Only In Bacolod 1

In one of the netforums, my debate on the my beloved hometown Bacolod went like this:

Isn't it awkward when you enter a restaurant all heads turn to you because everyone's brains are scanning their who's who registry as to who this person is? And when someone recognizes you, you go to their table and do the aristorcratic routine of exchanging pleasantries. "Uuuyy.. amiga, maniaga ka di? Sino upod mo??" Beso. Beso. or "Migs! Kaon ka upod sa amon!" That's why it's acutely embarrassing to eat alone in Bacolod cuz people around you are speculating what's wrong with you.

Isn't it funny that even with the nice sidewalks and near accessibility of everything in Bacolod, people still prefer to ride their cars or the jeepneys? It's as if people are embarrassed to be seen walking down North Drive or Lacson. Perhaps we're afraid that a car will stop by, its windows drawn down wherby your classmate will say, "Nagalakat ka haw? Waay salakyan? Upod ka na lang!" Sige nga, tell me if you have strolled the sidewalks of uptown Bacolod! (nevermind downtown)

There's no argument about the cleanliness and the infrastructures of Bacolod. These are static features, unlike Bacolenos who can either be a blessing or a curse. We're like a two-sided coin that if you attend our aristocratic soirees and inumans, then you'll be on our good graces, but if you've made a huge scandal or social faux pas, you'll have to expect the full brunt of humiliation. Not true? Well, tell that to the rich girl who was in Bacolod scandal where everywhere she went, she can hear people murmuring "Namit gid!" (her line in the sex scandal) Do I need to say more?

Then, some of the comments that followed were: (names altered)

C: hahaha...i find it very true...especially that beso-beso thing in a restaurant...

D: I eat out at least once a day and most times I eat alone either at Bob's, Pendy's, or some other restaurant. I don't mind eating out and I don't mind if they look at me for a minute. It all depends on you, whether you will allow other people to get to you. I also walked a lot to and from school. In fact, I'd rather walk if my car is being fixed than take a jeepney. I don't mind walking. It doesn't mean I'm any less than anyone else. And I'm not aware of people stopping to say condescending things. In fact I don't find anything wrong with "Nagalakat ka haw? Waay salakyan? Upod ka na lang!". In fact I do stop in the proper manner if I find a classmate on the street - except for smokers that is - because I would rather share my ride with them. I think it is indeed a good thing for people to be mindful of how everybody else is behaving just so that everybody would behave well. In fact I find Bacolenos to be better behaved than the rest of the country. The only Bacolenos that complain of Bacolod's "small town mentality" are those who have committed a "social faux pas". Bacolod is indeed a competitive society - which is good for keeping everybody in their proper and best behaviour. As for that lady, it was her fault in the first place.

The reason why I have a hard time finding Filipino friends where I'm at because most of the Tagalogs here are so ill-mannered. Last Christmas, I invited some of my colleagues to a Christmas presentation at church and I found their behaviour very, very, very, embarrassing. One grabbed a British kid just so he could have a picture taken with Westerners... he could have simply asked in a nice way and I'm sure the kid would have agreed. The other started asking a South African how much his salary was...another sign of ill-breeding. Still another brought home some church property as a souvenir.

C: I think (the author) only wants to point out how the "lower-class" would think about the "snobbish", the "elegance", the "fine" manners and attitude of bacolod's high society...

D: I don't think it is the lower class that would be complaining of the "small town mentality" of Bacolod. I think, that those who had been behaving badly are the ones who are complaining about the "gossipy titas" and hypocrisy that they think pervades Bacolod's society. I only know of two people who are complaining about this - also because of their own fault. One grew up in Manila and behaved differently - earning the ire of close relatives. The other, dated too many women that people started talking about him. My lower midddle class friends have no complaints as they have a different set of friends. But even then, because they do have a few upper class friends, they have learned to behave properly.

So I said:

I'm not arguing about the social ignorance of other Filipinos. I can't comment on the upbringing of Tagalogs or Cebuanos, but I'm sure they're raised in the best and decent way possible. Most Bacolenos are indeed well versed in the "oro plata mata" style of delikadesa and propriety. Kiss your tita-tits, I tell you! The lower middle class cannot break into the social glass ceiling imposed by the rich, that's why they don't have hang-ups with the everyones who's who registry, family trees, and social faux pas. For instance:

Rich boy: (Castilian accent) Mama! I'm going out with some friends to a party tonight at Bar21.
Rich mother: (Bastardized Basque accent) Really hijo? Who are you going with?
Rich boy: Ah, with my classmates Carlo and Paolo.
Rich mother: Do I know them hijo?
Rich boy: Umm... I think so. Carlo is the only son of Agustino Valdezayco and his mom is Felicita, you know the consultant at PNB.
Rich mother: Ah yes hijo! Now I know. She's the cousin of my good amiga, Meredith Gastolacson. I should invite her to play mahjong soon. How about Paolo? Who's child is he?
Rich boy: He's the son of Mr. and Mrs. Taculing.
Rich mother: (blank stare for 10 seconds) ahhh... really now. His dad works where?
Rich boy: His dad is a college professor at LCC, architecture I think. His mom works in city hall.
Rich mother: (another 10 seconds of stupefid look) ahhhh.... I see. Well then, don't be late, hijo. Oh, don't forget you have an afternoon flight tomorrow to Brussels for your CISV trip!

"The other, dated too many women that people started talking about him." I'm sure the whole city too.

As to your wonderful hypothesis that only those who have incurred social debts and faux pas are the ones who complain, don't you also mean that those bacolodnons who are regulars in Bar21, North and other watering holes of the la buena familias who always burn their elbows from partying don't have any problems at all? I'm sure the comments they hear are: "How's your papa, hijo? Has your tita soledad arrived from Europe?" or "Pre, kadto ta sa punong ni tito Z, may clan reunion!" ( Pare, let's go to the prawnfarm of uncle Z cuz we have a clan reunion!") and never "Ay! Ara ang bata ni X. Amo na sya ang nagso-and-so kay Y. Merece!!" (Oh! There's the child of X. He's the one who did kwan to Y. He deserves it!)

For instance:
Two amigas eating in Bob's Restaurant...
Amiga 1: (whispering) Huy Soling! Look who just came in! (Lips pursed while pointing to the direction of the door)
Amiga 2: (whispering) OMG. It's Diego! He must have snucked in from LA. No one told me that he'll be arriving today.
Amiga 1: Me neither. ... (Blanching!) Look! He saw us! He's coming this way!
Amiga 2: Ok. Let me handle this.
Diego: Oh, hello tita Carmen. Tita Soling. It has been a while since I've seen you two. I just arrived in Bacolod. (Beso-beso)
Amiga 2: (fanning herself) Oh! ha-ha-ha Diego. Nice to see you again. How's things in LA?
Diego: Oh it was fine. My skin treatment in LA went well. Dad knew of a specialist who deals with this, and he's great. Anyway, twas nice to see you both in good health. I'll leave you two, I'll just say hi to my cousins at the other booth.
Amiga 2: Ok hijo. Oh, do come and visit us this Friday. Bring your cousin Pilar too. I have something to give her then. (Diego sauntered off to the other booth)
Amiga 1: (whispering harshly) OMG! His skin, his albino skin hasn't improved a bit. It's a pity that with all his pork-gotten money Cong. Monivilla wasn't able to cure it here and had to send him to LA.
Amiga 2: Hmmph! (fan closed abruptly.) Let me tell you something. Ruel (Monivilla) sent that boy to LA not to have a skin treatment, but because he discovered the boy had an affair with their driver! (triumphant look)
Amiga 1: (shocked look) Dios de mi alma! Are the rumors true that Diego prefers the other side then?
Amiga 2: My lips are sealed amiga. You think what you want to think. If my husband was in politics though, I'll make sure to keep any dirt as far away as possible. C'mon, let's get the chit and go to Melinda's house. She'll get a kick when she finds out who we saw at Bob's!
Amiga 1: Oh yes! I'll call call Lourdes too. At least there's something fun going on in Bacolod other than to hear about utangs ni X or querida ni Y.

As they would say, "Familiarity breeds contempt" and with Bacolenos penchant to be familiar with everybody's affairs, we are indeed a contemptible lot. My point is this: Bacolod is such a small town that everyone's family tree (bastard or not) is known, every utang is exposed, every ugliness is noticed and every mistake is amplified through the social grape vine. It's insidious and embarrassing. What your tita-tits tell in front of you may not be the one she tells to her amigas. It may not apply to you but I have seen during my stay some people being talked about because of their mistakes right in the middle of Bob's or Calea. Then, how can one redeem his-/herself in this society? As for the girl in the sex scandal, she did what she thought was best for her: to ditch Bacolod for Manila. Good for her!

Sometimes, I feel it's better to go and live in Manila just to appreciate the fact that you can go to Glorietta without bumping anyone, or go to Rob with your special someone without a relative accosting you to divulge your friend's biodata, even going to malls na nakatsinelas. In bacolod, everyone dresses up to sevens just to watch a movie!!! Jus go to Rob and see people in their sunday's best bedecked with brillantes that can blind you. "La mona en seda, mona secada." But I have to admit, people in Negros have style and knows how to carry themselves.

But ultimately, it's always nice to go back to Bacolod and spend vacation there. Only vacation. and maybe retirement. Life is so good in Negros and much better than Manila. Even I have some bad quips about my hometown, I'll still go back and live there.

Cornball Review

A good friend brought some caramel corn last week. It looked like one of those US made gourment popcorns heaped into a tub. Well, the label says "Chef Tony's Popcorn", a product that is not available in any supermarket from my experience, so it seemed that my friend sourced this somewhere else.

I opened the tub and corn greeted me with its golden sheen of fine uncoagulated caramel. It has to be gourmet. Each kernel was distinct and entirely coated with a thin layer of goodness. Far from the commericalized cousins like Fiddle Faddle, Peacock, Goldilocks and Nuts'n'Pops, Chef Tony's is in a class by itself. I did not see clumps of corn sticking to each other.

I took half a handful and popped several into my mouth. The taste was sweet as one would expect with caramel, but not so sweet that it would make your head spin. Since there was no globs of hardened caramel jutting from the corn, I did not have the usual experience on crunching on sugar, which was a relief I tell you. As my tastebuds got acquainted with the flavors, a blast of saltiness shot from the corn and melded into the caramel producing a very unique experience. The taste was like that of kettle corn but with more body and character. After the coating has disappeared, the kernel practically melted in my tongue leaving a soft buttery taste. My glands went overdrive as the salivary floodgates were opened and gushed into my palate. Pure bliss.

I wasn't able to resist popping another batch into my already anticipating maw. The weird thing was, I was fast becoming addicted to it with my mind saying, "just one more bite won't hurt." After watching my daily dose of MadTV, the bucket was nearly halfway through. I didn't know I had been eating the damn thing non-stop for 30 minutes. Oh, well.

The label did not indicate that this popcorn can be highly addictive! As I looked more closely, there was a phone number for customers who would like bulk orders. It had to be toll free in the US. I thought,"Hey, wait a minute. The number starts with 0917?? Isn't this a Globe number?" It was. And "Chef Tony's" is a local product! Yahoo! After a while, I called the source and they happily provided me with the info on where to buy the stuff, and that means more happy days to come.

You can contact Chef Tony's at 0917-500-CORN.

The Smile

The smile that escaped her withered lips
forced up by miseries untold
quivered slightly as my eyes unveiled
her wrinkled lips cracked from the cold.

God Of Small Things

'No one can deny the fact of Evil,' said the philosopher, sententiously. 'Now, if God cannot prevent Evil he is not all-powerful, and if he can prevent it and will not, he is not all-good.'
-W. Somerset Maugham, The Judgement Seat

Right in the heart of Makati's Ayala avenue, an accountant crossed the road and met his maker. His brains splattered like pink tofu on the asphalt road while his cranium became flat from impact. A bus near him did the job. Near the corpse were people gawking at the spectacle thinking that they could be in his place right now.

Some may ask "where is God in all this?"

I believe God is still there. He may not like what happened or how it happened but he knew that this had to happen. If he indeed had intervened, then, where is free will? We may as well become chess pieces being moved around the chessboard by a divine hand. It's the same free will God gave to Adam & Eve when they disobeyed and took a bite from the forbidden fruit. Same applies here. Because of man's free will that he chooses evil, he then must suffer its consequences. From his choices will spring forth sin- in this case, murder. The bus driver may have chosen to drive recklessly (for whatever reason I don't know) and because of that, he hit the guy. Or the guy may have chosen to make the run for it and because of that, he became a roadkilled flat "cat". This might explain why we have wars, genocide, rape, theft, and all the horrible things. It's because of man's doing that everything goes wrong. His choice to sin causes undue loss and suffering amongst its victims. That's what sucks the most. And that's why Christ encourages us to forgive and to repent.

Poverty, as an example, is suffering... and this is caused by the sins of those who have more. The unequal distribution of wealth and lack of welfare (government), greed and apathy (society), and sloth (self) are reasons why poverty continues to exist. People who, out of free will, chose not to give (sin of omission) a part of their wealth, talent or time to those who have less remains the main cause of poverty.

So, I blame the Holy Mother Church for being such a lameduck institution. If they force people to give more (not because of charity but because of necessity) and remind them that it is their duty to help carry the cross of their brethren, then poverty may be wiped out. But what the Church emphasizes more is for the poor to bear their sufferings like martyrs all for the promise of a Lazarus-like redemption. It's like saying that there's no hope for the poor to find heaven here on earth, and that they may as well prepare for the heaven that is to come. For me, that's a load of bull. Fortunately, there are lots of religious and lay workers who try to combat this suffering through livelihood projects and education. A couple of them are the Virlanie Foundation (by Dominique Lemay) , ERDA by (Fr. Pierre Tritz.) Another is the Gawad Kalinga by Couples for Christ, and the Bacolod Boys Home (by Bro. Gratian Murray.) Charity is always good, but education is best.

As for natural disasters to befall on man, he is just at the wrong place at the wrong time. Take for example Mt. St. Helens: people knew it was going to erupt sooner or later but they still chose to ignore the warning and continued to live there. When indeed the volcano erupted, they were all killed. Now, whose fault was that? God's? I don't think so! As for Guinsaugon, people returned to an already dangerous village.

What about miracles? It really depends on what angle you're looking at. A skeptic won't believe it but the faithful won't deny it. If it is indeed a miracle and say, God answered your prayers, then can you say that God indeed intervened? For me, He may have indeed intervened because He knows this will help you go closer to Him. His intervention may be interpreted as his love but it's more because of his generosity. Remember the parable of the workers of the vineyard where Christ gave the same wage to the workers who He hired at different times? It shows how generous He is. But if He didn't answer your prayers, that only means his answer is "No." (That's why people would say, 'it's not meant for me.') My religion teacher once said that God answers prayers in three ways: He either answers right away, or makes you wait for some time, or He gives you a better one. I'm sure God's answer to the man whose brains were splattered in the road is still a mystery to me. I can't honestly say that He gave a better answer either. Well, God moves in mysterious ways.

Rejected Titles of Brokeback Mountain

"Hey, just a week to go until Elton John's wedding. You know where Elton's
honeymooning? Brokeback Mountain." -Jay Leno

Garbageman Johnnie Smith found inside a trashcan of Annie Proulx's suburban home an alleged list of rejected titles of her seminal novella, Brokeback Mountain. Prior to its publication, Annie was rumored to have a very difficult time naming her story with the author engaging in back-breaking mental search. This was the partial list recovered:

Bore Ass Mountain?
Broke Ass Mountain
Broke His Back Mountin'
Bareback Mounting
Bareback Mountain
Brokeback Mountain...

Let me know if you've found the rest of the titles & I'll be glad to post it!

I Say 1081, You Say 1017

Now boys and girls, can you spot the difference??

PROCLAMATION 1081
NOW, THEREFORE, I, FERDINAND E. MARCOS, President of the Philippines, by virtue of the powers vested upon me by Article VII, Section 10, Paragraph ('2) of the Constitution, do hereby place the entire Philippines as defined in Article I, Section 1 of the Constitution under martial law and, in my capacity as their commander-in-chief, do hereby command the armed forces of the Philippines, to maintain law and order throughout the Philippines, prevent or suppress all forms of lawless violence as well as any act of insurrection or rebellion and to enforce obedience to all the laws and decrees, orders and regulations promulgated by me personally or upon my direction.


PROCLAMATION 1017
NOW, THEREFORE, I Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo, President of the Republic of the Philippines and Commander-in-Chief of the Armed Forces of the Philippines, by virtue of the powers vested upon me by Section 18, Article 7 of the Philippine Constitution which states that: “ The President…whenever it becomes necessary,…may call out (the) armed forces to prevent or suppress…rebellion…, “ and in my capacity as their Commander-in-Chief, do hereby command the Armed Forces of the Philippines, to maintain law and order throughout the Philippines, prevent or suppress all forms of lawless violence as well any act of insurrection or rebellion and to enforce obedience to all the laws and to all decrees, orders and regulations promulgated by me personally or upon my direction; and as provided in Section 17, Article 12 of the Constitution do hereby declare a State of National Emergency.

Poems of Angela Manalang Gloria

Through life, I have never been a poem-lover so to speak. The only ones I've appreciated are those by authors who wrote classical and lyrical poems- the ones that are strict with the meters, the rhymes and so forth. I enjoy my poems structured, because it represent order and talent. It's like comparing Picasso and Rembrandt on the merits of their technical acumen to which I am biased towards the latter. My only idols in this genre are: Edgar Allan Poe, Rudyard Kipling, and Jose Rizal. Now, I shall add to the list the illustrious Angela Manalang Gloria (1915 - 1996).

Her poems are almost song-like but full of wit and wisdom. Since she was a feminist during the colonial years, her works are centered mostly from a woman's point of view. Even that is such the case, her talent resonates in everyone who reads them. Her biography can be read here in PinoyLit.

I have collected her hard-to-come-by poems floating in the net because hers are quite rare to find. She has only published one book called Poems (1940) and it's out of stock. So, sit back and enjoy some of her better known ouerves.

Old Maid Walking on a City Street* (1950)

She had a way of walking through concupiscence
And past the graces her fingers never twirled:
Because her mind refused the heavy burden,
Her broad feet shovelled up the world.

Querida* (1940)

The door is closed, the curtains drawn within
One room, a brilliant question mark of light...
Outside her gate an empty limousine
Waits in the brimming emptiness of night.

Revolt From Hymen** (1940)

O to be free at last, to sleep at last
As infants sleep within the womb of rest!

To stir and stirring find no blackness vast
With passion weighted down upon the breast,

To turn the face this way and that and feel
No kisses festering on it like sores,

To be alone at last, broken the seal
That marks the flesh no better than a whore's!

Any Woman Speaks*** (1940)

Half of the world's true glamour
Is held--you know by whom?
Not by the gilt Four Hundred
Parading in perfume,

Nor by the silvered meteors
That light the celluloid sky--
But by these eyes that called you,
Blind fool who passed me by!

Ermita in the Rain*** (1940)

It is not the rain that wanly
Sobs its tale across the bay,
Not the sobs of lone acacias
Trembling darkly in the gray,

Not the groans of harried breakers
Flinging tatters on the shore,
But the phantom of your voice that
Stays me dreaming at my door.

Soledad*** (1940)

It was a sacrilege, the neighbors cried,
The way she shattered every mullioned pane
To let a firebrand in. They tried in vain
To understand how one so carved from pride
And glassed in dream could have so flung aside
Her graven days, or why she dared profane
The bread and wine of life for some insane
Moment with him. The scandal never died.

But no one guessed that loveliness would claim
Her soul's cathedral burned by his desires
Or that he left her aureoled in flame…
And seeing nothing but her blackened spires,
The town condemned this girl who loved too well
and found her heaven in the depths of hell.

Words*** (1940)

I never meant the words I said,
So trouble not your honest head
And never mean the words I write,
But come and kiss me now goodnight.

The words I said break with the thunder
Of billows surging into spray:
Unfathomed depths withhold the wonder
Of all the words I never say.

Cementerio del Norte****
To the memory of Consuelo

And so, it all must come to this—a dying afternoon,
Thin cerements of rain around the forlorn ghost of weeping,
White tombs so desolately splendid, a priestly monotone
Drifting in sacramental grace, and then—the final sleeping.

What else is there to say? (The last word has been said too soon
For you and all the golden hopes once minted for your keeping)
White tombs so desolately splendid, bone unto alien bone,
What else is there to say, now that the sleepless dead are sleeping?

Sources:
* Missives from the Teacher
** Babaylan Speaks
*** Best Philippine Short Stories Index
**** Oovrag.com

Word of the Day: Wowowee

Wowowee: /ooa'ooa'ooee!!!/
verb. To incur undue physical injury due to greed and desperation.

e.g.
1. Tuloy na-wowowee ang mga tumakas na mga snatchers nang masagasaan sila ng jeep.
2. Si Congressman Sipsip ay winowowee ng kanyang querida pagkatapos niya sinara ang joint bank account nito.
3. Sana makikita mo magwowoweehan ang mga contestants sa Pinoy Big Brother 2.

What's Up Mohammed?

From the Study of Revenge Blog

When the Danish newspaper, Jyllands Posten, published the 12 caricatures satirizing the prophet Mohammed, it unleashed an unbridled fury over the Muslim world condemning the Danish blasphemy. The reason why they published it is because they wanted artists to show that they don't have to be afraid in illustrating sensitive Islamic themes like Allah and Mohammed. Norwegian, French, German, and Spanish newspapers followed suit and reprinted the or or two of the caricatures sparking a domino effect of hate across the Middle East. Of course, the Danes took the brunt.

The European alliance of journalists rallied around their kin proclaiming that secular and democratic societies (like Denmark) have freedom of expression and according to a German newspaper, "the right to blaspheme". While it is true that western journalists bank on this statute, they did not foresee the backlash their cartoons would unleash. They should have been more circumspect and sensitive to Muslim sentiments because they're targeting a people whose religion has been fanaticized and radicalized into Medieval zealotry.

And do Muslim zealots, moderate or extreme, respect "all" forms of free expression? No. They are acutely sensitive towards Western criticism and anything that ridicules them, they immediately give a knee-jerk reaction. And criticizing Mohammed may have been their "Jollibee" (see preceding entry) of some sort. If the Danes caricatured the Pope or Jesus, can we expect people joining rallies? No. It's because the enlightened West has separated the issue between Church and State, and has the wisdom to protect the rights of man. L' Droit d' Homme! However, if one goes to repressive states such as Saudi Arabia where women are treated a little better than cattle, how can we expect them to respect the freedom of the press, much less the freedom of self-expression? It's only natural to see such mobocratic rhetorics inciting to jihad to come from repressed rogue countries. The Europeans should have known better.



What I find disturbing is the fact that the current Islamic interpretation of the Quran "espouses" violence and annihilation as a form of retaliation towards any religious criticism. It is all an "appeal to force" as the fallacy of Ad Baculum would say. With such a Muslim line of argument, how can one then, diplomatically rebut? I'm not sure if words would be enough in quelling the anger of the insulted. And Denmark and Norway have already apologized (reluctantly) for their actions but still, the rage goes on.

The contention here being that it is supposedly blasphemous to depict Allah and his prophet in any form of illustration because it will lead them to idolatry. Huh??? They why don't they look at their own historical manuscripts again and see how the Persians and the Ottomans have handily drawn Mohammed. Why was there no complaint over them? Then why don't they burn them first before rallying against the West? It smells a bit of double-standard, don't you think?

Borrowed from Mohammed Image Archive

In the name of Allah the merciful, can we just get along?

Ugly Americans

You ought go and read author Pamela Ribon's blog entry where she insulted Jollibee to a pulp. Well, what do you expect from Ugly Americans?!?! The way she talked about how terrible the spaghetti or the pearl shakes are speaks volume about our gastronomic culture and dignity as Filipinos. It's like saying how can we have the shame and dignity to eat these foods when Caucasian mongrels like Pam think of it as dung-hill craps. Not because I find her opinions far more important than ours, but because she thinks our food (uhh... hotdogs in our sweet spaghetti) is so anomalous that it ranks as one of the most least desired cuisine on earth.

Pam's quotable quotes:

Two girls with Texas educations that we were, my favorite part about our experience was when we wandered in pondering, "Where is Manila?" "I don't know, but they make awesome folders."

"This all tastes exactly like school cafeteria food."

When eating a yumburger:
Meanwhile, Ty was staring at her Yumburger. "This isn't something we can eat," she says. "There's a pink...sauce... and it's pink?"

"It's like Wendy's took all the goo that comes out of their burgers when they're done cooking them, pressed that down into a mold, froze it in a patty shape, and exported it to the Philippines, where they put it between some bread, put pink sauce on it and sent it back here."

The last straw, for me, was the banana langka pie. It doesn't taste like banana, nor pie. It tastes like burned pineapple butter on stale bread crust. With some kind of membrane in it.

For shame you ugly Americans!!

Tell how you love her article at the forum area where about 30 or more pages of pure scathing insults of unbridled vitriol are being hurled at the American author. Can't say she's James Frey though.

Ayoko Na!

My brain is currently in a fizz after another round of review. ahhhh.... boards.... coffee? nahhh... sleep? yeah yeah gimme some.... ahhhh.... ok page ano na ba? hmmm.... here... fizz fizz fizz.... zzzzzt.

Joke! Joke! Joke!

The following is a brief exchange between a reporter and the DeGaulles at a dinner honoring Gen. DeGaulle's retirement:

Dorothy Macmillan: "What are you looking forward to now?"

Madame DeGaulle: "A penis."

(stunned silence)

Gen. DeGaulle: "My dear, I think the English don't pronounce the word quite like that. It's not 'a penis' but 'appiness.'"

Signs of the Times

These were borrowed from a German site showing how "progressive" Talisaynons really are...

Uhhh... isn't that a dead given? Where the heck do you think the hands should be? Somewhere else besides the steering wheel I wonder? And the eyes? I don't presume the endless expanse of sugarcane fields provide the distraction, or is it something else?

This one cracks me up. You can bet your hiney that the first ones to land in jail is the driver of their ambulance. Lee Kwan Yew it aint. But if you drive moderately, you can have the best of both worlds: to see the city, then go to jail.

I guess there are elbow snatchers around Talisay city. "Oooh, don't stick it out sonny, 'cuz it's gonna get stolen by the Talisay elbow snatchers!" And how far do the officials think one's elbow will go out of the car? Should it not be "Don't stick your arm out?" So, if its someone's behind that's sticking out of the window, does it mean it will go home in another car?

Filmfest Poem

(A tribute to the ongoing Manila filmest currently being shown in all theaters.)

Oh, Misfortune!

by Julsitos

Oh, what misfortune we have wrought

to see such films in wide array-

bereft of wisdom, lack of thought,

a show of splendor in decay.

Our peoples' souls are penned in blood,

our story fills the thickest book,

and in our tongues the fire of God

breathes in films no maker took.

For such I cannot clap and praise

to watch moronic drivel pass,

These lemons do deserve a place-

deep inside the film-makers ass.

Five X'mas Gifts for Your Stepdad

1. Prime Real Estate
Nothing is good for your stepdad but the most expensive piece of real estate there is. Such love for him means that what you'll get is far more upscale than a lot in Forbes Park or Alabang. Think of rolling hills with crisp morning air, lots of cypress trees, bermuda grass all around and a church nearby. There is no loud music, no noxious traffic fumes, but there is a 24hour security for your safety. What better place to give your leech of a step dad but a nice niche inside Rolling Hills memorial park.

2. An Exotic Beach Vacation
Your stepfather deserves all the rest and recreation he can muster after ingratiating his slimy tentacles in your family tree. He needs the sun, white sand beaches and turquoise waters of a tropical island, where the natives massage his back with coconut oil. Why don't you give him a one-way ticket to one of the world's most pristine tropical isle in the South Pacific: Bikini Atoll. Site of the US's first testing of its atomic bombs in a tropical atoll, Bikini Atoll offers your stepdad unlimited supply of UV and gamma rays for quick and easy tanning, friendly islanders who love the taste of fresh meat and ownership of undiscovered aquatic species like the three-eyed barracuda. He will have the sole privilege of reliving the life of Alexander Selkirk (the real Robinson Crusoe) sans Friday or the Internet. Or die trying.

3. Full Treatment Massage
For all the stress your spineless stepfather has wrought upon himself and your family, surely, he needs one hell of a good massage to soothen his nerves when he finds out that he is persona non grata with you, your family's servants, your relatives and everyone of consequence. Wouldn't it be Christian for you to offer him one day full body massage at a local spa? He would be indebted for your mercy when he realizes that his masseur is a 300 lbs. on-parole gay wrestler named Igor.

4. Trip to Enchanted Kingdom
It would be great quality time for you and your new stepdad to bond with each other with new fun activities like going to theme parks such as Enchanted Kingdom. It will be just like your old dad. You can go on the Viking Ship or the Ferris wheel or the Tunnel of Love. Better yet, have your new dad test their scariest rollercoaster ride first before joining him. Just make sure to pay extra to the controller to have the ride go on for at least a hundred times. Or you can go with him at the Splash mountain ride whereupon at the point of no return, snap free his seatbelt so he can enjoy the fun of going overboard midair at 100 feet above ground.

5. Bottle of Johnny Walker Whiskey.
One way of showing how much you have accepted your new daddy, buy him a 750cl. bottle of Johnny Walker whiskey or even Remy Martin cognac. Before doing so, get a syringe and fill it with cyanide, and mix it with his drink as you are to serve him in a symbolic gesture of acknowleging his authority over you. That is, for an hour or two, whereupon his lifeless body has slumped on the floor to which you attribute it to too much drink. Taking into account the beautiful state of forensic science in the provinces, it would probably take ten lifetimes to know the real cause of death of your new love one. Pity.

Posters for Sale

I hope I can entreat you guys to visit my other site where from time to time I shall post items for sale.

Jules' Garage Sale: http://newseller.blogspot.com/

Present sale items: Hollywood Movie Posters

Amazing Thailand 2

Chatuchak

When you're in Thailand, make sure you reserve one weekend for the Chatuchak Weekend Market. It's on Saturdays and Sundays only that this great shopping trip transpires.

The market itself is an overcrowded, overwrought open-air emporium similar to a Turkish bazaar where the heat and humdity eats you whole, where the people speak in a language way far stranger than Malay, where the aromas of spiced meats, curried stews, grilled satays, basil, chilies, lemon grass, ginger, and cardamom mix in with sweat, teakwood, sandalwood, dust, paper and mildew.

The multinational crowds who descend on Chatuchak are immense- foreigners haggling in pidgin English for bronze buddhas while Thai merchants calculate the price on their calculators, young Thais eating hot meat curries, Tom Yum Goong, or noodles al fresco amid the chaos, Asian tourists sampling the different Thai snacks being sold along alleyways, or families looking harrassed with all the plastic bags they're carrying.

It's a place that has something for everyone. And the pleasure is in the hunt. There are lots of hard dealing and bargaining since what you see in one stall, you will also find in the next. So haggling is a must. My sister, whose haggling acumen is excellent, managed to buy bronze Buddha heads for a B100. I bought good after-sports shoes there for B350. But most of the artifacts scattered are reproductions especially made for the tourist trade or for cheap home furnishings. The real antiques in Chatuchak have also "antique" prices. Thais know the real McCoy. It's the tourists who are in a bind which is real or not.

Apart from antiques, home furnishings cram many aisles in Chatuchak. From oriental umbrellas, to teakwood stools and trays, to incense paraphernalia, to silk pillowcases with elephantine designs, to cheap trinkets, and to lamps, the place is the ultimate homeowner's paradise. One can get lost among the goods and one's wallet can ultimately become thin before the day is over. Even though the heat is stifling, the urge is there to scour the entire complex for bargains galore. It's surprising that no one gets heat stroke there.

Also, there are souvenir shirts, leather sandals, stylish dresses, and knock-off pants. They have brands that are uniquely Chatuchak. It's like a factory outlet crossed with Ukay-ukay. Besides the garments, there are toys, used books, Thai magazines, and other what-nots. Chatuchak is their version of Divisoria. The nice thing though, Chatuchak is very well organized, the people polite, the smells exotic and there's just so much to discover- unlike the monochromatic and Somalia-like stalls we have in Divisoria. While they have ample room to brisk through their wares, we have to struggle with shoulders and vendors that eat up the alleys. Oh well.

And if you're a Filipino shopping in Chatuchak, the salesladies usually speak to you in Thai thinking you're a native. Flattering but not an advantage for us because we surely can't understand what they're ululating about. But it's only when you tell them to speak in English that they shake their heads and apologize quickly. They then turn to that touristy pidgin English hoping to lure your for another buy. Of course, the only language they undestand is the language of my fingers tapping the calculator and shoving it in their faces. But thankfully, almost all understand a smattering of English, so we were able to bargain well.

Chatuchak.... shopper's paradise. When in Bangkok, don't miss it.

The Kite Runner

The novel, The Kite Runner (2003) by Khaled Hosseini is perhaps one of the best fiction novels to come out of the US in the last five years. It's amazing to think that this is the debut novel of a Bay Area doctor. It's haunting and the memory of the heart-wrenching story remains with the reader even after the last page has been put down. To quote a fellow blogger who reviewed it, the Kite Runner "sucks you in, chews your insides, and spits you out after." Highly, highly recommended!

I hate dishing out synopsis for the fact that many others have been writing them and regurgitating them again and again. So here's the jist from Amazon.com written by Gisele Toueg:

The Kite Runner follows the story of Amir, the privileged son of a wealthy businessman in Kabul, and Hassan, the son of Amir's father's servant. As children in the relatively stable Afghanistan of the early 1970s, the boys are inseparable. They spend idyllic days running kites and telling stories of mystical places and powerful warriors until an unspeakable event changes the nature of their relationship forever, and eventually cements their bond in ways neither boy could have ever predicted. Even after Amir and his father flee to America, Amir remains haunted by his cowardly actions and disloyalty. In part, it is these demons and the sometimes impossible quest for forgiveness that bring him back to his war-torn native land after it comes under Taliban rule. ("...I wondered if that was how forgiveness budded, not with the fanfare of epiphany, but with pain gathering its things, packing up, and slipping away unannounced in the middle of the night.")

The novel is both educational (in the sense that it brings to light in clear and simple terms the nuances of Afghani life, honor, prejudices and customs), and emotional that you will be sucked into the story forgetting that this is fiction and not a memoir. I have learned more about Afghanistan and the Afghan diaspora here than in CNN or BBC. You will learn that Pashtuns look down on Hazaras, that lineage and honor is more valued than money, or the countless food Afghanis eat which is altogether similar to Indian food (kabobs, samosas, tandoori-baked naan bread, etc.)

And this is the first novel that made me cry- most probably because of the parallelism of the fate of Baba's dad with my own. But anyone who reads this will probably cry too. You will feel too the emotional turmoil of Amir, the reserved love of Baba, the braveness of Hassan and the wickedness of Affez. All the characters have been well fleshed out with lots of multilayering and character change. From the insecure yet concerned Amir to his strict yet noble father, Baba, to Amir's friend Hassan whose unwavering loyalty and friendship is unbelievable, and to Farid who at first detests Amir but became his friend in the process. For that alone, you will enjoy the book immensely.

The book rarely used high falluting words or swathes of philosophical reveries just to fill out the pages. Rather, the author created daily experiences and anecdotes so vivid and fresh that one will forget that this is not autobiographical (although Hosseini admitted that many of the experiences are in one way or another was adapted from his own and from his relatives' stories). And Hosseini's description of the Afghanistan of yesteryears is so vivid that one can smell the lamb kebobs wafting along cramped bazaar alleyways or the sweet taste of pomegranates from the sun-drenched hill where Amir and Hassan once played. This is the first book that made me appreciate the richness and gentleness of pre-Taliban Afghanistan.

Now, The Kite Runner has become one of my all-time favorite novels. I hope it will be yours too.

Language 4*/5*
Writing Skill 5*/5*
Flow 5*/5*
Story 3.5*/5*

Amazing Thailand 1

Kho Phi Phi

As of this writing, I am at the famed resort island of Kho Phi Phi, the same one where Leonardo did his movie, The Beach. It was the grace of my sisters to take me with them on their vacation knowing financially I may not able to do so. Nevertheless, I enjoyed going through Thailand discovering what an amaaaaazing country it is.

Phi Phi Island is the Boracay here in Phuket. The sand is powdery fine just like talcum that your feet just sink into a soft cool cover. The waters around the island are turquoise blue that stretches as far as the eyes could see with stone cliff fringes on the sides. Pure paradise.

However, the tsunami that blew over Phuket and Phi Phi has dealt great devastation not only to the environment but also to the brisk tourist trade. The beaches now are clean apart from the destroyed palm trees and some resort walls that jut out of the scene reminding us that such catastrophe really occured.

The tourist trade here never went back to their full capacity. Compared to Boracay, PhiPhi has all the infrastractures just like ours with tiled boardwalks, reggae bars, internet cafes, massage parlors and small resorts. The problem is this: the grungy backpacker crowd just like Leonardo then which made PhiPhi just as wild and partyish like Boracay has dwindled substantially. It's sad that such an island where the people are friendly, accommodating and cooperative would never recover (in the near future) to its past glory. Still, there are backpackers here and caucasian Europeans making up for most of the people here- but not the native Thais. Hope this won't happen to Boracay.

Tomorrow, we fly back to Phuket for a couple of days. Ciao!

My Country's Bride

My Country's Bride
by: Julsitos


Filipinas, Filipinas,
Where art thou, my country’s bride?
Have you gone deep into slumber?
In your shame you do now hide?

For today your children’s ember
has lost their glorious past.
For none shall burn or remember,
in the season of your last.

And where we stand we see her skin
bare and soiled and bleeding,
left with tattered rags, waif-like thin,
her eyes, sunked in, unpleading.

We walked to her, and spoke our grief
our cheeks now wet with tears.
She glanced at us not with relief
but with regret for past arrears.

“What have you done?” she sadly said
bitterness past consoling,
“My house you burned, my seas are dead,
our name is worth to nothing.”

“I gave you much with all the things
that other nations envy,
yet your birth is a curse that brings
nothing but death and folly.”

“Now you see that Fate’s own hand
has turned its wheels on you,
you gnash your teeth, seek to demand
the things I can’t undo.”

“Suffer you must from all you’ve done,
in penance, wisdom springs,
for when the time all this is gone,
plant the seed that future brings.”

“And hope from it, you shall then learn,
that all things have a price,
vow from it never to return,
to ways that we despise.”

We looked at her with disbelief,
for how in sorrow could we cope?
She left something for us to live,
With her final gift called Hope.