I believe it's humanly impossible to keep track of the names, work histories, food preferences, ex-lovers, current lovers, eccentricities and what-nots of 100+ people. The human brain can only store so much.

Aloha!




I got leid last Saturday...

...As in a hawaiian lei dummy. Clad in batik with prints of tropical flowers, dolphins and all things bright and sunny, I spent my Saturday in a luau themed paternal family reunion. It was fun catching up with aunts, uncles and cousins thrice removed. I sure was glad Icky, one of my close cousins, thought of nametags. I usually ignite a gazillion brain cells grappling for names of familiar familial faces. I once spent 30 minutes chatting with someone I had no recollection of meeting before... It was hard concocting generalized questions and answers... weather an current events usually work. But spending a half hour conversation with a stranger is nowhere near as difficult as spending a whole day with a bunch of blood relatives you know nothing about.

I knew about 25% of the people in the reunion, and by "knew" I mean I can tell you their names, the names of their spouses, their kids, where they work, where they live, how much homemade ice cream they can eat in an hour, etc. etc. Ok, ok... most of the guys and gals in this 25% are near and dear to my heart (awww... shucks... cue slow tear drop from my left eye)

I can remember the names of the other 50% without the aid of "Hi, my name is ___" tags.

However, the remaining 25% are complete and utter strangers. I usually look like a buffoon smiling and waiting for the relative stranger to initiate small talk... which usually ends in awkward silences... and then an excuse for a need to be somewhere else... and then later a visit to one of my cousins, a nudge and a "Who's that girl in the white dress that speaks Japanese?", "Oh"... and then twenty seconds later your Harajuku cousin's name eludes you again.

It was excruciatingly hot in Bulacan. A sauna, al fresco. The coldest least warm area in the resort was at the entrance porte cochere. This was my refuge... 20 minute interval smoking breaks amidst palmeras and swimming koi. Smoking seems to be in my paternal genes. Nearly everyone with lungs and fingers and a job to sustain the habit were smokers. We must contribute about 10% of the CO2 in the atmosphere and 25% of the gross annual income of Marlboro. It's sad really... I'd cry but my all my brain cells are focused on inhaling tobacco fumes and holding the cigarette, my tear ducts have been disconnected from my nervous system. I can only multi-task to a certain degree.

Dehydration aside... I had fun at the reunion. I would forget most of my relatives names again in next year's reunion, but I think the nametags would be a permanent fixture by then. I could make a genealogy... nah, it wouldn't be fun...


Aloha!
(I wonder how hawaiians can differentiate if someone is coming or going when they say aloha)




... Oh! And I'm temporarily changing my "summer song" to Sunburn by Sandwich... I'm so lovin the song right now. I'll return to my original "summer song" when this one has lost its potency. The original one was Rupert Holmes' Escape... "If you like pina coladas, and getting caught in the rain..."



... Oh! And I was blogrolling and came upon a meme from Snglguy. It's The Thinking Blogger's Award... It's basically listing 5 blogs that force you to run the gears in your supposed brain. hehehe... I guess the five bloggers on my blogroll that make me go all Rodin and do this:

are:

1. Snglguy - Inside the Mind of a Single Guy - I know I shouldn't return the tag but heck, when it comes to politics and current events, snglguy is my CNN. (He breaks the news more entertainingly than say Larry King)
2. BW - The Warped Zone - You get a Buddha-esque sensation after blogrolling to BW's blog. I consider him the semi-enlightened one. :)
3. Ann - Fighting Gravity - She's younger than me in earth years but older than me in blog years. She's really smart. I love Miss Monalisa's laid back blogging style.
4. Ferdz - En Route - Ferdz makes me think the country isn't as fucked up as we assume... Nothing resembling the Dante's seventh circle of hell could possibly have the landscapes Ferdz features in his blog. He also makes me think I'm a foreigner in my own country. I so wanna see Bataan.
5. Wil - Miskina Ano na Isip - Wil can make the most astute observation about things we often neglect/ overlook. His blogging style is very mellow. I can't come up with an accurate english translation of his blog's name... "Whatever will do, Brain"(?)

These bloggers (and many more from my blogroll) are responsible for frying a bulk of my brain cells. I dunno whether I should thank you or go all Hannibal and make your brains entrees. hmmm... Predicament, predicament...



.

Labels: blah (3x), familia, holidays, travels

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

What's the second most depressing day (after Christmas) humanity has ever concocted? Your next twenty faux birthday (add decades as necessary) Mine is still months away... but the idea of adding another candle on the cake just makes me wanna spontaneously combust.
I love Valentine's (That just sounds awfully redundant) Sure, there's the obvious cheesiness, the influx of cookie-cutter red hearts and cupids on every possible vertical surface, the unabashed juvenile expressions of unfounded eternal love and the hard-to-escape, sickening scent of phoniness in the air... BUT what other holiday (or semblance of a holiday) lets you overindulge in the greatest, most important and revolutionary human invention of all time? sweet, sweet chocolate. You gotta love the Mayans and Aztecs for cultivating it... I am willing to overlook the fear inducing notion of Apocalypto and the human sacrifices.

It's gonna go straight to my thighs.


Let's pretend I'm Hiro Nakamura (Heroes, NBC... Yey! I've finally caught up with the TV watching audience of the west) I have the uncanny ability of moving through space and time:

(Insert sound of thunder to convey the actual moment of teleportation)




13 Cardio Songs



Tuesday, February 13, 2007

My phoniness/ BS meter will be ringing like crazy tomorrow. I've seen a couple of teens holding long stemmed roses this morning and it seems an outbreak of heart-shaped red cartolinas has hit the metro... Valentine's is upon us. I'm afraid to tune in to the radio for fear I'll hear some cheesy Barry Manilowish song... It took me 6 electro-shock therapy sessions to get these types of songs out of my brain.

The second thirteen of the year... I almost wasn't able to make this post. (I've been so friggin busy!!! It's not even funny any more)



13 Songs With Heart in the Title that I Heart... (aka... If I put "Achy Breaky Heart on this list, I'll pull the trigger myself")

1. Heart Shaped Box - Nirvana, In Utero (1993)
"Throw down your umbilical noose, so I can climb back"
Kurt Cobain is a genius. He wrote Heart Shaped Box in five minutes... inside a closet. The song is said to be about female genitalia (see: Sexual Personae, Paglia), but like all great songs, it speaks on many other levels. Courtney Love (Hole), his wife, courted Cobain with a heart-shaped box. The same heart shaped box is now in Love's possession holding Cobain's suicide letter and a lock of his hair.

2. Piece of my Heart - Janis Joplin, Cheap Thrills (1968)
"Break another little bit of my heart now, darling"
Originally done by Erma Franklin, Aretha's younger sister, it was covered by Big Brother & the Holding Company... one of Janis Joplin's early bands. Joplin sang this song at Woodstuck in 1969. Like many great artists, she died at a young age, 27, OD-ing on heroin.

3. Total Eclipse of the Heart - Bonnie Tyler, Faster than the Speed of Night (1983)
"I don't know what to do and I'm always in the dark, We're living in a powder keg and giving off sparks"
I know this ranks high on the cheesiness level. But I love it. Tyler's surgery induced raspy voice, the Bohemian Rhapsodyish feel of the song, the "turn around bright eyes" back-up vocals... This was tailor made for drunken karaoke. The song was supposedly inspired by Bronte's Wuthering Heights. Max Weinberg of Late Night with Conan O' Brien played drums on this track.

4. Heart of Glass - Blondie, Parallel Lines (1978)
"Once I had a love and it was divine, Soon found out I was losing my mind"
All hail Debbie Harry, the badass blonde chick that defined new wave chic. This song sounds a little different from the normal punk rock Blondie songs like "Call Me" or "One Way or Another", they infused elements of disco, the polar opposite of new wave during that time, to create a fusion that infuriated many of their fans. They call it "the disco song". I love all songs with synthesizers written before 1986.

5. Listen to your Heart - Roxette, Look Sharp! (1988)
"I know there's something in the wake of your smile. I get a notion when I look in your eyes"
Gotta love this Swedish duo especially the androgynous Marie Fredriksson. This ranks as one of my fave break-up (or anti-break-up) songs. I wonder if stethoscope med reps ever thought of using this as a campaign jingle... it's perfect, no?

6. Kickin my Heart Around - The Black Crowes, By Your Side (1999)
"Just come out and say it, spit the words out of your mouth. It needs no explaining, cuz we both felt it go south"
One of my fave American bands of all time mostly because of Chris Robinson's awesome voice. For younger readers who haven't heard of him, he is Kate Hudson's ex-husband and... Gavin deGraw sounds a lot like him. They have a soul-y bluesy sound that just makes you wanna sing along to their music (to the best of your ability) Listen to "Remedy" and "She Talks to Angels". This particular track "Kickin..." has some funky "hu, hu, hu, hu" back-up vocals in the bridge reminiscent of Tina Turner's cover of the Creedence Clearwater Revival song "Proud Mary". I can't wait for the release of their supposed 2007 album.

7. Young Hearts Run Free - Candi Station (1976)
"Love only breaks up, to start over again. You'll get the babies, but you won't have your man"
If the intro of this song doesn't give you the urge to jive ala Night Fever, you ain't got a disco bone in your body. I just love songs, like this, that combine perky melodies with depressing lyrics.

8. Just Take My Heart - Mr. Big, Lean Into It (1991)
"It's late at night and neither one of us is sleeping, I can't imagine my life after you're gone"
Between the cheesy lyrics, the catchy chorus and the guitar shredding, this is another awesome break-up song... comes off a little suicidal/ end-of-the-world-ish, but we've all been there. The name worked oh so well on Chris Noth in Sex and the City, but I must say it's one of the worst band names to date... I still have no idea why they named their band as such (I wonder if the reason is phallic)

9. Alone - Heart, Bad Animals (1987)
"Til now, I always got by on my own, I never really cared until I met you"
This is my definition of a power ballad. Ann Wilson can sing the hell out of this song, and she can play the flute too! The general feel of the song is stiff and cold until Ann reaches the first part of the chorus. It's hard to believe a woman with such a powerful voice suffered from a stutter when she was a girl. (Ok, so "heart" doesn't really appear on the song's name... but what's a heart song list without Heart?)

10. Groove is in the Heart - Deee Lite, World Clique (1990)
"My supperdish, my succotash wish (Sing it Baby) I couldn't ask for another"
Whenever I hear this awesome song, I always get the feeling Austin Powers or Andy Warhol will appear out nowhere to dance. It's groovy baby. Three DJs make up the band headed by vocalist and psychedelic fashion extraordinaire, Lady Miss Kier.

11. Foolish Heart - Steve Perry, Street Talk (1984)
"But will my heart play the part of the fool again, before I begin.."
This came off Perry's first album after he left Journey.
Cornball undertones - check
Talking to inanimate objects - check
Perfect post break-up, entering into a new relationship song.

12. Victim of a Foolish Heart - Joss Stone, The Soul Sessions (2003)
"Now she's back to rekindle that old flame, she's got a different angle, baby... but she's playing the same old game" Gawd, this white girl can sing! I instantly fell in love with her music after I heard the joyous Super Duper Love. She is very Bohemian, almost always singing barefoot in performances and she's a vegan too.

13. Heal me, I'm Heartsick - No Vacancy, School of Rock OST (2003)
"Father, free me. Mama, woman, feed me"
No Vacancy is the fictional band of Adam Pascal in the movie. Adam played Roger in Rent: The Movie. He has a stellar voice. School of Rock is a great movie. Directed by one of my fave directors, Richard Linklater... starring two great comedians, Jack Black and Joan Cusack... a loose Sister Act storyline infused with The Ramones and guitar solos... The first known movie where Led Zeppelin allowed one of their songs to be included in a soundtrack (after a petition spearheaded by Black and Linklater)... What's not to like?

If you want mp3s of any of these songs, just e-mail me at:

alternati_sheol[at]yahoo[dot]com

My Valentine's to anyone.

I wonder how can I teleport back to the fourteenth... It's not written in the Hiro Nakamura manual. hmmm...

Labels: area 13, boo-freakin-hoo, holidays, music

Hey everyone. Thanks for the greetings through the holidays... I'll start blogrolling to return my late greetings.

Labels: blah (3x), holidays

Inspite of all the obvious reasons, I will be going to Sagada from the 28th to the 30th. I starting to believe people are like anti-geese. We migrate to the colder places when winter or the semblance of winter comes. The plan is we'll be back just in time for the New Year's... that is, if everything goes out as planned. I wouldn't be surprised if we got stuck on the road. Me and bad luck go together like peanut butter and strawberry jam (ha! My first Baguio inspired metaphor! although strawberries are grown mostly outside Baguio)

If I don't turn up after the 30th, please organize a search party.

Labels: holidays, sports (yeah right)

Bonus roasting on an open mall sale
The smell of fruitcake yanking at your nose
The price of kid's toys that make you turn pale
And folks eat 'til they weigh like rhinoes

Everybody knows, 8 hours of sleep and a 13th month pay
Help to make the season fun
Tired peons with their eyes all aglow
Won't find it hard to sleep 'til one (PM)

They know that free time's on its way
It's loaded lots of lazy hours on it's sleigh
And everybody's pants are gonna try
to see if they'll still fit with a zipped fly

The glorious days of non-work are finally here. I am getting all teary eyed just thinking of all the shut-eye and uninhibited lazing in bed I'm compelled to do.

We had the office Christmas Dinner last Thursday night and an encore lunch Friday. The compulsory Kris Kringle turned out to be really fun. One needs to jazz these things up to prevent a purchase of a one way ticket to boresville. We did the "wish list" format this year. The basic idea is to think of a gift you want (within the budgetary stipulations) and an alias. Mine was "Dumpling" inspired by Mikey from Queer as Folk. You draw from a hat the gift you're giving and an alias to whom you're gonna give it to. The fun part is guessing who's getting what you wrapped and the convenient part is not thinking of what gift to give, which let's face it, is one of the toughest things to do.

My Friday afternoon (thru night, thru early morning) was spent attempting to cross out every name on my hitlist, err... shopping list. It was a pretty successful undertaking with my dear friend, Ems. We have this holiday-rush-tradition, both of us are vying to be "The Tardiest Person in the Planet". By the time the mall was closing, I only had one unchecked person on my list, my feet were about to fall off, my pockets were a whole lot lighter, and I had a gazillion bags that weighed a ton in my hands. I stole a taxi cab from an older gentleman on the way home. I was more than willing to do the whole taxi war cha cha cha, but my feet and arms were just not up for it.


I still however managed to muster the strength to wrap. I may whine about the general phoniness of this holiday and I may love receiving a lot more than I do giving, but I absolutely, without reservation love, love, love, wrapping presents. I account this to the transience of a wrapper's life. It takes forever to cut, fold, tape, etc... but it only takes a simple ripping motion to lacerate the wrapper and make the entrails gift come out.

For every gift Ems and I bought for someone, we bought a corresponding one for ourselves. We believe in fairness and equality.


Some of the ones I can publicly announce include:

1. One of my annual new pillow. I believe sleep is an art form.
2. An orange bag. Nothing like a pumpkin colored mailman bag to draw the attention of trick or treaters.
3. Some badass shades to go with the orange bag.
4. Horton Hatches the Egg. Yes this is for me. Dr Seuss is one of my fave writers.
5. A collection of cartoons from The Newyorker
6. A couple of second hand books: One by Faulkner, one by Golding.
7. One of those "quilted" jackets that covers up body flabs with artificial ones.
8. A stuffed pig to remind me to stay away from complex carbohydrates
9. A Lucky Shirt.
   

We believe in that "You can't love others if you don't love yourself" adage very deeply. If I can impart a simple tip for boosting your ego and satiating all your senses... Don't forget to buy a gift (or more) for yourself. Narcissus may have drowned in his own reflection, but unlike Atlas, he could tie his shoelaces without the heavens falling.

And so I'm offering this simple phrase
To kids from 1 to 92
Although it's been said many times many ways
Merry Christmas to you... (yes you.)

Labels: blah (3x), Bookworms Anonymous, holidays

Remember that cliche, "Always a bridesmaid, never a bride"? I can totally relate with it only mine goes, thanks to the fabulous Fran Lebowitz (Metropolitan Life), "Always a godparent... never a god".

I have this aura that seems to perpetually put me on my friends' godparent candidate list. I know I'm adorable and kids love me, but that's beside the point. I heard somewhere (see: I'm making this up) that if a kid you do not know personally instantly likes you as heshe looks over hisher mom's shoulder on an escalator, it says a lot about your innate likeability, or your semblance to a clown or Mickey Mouse depending on your ear size.

Anyways, godparenthood is serious business here in the Philippines. I guess the same is true in any predominantly Catholic country. Godparents are called "ninong" (male) and "ninang" (female). Their "inaanak" (godchildren) drop by their houses during Christmas to collect "Aguinaldo", basically moolah. I am not sure why it's named after a past president, but I'm guessing it has something to do with the presence of his face on the now defunct five-peso bill, and the now counterfeitable (?) five-peso coin. A local version of "It's all about the Benjamins", sort of. Give your godchild five pesos now and you'll definitely see a perplexed but clearly fuming child. Five pesos ain't worth shit, it doesn't even cover regular jeepney fare. I heard the GAP (Godchildren Association of the Philippines) is fighting to change the term "Aguinaldo" to "Aquino" (500 pesos) or "The Santos-Lim-Escoda Threesome" (1,000 pesos).

Giving gifts on Christmas and Birthdays is a welcome alternative. Godparenthood is a burdensome responbility. This is a fact a friend shouldn't even entertain in one's mind, let alone publish in one's public blog. But it is. I would honestly wanna spend my 13th month pay on a pair of Hushpuppies I saw last week or a kick-ass small-of-the-back tattoo, I instead find myself too often around Toy Kingdom or the 3-4 year old clothing section.

Giving is overrated. I like to give as much as I like receiving... scratch that, I like receiving more, but I don't mind giving. What drives me to look at Osh Kosh apparel and Bratz paraphernalia isn't the fulfillment that supposedly comes along with giving. It isn't totally the look of joy children emit when they see a new toy, although that is the best anti-depressant. It is the fact that MY godparents were shitty when I was young. They were either fictitious people I never saw in person, merely creatures I saw in a yellowish photo who were standing around a three-month old version of me, all of them clad in white and holding lit candles as a priest gives me a shampoo... OR, they did make their presence felt during my childhood Christmases and birthdays in the form of hankies or bar soap. What is a five year old supposed to do with 3 bars of Dove soap? and isn't a hanky for every birthday a tad too predictable?

I am breaking this vicious Vicious godparent cycle by being the most benevolent one I could possibly be (which isn't saying much) to the godchildren I am "active" with. Most of my "inactive" godchildren are a zip code or an ocean apart. And at times, I was a victim of a shot-gun baptism. Coercion takes on many forms.

I've nearly completed my godchildren Christmas shopping list. Unlike Santa, I do not have the luxury of crossing out naughty ones.

"Always a godparent, never a god"... Imagine what I could give them if I WERE a god... a college plan, a lifetime supply of legos, their own planet?... But I'm just a godparent.




New Tenant
I love my new tenant's blog... check out A Pile of Dogbones

Labels: filipinowledge, holidays, kids-r-i

I have concocted my ideal Noche Buena (Christmas Eve Dinner) I'm not talking about the feast itself, cooking isn't my strong suit, I'll leave that to my dad who is excellent at it. My forte is picking a diverse, interesting, may be fictional but still relatively plausible guest list. Look at me looking forward to Christmas dinner, they may be hope for me yet...

Imagine having dinner with:

Linus van Pelt
Every dinner requires a great philosopher clutching a blue blanket. Linus is mine. How could you not invite the person who coined "security blanket" and realistically dreams of being the 47th person on the moon? His explanation of the true meaning of Christmas (quoting Luke 2:8-14) to Charlie Brown and his posse made him my instant Dalai Lama the moment I saw that TV special, of course I was too young then to know what a Dalai Lama was. We will be serving alcohol during dinner, don't worry... Linus may appear like a perpetual preschooler, but he loves Johnny Walker on the rocks... after all, he's about 54 years old.

Kevin McCallister
Linus although relatively wise for his age, requires the company of a kid to keep him from getting restless. 8 year old Kevin is the perfect candidate. The Home Alone movies (the first two at least) was as much a staple of my childhood Christmases as a plastic tree. His classic pose, an homage to Munch's Scream, will be a very effective ice-breaker. Also, his Machiavellian inventions will make sure our dinner would be "Wet Bandit"-free, and if burglars do dare to enter, more enjoyment for us as we watch middle-aged men getting burned and whacked in the oh so most sensitive places.

Jack Skellington
My Christmas dinner wouldn't be complete without the Pumpkin King of Halloweentown. I will be all starstruck around him. First of all, he baptized the "lobster red creature" known to us as Santa, "Sandy Claws", I am awed by his wit. Second, I've always been mesmerized by stop motion films... great films like this require massive stockpiles of passion and patience and meticulous attention to detail. It is art in the finest sense of the word. And most importantly, he knows Tim Burton. One of my favorite people in the world. I am devising ways to steer the conversation into having him relate firsthand his attempt to take over Christmas... I can't wait!

Max
I'm pretty sure Jack Skellington will bring Zero, his phantom dog. Max would be an ideal companion since I don't think many of us speak "dog". The Grinch is a very private person who detests company. The fact that he likes (sort of) the company of his dog Max speaks volumes about Max in the likeability department. Max can pull a sleigh holding both the Grinch and all the stolen Who-ville Christmas paraphernalia all by himself. For this reason alone, I'm lifting the no-dog-in-the-house directive. Come on... look at Max' smile... he is sooo adorable.

Mr. Hankey
"Howdy-Ho!" I hope Kyle wouldn't mind if I steal Mr. Hankey this Christmas Eve. Mr. Hankey is a denizen of the Southpark sewers. Yes, he is a coil of human feces, but us believers like to call him "The Christmas Poo". I don't mind eating my dinner beside a steaming pile of scat, and anyone who gags and shows the slightest amount of repulsion in Mr. Hankey's company would be free to leave the table... and the premises of my city. My guests are lucky I didn't invite his wife Autumn (also feces) and their three kids (all feces as well and one has a peanut for a head)

Crumpet
David Sedaris, one of my favorite writers, once worked as a Christmas elf in Macy's. He recounted his stay there in Santaland Diaries (Holidays on Ice) Crumpet was his chosen elf name. His experiences in that wonderland of sparkling lights, fake snow and mechanical penguins were so dementedly amusing, it made me wish we had a Macy's store in Baguio, or more feasibly that I lived in New York. I highly recommend Holidays on Ice for holiday reading, I am having mine signed when Mr. Sedaris knocks on my front door... Joy!

Billy Mack
I can never get through most activities without a proper soundtrack. Enter fictional rock legend, Billy Mack. I wouldn't mind hearing his "festering turd of a record" (his words not mine) after dinner. It is "Love is all around" (Wet Wet Wet song) but with all "love" lyrics altered to "Christmas"... Genius... I know. I usually cringe at the idea of watching Hugh Grant movies (Stop throwing those cliches around mister caught-with-your-pants-down) but I watched Love Actually... and, get this... liked loved it. I guess the numerous characters diluted Grant's cheesiness. Why can't he be more like dreamy Colin Firth. *faint*

Josephine March
There can never be enough writers on my dinner table. "Little Woman" Jo March is one of the first feminists I've ever known. The period clothing may be a bit off in my gathering but I invited her for three reasons: One, she looks uncannily like Winona-freakin-Rider! Two, Anyone who is willing to sell their hair for her family is a hero in my book... and Three, She turned down Laurie! Laurie is Christian-freakin-Bale for pete's sake! Gawd.

Rudolph
"...the red-nosed reindeer, had a very..." (Shoot me now) There will be no carolling on this table! I personally believe Rudolph is the first gay character on film. Literally doe-eyed, a graceful trot, inability to play basketball, and a flamboyant nose... I rest my case. Heshe (yes, there are debates about hisher gender) is a pioneering beacon of androgony and individuality against adversity. The Rudolphs of the world are just like you, only with shiny red noses. Rudolph... "You'll go down in history"

The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come
Okay, TGOCYTC (such a typeful) may not be much of a conversationalist... He prefers to just point at things. At first I wondered if he would feel out of place in my generally chatty guest list and what interesting thing he could possibly offer. Then I remembered he was a clairvoyant of sorts. After dinner, I am unsure if he eats or even has an esophagus... anyways, after dinner, he can take all of us into our own Christmas Dream journeys. Now that is something entirely unique eh? And I had him sign a contract never to do that whole name on a tombstone prank he did on Scrooge.

Buddy
Enter entertainment. Will Ferrell... err Buddy will bring the Christmas cheer to the dinner. Of course what he doesn't know is we all (including Rudolph) mock him behind his back. The perfect thing is, he is so oblivious, no one gets hurt. Win Win. Buddy will probably have inside elf jokes with Crumpet although the whole Gimbels-Macys rivalry might come in play. If for anything else, Buddy's Spaghetti with M&Ms and syrup entree would be a conversation piece.

Davey Stone
There can never be enough Saturday Night Live alumni on my dinner table. Davey, the "cartoonized" version of Adam Sandler would be my insight into Chanukah. A celebration I am very curious of but totally ignorant about. Plus, Adam Sandler in my house? forgeddaboutit... okay the closest I can probably get to Mr. Adam Sandler is my non-existent acquuaintance with Rob Schneider, he has family here in Baguio. Go Midland Courier.


Mrs. Claus
I guess it's time for the dame to leave the solitude of the North Pole during Christmas Eve. When santa is away, the mrs. will play (No Limit Texas hold'em with me and my guests after dinner) She is more elusive than Big Foot. No picture of her has ever been taken yet, the Big Foot slipped up already. I like to think of Mrs. Claus as shown in the picture, I won't believe a woman of her stature would wear matching outfits with her beau. Mrs. Claus has requested that all paparazzi steer clear of my house.


Quite a guest list, don't you think? I'm gonna start picking napkin rings and centerpieces tomorrow.

Labels: area 13, 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 can think of only two infamous Christmas villains. The Grinch and Ebenezer Scrooge. Well, they aren't even technically villains, they just... during the early parts of their biographies... hate Christmas. They have entered our lexicon and any anti-yuletide energy you emit gives you the label of "scrooge" or "grinch" or "heartless, joyless, psycho-b*tch/ assh*le (use according to apparent gender)

You can't blame the Grinch for hating Christmas:

It could be that his head wasn't screwed on quite right. (a shrink)
It could be, perhaps, that his shoes were too tight. (a Hushpuppies retailer)
But I think that the most likely reason of all (a statistician)
May have been that his heart was two sizes too small. (a cardiologist)

It's anatomical. Would you blame a short fellow for hating basketball, or a tall fellow for hating hobbit-houses? I've always loved the Grinch, his vomit-green fur, his voice done by Boris Karloff (most famous for voicing the original Frankenstein), his couture or lack thereof... of course I'm referring to the 1966 cartoon which has been as much a part of my Christmases as queso de bola. I like Jim Carrey, but that Grinch adaptation he did just sucked. Kudos to the make-up and prosthetics... "Damn you" for adding to/altering the storyline.

I think the Grinch blew it when he "stole". The eighth (spelling?) commandment applies in Whoville... and the punishment is far worse than the seventh circle of hell, it's having your heart grow three sizes bigger and having thoughts like:

"Maybe Christmas," he thought, "doesn't come from a store. (commercialism)
"Maybe Christmas... perhaps... means a little bit more!" (more commercialism?)

Ebenezer Scrooge. Poor guy, Charles Dickens succeeded in eternally associating his name with greed and malice. The billions of adaptations of A Christmas Carol agree in typifying Scrooge as an old man wearing a night gown with a night cap, round eyeglasses and is either counting piles of coins or screaming his head off holding a gas-lit lamp. This is the worst smear campaign in the history of 19th century literature! Only Dickens can transform a wise, savvy, frugal, obviously accounting-knowledgeable business man into a scared senior citizen defined by "selfishness" and "avarice". Mud-slinging Dickens... tsk tsk tsk.

He doesn't stop with the obvious libel. Dickens went as far as sending three "ghosts". We all know what these "ghosts" are. Nameless meddling spawns of Dickens: Agent Past, Agent Present and Agent Future. They, through deceit and trickery, convince Scrooge to give the money HE earned to charity. Talk about taking advantage of a poor old man with a semi-honest living! I have consulted my lawyer and he says that tombstone Agent Future showed you Mr. Scrooge is undoubtedly a death threat.

To deliver the final nail on the coffin... the plaintiff calls "Tiny Tim". The defendant, Ebenezer Scrooge, looks despondent as a 10-year old boy supported by a crutch accessorized by a nasty phlegmy cough takes the witness stand. Mr. Scrooge's attorney walks toward the stand:
"Tiny Tim, if that IS your real name," queried the attorney.
"Oh yes dear sir," Tim replied
"Tiny Tim of the Korean Mafia???," the attorney bellowed, several loud clanks from the audience as jaws dropped.
Tim looked nervously at the plaintiff.
"It says here according to your medical records that you recently had some adamantium infused into your tibula, femur and fibula!"... more clanking jaws.
Tim mumbled "I... I... I... femur?"
"Yes your leg bone "Tiny Tim"!," the attorney motioning quotation marks with his hands. The attorney swipes the crutch.
"Lo and Behold! he stands!!! No further questions your honor!" Audience clapping.

The plaintiff rises and asks Tiny Tim... "Is there anything you wanna say?"
Tiny Tim obviously rattled raised his hands, smiled and with teary eyes said "God Bless us, everyone!"
The audience oohed and aahed. Ebenezer was sentenced with two life sentences in a high security prison where he has to spend Christmas everyday with the thief Grinch and the Easter Bunny. No Bail. A million lit parols but No Parole.

He didn't stand a chance with the conniving skills of Dickens and the little boy.



It would take more than the entire Who-ville singing Christmas carols around a disheveled tree, three "ghosts" and Tiny Tim to silence my inner Grinch/Stooge.



17 days to no work, lots of food and sleep and presents aka Christmas! Whoopdeefreakingdoo!

Inspirational Christmas quote for the day:

Fame always brings loneliness. Success is as ice cold and lonely as the North Pole.
- Vicky Baum

Labels: Bookworms Anonymous, holidays, kids-r-i

Finally back to my old routine... sleeping for 8 hours, waking up after the sun has fully risen, blogging at night and sitting more than standing. The National Conference of Architects is finally over! I have yet to digest the events of the past days... It felt like a 3 day somnambulist expedition, waking up before 6 am has that effect on me.

---

My first experience of Trick or Treat was last year... ok so it was second-hand. Here's a pic of nephew and niece in costumes my sis and I rushed a night before the event. Who knew I had "stage-mom" genes...


Trick or Treating isn't too big in the Philippines. Kids here do their Christmas carolling instead (Like a reversed Nightmare Before Christmas) The old hide-and-seek with the carollers dance begins sometime in October. Aside from visits to the cemetery, scaring one's self shitless during this blessed night is the tradition my generation has embraced.

I am channel-surfing like a minesweeper. I make mental notes of channels that are showing horror flicks and skip said channels with the memory of AJ, for fear that I may retain some creepy imagery which my hyperactive imagination might feed on. The thing with me and scary movies is when I happen to stumble upon one, I need to finish it. By doing so, I tend to criticize the pathetic storyline, my inner critic overshadows my inner scaredy cat. An unresolved movie is a phobic's imagination's playground.

Horror films on Halloween... I made that stupid mistake with Halimaw sa Banga (Ghoul in the Big Clay Jar) when I was 10 (who knew a movie with cute girl named Matet could cause me several years of utter fear of huge ornamental jars)... with Amityville when I was 14 (the scarier part is that it's based on actual events)... with the Shake, Rattle and Roll movies when I was in highschool (I know the special effects are pathetic but Mary Walters, bless her soul, made me gerontophobic)... with all three Scream movies and both I Know What you Did... movies when I was in college (Just kill Neve Campbell and Jennifer Love Hewitt so we can get on with our lives!). I have yet to make that mistake after I left the academe.

My checklist for watching scary movies: foremost, the date must be nowhere near October 31, noontime, lots of friends, a back-up plan to spend a late night spent trying to forget what I saw. I remember watching a Scream marathon alone in an empty house, everyone went down to Bulacan for Undas (All Saints' Say)... I unplugged the phone. It isn't as scary on hindsight, especially thanks to the Wayans Brothers parody. I am such a wuss. That coupled with my morbid curiosity makes for a lethal combination, drawing out any notion of sleep from my head... eyes darting between window, door and mirror... making sure an elongated skull mask with a Rambo knife or that damn crawling Japanese girl with wet hair doesn't catch me off guard.

Ok, all this talk of horror movies has unleashed repressed images in the recesses of the "Do not open" chambers of my brain. I guess I made the mistake again... and I guess whoever declared November 1 a holiday must've been a pansy like me, Heshe didn't sleep the night before and needed a day to recuperate...

My back-up plan: watching my movie backlog.

Where is a Julie Andrews movie when you need one?
Raindrops and roses and vindictive kittens...
Bright copper kettles and warm blood stained mittens...
Brown paper packages, decapitated heads of things...
These are a few of my favorite things...

Labels: blah (3x), holidays, movies

Despite my subtle efforts to prevent it from happening, our house has been christmasized. Last week, after an exhausting day from work, I was greeted by our plastic fantastic tree standing in all its tinsel glory in the living room. I have always been the designated Christmas decorator and I took comfort in the fact that I controlled when the multi-colored Christmas balls come out of their dusty mildewed boxes. I have been putting off the decorating intentionally, but unfortunately... our chipper housekeeper, Lisa decided to do a Yuletide mutiny. While I was busy designing plans of a resort... Lisa resorted to plan a design for the sparkly garlands of the tree.

I am still in a way successful in my plans to delay Christmas. Filipinos are known to celebrate the longest Christmas season. When the "-ber" months start, so do the carols in radio shows and the hanging of parols (colorful star shaped lanterns) This whole"-ber" thing supposedly refers to "brrr", the sound shivering people make when its cold, mainly due to the Barat wind. (Its interesting that barat in Filipino means "frugal" and this wind starts to show itself on December) A month-long Christmas season can, at times, be very depressing under certain circumstances... Try going through it for 4 months and 3 weeks, give or take.

My suspended christmasation lasted one month and nine days.

I can not pinpoint the exact moment when I turned from Charles Schulz' Linus to Charles Dickens' Scrooge. When the carols sounded more like Jingle Belch, Winter Blunderland and My Grown-up Christmas Hitlist. When a plastic tree is just a plastic tree.

This is just a phase I go through every year... I am actually a delightful person who loves the season and still looks at a lit Christmas tree in a dark living room with awe when no one is watching.

Bah Humbug.

Labels: blah (3x), filipinowledge, holidays, i-rate

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