Tis the season of flowers. Tis the season when my fair city is teeming with bonnet wearing lowlanders. Tis the season of water shortage. Tis the season of taxi shortage. Tis the season of traffic. Tis Panagbenga.

Panagbenga is an indigenous word for "a season for blossoming". To anyone who speaks Filipino, pagbunga is a close mnemonic. This is the Eleventh (not so sure) celebration of the Baguio Flower Festival.

I slept mostly through the parades of the festival this year (Ain't I a model citizen?) held yesterday and the day before. The whole hassle of elbowing through a crowd, standing for hours on end, just to get a bare glimpse of the dancing headdresses of participants just wasn't enticing this year. Been there, done that.

The first time we organized an entry for the Street Dancing Competition was in 2000. We were in college, and as if school work wasn't hectic enough, an idea out of somewhere blazed into a communal passion to make something worthwhile. Being true to our natures as T-square wielding egotists, we went with a Caryatid theme. I was rummaging through my files for a whole hour before I started this entry and I couldn't find a single digital picture/scan of our entry that year (Batchmates, I need your negatives, posthaste!) Here's the best I can do...


That was taken (too lazy to scan) from our Batchbook. Caryatids are load bearing statues that carry pendentives, roofs, etc. and were evident in Greek Architecture. Form and Function... A basic premise of Architecture. We used up gallons of latex paint... yes! Latex Paint ON our skin. AND we had to walk under the sun for the length of about 15 (sloping) city blocks. Latex paint turned out to be an excellent exfoliant... It can scrape off three layers of skin! Who needs salon chemical peels, right? A gallon of paint costs way cheaper.

We didn't win (Boo-freakin-hoo), But we did get a lot of media buzz and spectators went gaga over us... (Our short lived careers as white British Royal Guards). I still kept this article written by Leonora Paraan-San Agustin:

Panagbenga: It's Getting Better All The Time
... The SLU-College of Architecture's Caryatids was the "spectacle of the parade". Imagine presenting in flesh instead of marble columns the priestesses of the Temple Diana - goddess of the moon and the hunt - carrying the pendentives of the temple in Karyai, Macedonia of the ancient times. This "palabas" of the parade - starkly white, slow disciplined steps, no facial movements - with mythology as the fountainhead of the marble simulation. It is a triumph of thoughtful planning, faithful reproduction of details and cooperative execution. How often do we get these things together in a project like they did? My compliments to the students and faculty of the St. Louis University College of Architecture, who may not have won the first prize but presented a beautiful spectacle...

She goes on to say that one of the judges said that we lacked choreography and flowers. The judge hasn't heard that "less is more"... your run of the mill douchebag.

A year later, in 2001, we reentered with a vengeance. Not to toot our own horns, but we were pioneers. Almost everyone that year started using body paint. To appease the tasteless judges the year before, we used flowers and choreography ad nauseum.


We won. Whoop-dee-freakin-doo!

2003. We entered for the third and final time just for the heck of it. The theme was inspired by Venetian masks and the Brazilian Carnival.


This is Mina, a close friend of mine. She was our face paint "guinea pig". Painting 30 girls' faces was no easy feat. It may not be noticeable from a distance, but knowing how good they look up close makes up for the hours of preparation.


The girls are such troopers. They had non-wind resistant headdresses that made them act like vertical wind vanes and they weigh a ton! (the headdresses, not the girls), they had to do lifts and formations, they had irritating everlasting flowers close to their skin, and they all did this with smiles (usually genuine) on their faces.

We won.

Last year, I was a judge on the Float Competition. A small scale contest similar to the Pasadena Rose Parade. The floats have improved a lot over the years. There were fewer entries that obviously show the outline of the vehicle used. There were more entries that used more creative uses of flowers and what nots. That year, we chose this float as the winner.


And so I've been there and I've done that. I was more eager this year to watch the Oscars than I was to watch the parades.

Happy Panagbenga all (current and former) Baguio residents, and lovers of my city.

Session Road is closed til Sunday. Joy!

Labels: baguio, flashback music please, holidays

It's official. The season has shifted from mild, a-scarf-will-do, thick comforter cold season TO hell freezing over (see: excruciating)

Excruciating (adj.)

1. You require three layers of clothing to prevent your blood from congealing.
2. You require another hour to rise from bed... your nervous system is on holiday.
3. You see smoke from your mouth and you're not holding a Marlboro Light.
4. Despite the meteorological impossibility, you swear you saw snow.
5. You forget where you parked your dogsled.
6. You entertain the idea of hugging... even with complete strangers.
7. Even you're hair is numb, and is perpetually towel dried despite the aid of hairblowers, you're new bestfriend.
8. You're basic necessities are air, water, food and a radiator.
9. The idea of ice cream is blaspemous.
10. You contemplate selling your soul for a one-way ticket to the Caribbean or a pizza furnace, whichever you could afford.
11. You're only vocabulary outdoors include "f"s and "s"s and "brrr"
12. You wanna maim anything resembling Frosty the Snowman.
13. You prefer boiled Coca-cola.
    

Baguio, my city (wanna see the deed?) is set atop a plateau. I've lived here for most of my life and it still amazes me that people during the American occupation literally paved the way to this relatively remote place. The attraction was/is the cool weather due to the elevation. I've never actually seen any but they* say that it was so cold here in Baguio then, that icicles hung on pine trees like tinsel. It's not a big thing compared to people who live farther from the equator... but living in the tropics... people come to see these things.

*They - everyone heard "them" say it but noone seems to know who "they" are.

Global warming has started buying tracts of real estate here, and although the only place you see icicles in are freezers whose regular defrostings have been forgotten, it is STILL very cold here... and the tardy typhoons aren't helping either.

I'm not complaining...

If you'll excuse me, my marshmallows are starting to burn, I've decided to turn all the wooden furniture in my room into kindling. This is gonna be the best bonfire ever! the only problem is where I'm gonna sleep. Meh...



Art Cred:
Melting Snowman



Oh happy day!
Dreamy Tyler and James won the Amazing Race. Ooh la la... It doesn't feel as cold anymore.


Welcoming my new tenant: Blonde Chick Bloggin', Sorry but the heater is kaput. You are however free to burn any flammable thing in the room. Link at the right sidebar... Tell her I sent you.

Labels: baguio, BE tenant, boo-freakin-hoo, holidays, list-o-rama

I am sitting on my bed marveling at my recent purchases. Everybody knows the satisfaction of buying, the power of purchasing, the unparalleled pleasure of trading bills stamped with the faces of heroes and past presidents for things... especially things you don't really need, but want... and even more particularly when they are inexpensive.

I went to three evanescent bazaars this afternoon with my sis, brother-in-law, niece and nephew. The first is an annual Christmas Bazaar at the Brent International School. They raise money for some cause, I've been going to said yuletide sale for four years now and I'm still shady with the details... I come for the merchandise. Christmas tree skirts, gold tinted candlestick holders, reindeer cookie molds, elf outfits for toy poodles... Red, green and glitter all over, it's as if Santa and a couple of multi-sequined drag queens exploded in the auditorium. Technically, these aren't what drag my lazy ass here, it's the little knick knacks hidden among them. Last year I found a complete set of the Narnia Chronicles, which I read like an avid ten year old for the week that followed. This year, I hit the jackpot...


Felix the Coin Purrs Purse
Retail Price: 70 pesos
Real Function: To hold change
Actual Function: To display my age whenever I draw the thing to draw change AND my penchant for monochrome felines. Hmm, hmm... Two birds with one stone! Me likey.

The next pit stop was a weekly sunday garage sale about 5 blocks away near this cool, relocated fifty's themed restaurant with waitresses on rollerskates. A lot of interesting stuff here as well, you just don't know what you'll see on the particular Sunday you go there. And I bought my very first...


Chicky Bank
Retail Price: 20 pesos (Beat that!)
Real Function: To hold savings in coin form
Actual Function: To have a delightful yellow ornament in my room that seems to have hydrocephalus. I know I'm not the only one hoarding 5 and 10 peso coins (I heard it was illegal or something) I've transferred the coins I have from their original container (a sunglass holder), and I've got the thing filled right under its bulbous head.

The last place was PEZA (formerly EPZA, and nope, I don't know the reason for the name change and pretty sure you don't even care... hehe) It's a clothing factory and weeks before the yuletide season they sell turtlenecks and 6 feet scarves and table napkins and what nots. I bought tube socks. *Yawn* Although they did sell some incredibly scrumptious "Chicken Nuggets". Not the frozen chicken fillets in sealed packages they sell in supermarkets, these are the streetfood variety. Basically, breaded chicken intestines. I just might convince a couple of friends to go back there just for them.

In the tri-colored pink (arguably mauve) car on the way back home, my nephew used a toy gun to shoot plunger like ammo that stick to the car windows, my niece bobbed her head feeling the pink dangling earrings swing on her lobes like pendulums, and I hold my coin purse of a washed-up monochrome cat and a ceramic chick with a head larger than its torso... I may be mistaken, but... I think I'm the adult.

Labels: baguio, blah (3x), kids-r-i, quarterlife

I personally go for the two step method, stepping on a balloon with my left foot then popping the now bulbous part of the balloon with my right. Sir Rodel went for the car key method poking at a rate of 1 balloon per second. Ma'am Marie and Tine went for age-old method of sitting on baloons. So why were we popping balloons? Let me trackback...


A BFitcsh called LiWanda
Day 0: Friday Afternoon.
Our call time for all venue preparations for the 15th National Conference of Architects (NCA) was 3 pm. We were welcomed by an ongoing supermarket convention. Thanks to the event coordinator of the CAP Convention Center, Linda, we waited on the boxes we brought until 5. "Linda" apparently gave a two hour extension without informing us, her name became synonimous with a female canine through the extent of the event. So there we were, bored to death with "This Side Up" letterings nearly tattoed on our asses. It was fortunate though that we caught a waning supermarket convention eager to dispose their promos. We had coffee, cheap wine, M&M Kissables, bisected shampoos, and bars of laundry soap. All appeared edible.


Ms. "One-line"
Day 0: Friday Night.
My tasks were relatively easy compared to say erecting scaffolding or coordinating with the caterer. I had the valuable job of organizing conference kits. Whoopee! Nothing is more fulfilling than stuffing a Boysen bag with souvenirs. (Insert forced smile here) The only "danger" involved in this job is papercuts. A number of student auxiliary were assisting me (I miss my capricious college days) We were actually having fun doing this, we had about four hubs of openers, stuffers, closers, and packers. Our efficiency was superb! When we were down to our last 3 boxes, some snot-nosed student auxiliary from "Manila" entered the room we were in and with a sneer said: "Ay sayang mas mabilis sana kung one line" (Too bad, it would have been faster if you did it in one line) then left. It was a hit and run! The daft ingrate became the subject of our insults and unflattering impersonations. Fueled by our loathing for this mutant, we finished the job in no time. Nothing like a wannabe with a linear way of thinking (that looks like that 3-eyed fish in The Simpsons) to increase work output by 100%.


Exercising the other 15 muscles
Day 1: Saturday
Lately, the only time I see the sun rise is when I've stayed up all night. I was nauseous when I arose from the double deck in our inn at 5 frickin 30 in the morning. "I am sleepwalking", I kept muttering to myself. It took a warm bath, a cup of cold pineapple juice and a couple of Marlboros to jumpstart my higher brain functions. That whole morning was a daze. I was stationed in the "war room", a rectangular arsenal of nuclear office supplies and a risograph with a mind of its own. This was the Secretariat base.

Here is the dialogue I used and made my assistants use (it became our stress mantra):
Good morning (change with time of day) sir/ ma'am!!! (smile)
Can I please see your I.D.??
Thanks!!!! (smile wider)
Can I please have your conference kit stub??
Thanks!!! (you can smile wider than that!)
Here's your kit!!!
Have a wonderful day at the conference!!! and may all your wishes come true!!!!!

I dunno what's worse, having lunch at 3 pm or forcing a smile the whole day. It took me so long to get my Ally Mcbeal pout down to a tee, and now I was smiling like a chipper fastfood employee. "Here's your conference kit! Would you like to supersize it?!" Whoever said "it takes 37 muscles to frown and only 22 muscles to smile" was a sloth. Aren't we supposed to work out as much as we can? (Oooohh... look at me endorsing working-out) Exercising another 15 muscles is my work-out.
At the end of the day, I must gave gained 5 pounds with all that smiling and my face was aching.


Wake up and Smell the SNAFU
Day 2: Sunday Morning. (Not the No Doubt nor Velvet Underground nor Maroon5 song)
I slept like a baby the previous night, but my face was still swollen. We still woke early early, but we moved a tad more lackadaisical. Most of the tasks we needed to do have been done on Day 1. We hovered over our breakfast longer. We arrived at the venue sometime around 8 and we were greeted by a frantic deputy chairman. Apparently whoever locked the war room the night before was nowhere to be found. Gentlemen, draw your cellphones! 3... 2... 1... Go! It took about thirty minutes of calling and texting to find out who had the key, and another thirty for him to get to the venue. Thankfully, "Eleven" knew how to open doors with a credit card (He didn't tell me how he acquired that skill either). The War Room was opened at 0845 hours. The person with the key arrived T + 30 minutes after.


Lucky M3!
Day 2: Sunday Afternoon
I have no luck with raffles. I can not recall a single instance where I've won a prize based solely on luck. But when it comes to picking the shortest stick... I'm a shoo-in. However, a raffle solely dedicated to the OrCom (Organizing Committee) (Thanks Arch. Roldan) was atypical. Knowing my luck in these things, Tine and I went away from the venue to buy stuff for an event later in the evening. On the taxi ride home, my phone kept ringing... numerous SMS saying I won something in the raffle. I was skeptical until Arch. Jovit handed me a white MP3 Player. Yey! This will free up space on my Palm! and... Tine won a TV!
In order for me to win a raffle: lessen the number or participants vis-a-vis increasing the statistical probability of winning AND go as far away from the venue as physically possible.


Was that Scary Pretty or Pretty Scary?
Day 2: Sunday Evening
The closing ceremonies was brief and straightforward. Speeches. The OrCom were called one by one and occupied the stage. Clapping for Orcom. Speech. Clapping for speaker. Someone stood up and made a speech about how hard the Orcom worked and that they deserved "something"... He left us hanging and kept elaborating on "something" we deserved... A car ala Oprah?? N93's?? A trip to Barbados?? We were all waiting for him to get to his point, the point being that "something"... and that "something" turned out to be... a... because we deserved it... that "something" is... you wanna know what it is?... it... is... a... Standing Ovation! My initial feeling was disappointment and my intial thought was clapping doesn't pay the bills...
As it turns out, the older members of our chapter told me that that never happened in the history of the NCA before. It was bigger than I gave it credit for... but hey, I would've loved sipping pina coladas with my feet in the Caribbean Ocean more.
The Fellowship Night soon followed. It is a euphemism for Get-drunk-and-do-the- Chicken-dance night. I was busy transforming Tine into a "white lady" (a local mythical hovering female ghost with long hair wearing a white ensemble) Our chapter was entering her in the "Pretty Lady in White" contest. There was no appropriate dressing room, so we claimed the Ladies' comfort room. When we were nearly done, Ma'am Mylen, Ma'am Marie, Ma'am Joy, and Star joined us in that small comfort room to do a test run. Tine was holding a lit candle to her face, we flicked the switch... We all screamed, including Tine (the white lady), Star ran outside as the 5 of us left chuckled all the way to the backstage.
We didn't win... The criteria clearly said "no blood or faux blood", the other contestants of course had ketchup smeared all over them, brilliant! And, the thing that irked me the most was that the contestants had to be Scary Pretty... ala Cate Blanchett as Galadriel or Morticia. Again, the other contestants must've heard "Pretty Scary" instead of "Scary Pretty", cause most of them were pretty dang scary, but not in a good, halloween appropriate way. What's worse than contestants who interpret criteria as the total opposite? Judges who think the same way! Bah!


Fin
Day 2: Sunday Monday Morning
What really signalled the end of the conference for me was singing REM's The One I Love at the top of my lungs. My whole UAP chapter, young and old(er), were singing.
And so that was how we found ourselves popping red and white balloons (see picture) at 3 o'clock in the morning.


Thanks to UAP National!
Thanks to all the Student Auxiliary (sans Ms. One-Line)!!!
and, Congratulations UAP Summer Capital the youngest chapter to ever host the NCA!!!

Labels: baguio, boo-freakin-hoo, i-rate

I never could relate to the anxiety highschool students in teen movies feel (yes, I have watched quite a number of them... blame everyone from Molly Ringwald to Jason Biggs) For the most part, it was exhilirating and even during the worst episodes, it was bearable.

Some recurring storylines in such movies:

• a cafeteria caste syste (best described in Mean Girls)
• an ugly ducking becoming prom queen (She's All That, Never Been Kissed, and Carrie... technically, Sissy Spacek did become prom queen despite the cow's blood and the fiery demise of a whole auditorium)
• enlightenment in detention (The Breakfast Club... a personal fave)
• a philanthropic teacher (Dead Poets' Society, Dangerous Minds... two more movies I really like)
• and, some form of sexual deviance with pastry.
  

My highschool didn't have a prom perse, it was an all boys school... correction, it was an all boys Catholic school. In our "prom", students brought dates. It was uneventful and appeared very Pleasantville-sque. We had teachers circling the auditorium like prison wards. There have been several attempts to spike the punch, but alcohol detectors hindered every single one of them. There were no prom queens, but many, I think the statistic now is the debatable 10%, would refute this.

We didn't have detention. Teachers chose either passive aggression, a visit to the assistant principal's office, or an embarassing letter to your parents. We had our fair share of really good teachers but none of them made us yell Walt Whitman's poetry on our armchairs and they didn't reward us with Butterfingers if we answered a Dylan Thomas question correctly.

Our cafeteria is more like a prison mess hall that always smells of sweat and cheddar cheese.

I loved my highschool. Those were four of my best years made memorable by the whole prison ambience and the fraternity between us jail birds. Our classrooms were nowhere near Vassar standards, heck I don't even think they were sterile. But, we never did open heart surgeries in these classrooms... so the air-borne bacteria and the mildew aroma was tolerable, even becoming.

I belonged to a semi-detached class known as the "Science" section... *Nerd Alert*. Contrary to popular belief, there wasn't much difference between our class and the "regular" sections... perhaps three additional subjects, a detailed lesson on how photosynthesis works, the expectation to comprehend advanced Chemistry, and a surprised look from teachers when you do something extremely dim-witted.

I am an admitted geek. Three classmates/friends and I used to play our version of Jeopardy... I know, this places geek on a whole new level, but our anatomy and demeanor didn't make us believable basketball players, which was what all the other students did. We made categories and questions, then alternated being Alex Trebek. One category I enjoyed immensely invented by Marcial was "Chemical Symbols". It was basically giving a clue whose answer is spelled with the chemical symbols of elements. For example:

Question: English Achtung
Clue: Calcium-Uranium-Titanium-Oxygen-Nitrogen
Answer: CaUTiON
(Get it? haha... we were weird eccentric)

This helped with the Periodic Table alot then. I never liked Chemistry before, I found the subject dreary and often times pointless. "You will need this when you graduate!", I remember my Chem professor declaring. Aside from cement mixing, Chemistry has not been at all useful in my profession. Although I did wish I listened in class more whenever I watch CSI.

The tradition of my highschool has died. It is now co-ed. It has been moved to a more antiseptic academic-looking building. Sad. Very sad. Although the old building is still being used, it would have been more appropriate to turn it into a museum with tours ala-Alcatraz.

"This is the cell... err classroom where Mr. so and so spent 4 years of solitary confinement. This is the torture chamber... I mean Chemistry laboratory. And this is the cell where 4 prisoners spelled words with Chemical Symbols."

Labels: baguio, flashback music please, movies, quarterlife

I am removing three words from my vocabulary... "Pohnpei Shopping Center". That's what's been keeping me extremely (and unwantedly) busy the past few days. I must have gone through a gazillion schemes of this project. I'm not gonna bore you with it. I leave my work at the office... well, most of the time.

I can't recall what led to the question, but on the way home earlier this evening, it was all I can think of as I closed the taxi door after I dropped Tine and Dona off. "What do you look forward to?".

It was Tine who said that lately she didn't look forward to anything anymore. Just as the words left her mouth, before Dona and I could come up with something good to say, the taxi veered to the right making the three of us hold on to seat belts and door locks and head rests. It was trying to overtake a blue Civic but was forced to swerve back by a speeding taxi on the other lane.

I dunno if it was the fact that we missed a head-on collision or if it was the slight whiplash... but Tine realized how morbid what she said was. She quickly muttered... "I look forward to my hot dinner. I look forward to sleeping on my bed, and I look forward to waking up in the morning!" to the ceiling of the taxi. We were laughing our asses off... telling the taxi driver we didn't look forward to bleeding internally.

You know you're getting older when you're typing some quarter-life crisis mumbo jumbo while some gag show on a loud TV goes unnoticed. Looking forward to Christmas or New Year has become ambiguous. When you're old(er), its the small, superficial things you look forward to.

I look forward to:

• My paycheck.
• Weekends and Days off.
• My 100th post. (Still a long way off)
• The Amazing Race and a delayed Project Runway 2 on Mondays and Distraction UK on Thursdays.
• The next episode of Grey's Anatomy courtesy of "Applewire".
• The next season of CSI Las Vegas. (How sad, I look forward to TV shows)
• The Transformers movie.
• The new Evanescence Album
• The new The Killers Album
  
• Finishing a compelling book and wanting more pages when you come to the last ten pages or so.
• Sleep. Glorious sleep. Deep REM sleep without an alarm clock, without noise, without things to do, and with a great dream that I remember.
  

On a different note, there is this circulating text message that a bomb would be detonated in SM City Baguio (a mall) on Saturday. I've never believed in "news" leaked this way, but I wouldn't mind lurking around the outskirts of the mall on Saturday... it may be morbid and a possible hoax, but it's something to look forward to.

Labels: baguio, blah (3x), list-o-rama, quarterlife

On my way to work this morning, the taxi driver had an Ilocano melodrama on the radio. Although these shows are meant to tug at your heartstrings, what they end up doing is tickle your funny bone.

First of all, there are more creative ways of conveying that the stereotypical matron is gonna open her lover's hidden letter from his mistress, than having her outright say... "I am gonna open this letter!". Second, what is the deal with the over-the-top acting? Sure it must be harder for the actors to express surprise or disgust when their faces can't be seen... But why wail like a madman when weeping can suffice or cackle like a hyena when a slight chuckle is more appropriate.

The sound technicians are unsung heroes. Without them, we wouldn't know that a gun has been shot or that it is raining. They must look hilarious when they have shoes on their hands to suggest that a character is walking or when they utter spontaneous dialogue in the background to create a restaurant atmosphere. And the door slam! The staple door slam to indicate the dramatic exit of an angry mistress or the swift entry of an "in-heat" newspaper boy. When you hear a door slam you know something is up.

A taxi ride to the office lasts for 15 minutes or so. The melodrama this morning is about a young Filipina who is married to a Korean. When I got on the taxi, there was a heated argument between said woman (who I shall christen Huhnah, she said "Huh" alot) and her mother-in-law (who I shall call "Korean lady who sounds like a Chinese woman")...

(Huhnah enters bedroom)
Huhnah: You were looking for me?
(KlwslaCw slams the door)
KlwslaCw: Have you seen the water bill?
Huhnah: No... why?
KlwslaCw: It has tripled since you've lived here!!!! (heavy breathing)
Huhnah: Huh. What are you implying?
KlwslaCw: You take a bath everyday! That's what I'm implying! (more heavy breathing, I think she's gonna have a heart attack)
Huhnah: Huh. What does my hygiene have to do with the water bill?! (Huhnah is a tad slow)
KlwslaCw: I am the one paying the bills!!! As long as you are under my roof, you will take a bath only once a week!!!
Huhnah: Once a week? Are you insane?
KlwslaCw: And another thing!!! The electric bill is also very high! Very High!!! Do not open the lights in your bedroom until my son comes home from work! I am the one paying the bills!!!
(Huhnah opens the door, and with door knob in hand...)
Huhnah: Huh! (door slams)

The dialogue has been translated from Filipino... How KlwslaCw knew how to speak perfect Filipino (with a chinese accent) is inconsequential. The mere fact that they were arguing over something as mundane as daily bathing made me listen intently and desperately try to write down their dialogue in a moving vehicle. It was so absurd, it bordered on possible.

Daily bathing is a deeply rooted Filipino ritual. Much like the Japanese and the Arabs, Filipinos are very fastidious with this habit. It is almost taboo not to bathe everyday. I've always thought that the foremost reason for this is hygiene in a tropical country, but I think it has deeper reasons (sociologists... Help!). Spanish Friars of old found this native custom odd, they indoctrinated that believers shouldn't take baths on Fridays (especially the lenten Good Friday) as an act of penitence or a serious illness will afflict them. (from Bong Barrameda) That was more odd. I was googling the adverse effects of daily bathing but all I found was an article on neonatal rhesus monkeys... so I dropped it.

I got sidetracked, anyways... Huhnah told the conversation to Changki (his actual name on the show) and he was a classic mama's boy who, even if the whole argument is ridiculous, chose his mom's frugality over Huhnah's hygiene. This whole scene happened in a noisy environment which I presume was an airport. Huhnah was sobbing and doing some "poor me what was I thinking" soliloquy when I paid my fare and opened the taxi door. I was tempted to ask the taxi driver to go around in circles just so I can hear what Huhnah would do next... perhaps fight with her sister for the tweezer or wrestle her neighbor because she doesn't cut her fingernails...

Oh, screw it! (Door slam)



Picture Credits:
Old Style Radio Show
Old Radio

Labels: baguio, blah (3x)

It was 1:37. I tried my darndest to apply eye drops without necessarily losing my eyesight. My hands were trembling. I always get panicky when I am late, which is almost every single time I go out. I almost always never wear a watch, I've always felt half handcuffed, literally and metaphorically to time.

I arrived at University of the Philippines-Baguio by 1:57. Farah was waiting on a bench in front of the guard house. I was 7 minutes late, a good record by my tardiness standards. We were off to the auditorium to attend Jessica Zafra's talk on the personal essay. Two days ago, I was thinking of buddies to go to the talk with, and it dawned on me that I have only 4 friends who were bookworms, like I was. Fortunately Farah replied to my 1 am text message a day after. And so there we were looking for the auditorium. I have only been to UP Baguio twice, and both were exams... both I (thank God) passed. The UPCAT and the Real Estate Board Exams.

The Bulwagan ni Juan Luna was already 3/4's occupied when we found it. We spotted a table stacked with Jessica Zafra's books while we were registering as "guests". The audience was mainly UP college students. Although our youthful good looks could pass for a college student, I took comfort in the fact that I saw a handful of older people scattered across the auditorium.

Two emcees announced the "program" was about to start and the smell of brewed coffee wafted from behind. Three students kept changing seats infront of us and a couple of girls were chattering about an Aristotle book they were studying. I was startled when a distinct, crispy "fuck" bellowed from the microphone. The "program" started without me even knowing and the expletive came from a small girl with a ponytail. She was apparently introducing Miss Jessica, and all I could still think about is "Philosophy is the science of universal essence of that which is actual" which the alto-voiced philosophy student was uttering behind me.

The girl with the ponytail left the dais and before I knew it, two groups of students occupied the stage. It happened so suddenly, I thought they were a flash mob who would throw orange golf balls at us. The students took on some Madonna Voguesque poses and one after the other recited lines barely audible. After hearing some familiar Zafra lines, it was clear that this was some sort of tribute to Jessica using snippets from her Twisted books.

Jessica came to the stage and sarcastically (I think) thanked the performers for a Fame like welcome, which she admitted was a first for her. I was for a moment starstruck seeing the writer of some of the books I really loved in college, and still love right now. She quickly made the awe go away with her humor, such is her charm. Some of her columns are dark, some are far out, some are cynical, but all of them are always real. She did such a laid back talk about her writing process, her experiences and even read a section of her journal. What I like about her writing/talking is how she can write about anything and make it Twisted. She does so by pumping in her pensive observations of irony, her hilarious wit, occasional references to great works of literature & cinema, and an update of her "plan for worldwide domination".

The open forum weeded out those who actually read a Jessica Zafra book/ column/ blog entry from those who came there I am guessing because of a paper they were writing. A girl to my left frantically took notes while the rest of us were laughing at Jessica's "I'm not skeptical" comment. (Honey, skeptical is with a "k") Furthermore, some topics are common knowledge to a Jessica Zafra fan... like her views on marriage, why her articles are always in English, her 4 month career as manager of the Eraserheads, and the origin of her cats' names. I didn't ask the best questions either, I kept trying to think of witty (aka be-my-friend-I'm-smart-too) questions but I exhausted my brain trying so I settled for the following two questions:

1. What was the first book you read AND loved?
2. What is your favorite David Sedaris essay?

To the first question, Jessica answered "The Old Testament" which she read when she was 8 years old. She added that it is the most violent and bloody book ever written, whose literary cadences have been imitated in many great books.
The second question is a manifestation that I'm still not over Sedaris. Jessica answered that she loved the last essay he did for The NewYorker which is complimentary to Me Talk Pretty...

There were a lot more interesting questions raised during the open forum usually related to her books, her writing process, her failed magazine Flip, her Eraserhead days, Marat Safin (one thing we have in common!), Roger Federer, her cats, etc. etc.

When the last question was asked and answered, the students started gathering around her like vultures to a limping springbuck. Camera phones, digital cameras... flash flash flash. I wanted to dive into the crowd and rescue Miss Zafra from unwanted human contact (after I have my pic taken with her...) I wanted to grab the megaphone a guy was using to announce a Tuition Fee Increase rally in order to announce: "Scram ignorant paparazzi!"

Outside, Jessica Zafra signed books. I bought mine a month ago and I was a little disappointed that books sold there were given a 15 pesos discount. However, I felt better looking at my obviously read books and comparing it with the crisp one the guy behind me was holding with a price tag still in place. A teacher tried to cut the line and Jessica admonished her saying there is a queue but gave in when the teacher pathetically pleaded she had a class. Jessica is nicer in person than in paper. I examined her ring, bracelets, watch and bag when she signed my books.

I was so thrilled her signatures where written backwards. I took an interest in this way back in high school after coming across a biography of Leonardo Da Vinci. (I instantly solved that clue in the Da Vinci Code) The boredom I experienced in Social Studies class is the main reason why the backs of my Cattleya notebooks had a million reversed cursive scripts of my name.

Jessica's latest book is 500 People You Meet in Hell, an antithesis of the Mitch Albom novel. I didn't like this book as much as I like love love love the Twisted books. However, seeing what Jessica Zafra wrote, I'm keeping this book in my shelf of favorites.



Jessica Zafra Resources:

• New blog = Jessica Rules The Universe
• Old blog = Twisted (In this blog, Check out the 229 Comments in the second to the latest entry "Emotional Weather Report #4", Jessica went missing for a long while, and a lot of bloggers started making conspiracy theories as to where she went.
• Podcast (Just one though) I noticed in her talk all her TV references were actors/shows from GMA 7 and I learned in this podcast why... hehe
  
• Emotional Weather Report. Jessica's column in the friday editions of The Star.
  
• Her books are available in Powerbooks and National Bookstore
  

Labels: baguio, Bookworms Anonymous

Kaffeeklatsch is literally "coffee chat" (in German). This is the type of casual convention, small talk and especially gossip enjoyed by housewives who meet in the afternoon for a cup of coffee. Wikipedia.

We weren't housewives, nor did we meet in the afternoon, nor did we have a cup of coffee, but Joanne and I did our fair share of Kaffeeklatsch-ing last night at Caffeeklatsch. The C to K first letter change is probably a copyright thing, according to Wikimapia, there are established Kaffeeklatsch coffee shops in Alabama and Chile.

I met my friend Joanne last night for dinner at Pizza Volante. (Volante is Italian for flying... nope, they didn't throw pizza at us when we ordered them) I haven't seen or talked with her in a year, so over Mussels in Red Sauce, Vegetarian Pizza and a couple of fruit shakes, we caught up with each other's misadventures. We went to Caffeeklatsch after.

Joanne and I share a special weird kind of friendship defined mainly by laughter and flatulence. We make fun of each other, at unknowing strangers and of anything as mundane as a weird looking lamp.


Klatsch Brewers (I think, this is what I decoded from the vocalists words) played that night. They were a good acoustic ensemble reminiscent of MYMP, although with a male singer. I wouldn't be a band groupie, especially when they didn't know the songs I requested, but I wouldn't mind coming back to hear them play. I liked their renditions of Stitches and Burns (Fra Lippo Lippi), Mahirap Magmahal ng Syota ng Iba (Apo) and You to Me are Everything (The Real Thing)


Caffeeklatsch is a unique establishment in terms of its interior. Studying for five years makes architecture graduates harsh critics of the buildings we visit. We'd give reviews of restaurants we frequent and shops we go to. The professional credo states that "I shall confine my criticisms and praises within constructive and inspirational limits", but I'm sure you'll criticize it too when you need to limbo when you enter a door or when climbing a staircase requires you to bend your knees at 90 degree angles.


The mezzanine low ceiling, approximately 5'-10" because my head nearly reaches the ceiling, the humongous beams, the trip-prone spiral staircases and the low-watt light fixtures are worthy of criticism, but in the case of Caffeeklatsch, it works. These elements add to the cluttered, cozy hominess of the coffee shop. It is like a hobbit bar. I love stylish clutter: mismatched chairs, an assortment of decorations and conversation pieces strewn here and there. There is always something to see and something to talk about.


Some things didn't escape the subdued critic in me though, the shaking mezzanine floor when someone walks and the weird shaped comfort rooms with low doors. But the good clearly outweighs the bad... Be sure you include a night spent Caffeeklatsch-ing when you visit my city.

Labels: baguio, cafe, nyt-out

Last night, my United Architects of the Philippines Chapter, UAP Summer Capital, celebrated its fourth anniversary. By professional organization standards, UAPSC is still very young. The 20 charter members of UAPSC were originally members of UAP Baguio but due to some conflict, which I can't piece out perfectly well yet (but my assumption is some communication problems between older and younger members), the younger members decided to secede from the mother chapter.


UAP Summer Capital has been chosen, after bidding, as the host chapter of the 16th (or 17th?, haha...) National Convetion of Architects (NCA). This will happen during the last week of October. The usual once a month meetings became a once a week thing because of the demands needed from the organizing committee. UAP Baguio has offered to help us with the preparations for the convention. The great thing is I can see the steady bridging of the gap between the two chapters.

Choosing which organization to join when I finally got my license was a bit of a dilemma. My college professors and some friends were in one chapter, while two of my mentors and some friends were in another. In the end, it became a decision of where I can be comfortable and where I can be "under the radar" more. The demands of my job then were too much to even schedule a monthly UAP meeting.

However, during fellowships like last night when we have a heated argument on who's the youngest member, when we recycle a small cake (5" diameter) to greet 6 birthday celebrants, when Arch. Jovit proves by dancing that he's the "sexiest man", when even our event coordinator endearingly called "Tsang" was downing a SM Light, when I have smoking classmates with uber hilarious stories, and when everyone (regardless of age or accomplishment) is just downright silly, that I am overly ecstatic I joined the chapter.


The closest comparison I could think of in relation to last night was a merge between a children's party at Jollibee, a gathering around a campfire and a night at a comedy bar.


It's very comforting to know that despite the mature outfits, the professional licenses, the jobs, the karaoke, the booze, the cigarettes and the looming convention... We are all still immature and capable of silly antics.

Labels: baguio, kids-r-i, quarterlife

When I was studying, we were taught that a house built on a mountainside is ideal. Such houses had unobstructed views. It has a healthy amount of exposure to sunlight, efficient air circulation and the drainage of storm water was pretty much inherent. Of course there are downsides... erosion, additional structural requirements, vehicle accessibility, etc.

This is the view from our office balcony.


Thanks to the slight fog, the utter ugliness of the sight isn't as evident. The houses on both sides of the strip of wooded area make it seem like the trees are slowly being eaten away. Baguio wasn't designed to accomodate this many people. Daniel Burnham's original design for our city was for a population of 20,000. Now, the population is more than 10 times that.

Hence, the need to build on our wooded mountains. I guess it was in a way inevitable. I'm not against real estate and construction, I do it for a living. But at the risk of sounding preachy, I wish we built based on quality, not quantity.


What I'd give...

Building on mountains is an international phenomena perfected in Europe. Take the villages in Santorini, Greece.


... or the village of Positano (Italy) along the Amalfi Coast...


... or the villages in Heidelberg, Germany.


The houses blend with the landscape or at least blend with each other. There is a coherence and unity in their design or at least with the color of the walls or the material they use for roofing. What I'm trying to say is that if we are gonna build on our mountains, We must build them beautiful! (Beautiful enough to be worthwhile replacements of the magnificent trees that once occupied that mountainside)

Enough of this unpainted sheet metal business. Or this "my wall color is more stunning" than yours mentality. Unity is especially required from the households with houses on mountainsides... If for anything else, because we can see you.


At night

The blanket of darkness at night makes these house clad mountains beautiful. No matter how many times I see it when I come back here from a trip to the lowlands. The "stars on the mountains" never ceases to take my breath away.


And then the light comes... and the view is ruined.



Photo Credits:
Santorini Village
Positano Village

Labels: architecture, baguio, pseudo-serious

Yesterday evening, I met my married friends Rai and Cheerie. It was a pre-birthday celebration for both of them. Rai's is on the 11th of September, he was dancing and getting drunk when 9-11 happened. Cheerie's is on the 13th, and when she was pregnant with Asti, we all hoped he'd be born on the 12th but it was a gestative impossibility. The great thing about Rai and Cheerie is you never felt like a third wheel when you were in their company and we never ran out of things to talk about.

I was at their hotel room sometime around 9 in the evening. I haven't seen them for about a year, they live now in Manila, but still I felt like I just hung out with them yesterday. Bert arrived. After catching up with the latest things Asti did and work and whatnots, we were headed to Cactus Bar. Rai was a regular there during our college days. He was/is an amazing bassist. Think of the songs of Kala and you'll get not only a good idea of the music his band played but also of his personality.


Syd Barrett Would Rock and Roll in his Grave

We were extremely disappointed by what the bar is now. It used to be one of the places-to-be, everyone dressed to kill, great local bands, beautiful people... beautiful music. Now, mediocre is an understatement. I haven't been checking out the local live-band scene lately, my friends and I now go for the bar with background music kind of scene. I guess its one of those growing-up things.

The other so-called happening places now are usually jammed with incoherently noisy gangster wannabes. I could appreciate, and even really like, some aspects of hip-hop culture like music, clothes and expensive jewelry (I am irked by people with no African-American heritage saying "bling"). However, the whole need for stabbing, unlicensed guns and a thirst for violence escapes me. I thought night outs are for good times and not visits to the hospital emergency room, I guess they changed definitions without me knowing.

Thankfully, Cactus Bar wasn't one of these places. It just became bland and boring. The torture did come, but in another form. The oily-haired, looks like he just came out of bed vocalist sang Another Brick on the Wall... terribly. This was an insult to Pink Floyd. I get the "image" he's trying (or not trying) to portray, but c'mon, take a bath for pete's sake. The greasy hair looked good on Ethan Hawke when he sang I'm Nuthin in Reality Bites, and you dear... are no Ethan. When the vocalist did Elvis' Suspicious Minds we paid the tab and left. How many songs must he murder?


A Hop, Skip and Jump

Across the street is 18BC, another buzz worthy bar during the golden era of barhopping aka our college days. It was a viable contender of Gimbals for the yuppie demographic then. Gimbals is now closed... a big loss *sigh*. It didn't seem as full as it did outside. We spent just a short while in the outdoor waiting area when a group of Koreans left. As we sat on the same red metal chairs, it felt like a time-loop... Nothing about the place changed. Well except maybe for the fact that the crowd was 50% Korean.

Koreans come to Baguio in droves! Mainly for a cheap English language education. Cheerie is an English tutor and we talked alot about the misadventures of the profession. How it all starts with a point-point teaching methodology, and later a barok type of English defined mainly by the use of nouns and verbs and the absence of prepositions and grammar. Bless these Koreans for giving us another source of employment. I find them a pleasant people always smiling and very fashion forward. I have yet to make a Korean friend to know what they are really like. All I know about them are the Koreanovelas I don't watch.


Space Flower and Access Band

Space flower is an amazing Ska band. Each band member, nine of them, wore suits and did something different with their head. One had dreads, another a semi-combed-over mohawk. One had a golfer's hat, another a fishing hat.


The vocalist looks like a chubbier Alan Cumming (fabulous shades included). As I've learned from a friend, any song can be Ska-ized(?). They did a couple of Bob Marley songs, some Frank Sinatra, some originals (really good), and some pop songs. When they did Lady is a Tramp, Cheerie and I wanted to get ur hair done and "dress to the nines" and use phrases like "I do declare".

Access Band is as much a staple in our bar scenes before as beer was. That night they did their memorable renditions of Half Crazy, Universe and Bongga Ka Day!.

We were so glad we changed bars. We left while Space Flower played Putre-ska's Manila Girl appropriately changed to Manila Boy to match the vocalist's gender. And on the other side of the road on our way to the hotel, we heard another ghastly rendition of a rock classic at Cactus.


Chasing Cars

On my taxi ride home, a dog out of nowhere was chasing us. I've always seen this strange canine behavior on TV but I never actually saw one. He chased us the whole length of Legarda Road. It made me think that a dog chasing a car was much like a generation gap. You hear about it but never really know what it is until it chases the taxi you're in. My mental juxtoposition of the bar scenes during my bar-hopping days and the current one made me realize I'm old(er). However, thanks to 18BC I'm comforted that the spirit of my bar era is still in a way, alive.

I hummed Snow Patrol's Chasing Cars in my head as I watched the BMW infront of us with its top down. I felt like I was in a 007 chase sequence and I was a back seat passenger in the villain's car.


18 BC Bands:
Space Flower Friendster Page
Access Band Friendster Page



Oh yes, before I forget. I was tagged by J. I'm gonna make this long post even longer!

6 Random facts about me:
1. I answer try Yahoo! crosswords everyday.
2. I hate the beans they put in halo-halo.
3. The first novel I read is The Prince of Tides.
4. The one I'm reading now is David Sedaris' Me Talk Pretty One Day.
5. I have a Spice Girls cassette tape. (don't ask)
6. My left hand is rapas. (a straight line running across my palm)

This tag ends here. I saw this meme on a lot of my regular reads already. Breathe a sigh of relief fellow bloggers...

Labels: B-days, baguio, memes, music, nyt-out, quarterlife

Last Friday was International Sayote Day on my beloved plateau, a local holiday! My friends and I went on a sight-seeing roadtrip of Baguio using the tourist route. We planned the whole "in-the-shoes- of-a-non-Baguio-resident" trip last week. We didn't go as far as wearing the turista bonnets... the black (usually) ones with "BAGUIO" crocheted into the design or the ones with a wee sunflower smack dab in the middle of the forehead region.


Doo Bidoo and Scooby Doo

What better way to enjoy Baguio than in an un-airconditioned, freshly pimped, butter-colored Comby?! This is John's ride and we were its rowdy passengers.



You can't help but feel elated when you see a Volkswagen van. Images of psychedelic rainbows, flowers and a peace sign of the hippie lifestyle come to mind (also, remember Fillmore from Cars?) Doo Bidoo! I'm also reminded of the mystery van of Shaggy, Scooby and company. Scooby Dooby Doo! Just good and fun mental images...


House of Flying Sidemirrors

The first destination that day was Asin Hotsprings. (Ok, technically this isn't part of Baguio... but it should be!) This is my second trip only to Asin, the first happened last May. How lame is that? Huwag maging turista sa sariling bayan (Don't become a tourist in your own country)

Asin is about 30 minutes away from Baguio. It is the nearest natural body of water (methinks) to the city. I think it's a general fact that Baguio residents get all agitated around the ocean. Being marine water deprived, on beach outings we're usually the first ones running toward the waves. Asin has hot springs but... I yet have to see one, all I ever see are pools.

Halfway to Asin, our public market kind of noiseness was disrupted by screams and a crash. I didn't have a good vantage point of the speeding jeep on our left but I did have front row tickets to the flying sidemirror of a van to our right. Imagine a two way road being occupied side by side by a maniacal jeep, a yellow Comby and a van with a parking violation... A couple of sidemmirrors were bound to fly.

What happened: The road to Asin sloped down most of the time. We were the ones on the downward path. A van to our right and out of nowhere a jeep speeding toward us. We were the first to cover part of the van, but the apparently blind jeepney driver didn't agree with us. He kept speeding toward us emitting CO gases to our already thin Ozone layer. John had no choice but to veer right (hitting the van's sidemirror) to prevent a semi-head-on collision.

What we did: We stopped for a second to collect our senses and drove away fast like fugitives. First of all, it was the effing jeep's fault. Second, the van was parked on the curb of a highway... and third, We were high on adrenaline.

What we agreed happened: Everything happened as it was, except for the flying sidemirror which we didn't see because of sheer trauma.


Asin (no) Hot Springs and the Pesky Lifeguard with the Picnic Umbrella

Palm Grove Resort did give us a great deal of solace. It wasn't what I expected, I wanted to see actual hot springs, but we're met by pristine chlorinated pools. But after the sidemirror incident, that didn't really matter.


Apparently, our eventful day wasn't over. We (well, just 2 of us) had to deal with a pesky lifeguard. After lunch and several accounts of the flying sidemirror, we were dipping our toes into the pool. It was raining, One of my favorite things... swimming when it's raining. I was only in the pool for five minutes when a lifeguard with a huge rainbow umbrella called my attention. He was asking me to change my top, which was made of cotton. The last time we were in Asin, although in a different resort, you were allowed to wear a cotton top as long as its white. As it turns out, they had stricter rules here.

Sure, I saw the signs that said that but I wanted to swim but didn't bring a nylon (or such) shirt. I gained weight and spandex didn't really flatter my figure. Hence, I was excommunicated from the pools. I sat by the poolside for a short time watching my friends play "Diving for the 25 centavo coin". When it started to get really cold, I had to retreat to our semi-enclosed hut with Dona. Anna met the same fate, but she was more persistent. She did do an outfit change and even tried to ignore-evade the lifeguard... but all in vain. We were both excommunicated.

Bring a nylon (or such) swimwear if you plan to go there, not doing so will make you smoke, drink softdrinks and eat junk food like crazy... not good for your body.

The trip back to Baguio was so fun. I felt like I was in the convertible of Thelma and Louise. We had to pass by the "crime scene" because that was the only route we knew. Paranoia was the general feeling. We'd make up conspiracy theories about all the people in Asin being in cahoots whenever people stared at our ride (Who wouldn't stare at a butter-yellow Comby?!)

Dona: Hala! Dito na yun! (This is where it happened!)
Tine and Ely: Hindi pa! Ala pa yung white na bridge! (No! I didn't see the long white bridge yet!)
Me and Joyce: Tapos na! Nalagpasan na natin! (We passed it already!)
John, intently driving... ignoring us
(More conspiracy stories)
Dona: Halaaaaaa!!!!

(Repeat all 20x)


Pusit, Turon and Sweet Corn

Mines View. The last time I was here, I was in high school acting as a disoriented tour guide for my cousins from Bulacan and Manila. The view changed... the mines aren't as they were, the mountains not as green, no more boys catching coins with baskets on long poles.

It however, still had the yummiest street food ever! Upon entry you feel hungry instantly because of the smell. We had our fill of grilled dried pusit, turon, and sweet corn. What is turon?

Being fed up with the usual camera angle tourists do when they go to Mines View (I know you have one...) I laid my camera down on the gazebo like structure and took our photo as an ant might see it. Our nostrils looked twice as big... but it is unique.


This Used to be My Playground

We still had a lot of places to visit in our itinerary but the night was upon us. We opted to spend the last amount of daylight in Camp John Hay. We had intended to have dinner at the commissary but the Mines View feast was still in our digestive system. Growing up near CJH, I had a lot of memories here. We found ourselves amidst swings and see-saws.

Scout Hill was especially close to my heart. As a kid, I nearly spent every Saturday here... It HAD nearly everything: a jungle gym, swings, see-saws, a skating rink, mini-golf, tennis, volleyball, an arcade, an ice cream parlor, mouth-watering large sized hamburgers, and wide open spaces. That was during the American occupation of CJH.

Filipino politics sure has a way of turning good things to shite. Under Filipino hands, the once free for all CJH, hub of recreation, nature walks and such has become a shitty exclusive club. Now, The tennis court is an unsightly bump car facility, the mini-golf course is brown and tetanus friendly, the volleyball court has been demolsihed to make way for the erection of multi-million dollar duplexes, the skating rink has been demolished to make way for the erection of multi-million dollar duplexes, the baseball field has been removed to make way for the erection of multi-million dollar duplexes.

Commerce over recreation. Money over nature. Pesos over everything else.

This is what's happening with most of Baguio now. Depressing... the prize of urban development. I'd like to say we should act now and save what we have left, that place, that building, this playground... but I know I only half mean it. To say it is one thing, to actually do it is another. So I just whine like everyone else... whine until its too late.



I do love my city... very much. I just don't know how to stop it from self-destructing.

Labels: baguio, boo-freakin-hoo, holidays, travels

I have yet to gain the driving mojo. I've had driving lessons from an agency and from my brother (sa South Drive), I know that I know how to drive... It just seems like my hands, feet and eyes don't agree. I get all nervous and fidgety in front of the steering wheel. I hyperventilate everytime someone tries to overtake.


It's a good thing Baguio is crawling with taxis (sedans and FX's) But the weird thing is... You can never hail a cab when you really really (REALLY) need them. Like when its raining hard and you don't have an umbrella or when you're an hour late for work. I guess it's just one of those ironies in life.

I've spent a lot of time in the back seat of a taxi. I can't afford them but my inherent tardiness and laziness force me to sacrifice some luxuries for this one... a personal white poloed chauffeur, and I'd like to think I'm helping the PUV industry. I've had my fair share of the west and worst cab drivers...


The Exact-Change Giver
Many taxi drivers here in Baguio give exact change to the centavo. One even ran out to chase a friend of mine from Manila when he forgot to get his change. He was so used to the "thank-you-no-change" policy. Baguio taxi drivers also, when you happen to hail them and find that they need to make a U-turn will only start the meter after they've made the turn. Refreshing...

The Acquaintance
I once rode in a taxi driven by a batchmate from highschool. We weren't really close, but I knew his face. Such instances make you juxtopose your life with someone else's.

The Storyteller
On a good day, I can tolerate a talkative taxi driver who talks about politics or policemen. I give the respectful nod or even engage in the conversation. On other days (more frequent), I'd rather he shut up. But some don't really need an audience when they speak. They continue with their soliloquy even if you don't respond. The passenger probably justifies their sanity and the need to talk from long hours on the road alone.

The Pepe Le Pew
You just know when you open a door that a cab ride is gonna be hell. Open all windows and stay behind the passenger seat.

The Interior Decorator
Every once in a while you get a taxi that's gone to the Taxi Accessory Store too often. They have too many rosaries and scapulars on their rear-view mirrors, a dog (or horse) with a bobbing head and the seven dwarves attached to their windshields.

The Disc Jock
Loud music, usually of the perya and novelty music variety. Also cabs with black lights (very shaggedelic) I even rode in a cab that had one of those digital displays you usually see in Jollibee that welcomes you with moving text (Welcome to Jollibee...) The cab's sign thingy was attached to the right of the rear-view mirror and said something like "I'm ____ I'll be your driver for today... Come Back Again) You want fries with that?

The Gas Station Advantage Card Holder
"Ok lang po kung daan tayo sandali sa (insert rich petrol company here)? Paubos na po gas ko eh" Of course the meter doesn't stop.

The Sidewinder
Hold on to your seats and seatbelts. This driver doesn't have brake pads... well, he does... but he doesn't want to use them. Helmet (and rosary) necessary for sharp curves.

The Texter
"Manong, pwede tumingin po kayo sa dinadaanan nyo? I'm sure makapaghihintay yung ka-text nyo..."

The Peeping Tom
Creepy eyes on the rear-view mirror. Don't look at them in the eyes, they are like dogs, they smell fear.

The Tourist
I've had the worst experience with a taxi driver that didn't know any (yes, NONE!) roads in Baguio. I assumed he was from La Union or something and decided to move his place of employment here. I had to give directions from Session Road to our home. My usual directions to a taxi driver when home is my destination do not go above 5 sentences/phrases. I felt like a tour guide with this one.

The Inquisitor
Me: "Manong... Scout Barrio"
Taxi Driver: "Upper or Lower"
Me: "Upper"
...
Me: "Manong, sa kaliwa po."
Taxi Driver: "Diba One way yan?"
(I live here for pete's sake!! wouldn't I know if that was a one-way street?)
Me: "Hindi po"
Taxi Driver: "Pag diniretso ko to, san ako lalabas?"
(try mo, report to me when you know already)
Me: "Dun din po sa island"

The "Must be Blind or Illiterate" Smoker
I have yet to take a picture of this elusive driver. He's like Bigfoot or the Loch Ness. I am a smoker so I don't mind a smoking driver as long as I'm allowed the same privileges. But this type of driver smokes without asking permission and does so with a giant red lettered "No Smoking" sign in front of him.




It's Baguio Day tomorrow! I (heart) my city.



Photo Credits:
Top Picture: Taxi Sign
Middle Picture: Baguio FX
Bottom Picture: Sto. Nino on Dashboard

Labels: baguio, filipinowledge, list-o-rama

New House Blog Guest

I got me a new tenant. Her name is Dawn. Her blog is named "Reflections in the Mirror". She lives in Northeastern US, is married and a mom of 2 adorable kids. Her main interests include critters (Abby the Tabby in the pic below) and crafting. Check out her blog at the sidebar.



Me + Pets = Disaster

I was browsing Dawn's blog and I never knew you could have butterflies for pets. I always thought butterflies were free spirited creatures, but perhaps they can be domesticated like bees.

I have the worst luck with pets. We've had several family dogs baptized with typical filipino dog names like Blackey, Whitey, Browney... just a matter of looking at the dogs general fur color and adding an "ey" at the end to make him/her seem cuddlier than he/she actually is. I've never really bonded with our family pets after having been bitten (actually only a superficial tooth scratch but trauma can make anyone exaggerate) by a dog and mauled (ditto with the dog) by a cat. They seem to think I'm not animal friendly or something.


Mimo (December 25, 2004 - January 4, 2005)

Two Christmases ago, my office had a Greedy Kris Kringle (I forgot the actual term) It goes like this, you pick numbers and no. 1 picks an unlabeled gift (each one brought a uni-gift... a gift that's ok for a boy or a girl) After no. 1 opens the gift (and oohhs... ahhhs... subside) no. 2 has the option of either taking no. 1's opened gift or pick another gift... No. 3's options are no. 2's gift, no. 1's gift (I know... poor no. 1) or another unpicked gift. And so on.

That Christmas, I picked a gift, which incidentally my PI boss brought. She cautioned me to keep the gift horizontal at all times and that it was breakable. It appeared spherical and suprisingly cold. I opened it and got Mimo!


MIMO (Made In Manor... added the O to allude to the then popular clownfish) I got him exactly as the picture shows... water, castle, sand and plastic vegetation.

I remember the first fish I took a liking to was a small gold fish. This was in early gradeschool. Being the genius that I was and a proud sort-of pet owner, I brought... let's call him Poopy, I never had the notion to name him before. Ok, so I brought Poopy to school in a clear plastic bag... an unholed one. I did the whole show and tell thing and sometime after recess, My seat was wet (no, I didn't pee). I kept Poopy in the outside pocket of my bag. The plastic bag had a small leak so I ran to the lavatory as fast as my gradeschool legs could carry me.

When the water level barely covered Poopy, I started to panic especially when he started flipping and flopping. I struggled at opening bag to let Poopy out onto the first receptacle I saw, a water closet. By the time I did open the bag and heard Poopy made a plop, he started doing a backstroke. I knew then that when you saw a fish' belly like that, It only meant one thing... So with watery eyes, I flushed poor Poopy. I didn't know then that this was quite an honorable funeral for a fish.

Mimo too met an early demise (I told you I had pet jinx) However, this time it was not because of my stupidity but someone else's. It was sometime after new year. I kept Mimo alive for more than a week. I kept the windows in my room open, I loved the chilly holiday air in Baguio. Sometime during that day while I was busy playing with my niece and nephew and eating holiday leftovers, a burglar entered my room thru my windows and stole my digital camera. This sort of thing didn't usually happen, but since then I've started to believe that crime rates do rise during holidays.

We called the cops. Ten minutes later, they were there asking questions and having me reenact what I think might have happened. etc etc... I am an obsessive CSI viewer so I gave my theories with gusto you'd think I was Gil Grissom himself. The main thing I pointed out was that Mimo's bowl was moved. It was located on a table near the window and I was 100% sure it was moved. The other cop, the rookie I presumed, went out to get their fingerprinting paraphernalia. This got me sort of excited, CSI in my room... yey! (I was in lost camera denial)

The rookie cop came back with a kit and a 4" wide roll of scotch tape. I had no idea what the tape was for. He started putting dust on the bowl, I was watching him. Then he brushed the powder lightly (at first) and when the powder kept falling off, he brushed heavier with circular motions (erasing whatever fingerprints were left behind!!) He managed to make some powder stick so he took the 4" tape, looked for the end, pulled some and bit on the tape to cut it. He proceeded to use the tape to lift the prints... (I was sooo disgusted and disappointed by this time)

He said he got it, told us he'll inform us of the developments and left. He didn't even take my own fingerprints! The idiot. Most of the fingerprints there would have been mine. He could've eliminated my fingerprints... oh yes I forgot, he erased most of them already with his stupidity. That was a bad way to start the year. I lost a camera and Mimo died from fingerprint dust and from the constant jerking around done by the rookidiot cop.


Foreboding

I guess I don't have luck with fishies. I've always wanted to own a Siamese Cat, those blue eyes are amazing...


However, I broke my cup (with a cat on it) just yesterday (even cut my right thumb picking up the pieces) I had a pic of it in a previous post and now it looks like this.


Its pretty obvious the gods are telling me not to get a cat... Question though... If you break a real cat, like I did with the mug... Can you fix him with masking tape?

Labels: baguio, BE tenant, blah (3x), flashback music please