden hue of the discs. DVDs from this Truly Asian nation is truly fantastic.
2. China - they are characterized by their silver discs, the Chinese characters, the atrocious synopsis and their subtitles done in perfect pidgin English.
3. Philippines - they have golden discs with golden designs (unlike the malaysians) and their title inserts looked as if a high school dropout photoshopped the screenshots and voila! Also, other manufacturers burn films into blank dvd disks just like burning a vcd in your computer. In this case, it's a hit and miss.

Products Sold:
*DVDs
1. Unreleased Hollywood films
a. copied from a promotional disc
b. copied inside a theater
2. Released Hollywood films (copied from the original DVD)
3. Classics (Hitchcock, Kurosawa, war movies, etc.)
4. Arthouse films (infrequent, scarce supply, rare titles) ex. Criterion collection
5. Asian foreign films (Korean, Japanese)
6. Asian Telenovelas (Boxed sets)
7. Tagalog films - DVD burned
8. Sitcoms, US drama series, Documentaries (Boxed sets)
9. Adult Features

*MP3s & CDs - usually great copies and cheap at P25 a disc
1. Oldies
2. Jazz
3. Rock & Pop
4. OPMs

*VCDs
1. DVD copies
2. Videoke
3. Adult Features

*Softwares
1. Games
2. Installers
3. Anti-Virus Programs

There are lots of places to start. And you have to be discriminating with your choice of DVDs. Just don't take it as it is because if something is wrong with it, it can be very difficult to return it back for exchange. There are rows and rows of DVDs and with luck, you can stumble on rare titles (like the works of Kurosawa and Tinto Brass), or better copies of unreleased films. The DVDs are stack on shelves upon shelves extending from the floor to the ceiling. When they say DVD copy, it means it was copied from the original, but when they say "Clear copy," it means it's not worth buying the disc yet.

Routine:
1. Check for the titles.
To know whether a title is copied from an original DVD:
* Check the quality of the DVD insert. If it looks like similar to the released DVD and not like a photoshopped title where the words are misspelled and the description is inaccurate, then it must be from an original copy.

* Check the spine. If there's a code like "DVD-349" or "MCD-582", most often than not, it's copied from an original disc.

2. Check for scratches and defects on the shiny side of the DVD.
* If there are scratches, it would be difficult to return.
* Make sure that the film can play in your player. Certain players do not accept PAL format, so be wary of European art films who have PAL stamped at the back.

3. Have you choice be tested on their DVD player.
* Don't take no for an answer! Threaten them that you'll buy from the next stall. If they will assure you that the title in hand is a DVD copy, then you either take their word for it or you ask them "nicely" if they have a blood-relative nearby who can test it for you.

4. HAGGLE.
* A P5-10 discount must be asked.
* Current Prices range from P35-55 nowadays.

5. Make sure they stamp/mark the DVD title insert, so if you return them, you can argue that it was from their store that you've bought the disk from because if not, they can play that Shylock argument that you "might have bought it from other stalls."

What to Do During Raids:
* Go onto the street & act non-chalantly
* Enter the nearest convenience store or fastfood joint and loiter inside
* Shout hysterically in Arabic that you have a bomb strapped inside your shirt.

* The Real Deal:

Today, raids are RARE in Quiapo. However, if Edu and his
cohorts have a scheduled raid, more or less, the sellers have already been
tipped off and are extremely vigilant during that particular day. You can see
them talking about the impending raid, having boxes readied, and their supplies
are not 100% displayed. Besides, if a raid ensues, the news spreads like
wildfire and within a span of five minutes, all of the shops are closed. Just
make sure to get out of the DVD alley lest you will be locked inside with the
Muslim traders.

Boycott Petron

2006-08-27T01:44:00.000+08:00

It is ironic that at this point of time where there is still a slim window of opportunity to take that leaking oil tanker off from the waters of Guimaras, Petron is delaying its obligations to clean up its act. As a consumer, I am disgusted at the company's seeming insensitivity towards the environment, and how it washes its hands of any responsibility.

I wanted to help in letting Petron feel my displeasure, but I felt helpless in making a dent at the company. But then, I remembered how Gandhi evoked change through civil disobedience wherein he urged ordinary people to boycott English cotton which resulted in hurting of the sales of foreign business and the eventual attention of the British government.To evoke change is to provoke Petron where it hurts them the most: their pockets. In this regard, I urge all petrol-consuming Filipinos to BOYCOTT ALL PETRON PRODUCTS AND GAS STATIONS until they remove that ship from the Guimaras waters. I'm doing my share of protest in the hope that they will listen to the voice of its consumers.

Ugly Philippine Book Covers

2006-08-24T03:59:00.000+08:00

Philippine book publishers always complain of dismal sales of their books. Even if the authors themselves are luminaries in the field of fiction and self-help and the contents of their works are capable of churning into another Noli or Fili, the turnover for books remains slow, which makes one wonder: why? Besides the fact that many Filipinos do not read local fiction (in book form) for the sheer pleasure of it, another factor that scares away potential readers is the very ugly and uninspired covers that adorn perhaps 95% of local books.

That poses a question: Who makes these very ugly covers? High school drop-outs? Elementary graduates? Three blind mice?

Lot A:

Lot B:

Lot A showed the local fiction while B showed works by Filipino authors published in the US. Which of the two would you get? If you ask me, I’d choose the American ones for its nice and decent covers. If you are already a well known author, no matter how crappy and cheesy your covers are, people will still buy them because they know you write really well. Authors like Agatha Christie, their books sell despite the ugly covers. Khaled Hosseini’s Kite Runner was being passed by customers inside bookstores because of its lackluster cover, but because of word of mouth as to how well-written his story was, customers buy the book and catapulted it to Amazon’s top 10 list.

However, here in the Philippines, having a name like Lualhati Bautista or Nick Joaquin will not automatically mean ka-ching of the cash registers. They have great stories that have been made into seminal movies, but ask anyone if they have read Dekada 70 or Tropical Gothic and they’ll give you the blank stare. Compounded with such patent ignorance is the crappiness of their covers and paper quality. Toilet paper has a better consistency than some of the Philippine publications I’ve seen. I know they are trying hard to keep costs down in order to reach to the masses, but the quality of the print is really a big insult to the masses. It shows this: poor quality for the poor masses.

There are also Filipino authors who, because of their popularity, can demand high-volume sales despite the ugliness of their covers. Such example is Bob Ong’s Libro ni Hudas- its front and back covers are soot-black with no endearing design whatsoever. Instead of connoting evil, it makes one think of a septic tank. Its paper quality is like coupon bond (the cheap type) and the binding has staple wires denoting the economy of its printing. And yet, teens and tweens lap up all Ong’s books including the recent release of his Stainless Longganisa. I bought one and I find it mediocre and self-flagellating. There are lucid moments of wittiness but the whole plot fell by the second half of the book. If not for the byword of its contents, I can not imagine how to retail such cra… umm… book. One the bright side, if this helps in making Pinoys read, then I’m all for it.

As for first-time writers and struggling fictionists, having a timely and snazzy cover can entice curious customers to buy your book. People look for eye-catching fiction and publishers know this. I’m just appalled at the sheer stupidity of local printers why they cannot revamp their already crappy covers. It is an injustice and an insult to the sweat and tears of the authors who toiled for months just to type all those words. And the hack graphic artist can only come up with a half-baked second-rate cover art? Shame. So, if your book does not fly off the shelves because it looked like a survivor from Somalia, then it is the publisher’s fault. Why their fault? Consider the fact that books do not have a promodizer (just like grocery items where agents swarm you to buy their products), are not being advertised in the main broadsheets or TV commercials, and do not have a megaphone to lure customers in, these lonely pieces of literature depend only on four factors to make customers buy them: 1) price, 2) book reviews, 3) word of mouth, 4) book cover. This means that nearly all of the tricks to make us buy fall on the responsibility of the publisher.

Without these, even a book-signing event can’t pull it through. Khaled Hosseini in one of his first book signing lamented that there was only one customer who wanted to have his autograph. This was before word-of-mouth made his book the darling of the publishing industry.

Also, I can't fathom why mediocrity is the dictum of the day for our graphic artists. I know there is no dearth of Filipino talent in the realm of arts and music, but looking at the annual crop of book covers make me cringe. If you exclude the crappy printing of local publishers, the art must stand on its own. A lousy uninspired art does not make readers want to open that book. Some might argue that printers want to economize on the ink, so they use only monochrome. Yet, many local book covers are printed in FULL color which means they have little reason to curtail on the artistic expression of a graphic artist. Hence, a crappy graphic artist can only make a crappy cover.

I still cannot fathom why American artists can churn up great book covers and not us. Read on the interview of Paul Buckley to learn about cover art and see the great book covers he has done. Read it here and here.

For instance, on the left is Dean Alfar’s award-winning novel “Salamanca” while on the right is Gaiman’s “American Gods.” Both books have are mostly printed in green, yellow and black hues. Creativity wise, Alfar’s cover lacks inspiration and clarity and looks as if it was just made overnight. Gaiman’s cover looked enigmatic and eye-catching; its art sends a clear message of a coming storm.

Another great novel disgraced with an uninspired frontispiece is Rosario Lucero’s “Feast and Famine: Stories of Negros”. It looks as if the artist slept on it and rushed the work the next day. There is no come-on to open the book, and the theme does not encapsulate or even capture the rich essence of Negros life. For me, the only thing the brash of colors denote is the sweltering heat of the tropical sun. Had the author read the book, he or she may have done another concept rather than paint the whole piece as a tribute to drought and El Niño. The contents itself are masterpieces but with a cover like that, I dunno.

This is ironic because many of the books in the Anglophone nations use photos and paintings to create beautiful covers. Here, the artists are contented to post doodles of their friends and art projects done by their two-year old niece, and call it art. Many of them have “horror vacui” or the dread of leaving an empty space. It’s either that or too much minimalism that it already looks like an overnight project by a dropout. Others superimpose sour-looking ancestral photos of the authors in a bid for self-glorification of whatever bastardized family-tree the writer has. And the fonts used are either too cheesy like lightning bolt shaped vowels or too unprofessional by using passé fonts like Comic Sans and Copperplate Gothic for titles. It just shows how haphazard the job was done. And the spacing of letters is non-existent. These so-called artists use only standard spacing found in MS Word and whatever software they can get their hands on. The failure of not manipulating fonts and colors to balance your composition is indicative of the level of skill of the artist.

Can’t they think of anything else? Can’t they ask for shots from local photographers like the ones by Kieron Tan? Or at least use paintings by the current artists like Sanso or Luz. Or read up on foreign book designers like those of Chip Kidd? It’s saddening and disappointing. Why? Their mentality is parochial and insular. They live and thrive on their stupidity and ignorance which hinders their growth. Instead of looking for inspiration from the outside world or using foreign techniques, they are content to replicate their crappy covers.

I am not a graphic artist, but I can appreciate a well-made cover if I see one. And so can you. Why do you think Penguin always update new covers for old titles? Because they know people are suckers for good covers.

A caveat though. I’m not saying all book artists are like this. Some have great designs and should be applauded. The original covers of the Locsin versions of the Noli and Fili are great examples. What happened to the artist? That person should have more projects. The UP Student edition series of Pinoy literature like that of Batacan’s Smaller and Smaller Circles is a good example how to make a simple, balanced and presentable book cover. Also, a lot of children's books have spectacular cover art, many of which are resplendent in the full spectrum of the palette. It's a wonder why they are not being hired to make good covers for adult fiction.

Many coffee-table books have great covers but sadly most of these books have been designed and published by foreigners in Hong Kong (e.g. Periplus) or Singapore. Locally, only a handful of books can compare with their foreign counterparts.

Not all local books have been mutilated by crappy book designers but a lot of fiction still have mediocre covers. If publishers want to improve their sales, at least make their covers worth buying for. Why do you think many Filipinos patronize foreign authors if not for their covers alone?

Palparan's Song: "I've Got Them on the List"

2006-08-22T13:08:00.000+08:00

I've Got Them on the List*

Palparan
As some day it may happen that a victim must be found,
I've got a little list — I've got a little list
Of society offenders who might well be underground,
And who never would be missed — who never would be missed!
There's the pestilential columnist who writes my epitaphs —
All people who have written me in acid paragraphs —
All students who are up-to-date, and say that I’m a rat —
All persons who in shaking heads, shake heads at me like that —
And all third persons who on spoiling all the fun insist —
They'd none of 'em be missed — they'd none of 'em be missed!

Chorus.
He's got 'em on the list — he's got 'em on the list;
And they'll none of 'em be missed — they'll none of 'em be missed.

Palparan.
There's the village promenader who is walking out of place,
And the firebrand journalist — I've got them on the list!
And the people who sells fish and all who disappeared for days,
They never would be missed — they never would be missed!

Then the councillor who raises, with a condescending tone,
My terroristic bliss, but speaks silent of his own;
And the lady from the provinces, who dresses like a guy,
Who thinks she has her civil rights. I’d like to see her try!;
And that singular anomaly, the lady activist —
I don't think she'd be missed — I'm sure she'd not he missed!

Chorus.
He's got her on the list — he's got her on the list;
And I don't think she'll be missed — I'm sure she'll not be missed!

Palparan.
And that red rebellion nuisance, who just now is rather rife,
The judicial moralist — I've got them on the list!
All witty fellows, comic men, and sleuths of public life —
They'd none of 'em be missed — they'd none of 'em be missed.

And leftist-leaning statesmen of a most tenacious kind,
Such as — What d'ye call him — Thing'em-bob, and likewise — Never-mind,
And 'St— 'st— 'st— and What's-his-name, and also You-know-who —
The task of filling up the blanks I'd rather leave to you.
But it really doesn't matter whom you put upon the list,
For they'd none of 'em be missed — they'd none of 'em be missed!

Chorus.
You may put 'em on the list — you may put 'em on the list;
And they'll none of 'em be missed — they'll none of 'em be missed!

* Sing to the tune of The Mikado's "I've Got A Little List" by Gilbert & Sullivan. The Mikado is a light operetta done in the 1880s. The lyrics are exactly the same from the operetta save for some poetic liberty this author took.

August Book Hunt

2006-08-21T20:18:00.000+08:00

The rainy month of August heralds the joint bargain sales of Powerbooks and National Bookstore to which I could not control myself but give in to temptation. As they say, the pleasure is in the hunt. How true. These are my recent acquisitions:

Perfume (Patrick Suskind) [P245] – a scarce book that both stores do not carry. I found this sitting with other pricier editions inside Fullybooked and this Penguin Red Classics edition is the cheapest of the lot. Ever since Penguin Red Classics have been imported all the way from the UK, their cheap books are being highly sought after in Manila. Love in the Time of Cholera and Lolita were enjoying brisk sales because of its cheap prices and trendy covers, and now they’re gone. Suskind’s Perfume becomes that rare gem that juts out once in a blue moon. This promises a great engaging read especially that a German film of the same name is going to be released this year starring Dustin Hoffman and Alan Rickman.

Synopsis: “Jean-Baptiste Grenouille is abandoned on the filthy streets as a child, but grows up to discover he has an extraordinary gift: a sense of smell more powerful than any other human’s. Soon, he is creating the most sublime fragrances in Paris. Yet there is one odor he cannot capture. It is exquisite, magical: the scent of a young virgin. And to get it he must kill. And kill. And kill…”

Secret Histories: Finding George Orwell in a Burmese Teashop (Emma Larkin) [P219] – I read last year a favorable review of Larkin’s Secret Histories in one of the weekly magazines, either Newsweek or Time. That made the title stuck into my head until I found the same book in a National bookstore bargain bin. The condition was not as pristine I wanted it to be, but the first chapter was enough for me to buy it. I am always a sucker for any oriental-themed literature especially the ones that touched upon western colonialism which is probably why I enjoyed the works of Orwell, Maugham (Collected Short Stories) and Clavell (Asian Saga.) Secret Histories is essentially a travelogue-cum-social-analysis of a westerner traveling Orwell’s routes inside Burma while observing how Orwell’s Animal Farm, 1984, and Burmese Days are mirrored in the present day Burmese. So far, I have read Burmese Days and Animal Farm and a bit of 1984, so reading this will be familiar. This one is for the beach!

Synopsis: “In search of the inspiration for George Orwell’s uncanny prophecies, Emma Larkin follows in his footsteps. She finds his terrifying visions shockingly realized, an unwitting legacy that permeates the land of Secret Histories like its scents of betel nut and freshly brewed tea, and the sticky breezes of the Irrawaddy delta.”

Death and Restoration (Iain Pears) [P76] – While perusing the previously-owned book section of National Bookstore, I chanced upon Iain Pears’ mystery series. So far, I have only read his Instance of the Fingerpost and though it was a good historical novel, I was not really impressed. It was circumlocutory and redundant. But from the net, his other novels have netted good reviews because of their Dan Brownesque pace and mystery. Since I enjoy reading murder mysteries involving the finer things in life like art, religion and history, this may become an enjoyable read. I am keeping my fingers crossed, but for the price of a Jollibee meal, it’s worth it.

Synopsis: “General Bottando can’t believe his rotten luck. He’s just been promoted- to a position that’s heavy on bureaucratic duties but disturbingly light on investigative responsibilities. As if that wasn’t annoying enough, he’s received a distressing tip about a planned raid at a nearby monastery. He’s confident his colleague Flaviea di Stefano will be able to thwart the plot- but she and her fiancé, Jonathan Argyll, are beyond baffled. There’s nothing very valuable in the monastery’s art collection- except for a supposed Caravaggio that’s currently being restored. There are no solid suspects- unless you count the endearing art thief, the flagrantly flamboyant ‘Rotweiler of Restoration,’ and the strangely shady icon expert. And there’s really no reason to cause an unholy uproar- until someone commits an unconscionable crime…”

American Gods (Neil Gaiman) [P99] – I found this tucked inside the bargain bin of a Powerbooks branch. Though I am not a fantasy aficionado, knowing the fanatical popularity of Gaiman here in the Philippines means his works have great appeal among the Filipino teens and tweens. With a price like that for a P750 book, this might be a good introduction for me into his genre, and it would be cool if I will end up enjoying American Gods. I’m keeping my fingers crossed. Just like his Sandman series, his American Gods promises another engaging and thoughtful read.

Synopsis: “Released from prison, Shadow finds his world upside down. His wife has been killed; a mysterious stranger offers him a job. But Mr. Wednesday, who knows more about Shadow than is possible, warns that a storm is coming- a battle for the very soul of America…and they are in its direct path.”

A House Burnt Asunder

2006-08-05T22:42:00.000+08:00

From my journal:

"These past few weeks before the board exams, I could not help myself but weep in the privacy of my bathroom. No one's there to witness my breaking down. It is only now that I have felt the total loss of the death of my last remaining parent. It's a desperate emptiness, a hollow void, that pulls you down under wherein in every corner you try to hide and close your eyes, no magical change happens. The fact is this: the reality of their demise stays with you like a gut-twisting nightmare. Yes, it is a silent and personal nightmare where on the exterior all is well with the world, but upon introspection and reflection, the emptiness sucks you in. It is also a nightmare for no matter how much people sympathize with your plight, the truth is that they can't change your reality. No amount of words or promises can make the comfort of the past fill you up again. The emptiness clings, and it clings tenaciously.

I hate this feeling of the constant knowledge that my entire world has imploded on itself like a house of cards which I know there won't be any chance of making it whole again. Many of the things I hold dear are gone- the people before me, the security of hard-earned tangible assets, the family name I carry.

Now, the house my parents lived is but a shell of its former glory- much like the fall of the Buendia family in Marquez's "One Hundred Years of Solitude." I know that there won't be Christmas parties at the front yard where the entire first floor is flooded with lights, the Christmas tunes being blared from a karaoke stereo and the tables filled with lots of fiesta food. There won't be afternoon meriendas on the balcony, or the sight of garden hoses cluttered on the lawn just before dusk. The comfort that one feels seeing that the rituals of the past are still being practiced, or that the people of your past (e.g. parents) are still alive makes the memory of home and family all the more important. When these are gone, the loss that we feel is devastating. For me, I can feel the palpable emptiness of knowing that they won't be with me in all my future milestones. I can't help but grieve at the thought they won't be around during my oath-taking.

Reality is cruel for it uproots you from your own self-designed delusion that a family is secured until everyone's hair turns white. But no, reality kills everyone off, and laughs at you telling you that the worst possible scenario can and will happen to you. It hacks you limb by limb until you feel you can't go on.

Rationalizing the situation does not solve anything, but only masks the emotional trauma by linguistic palliatives. At first you may say, "Hey that's right, I should not feel this way," but after searching your memory bank, every one of your reason flies out of the window leaving you groping in the dark with such emotional pain you can't ignore. For me, a lot of things has been stripped of hope and reason, but it's only faith in a higher being that's keeping me sane.

It's funny because days after mom's death, I could still joke and laugh fooling myself that she was just indisposed then, and that she'll come back sooner or later. The sense of loss is not felt right after the funeral, it strikes you when you feel most vulnerable. And it starts weeks, months, or even years after. That's why I do not believe that grief lasts for only a month.

Sometimes I just want to do a Gauguin, but that would be unfair to all their sacrifices that made it possible for me reach this far. Even it feels as if I want to chuck it all up, I have to go on for the sake of their memory."

Happy B-day Mom... even though you're up there looking down on us.

Amici di Estomago

2006-07-22T00:17:00.000+08:00

Last tuesday, T and I bumped into an old friend from HS as we traversed the underpass along Paseo de Roxas in Makati. We thought it would be another duo food trip, but luckily, R. was there to liven up the dinner scene. We took a cab and headed towards this non-descript hole-in-a-school restaurant that people tout as Manila's best kept secret, the Amici di Don Bosco.

Amici is simple but people who go there do not mind the kitchy atmosphere and the canteen-like set-up because the main attraction there is the great authentic Italian pizzas and pastas and gelato. Most of its customers, we observed, are well-dressed moneyed citizens of Makati which is ironic because the place is located under the overpass along Arnaiz (Pasay) Avenue. I was expecting the SM food-court crowd but I was wrong, people really go out of their way just to order pizzas to go and gelatos for their hankering brood back home.

When we entered, T was ecstatic (read: jumping up and down)to see the varieties of gelato that she immediately dived into a chocolate scoop. I tried it and the I was blown away with the intensity of the flavor. It was rich, silky and soft, no ice bits clinging to the cream. I then chose mine Cheese flavor and the first scoop reminded me of the milky goodness of cheese with its sweet creamy texture spiked with tart pieces of cheddar cheese. Some might find it wierd to eat fromaggio gelato, but for me, this is the best- and no other ice cream brand can surpass Amici's in terms of quality and pricing. At P35 per scoop of quality gelato, who can resist? For those who have deeper pockets and only eat at Rockwell's Pazzo gelato, this is a great alternative.

We went back to our table and ordered our dinner. We decided on pasta. Not knowing what to get, we asked the cashier/clerk what are the recommended entrees. She ticked the Tagliatelle con Sici(something Sicilian), spaghetti ala don bosco and some other dish. We settled on the first one- home-made tagliatelle cooked in tomatoes, red wine, parmesan, and italian sausage. It was so satisfying that my tongue began to sing O sole mio, not! It was fantastic nevertheless. These are the pastas that are not found in commercialized knock-offs where their basic menu consists only of spaghetti bolognese and carbonara. Amici is the bomb! And the servings are good for two people. T barely finished hers, R was slow in his plate while I was feeling constricted after eating halfway.

We skipped on drinks, as usual, and settled on their fresh and priceless mineral water... yes, price-less meaning free. Because the place has that scholarly feel of being in a high school cafeteria, we were free to enjoy lounging about with nary a care towards our fellow foodlovers. Who cares about slouching in our seats and laughing to our hearts' content about high school faux pas? No ugly heads reared in our direction with their evil eye glaring at us. We had a great time catching up with old times.

After the meal, another round of gelato. T got some flavor which I forgot while I took away some cheese gelato. Just can't get enough. We egged R to try it but he passed saying he was too full to have a scoop of the cold delight. We stayed on for another 30 minutes before venturing out into the hell that is Manila. At least in Amici, the food will always be your friend, and that's their promise. And yes, with such food intake, I promised my porcelain bowl back home to meet another friend from Amici albeit in another form. Hah!

Other sites featuring this terrific discovery (w/ photos):
http://dessertcomesfirst.blogspot.com/2005/07/manilas-best-kept-italian-secret.html
http://www.tsinoy.com/blog/index.php?op=Default&Date=200502&blogId=31
http://anton.blogs.com/awesome/2005/07/amici_de_don_bo.html
http://justeats.blogspot.com/2005/08/amici.html

Molested By An Arab Donkey

2006-07-22T00:10:00.000+08:00

No, it's not me. It's my friend R. She seemed to be a magnet for these sexually excited fellows everytime she ventures out at night. I'm not sure, but this time, it seemed serious enough that she pressed charges against this Arab donkey. (Sorry, that undesirable alien has no place in our country, and as such, he does not merit any respect from any Filipino- except from the refuse of society like those money-grubbing prostitutes in the throes of AIDS and naturally corrupt and lazy policemen who'll do anything to avoid doing anything.) There's one thing frustrating to see a foreigner abusing his way through Manila, and it's another to see your own fellowmen fawning over and accommodating this poor Arab-trash cum criminal.
This is his passport photo, so if you know him, please call GMA7 for a live interview.

Click on R's blog and read her harrowing experience of being molested by an Arab donkey (and how the stupid & corrupt police tried to cover it up):

R's Nightmare On Makati Avenue

Rizal on Penguin Classics

2006-07-03T22:39:00.000+08:00

How cool can this be? Jose Rizal has now joined the pantheon of Classical author thanks to the Penguin Group of Publishers.

Jose Rizal's NOLI ME TANGERE

Elda Rotor, a Fil-American working at Penguin Books has this to say:

Monday June 19th is the birthday of Jose Rizal and I'm pleased to announce that NOLI ME TANGERE makes its debut as the first work of Filipino literature to be published in Penguin Classics. Harold Augenbraum, executive director of the National Book Foundation, wrote this new translation with an introduction and notes.

The book is available at the end of June. It is the 60th anniversary year of Penguin Classics, and I have just started as the new Executive Editor for the imprint. As a Filipino-American, I'm excited about this new publication and wanted to share it with all of you. Look out for the book, check out www.us.penguinclassics.com. Watch out for events in New York and San Francisco this summer and fall.

Personification of American Hegemony

2006-07-02T16:28:00.000+08:00

Superman going around the globe from Manila to Italy to France saving people reeks of American Hegemony of global security. He is portrayed as the world's policeman, fireman, and one-man security force where everyone is beholden to him and utterly grateful to his Boy Scout acts. But still, it shows that an American Icon like Superman being on top of global affairs where he has influence over other sovereign nations makes me want to puke. Not only is he violating the air spaces of other countries, he is implying that other countries can't take care of themselves and are always in need of Superman.

Now, who the fuck asked Superman to save the world?
Who the fuck asked GWBush to save the planet?

These are the questions Superman must answer:
1. Why is he not classified as a Weapon of Mass Destruction?
2. Why did GWBush not tapped him in the Iraq-Afghanistan War?
3. May passport ba si Superman to go flying into other nations?
4. Why was Iraq or Palestine not mentioned in the areas where help is needed?

An Ubermenchen Review

2006-07-02T16:08:00.000+08:00

We saw yesterday the brand new Superman movie at Glorietta 1. The place was packed to the gills with couples and families with restless children. Actually we sneaked into the adjacent cinema sans tickets because the first one was so jampacked and this was 10 minutes before the anointed schedule. So, like evil sneaks that we were, we changed cinemas and ended up with a couple of good positions in the center of the theatre.

The movie was good, the effects were superb, but Routh's acting was terrible to say the least. Strip him of everything that's heroic and you'll get an acting that's wooden and impassive. It was as if his entire face was injected with Botulinum toxin. Even Spacey's acting was disappointing for I was expecting more malevolence but all I saw was another Botulinum injected spiel. Bosworth was passable, wow, she has a large forehead, come to think of it. The only redeeming value of the movie was its deft atypical plot, the 21st century CGI effects and the heart-rending sound track. The music was fantastic, and really played to one's emotions. Acting aside, the whole flick was one hell of a ride!

Was the movie worth the P100 fee? Absolutely yes.
Is it good for repeat viewing? Damn yes.

Rating: 8/10

The Departure

2006-06-29T02:03:00.000+08:00

The Departure

by: Julsitos

Let me kiss your cheeks one last time,
and feel the burning warmth of your shame,
for soon no one shall remember your crime,
the secret you bore in your name.

Let me embrace you one last time,
and forget the tears we shed before,
for soon none shall hear your song and rhyme,
when you're lying beneath the floor.

The Gasp

2006-06-28T21:37:00.000+08:00

The Gasp

by: Julsitos

And I looked at her with awe and fear,
her lips, a gasping monotone,
for whether I love this creature here
is a conclusion now forgone.

SC Upholds "Live-In" Couples

2006-06-23T18:30:00.000+08:00

I applaud at the Supreme Court's landmark decision to uphold "live-in" relationships depending on one's religion. With a vote of 9 pro-judges against 5 dissenters (with one abstaining), this reflects the high level of maturity of our Supreme Court system for it only upholds one's freedom of religion. It's only because our SC judges are wise enough to realize that a democracy like ours should never be retrofitted with narrow and baseless Christian mores. It should be "each unto his own beliefs" for one's marital practices may not apply to others. For instance, while Muslims are exempted from polygamy and concubinage, the rest will just have to tread Christian lines lest they want to go against the law. And what about Buddhists? Hindus? or Jehovah's Witnesses? Their beliefs cannot subserve to those of Catholics' but rather should be treated fairly and on a secular basis. I hope this will pave the way to more pro-choice decisions that will uphold man's basic and inalienable rights such as freedom of religion.

As as for SC Chief Justice Panganiban, shame on you for forcing your narrow Christian morals on others not of the same religion. Shame! But then again, that's why there was a need for a vote- so every decision will not be swayed by the opinion of one man.

The Taste of Youth

2006-06-04T14:39:00.000+08:00

The famed foodblogger, MarketMan, has recently written in his website about the flavors of childhood. It is said that the foods enjoyed during our formative years carry itself the greatest memory. This is where your taste preferences were formed be it from your favorite ice cream flavor to your abhorrence to vegetables. Those tastes are carried well into adulthood, and each bite you take evokes the deep long memories that lay dormant inside the one’s brain just like a switch. While the connection between the faculty of language, memory and childhood has been scientifically studied, taste recall has not been well explored- and this is one field that might be of use to us in the future. For instance (this is just an anecdotal observation), children who were given vegetables during the early years will not be picky in their diet. Unfortunately, I was not one of those kids, so the foods that evoke deep passion within me are the sweets and those delicious junk foods. Well, too late to rewire, eh?

*steaming batchoy with 3 buttered toasts and cold coke with a straw, eating on the lanai looking afar to the lawn as the august rains poured…

*magnolia vanilla ice cream - i was forbidden to eat this brand of ice cream, but my grandma sneaks a pint into the fridge every now and then….

*butong-butong, kalamay-hati, hard caramel candies - my grandma usually buys them at the manug-libod (vendor) when she visits the downtown market

*inday-inday (palitaw with muscuvado dip), steaming pancit molo, pork bbq and rainbow-colored bread with cheese pimiento filling during childhood birthday parties…

*weird childhood food: toasted bread dunked in Coke!!! yum yum! Back then, i didn’t find it wierd. I do now.

Other junk foods...
*He-Man (orange colored cheeze puffs)
*She-Ra
*Enteng the Dragon (yellow-colored chicken-flavored puffs)
*Sunrise green peas snack (yung nakabalot sa foil)
*yema (those hard candies w/ yema centers w/ a toothpick *sticking on top & covered with pink cellophane)
*white rabbit candies
*CHIKININI!!! - forerunner of the boy bawang…
*camote-q being sold by vendors outside school…
*Bobot (a weird candy: peanuts coated in an M&M-like shell)
*Rin-bee? yung cheese stick snacks… meron pa ba nun?
*fishballs that cost P0.15 each!
*Ice Scramble (gee, what was I eating back then?!)

Never Never Lend

2006-06-02T21:46:00.000+08:00

Nowadays, there's one pet peeve that irks me more than anything else and that is retrieving books from my friends. It's a hassle, that's why. And it should not be my obligation in the first place.

I usually let some of my friends borrow a volume or two from my collection in the hope of widening their reading preference. Encouraging your friends to read books for the sheer pleasure of it is a rewarding experience. It makes me feel somewhat accomplished. But what I hate is that 1) it takes months for them to finish a single one, and 2) they don't read it at all. Filipinos generally dislike asking people to return things, that's why it's just logical and prudent for the borrowers to return it as soon as they have finished it. But no, here, people just chuck the tomes into their shelves and forget about it and you, the owner, wait and wait for its "second coming". It's a paradox but it's reality.

What's more irritating is when you've follow-upped your friend to return it, that person delays the transaction for reasons ranging from non-reply to the Bermuda Triangle phenomenon. It's not funny and I feel they're taking my book hostage. That person would say, "Oh, I haven't finished reading it. I'm still at the first chapter." And I thought, "For three months now?" During that time, I just wished that the book will run away from that person's room and head back to my shelf where it belongs. It just shows how indifferent and disinterested these people are in reading your book. I think it's only right that if such a person cannot sustain his/her interest in finishing it, the only recourse is to return the damn book read or unread. Sad to say, in this ningas cogon country of ours, it does not happen.

Here's some solutions whenever your friends start forgetting what they've borrowed:
1. Text/Call them every week asking them if they've finished the book.
2. Remind them that your third cousin twice removed wants to borrow it.
3. Tell them that a lot of people finished it in one to two sittings, and that it's a shock for you to see that they can't do the same.
4. Inform them that a lot of readers' lives were changed after finishing the volume, and you'll help them change their lives if they don't finish it.

How to stop your friend from kidnapping your books:
1. NEVER LEND a single one. Too late for me to realize it.
2. Only lend those ratty editions that you're trying to dispose.
3. Lend them only the titles that you don't want to see again.
4. If you still let them borrow, ask them when can you expect it to be returned.
5. Lock your books in your fire-proof cabinet or bookshelf.

But the best answer is still: NO! Nein! Nunca! Non! Nyet!
Oh... that reminds me, I need to text my friend to remind her to return my Kite Runner.

Da Vinci Mode

2006-05-18T23:13:00.000+08:00

The SM chain of malls is standing by their conviction of not showing Brown's Da Vinci Code movie in all of its outlets. They say, all R-18 movies (regardless of the merits of the film) will not be shown because it will "harm" the minds of the movie-going public on the basis of immorality and all those pharisaical inanities. From a businessman's point of view, this is not a very good strategy. Why? A highly anticipated movie since Harry Potter 5 + religious controversy + popularity of the novel = Box Office Hit.

Any self-respecting entrepreneur would milk Robert Langdon for all its worth just to spike up his/her flagging movie sales. But I guess the Sy's are more Pontius Pilate than St. Paul for they would rather show the world that their movie houses are "hands clean" from any vulgar immorality than to let the public decide for themselves as to what's good for them. Isn't that already the job of the stupid MTRCB- to play God with their "moralistic" index of forbidden movies criteria? It's a pity that for a thriller without any nudity or violence, it still garnered a severe rating of R-18 (the severest in the world.) I didn't realized that a movie which explores the origins of our Christian roots would be deemed as unsuitable for viewers under 18! This reeks quasi-censorship, is it not? However, in fairness to MTRCB chair Marissa Laguardia, she is right in saying:

"Those groups, like the conservatives who want it banned, maybe they can tell
their friends, discourage their friends from watching it but it has to be shown.
Otherwise we will be the only country that will not show this film. Thirty-six
countries have already reviewed this film and they have not banned it. So are we
just out of the Stone Age?"

Yes, we're more advanced than the Stone Age, because we're definitely in the Medieval Age.

They felt the film would "confuse" the faith of many. Hey, if your faith is like the mustard seed that remains small and undeveloped (thanks to your parents and the church), then, it's not Dan Brown's fault is it? If you change your mind about Catholicism after watching Sophie Langdon, then there's no one to blame but yourself.

Why? If you're really concerned with your faith and salvation, then you'll try to seek answers from definitive sources, mainly the Church and common sense. The Church says that it's fictional and trivial. Common sense will tell you that by having facts derived from Merovingian legends and concepts contrived by conspiracist theorists, the novel is not a reliable source for straying away from the faith. Yes, it does asks questions, but no one yet (not even the book) has provided sufficient and credible answers- just mere speculations and suppositions. The Church did not address the origins of its Gospels or the persecution of Mary Magdalene, and the "Grail" theorists did not put up credible documentary evidence supporting the "sacred female" something-something. It's akin in saying that the Egyptian pyramids and the Mayan pyramids were built by the same group of aliens. It's the same as saying that hidden religious meanings in Da Vinci's painting are connected to some pagan ritual of the Heiros Gamos. Connect the invisible dots, I tell you. But what's funnier is that there are real groups of people trying to stop the showing of the movie. Geez. They're just a bunch of Bible-toting, holier-than-thou, pseudo-virginal, sexually-deprived sleazebags who try to bring attention to their miserable existence. I say to them: Get a life. As to Dan Brown, close but no cigar.

The Best Da Vinci Code Review: http://www.bettybowers.com/davinci.html

Eulogy

2006-05-16T12:13:00.000+08:00

Eulogy*
by Julsitos

Now I realized your footsteps gone
the unbearable silence of your absence felt,
the bed turned cold, my grief untold
as I see the end of your journey done.
How long in despair have I dwelt?

But you're free, free at last
to sleep in the embraces of the Lord,
His love shall comfort you
our love nourished you,
the thorns that pricked you now in its past
for this day you have earned your reward.

From your love, we shall never forget
we cherish and yearn for more than this
for our joys and tears, our hopes and fears
not once did we regret
for the love we shared, eternal bliss.

*delivered during the burial mass last Mother's day.

Grief

2006-05-10T12:02:00.000+08:00

Grief
by Julsitos

Grieve not for the love that has departed
for theirs are with the Lord,
where love is never thwarted,
neither sullied nor distorted,
basking in the summer of their reward.

Grieve your tears for those who are left behind
for they remain on this earth
to feel the loss from time unkind,
with tears flow from memories pined,
hearing now the abscence of mirth.

Free

2006-05-07T00:30:00.000+08:00

Free*
by Julsitos

At last you're free,
smile for the day is done,
where rest shall be your friend
with your journey at an end
the shackles of your heart now gone.

At last you're free,
free from the peering eyes of hate,
where the blossoms caress you
and the wind shall cleanse you
the smear that sullied you of late.

At last you're free
to think of lighter things
beneath the bluest sky
passed the clouds on high
where the joy of our Lord abundantly springs.

At last you're free
your eyes closed, you face at ease
with neither sadness nor pain
just sleep and sleep again
for where there's rest, eternal peace.

*poem for my mom who died April 25, 2006. painting by www.duyhuynh.com

SAKSI!

2006-04-25T15:55:00.000+08:00

Thanks to US-published manga artist Jennyson Rosero, this clip shows how NOT to do a field report. Funny as it is, it doesn't bode well for the state of journalistic professionalism here in the Philippines. Because GMA (and ABS-CBN) focuses more on human drama and sensationalism, it reaps the fruits of ill-researched and subjective field reporting. Nonetheless, enjoy.

Myleene Klass

2006-04-21T02:25:00.000+08:00

This Fil-Brit sensation is the toast of the Classical world in 2005. Although she is more known for her gigs in the British pop arena, classically-trained Myleene Klass branched out into the more refined and rigid classical genre. Based in the UK, this Avril Lavigne lookalike has earned a cult following for her exotic Eurasian look and her virtuosity with classical piano. I think she has even grazed the pages of British FHM. If Maxim is the male version, Myleene is the female counterpart. She has recorded her first album, "Moving On" which has gone gold and was nominated for an award in the UK classical scene. I have yet to hear her Moving On album, but suffice to say that her MTV in Classic fM TV looks stunning. Why don't we have a classical channel here????

Be blown away with her classical MTV as she play Bach's Toccata & Fugue (a short variation actually):
http://www.myleeneklass.co.uk/
http://www.myleeneofficial.co.uk/

At least now, we can have another half-Pinoy to be proud of. Yihee!

On Cutting In

2006-04-19T23:16:00.000+08:00

A couple of days ago, I went to Handyman to get my dog some cheap dogfood. (Yeah, I know- dogfood in Handyman!) Since it was about 5 kg. heavy and the pushcarts were there for use, I placed the load in and went straight to the counter. There were about two customers lining up and it was taking the cashier forever to scan the prices. She must have forgotten the seminar on how to scan barcoded goods. In about five minutes of "happily" waiting for her to finish, a middle-age grey-shirted woman tried to cut in in front of me. Just because I give ample space between my cart and the next person doesn't mean it's her cue to cut in front of me. What I did next will surely light the torches of Abanse Pinay! (this women's lib group): I pushed my cart forward, thus, preventing her from sneaking her fat butt in!

Hey, I don't think it's misogynistic to assert your rightful place, is it? I waited in line, so I felt I deserve to be entertained first. It is logical albeit selfish. If I was not selfish, who will then look after me? No one. And besides, giving space for others, though altruisitic it may be, will not earn you brownie points in heaven. You can't say to St. Peter, "Though I murdered my entire family and spawned dozens of bastards during my lifetime, I made sure I gave up my seat to every beautiful lady I encounter." St. Peter will surely say, "Sorry, acts of pakitang-tao are not considered acts of charity. Try again!"

If I had let that woman cut-in in front, what good does it do to me? I don't think a warm fuzzy feeling of being a willing accomplice in aiding an injustice would suffice. Will I get that girl's number? No. Will I get a simple "thank you?" No. (She didn't ask in the first place.) Well, if she did ask nicely, I'd be rude not to let her in. So, if doing such an act cannot benefit the doer, then why bother doing it? Besides, she's fit as a cow to wait a few minutes more.

I realized that this can blow into a vitriolic discussion between chivalry vs. equal rights. I can hear hapless ladies yell, "How dare you, you arrogant prick to prevent us from using our charms to get our way!" Hahaha! All I can say is: "first come, first serve- unless you're in an emergency." And besides, it would seem unfair also for the rest of the customers who are waiting patiently behind me. By cutting in, you're being inconsiderate to others' time and patience. By cutting in, you are being self-serving and selfish and I hope you rot in hell.

The only persons I will give up my seat/place in line:
1. Old people
2. The Disabled
3. Pregnant women
4. Mothers with hellspawn children
5. Ladies with heavy bags
6. My family and friends

As for the rest, I can strongly suggest to use those two legs that God has given them. Else, they can whack them off and ride on a wheelchair, then, they can have my place.

DIE Haloscan DIE!!

2006-04-13T04:22:00.000+08:00

A year ago, Haloscan.com was a promising entity that provides bloggers with free management of one's comment's space. But I've realized that all those musings by vistors and friends were entirely erased at a certain time- I don't know why but I find it frustrating to see that the effort of those who passed by has disappeared.

An apology from them won't make up for all the words of encouragement and intelligent quips I have learned to enjoy reading throughout the past months. Don't they know that half the fun of blogging is to see people rattled in their seats that they are compelled to comment? I realized that perhaps its a bit of an ego trip, but hey, it's part of the ride. Because I don't choose or restrict my blog topics, nor tailor them to the prudency of the masses, my writings then are not pressured to conform. Thus, it's nice to read people dropping by like friends visiting a house while commenting on your latest diatribe. That's why it's infuriating for me and insulting on the part of the commentors that this has happened.

I needed to cut my losses hence I reverted back my comment page to good reliable Blogspot.
*Sigh. Life. And by the way Haloscan, if you are reading this, I curse your money-grubbing NASDAQ-delisted company and I hope your stupid main office be burned to the ground due to electrical causes. I curse your President, may he be killed by AIDS while having sex with his dog. I curse your staff and personnel, may they get pustular boils on their nipples, varicose veins on their noses and Grade III internal hemorrhoids for the rest of their miserable whiny whiny stupid drop-out American white-assed lives. DIE!!!

Muesli on the Beach

2006-04-11T18:39:00.000+08:00

This Holy Week, the whole Manila dung heap population will undergo a mass exodus to the provinces. The only objective of this unholy affair is to soak up the sun, splash in the turquoise waves and to voluntarily get skin cancer. That is what the Holy Motherly Church has been trying to tell our melanocytes: Go forth and multiply! Exchange your Small Cell Lung cancer for Squamous cell carcinoma! So, instead of kneeling in front of marble saints and reflecting on the Gospel of Judas, the Da Vinci Code and the Passion of the Christ, Manileños all go to Boracay, Cebu, Hundred Islands, Baguio and Mindoro to have fun, booze and party. I'm not sure Good Friday at Friday's in Boracay means singing the Pasyon, but I'm sure the scene is similar to a bad taping of Temptation Island.

Speaking of Boracay which is the epitome of an expat-packed beach, I can't help but wonder how people stomach non-native foods at such a locale. The beach itself is isolated from any urban center and getting to the island is not easy save for the rinky-dinky airport to bring in the goods. Thus, having Foccacia with Balsamic Vinegar and Olive oil under a Bahay-kubo or eating Pecan & Walnut Muesli in your two-piece or speedos is not only paradoxical and anachronistic but also surreal. I'd expect native Filipino foods like Inasal, Sinugba, Halo-halo, Sinigang, Pork BBQ, etc at the beach, but unfortunately due to international demand, this is not so. Expatriate culinary expertise and coño Manileños with the grungy backpackers make such a supply-and-demand situation possible, and these people just lap it up! If it's a matter of economics, then there's no quib about it, but if you look at it from a cultural standpoint, it's quite insulting on our part.

Why?

1. Though experts imply that having international cuisine on Boracay is a showcase of the "love" foreigners have for the island or of the vibrancy of the place, the argument also suggests how these foreign carpetbaggers cannot assimilate to Filipino cuisine. This is different with a Pinoy expat serving adobo and pinakbet in his LA turo-turo house. With Pinoys, we cater our soulfood to fellow Kababayan because we know there's a sizable Filipino population within the vicinity, and such a business is logical. But have you seen a Boracay Brit or Greek serving Filipino cuisine in their establishments? No, they would rather serve haggis, bangers & mash, and gyros than our liempo or lumpia. And it's not even fusion cuisine. They cook it just the way they do it at home. For whom? For the handful of their expat compatriots? Yes; them and everyone else.

As for us Pinoys, we lap it up because having muesli for breakfast or penne arrabiata for dinner is as exotic as the island itself. You won't find it in your corner-street in Manila. I bet you'd rather have bulgogi than bulalo, or eggplant parmigiana than tortang talong anytime you're in Boracay- all because you're on vacation. V-a-c-a-t-i-o-n. And if I was there, I'd do it to. We don't feast on it in Manila, so finding it cheap in Boracay and at such array is a unique experience. You can have a French breakfast, Greek lunch and Korean dinner every night. For some, it's more unique to have a lassi drink than a mango shake. Truly, it's more of an "experience" than your usual Pinoy fare. But that's a case-to-case basis. I like Japanese cuisine, but I'd rather eat it in a Japanese restaurant in Manila than in a pseudo-Bali Hai open beach restaurant where the decors are from Kalibo and the wasabi flown in from Tokyo. But some will digress.

The pointless point here is this: Why dish out foreign cuisine when your ingredients cannot be sourced easily? Why do foreigners eat the same food they make at home, when the purpose of a vacation is to get away from it all? It's like a Filipino who went to Paris and ended up eating adobo and sinigang by the Seine. Why cook it for a population that's over two-thirds local tourists? Pasalamat na lang sila na sanay ang lasang Pinoy sa foreign dishes like bratwurst (mmm tastes like Swift hotdog), meusli (mmm tastes like pinipig), crepes (mmm tastes like lumpia wrapper), vichyssoise (mmm tastes like Knorr sopas), or sashimi (mmm tastes hilaw!)

2. Many tourists are not interested in our culinary culture. They try some native dishes for a night or sample the local drinks for the "experience", but after the novelty wears off, their tongue forces them to revert back to their home cuisine. That is why you'll see hordes of grungy unwashed backpackers wolfing down waffles during the day and Korean lemmings gorging on kimchi (a winter dish) in the middle of summer. Whatever makes them happy (and open their wallets) is fine by me. As long they're spending their budget on the local economy, expat and otherwise, it's as good as them eating our native dishes. I just hope our food is the main come-on, and not their home cuisine. If you compare this to Kho Phi Phi in Thailand, many of the restaurants there serve Thai cuisine with a few continental dishes interspered in their menu. It's a rarity to see an establishment there solely selling Greek, British or Korean cuisine. That's to show how respected their foods are, so much so that foreigners just shut up and eat Pad Thai rather than whine about the lack of Blueberry waffles. Here, we prostitute ourselves too much and everyone's oblivious to it.

Our restaurant is famous for its delicious food of original salads, succulent
paninis, oversized sandwiches, crusty pizza, creamy risotto, famous pastas,
day-fresh seafood and tender and tasty steaks. This season, our Chef is cooking some original food specials: Fresh Goose Liver (Foie Gras), Duck Breast (Magret de Canard), Ostrich Steak, Lamb Shank, Sea Bass and Chicken roulade.
-Blurb from Friday's Boracay Website

Ahhhh..... I rest my case. Oy waiter! I'll have some foie gras and champagne to go with my sinigang!