Thursday, October 12, 2006
All that Mushy stuff
I had a really weird dream last night. I dreamt that I met up a woman whom I had written off a long time ago. It was really strange because this woman in the dream was a lot more civil and friendly than I had previously remembered the last time there was an exchange between us. We had gone out to dinner and it was cold, and we cruised through some parts of town that you really wouldn't get caught cruising through, yet there we were cruising through it as if nothing happened. The main drag, sort of like Keeaumoku street in Honolulu, was alive with lots of lights and people just hanging out, lots of girlie girlie hostess bars. We went to a house and actually had a friendly conversation. There was a lot of hugging and "all that mushy" stuff but no kissing or anything like that, just what two long lost friends would do if they hadn't seen each other in years. I really don't know what to make of it, other than just a dream. I live my life. She lives her life. We are all happy and that is all that matters, in the dream of course.
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
State of Denial
The Republican party, no surprise here, is a party of liars and hypocrites. On the one end they have a disgraced congressman Foley who resigned over alleged sexually explicit emails with House pages, 16 year old boys (and girls) who work a semester at the U.S. House of Representatives, running errands and other menial things for congressmen. The Congressman was supposedly a champion in pushing legislation designed to protect children from pedophiles and the like, but it turns out the congressman pushing the legislation in public was a sexual deviant in private.
Next we have the speaker of the house, Sen. Hastert, third in line to the presidency if in the fortunate time the president and VP meet their demise, denying that he knew of the emails.
Following the Speaker is the former chief of staff to the disgraced congressman Foley, who claims that he warned Hastert of the emails more than two years ago.
So who is lying here? Does it matter? While the politicians are denying this and denying that, what about the pages who were exposed to the disgraced congressman's instant messages and emails?
The Republican party is truly in a State of Denial
Next we have the speaker of the house, Sen. Hastert, third in line to the presidency if in the fortunate time the president and VP meet their demise, denying that he knew of the emails.
Following the Speaker is the former chief of staff to the disgraced congressman Foley, who claims that he warned Hastert of the emails more than two years ago.
So who is lying here? Does it matter? While the politicians are denying this and denying that, what about the pages who were exposed to the disgraced congressman's instant messages and emails?
The Republican party is truly in a State of Denial
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
The Amerikan
My friend Maria and I went Puerto Princesa, Palawan to deliver a box of Vietnamese language text books in 1985, and at the time I had a twisted vision that the island was a barren waste, decimated by loggers who failed to practice conservation efforts. I never realized how beautiful it was. After a week at Duchess Inn near the refugee camp, we wanted to see more. We didn't just want to leave the island and head back to the hustle that Manila is. We spent a day at White Beach and another two in the camp, just communicating with the friendly Vietnamese people.
After a week Maria and I were still looking for adventure, and the front desk girl at Duchess Inn, our home for the week, had told us about Tanabag. So Maria and I decided to go. After packing our backpacks and paying the bill, we sat down at the Inn for one last breakfast. The menu was the same: French bread baked at the camp, and honey, and fried eggs and coffee. The eggs were a deep yellow and tasted different from those back home. The honey and the bread melted in your mouth.
"I've always heard about the Batac Tribe of Palawan," Maria said, as she attempted to break the silence. "Huh?" I said as I savored my breakfast. "Yeah, I'd like to see this tribe too. I heard they move from place to place and take their house with them," I said. "Now where is it that we catch the jeep?" Maria got the directions from the front desk girl and after, we stopped at the palengke to get bottled water and fresh batteries for my Mag-Lite. Tanabag was a good two hours drive from Puerto Princesa, and I figured with stops along the way, we'd arrive around 3:30 p.m. We made reservations ahead of time, and because we were traveling light, we were able to load up on extra water and junkfoodstuffs.
The jeepney was pretty ragged looking, and it definitely had seen some better days. It was a rusting hulk with no tail lights and bald tires. A front fender was missing and the back seats were torn to pieces. The driver, an overweight man in his late 20s was busy adding oil to the engine as his charge collected the fares. It didn't concern me that the jeep was filled to capacity because I got used to the way they fill jeeps back in Manila. But when I began to see people climbing atop the jeep and on the front bonnet, I couldn't help but wonder how we were going to manage on this two hour ride. There must have been 22 people in and on the jeep, along with various bags, crates of live chickens, bushels of bok choy. Two 100 pound blocks of ice wrapped in burlap and sprinkled with sawdust were lashed to the back of the jeep, on each side of the entranceway. The jeep was fully loaded.
Unlike the jeeps of Manila, this jeep was sparsely decorated. The only paint on it was that of the familiar PAL logo and signage, and it was small. But it was the only thing visible, because the rest of the jeep was tin metal. It had no mirrors of any kind. And no radio.
As we left, the man at the jeep station looked and started to shake his head at the driver. The driver had done it again. He managed to squeeze as many and as much cargo and people as his jeep could hold, maximizing his trip for maximum cash.
At the first stop, two people got off, but three more got on, so I figured we were in for something. A thrifty jeepney driver and an old, rusty pile of shit of a jeep. Just as we were about to leave the outskirts of Puerto Princesa, the left rear tire blew out and we hobbled to a stop. I looked at my Casio. We were exactly eight minutes into our trip. I stared in awe as I counted 16 people climb off the roof of the jeep. The driver pulled off one of his two spare tires, which also were bald and replaced the flat. We were running again in about twenty minutes. It was humid and dusty, and it was hot.
The road leading out of the city was semi-paved with gravel and sand. It was hard packed from all the vehicles it has accommodated over the years. It was a surprisingly smooth ride for such primitive construction. No asphalt, no cement, no lane markers. Just dirt and gravel. As we passed, I looked at the ocean and the opposing jungle. On one side, it was blue and sparse and empty. Palm trees beckoned out toward the sea, and an occasional Nipa hut dotted the landscape. On the other side loomed a thick mass of greenery. Vegetation, tall trees, dense bush, and high mountains. A cool wind blew off the rain forest toward the sea. It was refreshing and smelled real clean. Pure oxygen.
An hour into the trip we got our second flat tire. It was very hot. We were turning a corner when a loud "pop" disabled the jeep once again. The jeep started listing to one side and the driver pulled under some coconut trees. Again everybody got out. The woman who was sitting atop the wheel well when the first blow out occurred was sitting in the same spot, and as she got out she was complaining that the driver should get new tires. "Maybe it's not my tires, but it's your bad luck," Totoy, the driver said. "I think you've put a curse on my jeep. You've been sitting atop the only tire that has blown out, and the tires are all bald," the driver said as he wrenched on the spare. "Ano, spellmaker ba ?"
"Don't blame me for you being so cheap. It's not me that is causing the delays, it's this piece of shit jeep. It's cursed with PAL," the woman laughed as she squatted on the side of the road and lit up a cigarette. She seemed one hundred years old, but she still had her wits about her. And she smoked her cigarette with the cherry in her mouth. Insane.
The sun was really doing a number on us. People were getting irritated. Totoy mumbled something to himself as he wrenched the second spare off the fender. His stomach, which obviously had downed many San Miguels in its day, hung a few inches outside his shirt as he worked the tire off. The crack of his ass shone as he worked the flat off the axle. He was grunting, somewhat like a pig as he fought with the tire, getting a handle on it as he sat in the dirty, dusty road.
A scorpion scampered by, and Totoy, with a deft agility that seemed incapable from such an overweight man, expertly threw the lug wrench at it, smashing its head. The tail was stinging the hot metal, and the scorpion slowly stopped its movement. Retrieving the wrench, Totoy was boasting like he was some ace shot. "Magaling iyon!," Totoy said as he cleaned the wrench with an oily rag he retrieved from his back pocket. "It never fails, my shot is always on the mark," Totoy said as he began tightening the lug nuts. "Yeah, right pare, but how come you don't have any children yet, your shot isn't so good, Walang heirs naman, sino ang inherit ang jeep ba? This piece of shit you call a jeep?" laughed his charge, a short, dark, ugly man with no front teeth. "Pu tang ina, get out and walk, ano ayo ang jeep ko? get out and walk you little shit," Totoy said as he chased his charge around the jeep. I looked down at the scorpion, looking for signs of life. Big black ants had already swarmed over it and were devouring it, feasting on an enemy. The voracity of the feasting ants was unparalleled, except for maybe a feeding frenzy of sharks I saw on the Discovery Channel. My how nature works. I looked up toward the sun. It was blazing, and I was hoping for relief, anything but this cursed heat.
"I'm thirsty, John," Maria said as we sat in the jeep. "Let's get some cokes," she said as we waited inside the jeep. It started to really bake in the jeep, and the people still in it made the smell very pungent. I jumped out of the jeep and walked over to the sari-sari store across the road and bought two Sprites and a double bag of Chippys. Little to snack on but better than sitting and baking in the back of the jeep.
The driver was finishing up on the tire when another jeepney stopped. This jeep had chrome all over the place, and the rims were shiny too. The driver was wearing a pair of vintage WWII goggles and a scarf, but no shirt. His muscles rippled as he pulled himself out of his seat and into the street at Totoy's feet. The driver looked at the jeepney and started to laugh. "Totoy, Ano ka, cutting corners again? Why don't you invest in some Sime Darbys? You won't be getting flats every weekend you come out here," the driver said as Totoy finished the job and leaned on the fender, wiping the sweat off his face and neck. "Ano pare, let me borrow your spare?" I need it just in case, I've got no more spares. "Ano Totoy, you got 500 pesos I could hold until I get it back?" "And when are you going to learn not to take ice on a day trip?" The driver said as he fondled a nearly empty and very wet ice bag. "Ice is gone," the driver said as he wrenched the spare off his fender and gave it to Totoy. "And don't be late," "And next time leave Waling in the market. She's bad luck," he laughed as Waling, the woman who sat on the wheel which was always getting flat, threw a rotted tomato at him as he accelerated the jeep past us. "Sigue make fun, I'm sitting in the front now, no more in the back," she said as she gathered her stuff and kicked a guy out of his seat and took his place. Nine kms down the road, the front tire blew out.
Sometime around 7 p.m., we arrived in Tanabag. Surprisingly, there weren't any mosquitoes, and the horizon was brilliant. Stars were literally lighting up the sky. It was a full moon, and the reflection off the calm China Sea was striking. I thanked the driver and we got off. Our two hour ride took nearly six hours. I was so dusty and dehydrated. It was a very long day. "Come on Johnny boy, lets get settled so we can wash up. I feel so, ano ba, so icky naman." Maria quipped as she tied her hair up.
We went to the office. A rusty Coleman lantern lit the way. Two women and a man were sitting on the bamboo rail on the porch, playing pusoy and drinking beer. "Ako ang reservations dito," Maria said as she settled down on the bench next to the younger girl. "Ano ang pangalan, miss?" "de La Cruz" Maria said as we went through the formalities. "Ah yes, Mr. John de La Cruz and guest," Sophie, as she introduced herself, said as she had us sign the guest log. I stared at her as she spoke, eyeing her body and her lips. She was a very hearty young woman, about 22. Big legs and calfs on a stout torso. Her body seemed very strong, and built, not like a Manila waif, but a woman of the province, a provinciana. "How long will you be staying Mr. de La Cruz?" Sophie asked as she poured me some fresh mango juice. "The fourth and fifth Nipa hut are open, you can have whichever one you prefer," she said as we gulped the sweet nectar that mango juice is. "The one at the end looks good, and we'll be here for a few days, at least until Sunday," I said as we finished the merienda and started to walk toward the last Nipa hut "If you need fresh water sir, go ahead and ask Ferdie he will go to the market for only twenty pesos. The water here is not potable, so I advise you to get bottled water if you don't already have some. It's OK to take a bath in though," she said as she walked us to the Nipa hut. Have a good night and don't worry, its very safe here in Tanabag."
After unpacking, Maria took a nap, and I, a bit tired from the trip, but also eager to check out the waves, went for a walk on the beach. The stars were so many and so far, it looked as if I was looking through a wide angle lens. They went all the way to the horizon. I saw no lights, no airplane trails, nothing. Just a deep black void filled with little shining specs of light. The Nipa huts were situated on a point, and to the left of the structures was a pond with palm trees and brush growing in the water and on a little mound in the middle. It was probably fed by a freshwater spring, and fed saltwater at high tide. The beach was rocky with smooth sand scattered in between and little strips of bamboo jutted out in a circular formation. The air smelled of salt, and the breeze, a bit nippy. As I walked, I thought of the rest of our god forsaken civilization. Of the wars over oil, over territory, over religion. And on this edge, this edge of Palawan, looking out to sea, I couldn't give a flying fuck. Because here, nothing mattered. Just a vast sea.
Here I'm told not to drink the water because it's not potable, but this brackish water that comes out of the shower head, this rusty smelling gift of life is safe to shower in. Back off the edge, I take the water for granted. I won't drink it out of a garden hose in my town, but that water is even cleaner than the water coming out of the shower heads here. But its the price I pay for this slice of life, this cosm of the world that many people will never see. Life moves slow here. News is a week, 10 days old before it gets here, if it ever gets here. I smell the jungle, see the stars, hear the ocean lap at the land as I walk the edge of it, and feel the force of life. These people, these Filipinos, they have nothing, as we see from the West. They have no cars, no VCRs, no compact discs, no answering machines, no dust busters, no ballet class, no credit cards, no auto repair, no microwaves, no alarms, no hair dryer, no bills, no insurance, no savings, no sense of the future. They live for today, because they know that tomorrow is not guaranteed. They, without the possessions we deem essential, they live without, and live their lives as if its the last day of their life. Nothing is ever a problem. Its too simple.
"Hey Johnny boy wake up! get your ass up!" Maria said as she snapped me with a wet towel. "Let's get breakfast before the window shuts on us." I forgot that out here, there is no refrigeration, and the only way to get any food is to have Ferdie take a jeep back to the local market to get fresh vegetables and anything else we want to eat for breakfast. It was only 7 a.m., but the sun was already working up its fury in the tropics. I opened the window and looked out. Again I saw the ocean. It looked even more surreal than last night. "Unreal, I thought as I peered out into the vast and mighty South China Sea. It was like a lake, but I knew the China Sea was very deceptive and if you weren't careful, it would swallow you and never give you up. The water was a clear green, like Squirt, and very calm. The lapping that put me to sleep last night still sounded, like clockwork.
We were at the farthest reaches of the coast. Already the nik-niks, little black sand flies, were biting at my legs, and as I continued to slap at them, Sophie walked up and sprayed me with a thick oil. "It's coconut oil. They can't bite through the layer of oil, and besides that, if they land they're doomed anyway, so keep spraying," she said as she wiped the oil onto my shoulders and arms. She gave us the bottle filled with the milky-white liquid, and Maria took over. As she wiped my back and neck down with the oil, Maria gave me a little primer about Palawan and the history that she knew of it. The essence of the oil brought back memories of the beaches back home in Huntington. The oil smelled just like a bar of white Sex Wax. "Coconut oil?" I asked as Maria finished lathering herself to a gleen. "Yeah, at least it isn't toxic chemicals like Black Flag di ba? Grabe, spraying chemicals on your skin like that. Simple coconut oil. No warning labels about do not inhale or ingest or use near flame. Just pure oil that mother nature intended to be a natural remedy against the nik-nik. "I heard the nik-nik is more terrible than the mosquito," Maria said as she put on a pair of Ray Bans. "I heard they suck your blood and when once gorged, they suck more until they are overflowing out of their little insect mouths," Maria said, adjusting the Ray Bans on her nose. "And if you let them bite you at first, you'll be regretting it for weeks." I didn't know whether to believe her or not. I chose not to, and later paid the price. Nothing in this world comes without a price.
We went to the main hut where breakfast was being served. Our first morning in Tanabag, and the stress of Manila was slowly emanating from my body...and my mind. We sat at a long table that seated about 10-15 people. With the exception of a group of three Americans and one Pinoy, the table was empty.
"So, with the exception of the Vietnam War, the Philippines has not really engaged in any significant military action after W.W.II. Perhaps our country can teach your country a lesson in the strategies of world relations." He was an American. Probably in his early thirties. He was wearing one of those baduy polyester Hawaiian-type shirts only Americans would wear. Probably bought it in Baclaran. He was about 5'9" and his brown hair was receding well above his forehead. Bathed in some cheap musk oil. A total asshole just by the way he smelled.
Although I caught only the tail end of what was probably a meaningless discussion on the aspects of American military power in the Asian area of the Pacific Rim, I knew the guy was a total all American, think he's a do gooder, brainwashed right wing, we had to destroy the city in order to save it, American.
"Actooaly I believe that Da Pilapines was in......"Its actually Gaspar, acktully, just like it sounds," the American said to his Pinoy paré. "It's not actooaly. Don't destroy the one good thing we gave your country. Learn how to speak English correctly. And it's the fillapeens, not Pilapeens. Fi Fi Fillapeens, Got it? "Yes Dick, Fillapeens," Gaspar said as he dejectedly avoided eye contact at me, as I was getting teed at this American. I couldn't help it but I had to intercede.
"Excuse me sir," I said in my most believable Manila-Boy accent. "But I couldn't help but overhear you making an attempt to correct your friend's use of the English language. May I make a suggestion as well?" Maria looked at me and mouthed "Don't do this." I continued. I was pissed. Even though I was an American just like this guy, Dick, was, I was also a Filipino, and I wasn't going to stand for this guy's ignorance. "Sir do you know where you are?" I asked, continuing to fake my accent. "Yes of course, we are in the Philippine Islands, discovered by Magellen in 1492, controlled by Spain for 400 years and won from Spain by the USA in 1898. This is the Philippines. Village of Tanabag. On the South China Sea. On the island of Palawan, capital Puerto Princesa." Dick did his homework but he just didn't get it. "Your facts are good Dick, can I call you Dick?" I said as my accent became thicker, as if it took on a life of its own. "Let me ask you very simply, do you know where you are?" Dick was beginning to get a bit annoyed at my seeming prodding of his intelligence. He was smart, but his instant arrogance for all things American just pissed me off. "Yes," Dick said, "We are in The Philippines." Very simply he answered my question with a bit of consternation. "Very good," I said as I prepared my roast. Maria was getting nervous, and I assured her from under the table I had everything under control. Gaspar was getting fidgety as well, and very angry by the cold looks he was directing to me. "And in this country called the Republic of the Philippines, what kind of people live here, in this island nation of some 7,107 islands?" Dick seemed confused, and angry that such a pest as I would challenge his seeming knowledge of the country. "The people of the Philippine Islands are called Filipinos, primarily of Malay and indigenous stock, with a smattering of Chinese, European, American, and Middle Eastern extract. Being in such a strategic location as the Philippine Islands are, brings a diaspora of peoples to these islands," Dick said. "You're right, Dick," I said, "But Filipinos mostly live in the Philippines. Not Americans. As a matter a fact, there are some 58 million Pinoys in these islands, and it is very likely that 57.9 million of those Pinoys have never been to the United States, let alone another country. So it seems," I said as I began to state my position, "that the Filipino use for your English is basically meaningless. I mean, you said that we get a whole consortium of peoples coming to this country, so may I ask, how would Gaspar react if the next group he brought to this little beach were from England, the birth place of the English lingo? Or from Australia or Ireland, or India, or all the other English speaking countries in this world? Why push your corrections on him. To me, his English is fine. To other Pinoys, it is fine, but to you, why do you have to humiliate him, belittle him in front of his fellow countrymen? I mean we are in the Philippines man, and as long as we are on this rock, we will speak English however we want to. I was pissed and Maria started to ask me to apologize to Dick. "I'm trying to do Gaspar a favor with his English," I don't need some sermon from some snot nose college boy from Manila. We give you guys much concessions and you people don't appreciate anything we give you. We give you a hell of a lot and you should thank us for doing so," Dick said as he looked at me as if he demanded me to apologize to him for insulting him, his country, and his language. "Yeah right," I said as I lost the my "accent." Do you even know what the Framers of the US Constitution were aiming for as they wrote that document? Well, they were looking for a way to secure freedom for the people of the country, to ensure that no one man or political party would have total control of the country. Let me tell you something Dick," I said as I stood facing him on the other side of the table.
"Your dollars cannot buy democracy in this country. It can't buy peace and it can't buy freedom. Wake up Dick, this country is hardly modeled after the USA. You people tried, but as in Vietnam, your country has failed miserably to ensure democracy in this country. You think that Marcos is an anti-communist? He's pulled a fast one on your country. Take a look around. He controls everything in this country. Let me ask you something, how come he is still in power? In the American system, power changes hands every four years, eight if the current president wins a second term. Marcos has been in power for 20 years. Twenty years. With your money. Your country's taxpayer dollars. Marcos is a tough cookie. You supply him with the guns and gold, he buys his goons, and enforces his iron will on us. And the US continues to support him. Why? Because of two reasons. Clark Air and Subic Naval. Your "assurances" that peace remains in the region." Dick was red and angry and drunk. Early morning and already drunk. Gaspar was pissed as well and was very offended by me getting in his friends face. "Ano ka, Pare, let's just leave it alone and forget this morning," Gaspar pleaded as he lit a cigarette. "Di ba le na lang, Ang sirah American yoon," Gaspar said as he looked on at Dick. I looked at him and asked him how he could take this guy's carabao shit, how he could handle getting his English corrected for every little "mistake" he made while speaking. "He pays me in dollars, I don't want to bite the hand that feeds me and feeds me well," Gaspar echoed. I couldn't argue with that. "I've just one more thing to say Gaspar, and we're outta here. "Oh Yeah, uh Dick, I forgot to tell you one last thing. Your country's presence here in the region to ensure stability can't even ensure stability in the very country that is playing host to your military machine." As I got up to leave, I shoved the man a fresh beer.
Maria, who was silent through most of the whole argument, looked at me with disgust and took off toward the beach. Ominous clouds began forming off the coast, and the change in the wind indicated rain. She was sitting on a piece of driftwood on the beach. When I reached her, she buried her face between her knees. She was crying. "Maria, what is it?" I asked as I tried to console her. "Get away from me!" she sobbed as I grabbed her and embraced her. "What's wrong Maria, what is it?" I couldn't figure.
"You just don't get it, do you Johnny-boy. You don't have a clue," she said as I wiped the tears from her eyes. I was trying to understand, but, as I recycled the events of the morning, I couldn't see where I could have possibly gone wrong. "Gosh Johnny-boy, you're just like that man, you are as American as him!" Maria said as she again let the river of tears flow down her cheeks. "Sheesh, even though you're Pinoy on the outside, you are as American as the idiots in Subic. We don't have what your country has. We don't have money, we don't have a democratic style of government, we don't have free education, and we don't have freeways crisscrossing the land, let alone the cars," Maria said as she composed herself. "You want to know what we do have? We've got crime, we've got poverty, we've got corruption, we've got pollution, we've got high birth rate, we've got no morals, we have no standards, we have 'love hotels', we have racism and discrimination, we have disease, we have starving children everywhere. Everywhere you go in this country, you can find children everywhere, scraping for food, surviving any which way they can. We are survivors Johnny-boy. We often times marry, not because of romance or love, but for survival. We may despise the man and his family we have married into, but we do it to survive. It's just like our marriage to your country. We may not like every condition your country puts on us when we receive your country's financial aid, but we do it to survive, just like the hookers you see on the streets in the city. We have no real culture. Our culture has been prostituted Johnny-boy. Our culture is John Wayne movies, Dynasty, and all those other American TV shows we watch.
Here, if you don't have it, you'll never get it, unless you prostitute yourself by marrying some man for his money. In America, anybody can climb the mountain, and when they reach the top, it's always golden," she said as I noticed a different Maria from the hardened one of the last couple of nights. She left me at the beach, wondering.
That night we walked on the beach. I sensed Maria also wanted to leave the country. I could feel her sense of despair. I held her there for a long time. She cried and cried, and held me tight. It felt good to be held and it felt good just to receive this human communication. I kissed her on the forehead as we looked out to sea. It was a calm night, and the waves were gently lapping against the shore. It was quiet the rest of the night, and as we walked back to our Nipa hut, we held hands and hugged, and talked and laughed. It seemed that Maria was happy to have let all her frustrations out, and I was happy to receive them into my mind. I never really understood the situation from a Pinay point of view, but Maria, with all her pride and dignity of being a woman, in this country no less, opened up a whole new realm of thought to me. She taught through explanation, and though she offered no conclusions, she did leave the door open a bit.
After a week Maria and I were still looking for adventure, and the front desk girl at Duchess Inn, our home for the week, had told us about Tanabag. So Maria and I decided to go. After packing our backpacks and paying the bill, we sat down at the Inn for one last breakfast. The menu was the same: French bread baked at the camp, and honey, and fried eggs and coffee. The eggs were a deep yellow and tasted different from those back home. The honey and the bread melted in your mouth.
"I've always heard about the Batac Tribe of Palawan," Maria said, as she attempted to break the silence. "Huh?" I said as I savored my breakfast. "Yeah, I'd like to see this tribe too. I heard they move from place to place and take their house with them," I said. "Now where is it that we catch the jeep?" Maria got the directions from the front desk girl and after, we stopped at the palengke to get bottled water and fresh batteries for my Mag-Lite. Tanabag was a good two hours drive from Puerto Princesa, and I figured with stops along the way, we'd arrive around 3:30 p.m. We made reservations ahead of time, and because we were traveling light, we were able to load up on extra water and junkfoodstuffs.
The jeepney was pretty ragged looking, and it definitely had seen some better days. It was a rusting hulk with no tail lights and bald tires. A front fender was missing and the back seats were torn to pieces. The driver, an overweight man in his late 20s was busy adding oil to the engine as his charge collected the fares. It didn't concern me that the jeep was filled to capacity because I got used to the way they fill jeeps back in Manila. But when I began to see people climbing atop the jeep and on the front bonnet, I couldn't help but wonder how we were going to manage on this two hour ride. There must have been 22 people in and on the jeep, along with various bags, crates of live chickens, bushels of bok choy. Two 100 pound blocks of ice wrapped in burlap and sprinkled with sawdust were lashed to the back of the jeep, on each side of the entranceway. The jeep was fully loaded.
Unlike the jeeps of Manila, this jeep was sparsely decorated. The only paint on it was that of the familiar PAL logo and signage, and it was small. But it was the only thing visible, because the rest of the jeep was tin metal. It had no mirrors of any kind. And no radio.
As we left, the man at the jeep station looked and started to shake his head at the driver. The driver had done it again. He managed to squeeze as many and as much cargo and people as his jeep could hold, maximizing his trip for maximum cash.
At the first stop, two people got off, but three more got on, so I figured we were in for something. A thrifty jeepney driver and an old, rusty pile of shit of a jeep. Just as we were about to leave the outskirts of Puerto Princesa, the left rear tire blew out and we hobbled to a stop. I looked at my Casio. We were exactly eight minutes into our trip. I stared in awe as I counted 16 people climb off the roof of the jeep. The driver pulled off one of his two spare tires, which also were bald and replaced the flat. We were running again in about twenty minutes. It was humid and dusty, and it was hot.
The road leading out of the city was semi-paved with gravel and sand. It was hard packed from all the vehicles it has accommodated over the years. It was a surprisingly smooth ride for such primitive construction. No asphalt, no cement, no lane markers. Just dirt and gravel. As we passed, I looked at the ocean and the opposing jungle. On one side, it was blue and sparse and empty. Palm trees beckoned out toward the sea, and an occasional Nipa hut dotted the landscape. On the other side loomed a thick mass of greenery. Vegetation, tall trees, dense bush, and high mountains. A cool wind blew off the rain forest toward the sea. It was refreshing and smelled real clean. Pure oxygen.
An hour into the trip we got our second flat tire. It was very hot. We were turning a corner when a loud "pop" disabled the jeep once again. The jeep started listing to one side and the driver pulled under some coconut trees. Again everybody got out. The woman who was sitting atop the wheel well when the first blow out occurred was sitting in the same spot, and as she got out she was complaining that the driver should get new tires. "Maybe it's not my tires, but it's your bad luck," Totoy, the driver said. "I think you've put a curse on my jeep. You've been sitting atop the only tire that has blown out, and the tires are all bald," the driver said as he wrenched on the spare. "Ano, spellmaker ba ?"
"Don't blame me for you being so cheap. It's not me that is causing the delays, it's this piece of shit jeep. It's cursed with PAL," the woman laughed as she squatted on the side of the road and lit up a cigarette. She seemed one hundred years old, but she still had her wits about her. And she smoked her cigarette with the cherry in her mouth. Insane.
The sun was really doing a number on us. People were getting irritated. Totoy mumbled something to himself as he wrenched the second spare off the fender. His stomach, which obviously had downed many San Miguels in its day, hung a few inches outside his shirt as he worked the tire off. The crack of his ass shone as he worked the flat off the axle. He was grunting, somewhat like a pig as he fought with the tire, getting a handle on it as he sat in the dirty, dusty road.
A scorpion scampered by, and Totoy, with a deft agility that seemed incapable from such an overweight man, expertly threw the lug wrench at it, smashing its head. The tail was stinging the hot metal, and the scorpion slowly stopped its movement. Retrieving the wrench, Totoy was boasting like he was some ace shot. "Magaling iyon!," Totoy said as he cleaned the wrench with an oily rag he retrieved from his back pocket. "It never fails, my shot is always on the mark," Totoy said as he began tightening the lug nuts. "Yeah, right pare, but how come you don't have any children yet, your shot isn't so good, Walang heirs naman, sino ang inherit ang jeep ba? This piece of shit you call a jeep?" laughed his charge, a short, dark, ugly man with no front teeth. "Pu tang ina, get out and walk, ano ayo ang jeep ko? get out and walk you little shit," Totoy said as he chased his charge around the jeep. I looked down at the scorpion, looking for signs of life. Big black ants had already swarmed over it and were devouring it, feasting on an enemy. The voracity of the feasting ants was unparalleled, except for maybe a feeding frenzy of sharks I saw on the Discovery Channel. My how nature works. I looked up toward the sun. It was blazing, and I was hoping for relief, anything but this cursed heat.
"I'm thirsty, John," Maria said as we sat in the jeep. "Let's get some cokes," she said as we waited inside the jeep. It started to really bake in the jeep, and the people still in it made the smell very pungent. I jumped out of the jeep and walked over to the sari-sari store across the road and bought two Sprites and a double bag of Chippys. Little to snack on but better than sitting and baking in the back of the jeep.
The driver was finishing up on the tire when another jeepney stopped. This jeep had chrome all over the place, and the rims were shiny too. The driver was wearing a pair of vintage WWII goggles and a scarf, but no shirt. His muscles rippled as he pulled himself out of his seat and into the street at Totoy's feet. The driver looked at the jeepney and started to laugh. "Totoy, Ano ka, cutting corners again? Why don't you invest in some Sime Darbys? You won't be getting flats every weekend you come out here," the driver said as Totoy finished the job and leaned on the fender, wiping the sweat off his face and neck. "Ano pare, let me borrow your spare?" I need it just in case, I've got no more spares. "Ano Totoy, you got 500 pesos I could hold until I get it back?" "And when are you going to learn not to take ice on a day trip?" The driver said as he fondled a nearly empty and very wet ice bag. "Ice is gone," the driver said as he wrenched the spare off his fender and gave it to Totoy. "And don't be late," "And next time leave Waling in the market. She's bad luck," he laughed as Waling, the woman who sat on the wheel which was always getting flat, threw a rotted tomato at him as he accelerated the jeep past us. "Sigue make fun, I'm sitting in the front now, no more in the back," she said as she gathered her stuff and kicked a guy out of his seat and took his place. Nine kms down the road, the front tire blew out.
Sometime around 7 p.m., we arrived in Tanabag. Surprisingly, there weren't any mosquitoes, and the horizon was brilliant. Stars were literally lighting up the sky. It was a full moon, and the reflection off the calm China Sea was striking. I thanked the driver and we got off. Our two hour ride took nearly six hours. I was so dusty and dehydrated. It was a very long day. "Come on Johnny boy, lets get settled so we can wash up. I feel so, ano ba, so icky naman." Maria quipped as she tied her hair up.
We went to the office. A rusty Coleman lantern lit the way. Two women and a man were sitting on the bamboo rail on the porch, playing pusoy and drinking beer. "Ako ang reservations dito," Maria said as she settled down on the bench next to the younger girl. "Ano ang pangalan, miss?" "de La Cruz" Maria said as we went through the formalities. "Ah yes, Mr. John de La Cruz and guest," Sophie, as she introduced herself, said as she had us sign the guest log. I stared at her as she spoke, eyeing her body and her lips. She was a very hearty young woman, about 22. Big legs and calfs on a stout torso. Her body seemed very strong, and built, not like a Manila waif, but a woman of the province, a provinciana. "How long will you be staying Mr. de La Cruz?" Sophie asked as she poured me some fresh mango juice. "The fourth and fifth Nipa hut are open, you can have whichever one you prefer," she said as we gulped the sweet nectar that mango juice is. "The one at the end looks good, and we'll be here for a few days, at least until Sunday," I said as we finished the merienda and started to walk toward the last Nipa hut "If you need fresh water sir, go ahead and ask Ferdie he will go to the market for only twenty pesos. The water here is not potable, so I advise you to get bottled water if you don't already have some. It's OK to take a bath in though," she said as she walked us to the Nipa hut. Have a good night and don't worry, its very safe here in Tanabag."
After unpacking, Maria took a nap, and I, a bit tired from the trip, but also eager to check out the waves, went for a walk on the beach. The stars were so many and so far, it looked as if I was looking through a wide angle lens. They went all the way to the horizon. I saw no lights, no airplane trails, nothing. Just a deep black void filled with little shining specs of light. The Nipa huts were situated on a point, and to the left of the structures was a pond with palm trees and brush growing in the water and on a little mound in the middle. It was probably fed by a freshwater spring, and fed saltwater at high tide. The beach was rocky with smooth sand scattered in between and little strips of bamboo jutted out in a circular formation. The air smelled of salt, and the breeze, a bit nippy. As I walked, I thought of the rest of our god forsaken civilization. Of the wars over oil, over territory, over religion. And on this edge, this edge of Palawan, looking out to sea, I couldn't give a flying fuck. Because here, nothing mattered. Just a vast sea.
Here I'm told not to drink the water because it's not potable, but this brackish water that comes out of the shower head, this rusty smelling gift of life is safe to shower in. Back off the edge, I take the water for granted. I won't drink it out of a garden hose in my town, but that water is even cleaner than the water coming out of the shower heads here. But its the price I pay for this slice of life, this cosm of the world that many people will never see. Life moves slow here. News is a week, 10 days old before it gets here, if it ever gets here. I smell the jungle, see the stars, hear the ocean lap at the land as I walk the edge of it, and feel the force of life. These people, these Filipinos, they have nothing, as we see from the West. They have no cars, no VCRs, no compact discs, no answering machines, no dust busters, no ballet class, no credit cards, no auto repair, no microwaves, no alarms, no hair dryer, no bills, no insurance, no savings, no sense of the future. They live for today, because they know that tomorrow is not guaranteed. They, without the possessions we deem essential, they live without, and live their lives as if its the last day of their life. Nothing is ever a problem. Its too simple.
"Hey Johnny boy wake up! get your ass up!" Maria said as she snapped me with a wet towel. "Let's get breakfast before the window shuts on us." I forgot that out here, there is no refrigeration, and the only way to get any food is to have Ferdie take a jeep back to the local market to get fresh vegetables and anything else we want to eat for breakfast. It was only 7 a.m., but the sun was already working up its fury in the tropics. I opened the window and looked out. Again I saw the ocean. It looked even more surreal than last night. "Unreal, I thought as I peered out into the vast and mighty South China Sea. It was like a lake, but I knew the China Sea was very deceptive and if you weren't careful, it would swallow you and never give you up. The water was a clear green, like Squirt, and very calm. The lapping that put me to sleep last night still sounded, like clockwork.
We were at the farthest reaches of the coast. Already the nik-niks, little black sand flies, were biting at my legs, and as I continued to slap at them, Sophie walked up and sprayed me with a thick oil. "It's coconut oil. They can't bite through the layer of oil, and besides that, if they land they're doomed anyway, so keep spraying," she said as she wiped the oil onto my shoulders and arms. She gave us the bottle filled with the milky-white liquid, and Maria took over. As she wiped my back and neck down with the oil, Maria gave me a little primer about Palawan and the history that she knew of it. The essence of the oil brought back memories of the beaches back home in Huntington. The oil smelled just like a bar of white Sex Wax. "Coconut oil?" I asked as Maria finished lathering herself to a gleen. "Yeah, at least it isn't toxic chemicals like Black Flag di ba? Grabe, spraying chemicals on your skin like that. Simple coconut oil. No warning labels about do not inhale or ingest or use near flame. Just pure oil that mother nature intended to be a natural remedy against the nik-nik. "I heard the nik-nik is more terrible than the mosquito," Maria said as she put on a pair of Ray Bans. "I heard they suck your blood and when once gorged, they suck more until they are overflowing out of their little insect mouths," Maria said, adjusting the Ray Bans on her nose. "And if you let them bite you at first, you'll be regretting it for weeks." I didn't know whether to believe her or not. I chose not to, and later paid the price. Nothing in this world comes without a price.
We went to the main hut where breakfast was being served. Our first morning in Tanabag, and the stress of Manila was slowly emanating from my body...and my mind. We sat at a long table that seated about 10-15 people. With the exception of a group of three Americans and one Pinoy, the table was empty.
"So, with the exception of the Vietnam War, the Philippines has not really engaged in any significant military action after W.W.II. Perhaps our country can teach your country a lesson in the strategies of world relations." He was an American. Probably in his early thirties. He was wearing one of those baduy polyester Hawaiian-type shirts only Americans would wear. Probably bought it in Baclaran. He was about 5'9" and his brown hair was receding well above his forehead. Bathed in some cheap musk oil. A total asshole just by the way he smelled.
Although I caught only the tail end of what was probably a meaningless discussion on the aspects of American military power in the Asian area of the Pacific Rim, I knew the guy was a total all American, think he's a do gooder, brainwashed right wing, we had to destroy the city in order to save it, American.
"Actooaly I believe that Da Pilapines was in......"Its actually Gaspar, acktully, just like it sounds," the American said to his Pinoy paré. "It's not actooaly. Don't destroy the one good thing we gave your country. Learn how to speak English correctly. And it's the fillapeens, not Pilapeens. Fi Fi Fillapeens, Got it? "Yes Dick, Fillapeens," Gaspar said as he dejectedly avoided eye contact at me, as I was getting teed at this American. I couldn't help it but I had to intercede.
"Excuse me sir," I said in my most believable Manila-Boy accent. "But I couldn't help but overhear you making an attempt to correct your friend's use of the English language. May I make a suggestion as well?" Maria looked at me and mouthed "Don't do this." I continued. I was pissed. Even though I was an American just like this guy, Dick, was, I was also a Filipino, and I wasn't going to stand for this guy's ignorance. "Sir do you know where you are?" I asked, continuing to fake my accent. "Yes of course, we are in the Philippine Islands, discovered by Magellen in 1492, controlled by Spain for 400 years and won from Spain by the USA in 1898. This is the Philippines. Village of Tanabag. On the South China Sea. On the island of Palawan, capital Puerto Princesa." Dick did his homework but he just didn't get it. "Your facts are good Dick, can I call you Dick?" I said as my accent became thicker, as if it took on a life of its own. "Let me ask you very simply, do you know where you are?" Dick was beginning to get a bit annoyed at my seeming prodding of his intelligence. He was smart, but his instant arrogance for all things American just pissed me off. "Yes," Dick said, "We are in The Philippines." Very simply he answered my question with a bit of consternation. "Very good," I said as I prepared my roast. Maria was getting nervous, and I assured her from under the table I had everything under control. Gaspar was getting fidgety as well, and very angry by the cold looks he was directing to me. "And in this country called the Republic of the Philippines, what kind of people live here, in this island nation of some 7,107 islands?" Dick seemed confused, and angry that such a pest as I would challenge his seeming knowledge of the country. "The people of the Philippine Islands are called Filipinos, primarily of Malay and indigenous stock, with a smattering of Chinese, European, American, and Middle Eastern extract. Being in such a strategic location as the Philippine Islands are, brings a diaspora of peoples to these islands," Dick said. "You're right, Dick," I said, "But Filipinos mostly live in the Philippines. Not Americans. As a matter a fact, there are some 58 million Pinoys in these islands, and it is very likely that 57.9 million of those Pinoys have never been to the United States, let alone another country. So it seems," I said as I began to state my position, "that the Filipino use for your English is basically meaningless. I mean, you said that we get a whole consortium of peoples coming to this country, so may I ask, how would Gaspar react if the next group he brought to this little beach were from England, the birth place of the English lingo? Or from Australia or Ireland, or India, or all the other English speaking countries in this world? Why push your corrections on him. To me, his English is fine. To other Pinoys, it is fine, but to you, why do you have to humiliate him, belittle him in front of his fellow countrymen? I mean we are in the Philippines man, and as long as we are on this rock, we will speak English however we want to. I was pissed and Maria started to ask me to apologize to Dick. "I'm trying to do Gaspar a favor with his English," I don't need some sermon from some snot nose college boy from Manila. We give you guys much concessions and you people don't appreciate anything we give you. We give you a hell of a lot and you should thank us for doing so," Dick said as he looked at me as if he demanded me to apologize to him for insulting him, his country, and his language. "Yeah right," I said as I lost the my "accent." Do you even know what the Framers of the US Constitution were aiming for as they wrote that document? Well, they were looking for a way to secure freedom for the people of the country, to ensure that no one man or political party would have total control of the country. Let me tell you something Dick," I said as I stood facing him on the other side of the table.
"Your dollars cannot buy democracy in this country. It can't buy peace and it can't buy freedom. Wake up Dick, this country is hardly modeled after the USA. You people tried, but as in Vietnam, your country has failed miserably to ensure democracy in this country. You think that Marcos is an anti-communist? He's pulled a fast one on your country. Take a look around. He controls everything in this country. Let me ask you something, how come he is still in power? In the American system, power changes hands every four years, eight if the current president wins a second term. Marcos has been in power for 20 years. Twenty years. With your money. Your country's taxpayer dollars. Marcos is a tough cookie. You supply him with the guns and gold, he buys his goons, and enforces his iron will on us. And the US continues to support him. Why? Because of two reasons. Clark Air and Subic Naval. Your "assurances" that peace remains in the region." Dick was red and angry and drunk. Early morning and already drunk. Gaspar was pissed as well and was very offended by me getting in his friends face. "Ano ka, Pare, let's just leave it alone and forget this morning," Gaspar pleaded as he lit a cigarette. "Di ba le na lang, Ang sirah American yoon," Gaspar said as he looked on at Dick. I looked at him and asked him how he could take this guy's carabao shit, how he could handle getting his English corrected for every little "mistake" he made while speaking. "He pays me in dollars, I don't want to bite the hand that feeds me and feeds me well," Gaspar echoed. I couldn't argue with that. "I've just one more thing to say Gaspar, and we're outta here. "Oh Yeah, uh Dick, I forgot to tell you one last thing. Your country's presence here in the region to ensure stability can't even ensure stability in the very country that is playing host to your military machine." As I got up to leave, I shoved the man a fresh beer.
Maria, who was silent through most of the whole argument, looked at me with disgust and took off toward the beach. Ominous clouds began forming off the coast, and the change in the wind indicated rain. She was sitting on a piece of driftwood on the beach. When I reached her, she buried her face between her knees. She was crying. "Maria, what is it?" I asked as I tried to console her. "Get away from me!" she sobbed as I grabbed her and embraced her. "What's wrong Maria, what is it?" I couldn't figure.
"You just don't get it, do you Johnny-boy. You don't have a clue," she said as I wiped the tears from her eyes. I was trying to understand, but, as I recycled the events of the morning, I couldn't see where I could have possibly gone wrong. "Gosh Johnny-boy, you're just like that man, you are as American as him!" Maria said as she again let the river of tears flow down her cheeks. "Sheesh, even though you're Pinoy on the outside, you are as American as the idiots in Subic. We don't have what your country has. We don't have money, we don't have a democratic style of government, we don't have free education, and we don't have freeways crisscrossing the land, let alone the cars," Maria said as she composed herself. "You want to know what we do have? We've got crime, we've got poverty, we've got corruption, we've got pollution, we've got high birth rate, we've got no morals, we have no standards, we have 'love hotels', we have racism and discrimination, we have disease, we have starving children everywhere. Everywhere you go in this country, you can find children everywhere, scraping for food, surviving any which way they can. We are survivors Johnny-boy. We often times marry, not because of romance or love, but for survival. We may despise the man and his family we have married into, but we do it to survive. It's just like our marriage to your country. We may not like every condition your country puts on us when we receive your country's financial aid, but we do it to survive, just like the hookers you see on the streets in the city. We have no real culture. Our culture has been prostituted Johnny-boy. Our culture is John Wayne movies, Dynasty, and all those other American TV shows we watch.
Here, if you don't have it, you'll never get it, unless you prostitute yourself by marrying some man for his money. In America, anybody can climb the mountain, and when they reach the top, it's always golden," she said as I noticed a different Maria from the hardened one of the last couple of nights. She left me at the beach, wondering.
That night we walked on the beach. I sensed Maria also wanted to leave the country. I could feel her sense of despair. I held her there for a long time. She cried and cried, and held me tight. It felt good to be held and it felt good just to receive this human communication. I kissed her on the forehead as we looked out to sea. It was a calm night, and the waves were gently lapping against the shore. It was quiet the rest of the night, and as we walked back to our Nipa hut, we held hands and hugged, and talked and laughed. It seemed that Maria was happy to have let all her frustrations out, and I was happy to receive them into my mind. I never really understood the situation from a Pinay point of view, but Maria, with all her pride and dignity of being a woman, in this country no less, opened up a whole new realm of thought to me. She taught through explanation, and though she offered no conclusions, she did leave the door open a bit.
Palawan plane ride
(Dunkin Donuts) The aswang- With two women in Palawan and the aswang and how hot it was that night. Nipa Hut on the mud flat Passion can turn you into its slave
Tuesday night Gabriela, Maria and I went to Dunkin Donuts on Pasay Rd. in Makati. Gabriela and I were craving chocolate donuts, but we didn't have any Pesos handy. So we called Maria. Maria, being of a somewhat affluent mother, always had some money on hand. "Ano ka, you only call me cause you don't have money?" Maria said as we talked to her on the phone. "Sigue, come pick me up. I want to get out of the house anyway," she quipped as Gabriela and I high fived our apparent fix. It was past midnight. It is said that Manila is very dangerous at night, and being a foreigner or balikbayan it was doubly dangerous. Or so they say. The ride to Maria's was a bumpy one, especially in a VW bug with bald tires. Gabriela had sold the bug to her roommate, but since she was out of town, we pretty much had free use of it. As we went through San Antonio Village, I noticed that the night life was pretty much still happening, kids playing in the street, grown men playing chess, even some teens shooting hoops.
We got to Maria's at 1 a.m. Dunkin's was another ten minutes from Maria's place. "Hoy, pare, What's up duude?!" Maria said as I met her at her gate. "We need you Maria," I said as we gave each other a customary hug and kiss on the cheek. "You ready for our trip to Palawan?" I said as I lifted the front seat so she could squeeze in the back. "I've got a ton of books for the Vietnamese refugee camp on Palawan." "It would be lovely to have you," I said as I played like I was deeply interested in her."Bastos talaga " Maria said as she blocked my pseudo advances toward her. "You Americans can think you can score with any Filipina, let me tell you something Johnny boy, not with me, no way," Maria said in her best Olongapo girl accent. "If you ain't a Navy, you ain't gonna get me," she said as we laughed in the car.
It made me wonder, that little scenario we pulled in the back of the VW. Here was a sophisticated Manila girl, talking shit on her fellow Filipina, but it was something that wasn't really funny, but it made me think just the same. I was an American, yet I was a Filipino. The Americans had maintained a presence in the Philippines since 1898, when they defeated Spain, and later, Emilio Aguinaldo in the Philippine American War. The Americans have maintained US military installations in the Philippines ever since, William Howard Taft couldn't even find the islands on a map. I read somewhere that the Olongapo girl, or at least what is perceived as the Olongapo girl, is a Filipina prostitute, who goes with and often marries Americans to get out of the country. Some however don't really want to leave the country, but rather, enjoy just plain getting fucked, with whomever and wherever they can get it. They are supposedly largely uneducated, and speak English with a high degree of unsophistication. Their intonations are usually high pitched, and their grasp of the American English language is limited to how the servicemen speak, usually down at the gutter level. A Manila version of the Olongapo girl, the Mabini girl, can be found in Mabini, near the U.S. Embassy on Roxas Blvd. But obviously they were trying to improve their lot, and I couldn't find fault in that.
We got to Dunkin Donuts without incident, sans a cigarette vendor who ran off with my 5 peso bill. About three Dunkin Donut employees were outside the store, on strike. They had a banner across the sidewalk and were trying to solicit donations from passersby. "Kumusta ka ang pangalan kay Jesus DeLeon, nag we welga kami para sa mataas na sweldo namin ," Jesus said as I got out of the VW. "Please don't cross the picket line," he pleaded as we all got out to go into the store. "It just makes things harder for us."
When Gabriela started to explain what was going on, Jesus overheard and walked over, and explained to me in very proficient English what they were trying to accomplish. "You from the States?" Jesus asked as we shook hands. "California" I said as I lit up a blue seal. "I haven't been here since 1986, and I am just hanging out," I said as I held Maria's arm. "Why you on strike?" "We're on strike because these fucking intsik owners won't raise our salaries by a measly 25 pesos a day. 25 pesos, that's about $1.25 in dollars. What's your minimum wage in the States? $4.00 an hour $5.00 an hour? An hour's worth of your wages is a whole days of our wages. We make about $5 a day. That's one meal for one person at McDonalds. " Can you imagine, they don't even want to raise us 25 pesos a day. That's one donut."
I could understand his plight, and it made me think hard about working and money and the whole trip. This guy was a college graduate, and he's frying donuts for a living. I shuddered the thought. We crossed the line regardless. Once inside the store, the remaining employees were eager to help us. I ordered a chocolate donut and a ham and cheese croissant. Maria ordered the same thing. Gabriela just got two chocolate donuts. As we left the store, I gave Jesus 20 pesos for his efforts and to soothe my conscience. The donut was good but the croissant was a little greasy, and the ham seemed a little peculiar. But I was hungry and ate the whole thing. Only later would I find that crossing the strike line at Dunkin Donuts a mistake.
The rest of the night was uneventful. We listened to the radio and kicked back with Jazz FM. We packed our bags because we were leaving for Palawan at 7 a.m. It was somewhat difficult to coax the two girls to take the trip with me, but when I offered to pay for the tickets, they were eager to accompany me. It was all for good cause anyway.
Friday morning was a little hectic. As I called the taxi and prepared our supplies, the women were busy taking a bath and fixing their bags. We left for Manila Domestic at 8:30 in hopes of arriving by 10 am. We hit traffic on Buendia. The boulevard was thick with jeepneys, taxis, and busses. The air, a dusty dirty blanket of black soot. A mestizo in a shiny new Mercedes was not letting us merge into the left turn lane onto Baltao St. I was getting peeved, coming from the freeways and highways of Southern California, I looked at the driver and gave him the "What's up!?" look of inconsideration. He looked back and flipped me off. The universal language of fuck off. It sends the message so simple, yet so elegantly. The taxi driver laughed and made his own turn lane out of the number one lane. "Watch this" the driver said as he effectively cut in front of the Mercedes. The taxi driver laughed as he explained the driving finesse of the Philippine wealthy. "Because they have the money, and because they live in Forbes Park or Dasmariñas village, or even Ayala Alabang, they think they own the road," Gaspar said. "And you know something, I think they do." "The only way for the rest of us to redeem ourselves is on the street. Us taxi drivers, it explains why some of us drive like we do. Others, the mechanics, they get them when the rich bring their cars in for service. And still others, like the car nappers, they just rob them of their cars. But it really doesn't faze the rich too much, because they have millions."
We finally arrived at Manila Domestic Airport just after 10 a.m. It was much smaller than Ninoy Aquino International, and there wasn't a crowd of people waiting outside the gate. The lobby was cleaner and looked better maintained. We got our boarding passes from the PAL ticket agent. "Thank you Mr. Virata," the agent said as he took our check-in bags. he didn't pay any attention to the beautiful woman that were accompanying me on the plane, and for this, he received two strikes. He was strikingly tall for a Filipino, about 6 ft 3 inches. He was very well groomed and nattily dressed. His face was finely chiseled, with high cheek bones and a prominent nose, and a strong chin. But there was something about him that struck me as peculiar. I couldn't figure it out until we were in flight.
The trip to Palawan took about an hour. It was the first time I flew to outer islands in the Philippines and I absolutely loved the view from the 737. I always loved the view of the islands from the plane. I could differentiate from the deep and shallow parts of the ocean. The waters were a very light green around the dozens of islands I could see from the plane, and then dropped off to a very dark blue. Sometimes a reef stretched from one island to another, with only a very narrow strip of blue separating them. All separate islands, yet all related. The islands themselves were a thick mass of green, with an occasional brown patch of road snaking through brush. From above, the islands seem at peace, everything together and in sync.
I truly wondered what God was thinking when he created the island chain that is called the Philippines. Because he created a beautiful country. It only seems that the people fucked everything up.
Pablo, the checker at the counter was now the flight attendant. As he served coffee and soda, I noticed that he was very effeminate as he placed the napkin and poured the soda in the clear, plastic cup. He was very delicate as he passed the snacks out, and he was especially gentle with the manongs on the plane.
"Mr. Virata, would you care for anything to drink?" he asked me as he folded my table out. "Yes I would like a Sarsi and a 7up," I said as I put my headphones on and watched him move. Gabriela looked at Maria and were whispering about something, and laughed. I didn't pay them any mind, because they were always making chismis, and because I couldn't understand Tagalog, they would say, "too bad, bummer man," their favorite expression. Pablo looked and acted like the guy who cut my hair in Makati, and I realized the peculiar thing about him was that he was gay as well. He was very good looking, and he smiled a lot. His job suited him well. He did his job well. Women in the States would drool over Pablo.
"Tita, did you drop the Ralph Lauren or what?" Gabriela turned to Maria as she lit up a cigarette. Being in somewhat cramped corners amplified everything around you, and the strong scent of perfume, especially when it is poured on, like the woman in the seat behind us poured it on, can make you feel uneasy in the nose and throat, and in the head as well. The smell was overwhelming, and Gabriela, being sensitive to all things unnatural, like anti-perspirant, lipstick, and makeup and perfume, was really getting worked over real good from the woman in the seat behind us.
She was an overweight older lady wearing a tight, loud, minidress and black pumps. Her flabs were hanging out of the dress. Her jewelry, faux gold and piled on. Her face was distorted through all the makeup, and her perfume, well it was on so strong it made Gabriela want to puke. The woman in the seat behind us, she was a typical traveling Filipina. She was probably a "green card holder," and was returning from the U.S., because only in the U.S. does an ugly Filipina wear so much in excess, in excess to the point that everything, from the faux jewelry, to the black pumps, to the makeup, to the cheap perfume, can be found in any major magazine that advertises ladies cheap health and beauty products. She had a fake Louis Vuitton handbag, and long fake fingernails, and she was reading Cosmopolitan, the magazine for fake women with fake tits. She was the essence of the unstylish Filipina. A recent returnee that buys not out of necessity, but out of the fact that her friends in her barkada purchased the same junk when they had gone abroad. She, the type that would go far out into the desert of California, halfway to Las Vegas, just to shop at the Polo Shop, just because that is where her friends went when they came to the States. She, the type that would buy desert property in Las Vegas if her friends did, just to gain the acceptance of her peers, the same peers who talk behind her back about her philandering husband, or her daughter who has had multiple abortions, or her son, who is always high on Shabu. She, the type who is caught up in the act of catching up, but will never catch up nor will she be the one who sets the standards of the Filipina mind. The material mind that sometimes pervades the Filipina mind. Just to impress the "friends" at the country club or at the mahjong table. She, the woman in the seat behind us.
"Excuse me miss, do you think you can put your seatback forward so I can have a little room to move out of my seat, its very uncomfortable for me and you reclining your seatback has made it more so for me," The woman in the seat behind us said as she moved about, trying to position her bulging body into the minuscule seat. Her movements caused our row of seats to move a little more than a normal plane ride would move a seat.
"I'm sorry miss, but I cannot move my seat upright because it would cause me discomfort. I'm sorry," Gabriela said as she whispered something to the fact as to how this woman had the nerve.
"Miss, I'm asking you nicely, do you think you can move your seatback upright so I can move about a bit, It's very hard for me to position my reading light, and I want to read my magazines," the woman in the seat behind us said as she continued to pursue her goal of getting her way. It was getting a bit interesting, and I wanted to see which of these two very different Filipina women would prevail in getting what they wanted. I was rooting for Gabriela, but the woman in the seat behind us was very persistent. "You know if you were my daughter, I would have taught you some respect for your elders," the woman in the seat behind us said a matter of factly as she finally settled into her seat, a full 15 minutes into what was a one hour flight. "So what, are you saying my parents didn't teach me manners?" Gabriela said as she stood up preparing to get into a verbal confrontation with the woman in the seat behind us.
"Speak for yourself, Puta. have you looked in a mirror lately?" I mean just look at your pathetic self. Look at that bag, and those baduy shoes, where did you go shopping, Baclaran for those shoes? and what about that ugly face, who does your makeup? and where did you get that dress, K Mart?" At this time Pablo came about and tried to break up the verbal abuse. "Excuse me girls, but we are on a plane here and you both need to be considerate of others. Please, miss, and ma'am, let's stop this now," Pablo said as he maneuvered behind me to give him space to move Gabriela's seatback forward. "This is just twenty more minutes flight and soon we'll be on the ground so please, lets work to be considerate of the others flying today." At this point, Pablo got some reinforcements in a stunning flight attendant and the purser. "Diyos ko naman!, ang hirap hirap talaga," Gabriela fumed as she reluctantly settled back into her seat. Pablo had given the woman in the seat behind us what she wanted, and although she was so gaudy and baduy, Pablo was right in doing so.
Tuesday night Gabriela, Maria and I went to Dunkin Donuts on Pasay Rd. in Makati. Gabriela and I were craving chocolate donuts, but we didn't have any Pesos handy. So we called Maria. Maria, being of a somewhat affluent mother, always had some money on hand. "Ano ka, you only call me cause you don't have money?" Maria said as we talked to her on the phone. "Sigue, come pick me up. I want to get out of the house anyway," she quipped as Gabriela and I high fived our apparent fix. It was past midnight. It is said that Manila is very dangerous at night, and being a foreigner or balikbayan it was doubly dangerous. Or so they say. The ride to Maria's was a bumpy one, especially in a VW bug with bald tires. Gabriela had sold the bug to her roommate, but since she was out of town, we pretty much had free use of it. As we went through San Antonio Village, I noticed that the night life was pretty much still happening, kids playing in the street, grown men playing chess, even some teens shooting hoops.
We got to Maria's at 1 a.m. Dunkin's was another ten minutes from Maria's place. "Hoy, pare, What's up duude?!" Maria said as I met her at her gate. "We need you Maria," I said as we gave each other a customary hug and kiss on the cheek. "You ready for our trip to Palawan?" I said as I lifted the front seat so she could squeeze in the back. "I've got a ton of books for the Vietnamese refugee camp on Palawan." "It would be lovely to have you," I said as I played like I was deeply interested in her."Bastos talaga " Maria said as she blocked my pseudo advances toward her. "You Americans can think you can score with any Filipina, let me tell you something Johnny boy, not with me, no way," Maria said in her best Olongapo girl accent. "If you ain't a Navy, you ain't gonna get me," she said as we laughed in the car.
It made me wonder, that little scenario we pulled in the back of the VW. Here was a sophisticated Manila girl, talking shit on her fellow Filipina, but it was something that wasn't really funny, but it made me think just the same. I was an American, yet I was a Filipino. The Americans had maintained a presence in the Philippines since 1898, when they defeated Spain, and later, Emilio Aguinaldo in the Philippine American War. The Americans have maintained US military installations in the Philippines ever since, William Howard Taft couldn't even find the islands on a map. I read somewhere that the Olongapo girl, or at least what is perceived as the Olongapo girl, is a Filipina prostitute, who goes with and often marries Americans to get out of the country. Some however don't really want to leave the country, but rather, enjoy just plain getting fucked, with whomever and wherever they can get it. They are supposedly largely uneducated, and speak English with a high degree of unsophistication. Their intonations are usually high pitched, and their grasp of the American English language is limited to how the servicemen speak, usually down at the gutter level. A Manila version of the Olongapo girl, the Mabini girl, can be found in Mabini, near the U.S. Embassy on Roxas Blvd. But obviously they were trying to improve their lot, and I couldn't find fault in that.
We got to Dunkin Donuts without incident, sans a cigarette vendor who ran off with my 5 peso bill. About three Dunkin Donut employees were outside the store, on strike. They had a banner across the sidewalk and were trying to solicit donations from passersby. "Kumusta ka ang pangalan kay Jesus DeLeon, nag we welga kami para sa mataas na sweldo namin ," Jesus said as I got out of the VW. "Please don't cross the picket line," he pleaded as we all got out to go into the store. "It just makes things harder for us."
When Gabriela started to explain what was going on, Jesus overheard and walked over, and explained to me in very proficient English what they were trying to accomplish. "You from the States?" Jesus asked as we shook hands. "California" I said as I lit up a blue seal. "I haven't been here since 1986, and I am just hanging out," I said as I held Maria's arm. "Why you on strike?" "We're on strike because these fucking intsik owners won't raise our salaries by a measly 25 pesos a day. 25 pesos, that's about $1.25 in dollars. What's your minimum wage in the States? $4.00 an hour $5.00 an hour? An hour's worth of your wages is a whole days of our wages. We make about $5 a day. That's one meal for one person at McDonalds. " Can you imagine, they don't even want to raise us 25 pesos a day. That's one donut."
I could understand his plight, and it made me think hard about working and money and the whole trip. This guy was a college graduate, and he's frying donuts for a living. I shuddered the thought. We crossed the line regardless. Once inside the store, the remaining employees were eager to help us. I ordered a chocolate donut and a ham and cheese croissant. Maria ordered the same thing. Gabriela just got two chocolate donuts. As we left the store, I gave Jesus 20 pesos for his efforts and to soothe my conscience. The donut was good but the croissant was a little greasy, and the ham seemed a little peculiar. But I was hungry and ate the whole thing. Only later would I find that crossing the strike line at Dunkin Donuts a mistake.
The rest of the night was uneventful. We listened to the radio and kicked back with Jazz FM. We packed our bags because we were leaving for Palawan at 7 a.m. It was somewhat difficult to coax the two girls to take the trip with me, but when I offered to pay for the tickets, they were eager to accompany me. It was all for good cause anyway.
Friday morning was a little hectic. As I called the taxi and prepared our supplies, the women were busy taking a bath and fixing their bags. We left for Manila Domestic at 8:30 in hopes of arriving by 10 am. We hit traffic on Buendia. The boulevard was thick with jeepneys, taxis, and busses. The air, a dusty dirty blanket of black soot. A mestizo in a shiny new Mercedes was not letting us merge into the left turn lane onto Baltao St. I was getting peeved, coming from the freeways and highways of Southern California, I looked at the driver and gave him the "What's up!?" look of inconsideration. He looked back and flipped me off. The universal language of fuck off. It sends the message so simple, yet so elegantly. The taxi driver laughed and made his own turn lane out of the number one lane. "Watch this" the driver said as he effectively cut in front of the Mercedes. The taxi driver laughed as he explained the driving finesse of the Philippine wealthy. "Because they have the money, and because they live in Forbes Park or Dasmariñas village, or even Ayala Alabang, they think they own the road," Gaspar said. "And you know something, I think they do." "The only way for the rest of us to redeem ourselves is on the street. Us taxi drivers, it explains why some of us drive like we do. Others, the mechanics, they get them when the rich bring their cars in for service. And still others, like the car nappers, they just rob them of their cars. But it really doesn't faze the rich too much, because they have millions."
We finally arrived at Manila Domestic Airport just after 10 a.m. It was much smaller than Ninoy Aquino International, and there wasn't a crowd of people waiting outside the gate. The lobby was cleaner and looked better maintained. We got our boarding passes from the PAL ticket agent. "Thank you Mr. Virata," the agent said as he took our check-in bags. he didn't pay any attention to the beautiful woman that were accompanying me on the plane, and for this, he received two strikes. He was strikingly tall for a Filipino, about 6 ft 3 inches. He was very well groomed and nattily dressed. His face was finely chiseled, with high cheek bones and a prominent nose, and a strong chin. But there was something about him that struck me as peculiar. I couldn't figure it out until we were in flight.
The trip to Palawan took about an hour. It was the first time I flew to outer islands in the Philippines and I absolutely loved the view from the 737. I always loved the view of the islands from the plane. I could differentiate from the deep and shallow parts of the ocean. The waters were a very light green around the dozens of islands I could see from the plane, and then dropped off to a very dark blue. Sometimes a reef stretched from one island to another, with only a very narrow strip of blue separating them. All separate islands, yet all related. The islands themselves were a thick mass of green, with an occasional brown patch of road snaking through brush. From above, the islands seem at peace, everything together and in sync.
I truly wondered what God was thinking when he created the island chain that is called the Philippines. Because he created a beautiful country. It only seems that the people fucked everything up.
Pablo, the checker at the counter was now the flight attendant. As he served coffee and soda, I noticed that he was very effeminate as he placed the napkin and poured the soda in the clear, plastic cup. He was very delicate as he passed the snacks out, and he was especially gentle with the manongs on the plane.
"Mr. Virata, would you care for anything to drink?" he asked me as he folded my table out. "Yes I would like a Sarsi and a 7up," I said as I put my headphones on and watched him move. Gabriela looked at Maria and were whispering about something, and laughed. I didn't pay them any mind, because they were always making chismis, and because I couldn't understand Tagalog, they would say, "too bad, bummer man," their favorite expression. Pablo looked and acted like the guy who cut my hair in Makati, and I realized the peculiar thing about him was that he was gay as well. He was very good looking, and he smiled a lot. His job suited him well. He did his job well. Women in the States would drool over Pablo.
"Tita, did you drop the Ralph Lauren or what?" Gabriela turned to Maria as she lit up a cigarette. Being in somewhat cramped corners amplified everything around you, and the strong scent of perfume, especially when it is poured on, like the woman in the seat behind us poured it on, can make you feel uneasy in the nose and throat, and in the head as well. The smell was overwhelming, and Gabriela, being sensitive to all things unnatural, like anti-perspirant, lipstick, and makeup and perfume, was really getting worked over real good from the woman in the seat behind us.
She was an overweight older lady wearing a tight, loud, minidress and black pumps. Her flabs were hanging out of the dress. Her jewelry, faux gold and piled on. Her face was distorted through all the makeup, and her perfume, well it was on so strong it made Gabriela want to puke. The woman in the seat behind us, she was a typical traveling Filipina. She was probably a "green card holder," and was returning from the U.S., because only in the U.S. does an ugly Filipina wear so much in excess, in excess to the point that everything, from the faux jewelry, to the black pumps, to the makeup, to the cheap perfume, can be found in any major magazine that advertises ladies cheap health and beauty products. She had a fake Louis Vuitton handbag, and long fake fingernails, and she was reading Cosmopolitan, the magazine for fake women with fake tits. She was the essence of the unstylish Filipina. A recent returnee that buys not out of necessity, but out of the fact that her friends in her barkada purchased the same junk when they had gone abroad. She, the type that would go far out into the desert of California, halfway to Las Vegas, just to shop at the Polo Shop, just because that is where her friends went when they came to the States. She, the type that would buy desert property in Las Vegas if her friends did, just to gain the acceptance of her peers, the same peers who talk behind her back about her philandering husband, or her daughter who has had multiple abortions, or her son, who is always high on Shabu. She, the type who is caught up in the act of catching up, but will never catch up nor will she be the one who sets the standards of the Filipina mind. The material mind that sometimes pervades the Filipina mind. Just to impress the "friends" at the country club or at the mahjong table. She, the woman in the seat behind us.
"Excuse me miss, do you think you can put your seatback forward so I can have a little room to move out of my seat, its very uncomfortable for me and you reclining your seatback has made it more so for me," The woman in the seat behind us said as she moved about, trying to position her bulging body into the minuscule seat. Her movements caused our row of seats to move a little more than a normal plane ride would move a seat.
"I'm sorry miss, but I cannot move my seat upright because it would cause me discomfort. I'm sorry," Gabriela said as she whispered something to the fact as to how this woman had the nerve.
"Miss, I'm asking you nicely, do you think you can move your seatback upright so I can move about a bit, It's very hard for me to position my reading light, and I want to read my magazines," the woman in the seat behind us said as she continued to pursue her goal of getting her way. It was getting a bit interesting, and I wanted to see which of these two very different Filipina women would prevail in getting what they wanted. I was rooting for Gabriela, but the woman in the seat behind us was very persistent. "You know if you were my daughter, I would have taught you some respect for your elders," the woman in the seat behind us said a matter of factly as she finally settled into her seat, a full 15 minutes into what was a one hour flight. "So what, are you saying my parents didn't teach me manners?" Gabriela said as she stood up preparing to get into a verbal confrontation with the woman in the seat behind us.
"Speak for yourself, Puta. have you looked in a mirror lately?" I mean just look at your pathetic self. Look at that bag, and those baduy shoes, where did you go shopping, Baclaran for those shoes? and what about that ugly face, who does your makeup? and where did you get that dress, K Mart?" At this time Pablo came about and tried to break up the verbal abuse. "Excuse me girls, but we are on a plane here and you both need to be considerate of others. Please, miss, and ma'am, let's stop this now," Pablo said as he maneuvered behind me to give him space to move Gabriela's seatback forward. "This is just twenty more minutes flight and soon we'll be on the ground so please, lets work to be considerate of the others flying today." At this point, Pablo got some reinforcements in a stunning flight attendant and the purser. "Diyos ko naman!, ang hirap hirap talaga," Gabriela fumed as she reluctantly settled back into her seat. Pablo had given the woman in the seat behind us what she wanted, and although she was so gaudy and baduy, Pablo was right in doing so.
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Ewa of Threes and the Green Sea Turtle
We went to Hawaii for two weeks in August, four days on Kauai and the rest in Manoa Valley, where our family home is. Kauai was a bit to much for me, and as usual, I got dizzy for the first few days and was basically useless. Yes, like riding a bus, I got sick driving the POS rental car as well as driving up to Koke'e, which is all winding roads like Baguio or Big Bear.
Anyway, Kauai is a bit too rural for me and the island is too full of tourists for my taste. Oahu was another story. Jeremy and I paddled out at Ala Moana Bowls and caught some pretty good waves on the first day, while the rest of the surf sessions were at Waiks. As for the surfing, I surfed threes for the most part all the time and decided to just paddle right past Queens and Canoes. While we lived on Oahu, I tended to avoid paddling out to Threes,as it was just too far of a paddle. but on this trip, it became my new favorite wave (Bowls will always be my favorite, but for Waiks, Threes is it). Everytime I surfed it I caught my share of waves, but it was the last night of our vacation that I really caught it good. Around 4:30pm I paddled out to an already crowded lineup at Threes, and having just an 8-oh while everyone else was riding a 9 oh or bigger, I wasn't able to catch much, not to mention the haole surfers who just dropped in, as well as the Tandem Haole kook who didn't know how to share waves, taking off on everything on his tandem board. I just got sick of it. I noticed there was a little right peeler right off the Sheraton Waikiki Hotel, which was about a 30 meter paddle toward Bowls, Ewa side. I decided what the heck, there is no one on it, and I might get lucky. How did I. I proceeded to surf that spot, all by myself for about 2 1/2 hours, catching all the waves I wanted to catch. After a particularly good ride, I then just thought to myself, Why did I leave this beautiful place? I then asked for a sign from God, asking how I can get back to Hawaii. And at that moment, a Hawaiian Green Sea Turtle surfaced right next to me, and as it dived down, a set rolled through, of which I proceeded to catch three waves in a row. At this time it was past 8pm and dark, so I started the long paddle back to shore, praying that a bad sign, like a shark, didn't pop up. So, Jeremy came up with the notion that the three waves equals three more years until we move back.
I can't wait. Next time it will be for good.
Anyway, Kauai is a bit too rural for me and the island is too full of tourists for my taste. Oahu was another story. Jeremy and I paddled out at Ala Moana Bowls and caught some pretty good waves on the first day, while the rest of the surf sessions were at Waiks. As for the surfing, I surfed threes for the most part all the time and decided to just paddle right past Queens and Canoes. While we lived on Oahu, I tended to avoid paddling out to Threes,as it was just too far of a paddle. but on this trip, it became my new favorite wave (Bowls will always be my favorite, but for Waiks, Threes is it). Everytime I surfed it I caught my share of waves, but it was the last night of our vacation that I really caught it good. Around 4:30pm I paddled out to an already crowded lineup at Threes, and having just an 8-oh while everyone else was riding a 9 oh or bigger, I wasn't able to catch much, not to mention the haole surfers who just dropped in, as well as the Tandem Haole kook who didn't know how to share waves, taking off on everything on his tandem board. I just got sick of it. I noticed there was a little right peeler right off the Sheraton Waikiki Hotel, which was about a 30 meter paddle toward Bowls, Ewa side. I decided what the heck, there is no one on it, and I might get lucky. How did I. I proceeded to surf that spot, all by myself for about 2 1/2 hours, catching all the waves I wanted to catch. After a particularly good ride, I then just thought to myself, Why did I leave this beautiful place? I then asked for a sign from God, asking how I can get back to Hawaii. And at that moment, a Hawaiian Green Sea Turtle surfaced right next to me, and as it dived down, a set rolled through, of which I proceeded to catch three waves in a row. At this time it was past 8pm and dark, so I started the long paddle back to shore, praying that a bad sign, like a shark, didn't pop up. So, Jeremy came up with the notion that the three waves equals three more years until we move back.
I can't wait. Next time it will be for good.
Monday, September 11, 2006
Sunday, September 03, 2006
Survivor
If you watch the "reality" show, Survivor, my cousin Brad Virata will be on it this season. I can't tell you the outcome of the show or I would have to kill you, but watch it if you like. personally, I would like to see an epsiode of Survivor whereby the cast is dropped off in the middle of Baghdad and given directions to find the WMD and then make their way to Kuwait, but that is another thing.
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
Not much to say today. . .but
I figured I should at least attempt to update this blog. Went out on the Kuumu kai to try and nail some of the dodo's that have been swimming off the coast, but to no avail, we couldn't find a patty from here to dana point. Actually we did find just one that had a bit of size, but there was a seal on it, so there wouldn't be any dodo's under it. The water has been insanely warm the last few weeks. It was 81 degrees in HB two weeks ago, which is hawaiian water temps. It ahs cooled down considerably though, probably in the mid 60s. The month of July was an absolute furnace on the West coast. It was hot to very hot for about three weeks. We drove up to SanFrancisco twice, once for a funeral, and the second time for an AMD press event, and it was 115 degrees in some places. The funthing though we got to see the Golden gate Bridge from a different angle and even cruised down Lombard street.
The picture below is a picture of the leopard shark that we caught the last time we went fishing. Jeremy hooked it and it was pulling line so he handed off to me and Ibrought it in. It took about thirty minutes to bring it in as it took me around the boat two times. We were fishing in about four feet of water using live sardines. We were hooking these things all afternoon but they kept breaking off the 20lb line. This was one of two we got to the boat. All fished were released except the sand bass and spotted bay bass that wer caught.
The picture below is a picture of the leopard shark that we caught the last time we went fishing. Jeremy hooked it and it was pulling line so he handed off to me and Ibrought it in. It took about thirty minutes to bring it in as it took me around the boat two times. We were fishing in about four feet of water using live sardines. We were hooking these things all afternoon but they kept breaking off the 20lb line. This was one of two we got to the boat. All fished were released except the sand bass and spotted bay bass that wer caught.
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
Topless woman frolicks in Newport Surf
An interesting event happened in the surf at Blackies Monday morning. While the surf was a miserable 1ft ankle slaps, there was a bit more of a rise in the surf, as a woman in her 20s frolicked in the surf, topless. Yes a genuine topless woman with perky tits hitting the waves. She was in the water for about 15 minutes, frolicking about. Jeremy got to see his first topless woman at Newport, and so did I and a fellow surfer Dave and his friend. What a trip. Now mind you other countries such as France and Brazil are familiar with topless sunbathers, but not conservative OC, and especially not ultra conservative Newport Beach. I then told Jeremy, erroneously, that they only sold bikini bottoms in France and he believed it until that night when we had dinner at Thai Princess. It was such a distraction, that Dave, one of the locals at Newport lost his board to get a better look. She murmured something to him that he didn't repeat, but I know that Dave hardly ever loses his board, and on that day it was next to impossible given the lack of waves. At any rate, we all took a long hard look at the topless woman and we all enjoyed it, despite the crappy surf.
Monday, July 17, 2006
Overseas Filipino Worker
Imagine an OFW gaining support from fellow OFWs and running for president of the Philippines. That might just be the ticket in moving the country forward. How much money do OFWs send back to the Philippines in remittances. Are their remittances the #1 driver of the Philippine economy? How many Filipinos work abroad each year while the Philippines continues its slide backward? Ok here are the statistics
10.7 billion in remittances back to the Philippines, equal to about 12 percent of the country's GDP
9 million Filipinos working abroad, or more than 1 in 10 Filipinos
Three thousand one hundred Filipinos leave the country each day seeking work abroad
2.5 million Filipinos work in the USA
more than 1 million in Saudi Arabia
That is quite a major voting force. There have been rumblings to deny these folks the right to vote in elections. Imagine if one of these overseas foreign workers became popular enough to rally other OFWs to vote for one of their own? And what if that person was elected and had a real agenda, rather than an agenda of corruption ajnd enrichment of the trapos in power? COuld that person turn the country around and reverse the spiral into the abyss of non-factor when it comes to the global ecomony? because that is going to be the case if the country doesnt get its act together, and why not a person who helps to build other countries who can lead the Philippines?
The country is a total joke, it is exporting people to other countries, it has to beg other countries to rescue their people from Lebanon, yet it gladly sends them off, as long as they send their money back to line the coffers of the politicians. I've got Filipino friends who are "caregivers" to the elderly in ritzy newport Beach, NYC, and LA. I know a filipina who is an assistant to the director of Seabiscuit; Countless others work menial jobs here in So. CAL, though others are professionals. Filipinos are fast becoming the mexicans of the world, performing the most menial of jobs to earn money to send to their families. The country sits back while other countries in the region enjoy the fruits of a global economy. I've said it before, but Vietnam will surpass the Philippines economically and will be a new tiger before the Philippines
That is quite a major voting force. There have been rumblings to deny these folks the right to vote in elections. Imagine if one of these overseas foreign workers became popular enough to rally other OFWs to vote for one of their own? And what if that person was elected and had a real agenda, rather than an agenda of corruption ajnd enrichment of the trapos in power? COuld that person turn the country around and reverse the spiral into the abyss of non-factor when it comes to the global ecomony? because that is going to be the case if the country doesnt get its act together, and why not a person who helps to build other countries who can lead the Philippines?
The country is a total joke, it is exporting people to other countries, it has to beg other countries to rescue their people from Lebanon, yet it gladly sends them off, as long as they send their money back to line the coffers of the politicians. I've got Filipino friends who are "caregivers" to the elderly in ritzy newport Beach, NYC, and LA. I know a filipina who is an assistant to the director of Seabiscuit; Countless others work menial jobs here in So. CAL, though others are professionals. Filipinos are fast becoming the mexicans of the world, performing the most menial of jobs to earn money to send to their families. The country sits back while other countries in the region enjoy the fruits of a global economy. I've said it before, but Vietnam will surpass the Philippines economically and will be a new tiger before the Philippines
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
Daddy again
It is official. I am going to be a daddy again. The baby is due the first week of March 2007. When my wife took the first and second pregnancy test and it came back positive, I felt, well maybe it was a false positive. Whent the third came back positive, and the fourth was backed up by the OB/GYN, it sunk in that yes, a new addition is coming to the family. Over the years I began to think that my little guys stopped swimming or perhaps, they just swam in circles and no longer swam upstream. I thought this so. And we haven't used any form of birth control in ages, perhaps two total years since Jeremy was born. But God finds a way. Anyone have any name suggestions?
Jovi called me on the drive home from San Francisco, where we went to my cousin Ernest Trias' step dad's funeral. I didn't know that Ernese had such a large extended family, and that his step dad was such a funny guy. I only met Tino a few times over the years since Ernest's mom married him back in 82, around the time Ernest and his sister Marleen moved to the states from the Philippines. I found him to be a funny guy even then, but the photo and video montage that was screened at the reception was testament to that, as was the Eulogy delivered by one of his four (or is it five) sons. The funniest story was about their trip to Yosemite, where his sons convinced the family to let them go fishing in Yosemite, with the ages of the boys ranging from 7 years old to barely 18. And when they asked Tino for permission, Tino asked, "eh, What kind of fish do they catch in Yosemite, mackeral?" I was absolutely ROTFLMAO. It was so funny because his son totally captured the way Tino spoke.
Tino got a US Navy burial, complete with Taps, the folding of the U.S. flag, and everything. He was buried in the same cemetery as my grandfather, who served in World War II with the US Navy at Pearl Harbor. We visited his grave and took pictures with my two boys. I never got to meet my grandfather as he died before I was born.
This marked the first time the boys went to San Francisco, and even though we only got a day to drive around, we did visit Sam Wo, the Golden Gate Bridge, and Ft. Baker Pier, where they were crabbing. The Chinese guy below wanted us to stay and taste the crab they were cooking right on the pier.
We also visited the house my dad first bought in 1958 at 260 Bradford Street. It was a small house, all of 1200 square feet, on a hill, that shared a common wall with the neighbors. The Bernal Heights neighborhood that it is located has been cleaned up considerably since the early 1980s-90s, when it was a somewhat depressed neighborhood. It has cleaned up well thanks to the tech industry that has revitalized the city.
Jovi called me on the drive home from San Francisco, where we went to my cousin Ernest Trias' step dad's funeral. I didn't know that Ernese had such a large extended family, and that his step dad was such a funny guy. I only met Tino a few times over the years since Ernest's mom married him back in 82, around the time Ernest and his sister Marleen moved to the states from the Philippines. I found him to be a funny guy even then, but the photo and video montage that was screened at the reception was testament to that, as was the Eulogy delivered by one of his four (or is it five) sons. The funniest story was about their trip to Yosemite, where his sons convinced the family to let them go fishing in Yosemite, with the ages of the boys ranging from 7 years old to barely 18. And when they asked Tino for permission, Tino asked, "eh, What kind of fish do they catch in Yosemite, mackeral?" I was absolutely ROTFLMAO. It was so funny because his son totally captured the way Tino spoke.
Tino got a US Navy burial, complete with Taps, the folding of the U.S. flag, and everything. He was buried in the same cemetery as my grandfather, who served in World War II with the US Navy at Pearl Harbor. We visited his grave and took pictures with my two boys. I never got to meet my grandfather as he died before I was born.
This marked the first time the boys went to San Francisco, and even though we only got a day to drive around, we did visit Sam Wo, the Golden Gate Bridge, and Ft. Baker Pier, where they were crabbing. The Chinese guy below wanted us to stay and taste the crab they were cooking right on the pier.
We also visited the house my dad first bought in 1958 at 260 Bradford Street. It was a small house, all of 1200 square feet, on a hill, that shared a common wall with the neighbors. The Bernal Heights neighborhood that it is located has been cleaned up considerably since the early 1980s-90s, when it was a somewhat depressed neighborhood. It has cleaned up well thanks to the tech industry that has revitalized the city.
Friday, June 30, 2006
Scary Thought: American Empire
America is desperately trying to mold itself into the image of the Britain of old, where the sun never set on the empire. This time it appears the country will start with Iraq and then march on to any country that it deems contributing to the continual dominance of the world's only super power. Those areas of the world that are seen as unnecessary to America's rise will initially go ignored. Places such as Darfur in the Sudan, where disease and war continue to reduce those populations. But it is these countries where resistance to American hemegony will take root and it will be in these countries where America will bring its next wars. It is already being seen in Iraq, where the USA is building sprawling military complexes, complexes whereby the US military will hunker down and maintain a huge presence for the foreseeable future, to ensure the free flowing of oil to the country. It was never about WMDs, that has proven false, it was never about deposing a dictator, it was always about the oil, and the buildup of the US military in a region that is full of it.
Countries that rely on oil today will suffer, as the US gains a hold and controls the flow of that oil. Countries that have already switched to alternative fuels, such as Alcool in Brazil will not have to worry about the future rationing of oil that will be controlled not by OPEC, but the USA. Venezuela is next. Bring them home? Hell no, Not with Bush III waiting on deck and the Mexican Bush in the dugout.
Countries that rely on oil today will suffer, as the US gains a hold and controls the flow of that oil. Countries that have already switched to alternative fuels, such as Alcool in Brazil will not have to worry about the future rationing of oil that will be controlled not by OPEC, but the USA. Venezuela is next. Bring them home? Hell no, Not with Bush III waiting on deck and the Mexican Bush in the dugout.
Monday, June 05, 2006
Soccer Travails
Jeremy dislocated his wrist at the growth plate last weekend during a soccer tournament in San Bernardino. It was during a big tournament sponsored by the LA Galaxy amd he did it during the first of three games. I suspect it got fractured during a sideways bicycle kick stunt that he pulled off during the game, falling on his wrist, because just a few minutes later, he fell on it and that is when it popped. Tina, the soccer mom who drove us to the game, drove us to the hospital emergency room where we waited for the doctor to snap it back into place. They had to put Jeremy under to perform the operation, and he wasn't too happy about it. I was there for the whole thing and I was a bit scared as well, based on what the nurse told me could happen. Thankfully nothing did, but it was really hard to watch him watch the meds go into his vein and then him slowing going under. The entire procedure to fix his wrist took probably 30 seconds, it was just the waking up part that took long, a whole 15 minutes for him to wake up.
Now he has a cast on his arm. I don't want to see him in an emergency room anymore. It is really scary, on top of the fact that there were all kinds of people in the ER as well. But he had a Dr. and nurse who knew what they weer doing so that was good, and it was a pretty common occurrence. Its the fact that they ahd to put him under with powerful drugs that concerned me the most for a seemingly simple procedure. The only reason why they put him under though because the pain would have been unbearable for him. His season is over though until the Fall. He wants to play in summer tournaments, but I think I'll convince him to wait til the Fall. Also, he won't play in any tournament when his team doesn't have a m,inimum of three reserves, because during the first half of the only game he played in, he was breathing hard, I never saw him run so much, while the other team subbed out three players at a time, so they always had fresh players on the field.
Now he has a cast on his arm. I don't want to see him in an emergency room anymore. It is really scary, on top of the fact that there were all kinds of people in the ER as well. But he had a Dr. and nurse who knew what they weer doing so that was good, and it was a pretty common occurrence. Its the fact that they ahd to put him under with powerful drugs that concerned me the most for a seemingly simple procedure. The only reason why they put him under though because the pain would have been unbearable for him. His season is over though until the Fall. He wants to play in summer tournaments, but I think I'll convince him to wait til the Fall. Also, he won't play in any tournament when his team doesn't have a m,inimum of three reserves, because during the first half of the only game he played in, he was breathing hard, I never saw him run so much, while the other team subbed out three players at a time, so they always had fresh players on the field.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Kodak V570
I've been testing out a new camera from Kodak which features dual lenses on one camera. It is really intersting the way kodak has done it, but its a point and shoot digital camera that has two built in lenses. Accessing the second ultra wide angle lens is automatic. You just hit the zoom /ultra wide button and the camera switches automaticall. And the colors are really good. Here are some pics.
Friday, May 19, 2006
Gillian Virata
Today I had an email conversation with Gillian Virata, daughter of Cesar and Joy Virata. It was really weird, because she sent an email to me, meant for someone else, detailing her plane itinerary from LA to Vegas. I then sent her the following email back:
Hi Gi,
It would be nice to meet you at LAX or Vegas, but I have no idea who you are. You might want to check your email address book so you can inform the Virata that (who) you are really trying to reach. BTW, are you a student at George Washington University? Just curious what you are studying.
John Bautista Virata
She then responded:
Hi John,
Sorry about that.
I finished a mid-career master's degree at GWU in Jan. 2005 in
International Policy and Practice. You write about cameras?
Gillian Virata
Which got me to thinking. Here is this woman in her 40s, who graduated from college in 1976 and writes about such worldy things as The Effects of U.S Sugar Policy
, has two masters degrees from U.S. colleges, andasks me, you write about cameras? Now I am not sure if that is a putdown from some intellectual, but it got me to thinking, what has my writing come down to? Yes I do write about cameras. That is what I do for a living. But at one point in my life, the only thing I liked to write were love letters, and Philippine political topics.
I write about cameras. I went to journalism school to "write about cameras"?
Hi Gi,
It would be nice to meet you at LAX or Vegas, but I have no idea who you are. You might want to check your email address book so you can inform the Virata that (who) you are really trying to reach. BTW, are you a student at George Washington University? Just curious what you are studying.
John Bautista Virata
She then responded:
Hi John,
Sorry about that.
I finished a mid-career master's degree at GWU in Jan. 2005 in
International Policy and Practice. You write about cameras?
Gillian Virata
Which got me to thinking. Here is this woman in her 40s, who graduated from college in 1976 and writes about such worldy things as The Effects of U.S Sugar Policy
, has two masters degrees from U.S. colleges, andasks me, you write about cameras? Now I am not sure if that is a putdown from some intellectual, but it got me to thinking, what has my writing come down to? Yes I do write about cameras. That is what I do for a living. But at one point in my life, the only thing I liked to write were love letters, and Philippine political topics.
I write about cameras. I went to journalism school to "write about cameras"?
Good Surf
We finally got some good surf this past week. I stayed away from Newport because there was a sewage spill a few weeks back and the beaches were closed. Yep, can you believe it? A freakin sewage spill in Newport beach. Really there is no excuse for such a spill, bt alas, we had one right in our own backyard. Som it was stay out of the water, which totally sucks.
Well it cleaned up and thankfully we have some swell in. Yesterday I went before work and caught some pretty decent surf all to myself. That is another rarity. A bunch of lcoals were surfing the second jetty, because at the time that is the only place where the swell angle was hitting the beach. ewport is weird because it gets shadowed by Catalina Island, and when the swell is the wrong direction, Blackie's doesn't break and is totally flat. But if you walk down two jetties, the waves break. So I walked down and initially paddled out to the corner where all the other surfers were vying for the wave that peaked off the rocks. After just a few waves jockying with the other surfers, I paddled over to the other side of the jetty where nobody was surfing. I was the only one out and I was getting waves all to myself. It was really incredible,m and as I looked at the mad crowd on the other side of the rocks, I was saying, suckers.
The next morning, I met up with Dave, one of the local guys who surfs Newport. Dave was telling me that a bunch of the other surfers were watching me catch all those waves all by myself, yet didn't bother to paddle over. I told him I had a blast all by myself. So today, me and Dave and a several others took turns catching waves off the 32nd street jetty. At one point, during a lull, I paddled over to the other side of the pack, and as I was paddling, a macking set wave came in and guess what, I was the only one deep in position to catch it, and I picked it off, in front of Dano, a local shaper who shapes longboards for a lot of Newport regulars. Dano might have been in position had I not been there, but what can he do, I paddled for it and caught it, a killer left that was an a-frame shape. Almost perfect shape. I rode it all the way down the beach, and upon padding out, some of the guys were congratulating me on a good ride. Then I paddled back to my spot off the rocks. I was wondering to myself, should have I paddled over? Hell yes. It was a fair and square ride. I didn't snake anyone and the wave came straight to me. It was the wave of the day no doubt. And not to be too cocky, on another wave, I pearled pretty ahrd, so much that I did a complete 360 underwater and got water in my ears from the thrashing, but that one wave was just da kine.
laters brah
Well it cleaned up and thankfully we have some swell in. Yesterday I went before work and caught some pretty decent surf all to myself. That is another rarity. A bunch of lcoals were surfing the second jetty, because at the time that is the only place where the swell angle was hitting the beach. ewport is weird because it gets shadowed by Catalina Island, and when the swell is the wrong direction, Blackie's doesn't break and is totally flat. But if you walk down two jetties, the waves break. So I walked down and initially paddled out to the corner where all the other surfers were vying for the wave that peaked off the rocks. After just a few waves jockying with the other surfers, I paddled over to the other side of the jetty where nobody was surfing. I was the only one out and I was getting waves all to myself. It was really incredible,m and as I looked at the mad crowd on the other side of the rocks, I was saying, suckers.
The next morning, I met up with Dave, one of the local guys who surfs Newport. Dave was telling me that a bunch of the other surfers were watching me catch all those waves all by myself, yet didn't bother to paddle over. I told him I had a blast all by myself. So today, me and Dave and a several others took turns catching waves off the 32nd street jetty. At one point, during a lull, I paddled over to the other side of the pack, and as I was paddling, a macking set wave came in and guess what, I was the only one deep in position to catch it, and I picked it off, in front of Dano, a local shaper who shapes longboards for a lot of Newport regulars. Dano might have been in position had I not been there, but what can he do, I paddled for it and caught it, a killer left that was an a-frame shape. Almost perfect shape. I rode it all the way down the beach, and upon padding out, some of the guys were congratulating me on a good ride. Then I paddled back to my spot off the rocks. I was wondering to myself, should have I paddled over? Hell yes. It was a fair and square ride. I didn't snake anyone and the wave came straight to me. It was the wave of the day no doubt. And not to be too cocky, on another wave, I pearled pretty ahrd, so much that I did a complete 360 underwater and got water in my ears from the thrashing, but that one wave was just da kine.
laters brah
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
Mexican mafia
Not really, but the illegal aliens in the United States have mobilized and marched on May 1, DEMANDING amnesty AND citizenship. Imagine that, they break the law and come here illegally without papers, settle and find jobs, and because they "work", they demand that they become citizens, while other people all over the world can't even get visas to come here or have to wait 15 to 20 years for a relative's petition to be approved so they can come here, yet the mexicans who are here are demanding citizenship?
Picture at left. Since when could only illegals make burritos? I can make a burrito and I ain't even mexican.
That is really galling, but hey, they are mexicans and many of them can be like that.
When they boycotted school and work on May 1, the freeways in Southern California were traffic free, so I am imagining that their marching that day in LA and elsewhere throughout the USA unclogged the freeways. So is all the traffic caused by illegal immigrants who shouldn't be here in the first place? Makes you wonder. All I know it was smooth sailing on the 405.
They claim that they do jobs that ordinary Americans won't do, but do they do their jobs correctly? Would you want your house built by illegal mexican labor? American business is ADDICTED to Cheap labor. That million dollar house in Orange County was probably built by illegal Mexican labor. The skilled Americans won't work for as cheap as the unskilled mexicans in construction any more.
My friend Mike has been doing construction since he dropped out of high school, and he has witnessed how the Mexicans come in and just wreaked havoc on the carpenter's trade. So much for carpenter unions. It became so bad for him that he had to start his own business, yet guess what, he employs illegals as well, because they are cheap. It is the same that happened during the 20s and 30s when the Filipinos were brought over to America to work the fields. Once they organized and demanded better wages and work conditions, the farm owners just moved to Mexicans who were cheaper. So now that the mexicans are here doing the jobs that "Americans" won't do, what immigrant group will be next? The Africans from Darfur? The Indians? The Chinese?
This country is a nation of laws, and the illegal immigrants don't have the right to demand citizenship or Amnesty, because they jumped the fence to get here, ahead of all the other potential immigrants, to be here. They should wait in line along with all the rest of the world who wants to live in American and become citizens. Thi isn't a racist issue. It is an issue about the rule of law. Citizenship is earned, it can't be demanded.
Picture at left. Since when could only illegals make burritos? I can make a burrito and I ain't even mexican.
That is really galling, but hey, they are mexicans and many of them can be like that.
When they boycotted school and work on May 1, the freeways in Southern California were traffic free, so I am imagining that their marching that day in LA and elsewhere throughout the USA unclogged the freeways. So is all the traffic caused by illegal immigrants who shouldn't be here in the first place? Makes you wonder. All I know it was smooth sailing on the 405.
They claim that they do jobs that ordinary Americans won't do, but do they do their jobs correctly? Would you want your house built by illegal mexican labor? American business is ADDICTED to Cheap labor. That million dollar house in Orange County was probably built by illegal Mexican labor. The skilled Americans won't work for as cheap as the unskilled mexicans in construction any more.
My friend Mike has been doing construction since he dropped out of high school, and he has witnessed how the Mexicans come in and just wreaked havoc on the carpenter's trade. So much for carpenter unions. It became so bad for him that he had to start his own business, yet guess what, he employs illegals as well, because they are cheap. It is the same that happened during the 20s and 30s when the Filipinos were brought over to America to work the fields. Once they organized and demanded better wages and work conditions, the farm owners just moved to Mexicans who were cheaper. So now that the mexicans are here doing the jobs that "Americans" won't do, what immigrant group will be next? The Africans from Darfur? The Indians? The Chinese?
This country is a nation of laws, and the illegal immigrants don't have the right to demand citizenship or Amnesty, because they jumped the fence to get here, ahead of all the other potential immigrants, to be here. They should wait in line along with all the rest of the world who wants to live in American and become citizens. Thi isn't a racist issue. It is an issue about the rule of law. Citizenship is earned, it can't be demanded.
Monday, March 20, 2006
Fernando Q. Kabigting
Last night I met Fernando Q. Kabigting, a painter from the Philippines who gained moderate following in Manila and a bigger following in Negros. I first heard of Kabigting back in 1995 when my mother in law commissioned him to paint the wedding portrait of my wife and me. He worked off a picture of us, as he lived in Flushing, New York City. I was first awestruck by his attention to detail. The lines were so true, he even painted the bend in the glasses I was wearing in the picture, a bend that occurred years before. He gained some moderate fame in the Philippines, having pioneered painting on antique Batya bowls from the late 1800s to the early 1920s that Filipinos used to wash their clothes in. In the 1970s, he had a collection of 13 Batya bowls showcasing various Philippine scenes on display at the Rustan's departments stores, scenes of woman playing guitar, children in the cane fields, in the classic Spanish style balconies. He wasn't sure what would become of them until the owner of Rustan's notified him that the then first lady, Imelda Marcos, had came and picked up all of them. On top of this, he was surprised that Imelda, known as the master of mine, mine mine, paid for all of them.
I had always wanted to know what this man was like. My father in law's late wife had a collection of Kabigtings in her apartment in Los Angeles. They were water colors. I always thought that perhaps she had water colors because the oils and acrylics that he worked with, including our painting created in 1995 were considerably more expensive. She had informed me, erroneously, because of a stroke that paralyzed him in 1999, that he didn't have full control of his painting hand and arm, and the watercolors were easier for him to work with. Only when I met him did I find out how wrong she was. Not only was he still painting with acrylics, in addition to his water colors, of which he can do one water color painting each day, but he was creating his art with his left hand now, as his right hand and arm, his first painting arm, is totally paralyzed. On top of all this, his remaining good eye cannot focus, so he must paint virtually with his nose to the canvas.
We ate dinner at la Taverna Kyclades, a Greek restaurant in Astoria, Queens that is hugely popular with New Yorkers, many whom travel from Manhattan just to sample the restarant's excellent Greek food. Kabingting, who invited 10 of us to dinner at Kyclades, sat across from me. The stroke that felled half his body, but not his mind, caused deafness in his left ear and blindness in his left eye, was very quiet at the dinner table, speaking mostly to my father in law to his left side and his wife, Menchu, to his right. Only later did Fernando explain to me that because of the stroke, his hearing is limited to his good ear, and he wasn't trying to snub me at the dinner table. This was after dinner when we went to his home to take coffee and dessert. Because I am not a coffee drinker and had eaten enough sweets for the day, I spent the great majority of my time conversing with Fernando on his artwork, which is absolutely spectacular.
Because it is often rare to meet the artist, I was absolutely awestruck by this man. Half his body is crippled, yet his mind, which is free to visualize his art, is as sharp as a tack. Kabigting will become big. It is really an honor to have met this man who overcame a serious debilitation and continues to inspire all those who meet him.
I had always wanted to know what this man was like. My father in law's late wife had a collection of Kabigtings in her apartment in Los Angeles. They were water colors. I always thought that perhaps she had water colors because the oils and acrylics that he worked with, including our painting created in 1995 were considerably more expensive. She had informed me, erroneously, because of a stroke that paralyzed him in 1999, that he didn't have full control of his painting hand and arm, and the watercolors were easier for him to work with. Only when I met him did I find out how wrong she was. Not only was he still painting with acrylics, in addition to his water colors, of which he can do one water color painting each day, but he was creating his art with his left hand now, as his right hand and arm, his first painting arm, is totally paralyzed. On top of all this, his remaining good eye cannot focus, so he must paint virtually with his nose to the canvas.
We ate dinner at la Taverna Kyclades, a Greek restaurant in Astoria, Queens that is hugely popular with New Yorkers, many whom travel from Manhattan just to sample the restarant's excellent Greek food. Kabingting, who invited 10 of us to dinner at Kyclades, sat across from me. The stroke that felled half his body, but not his mind, caused deafness in his left ear and blindness in his left eye, was very quiet at the dinner table, speaking mostly to my father in law to his left side and his wife, Menchu, to his right. Only later did Fernando explain to me that because of the stroke, his hearing is limited to his good ear, and he wasn't trying to snub me at the dinner table. This was after dinner when we went to his home to take coffee and dessert. Because I am not a coffee drinker and had eaten enough sweets for the day, I spent the great majority of my time conversing with Fernando on his artwork, which is absolutely spectacular.
Because it is often rare to meet the artist, I was absolutely awestruck by this man. Half his body is crippled, yet his mind, which is free to visualize his art, is as sharp as a tack. Kabigting will become big. It is really an honor to have met this man who overcame a serious debilitation and continues to inspire all those who meet him.
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
Newport
These shots are interesting. Both pictures were taken on the same day. One side of the pier had sand that was all wind whipped into shape, smooth and orderly, while the other side of the pier showed the sand with a more disturbed, rained on look. The only difference that I know of is on the south side of the pier, where the sand was more orderly, the houses are further from the water's edge.
These gulls were just hanging out on the pier.
Now this is just nasty. I am wondering though was there sex on the beach, or did it occur indoors and then the condom gets flushed down the toilet? If it did get flushed, then there is a huge problem with the OC's sanitation system. At least they practiced birth control.
Fake lei, all dirty. plastic lei. Definitely not the Hawaiian spirit.
Cloud cover over Saddleback mountain
Under the pier, the pylings are exposed at low tide.
Sunday, March 05, 2006
Catalina Island
Catalina Island is just 26 miles off the coast of Orange County. We took the boat out there one flat day in the fall of 2004. It takes about an hour to get there. It is really unlike Orange County. The air is clean and the water, though cold, is crystal clear. Jeremy couldn't believe how clear the water was. you could see down 25 feet to the bottom with total clarity.
The house at the top is the Wrigley mansion. Yes of Double mint, Juicy Fruit fame.
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
Freedom from Arroyo
While we really take for granted our freedoms in the United States, in other countries, freedoms are sometimes curtailed in the name of political stability or political viability. In the Philippines, that country's president, Gloria Arroyo, just last week declared a "state of emergency" due to a supposed coup plot, (pitting communists and military adventurists from the left and the right, imagine that marriage) among other things.
She effectively shut down a newspaper that doesn't like the way she governs, has arrested and detained several prominent opposition leaders, including Randy David, a University of the Philippines sociology professor known for speaking his mind, and considered by some to be a radical; arrested other opposition leaders such as Crispin Beltran, banned rallies and assemblies, muzzled the media under threat of retaliation, and a whole list of other things. In doing such Marcosian things, Arroyo is just setting the stage for her final pathetic downfall. She is claiming to preserve national security in declaring her state of emergency, yet it seems that the state of emergency is in her own paranoid mind, and she is walking a serious tightrope in declaring the state of emergency in the veil of national security. Even Estrada didn't pull these stupid stunts. By doing what she has done, she has sent the country back to the early 1970s, when a young president named Marcos took over the newspapers and arrested his political opponents, and declared martial law due to a "communist threat". Sound familiar? Well folks that is what is happening right now.
What Arroyo has done is damaged the democratic principles that cost Ninoy Aquino his life, which his wife Corazon Aquino worked hard to preserve during her six years in office. What is happening is Arroyo is just trying to grab and maintain political power when more than half the country wants her out.
She was eager to be appointed president by the Philippine Supreme Court back when the coup d'etat against Estrada was carried out, and then she fixed the 2004 election effectively extending her term to 10 years. Her husband has been accused of corruption, and yet this country is going backward when a country like Vietnam, which ended a war just 30+ years ago, is poised to over take the Philippines economically and politically.
It is time for Arroyo to go home to the province from which she came.
She effectively shut down a newspaper that doesn't like the way she governs, has arrested and detained several prominent opposition leaders, including Randy David, a University of the Philippines sociology professor known for speaking his mind, and considered by some to be a radical; arrested other opposition leaders such as Crispin Beltran, banned rallies and assemblies, muzzled the media under threat of retaliation, and a whole list of other things. In doing such Marcosian things, Arroyo is just setting the stage for her final pathetic downfall. She is claiming to preserve national security in declaring her state of emergency, yet it seems that the state of emergency is in her own paranoid mind, and she is walking a serious tightrope in declaring the state of emergency in the veil of national security. Even Estrada didn't pull these stupid stunts. By doing what she has done, she has sent the country back to the early 1970s, when a young president named Marcos took over the newspapers and arrested his political opponents, and declared martial law due to a "communist threat". Sound familiar? Well folks that is what is happening right now.
What Arroyo has done is damaged the democratic principles that cost Ninoy Aquino his life, which his wife Corazon Aquino worked hard to preserve during her six years in office. What is happening is Arroyo is just trying to grab and maintain political power when more than half the country wants her out.
She was eager to be appointed president by the Philippine Supreme Court back when the coup d'etat against Estrada was carried out, and then she fixed the 2004 election effectively extending her term to 10 years. Her husband has been accused of corruption, and yet this country is going backward when a country like Vietnam, which ended a war just 30+ years ago, is poised to over take the Philippines economically and politically.
It is time for Arroyo to go home to the province from which she came.
Saturday, February 25, 2006
Dogging you
Since the surf has been flat for the last seven days, I have been trying to figure out other ways to exercise. During the times I went down to Newport to check the surf, I would bring a pair of running shoes just in case. Well, during the last week I had to use those shoes because of the flatness of the surf. I tell you I'd much rather surf in cold water than run, because running is harsh on my old body. I had back pains a few days after my initial run, which lasted a whole 30 minutes. So I found alternatives in biking around the neighborhood and just plain walking.
On my walk this morning around the neighborhood, I was accosted by a chocolate lab. He didn't bite or anything, but he kept on charging at me then he'd drop back. A few times he came up to me to sniff me out but he was still doing that charging thing. So I kept walking and he'd follow me then fall back. Just when I was getting a bit frustrated, a dog catcher pulls up. I walk toward his truck and then walk away. He finally comes out, and says, is that your dog? I tell him no. He then proceeds to come out of his truck. The dog sees him, stops, growls a bit and then takes off running, as if he knew what the dog catcher was all about. I don't know if he caught the dog or not, but it was a relief that he showed up at the time he did. Somebody must have called to complain about the dog.
I am hoping that the surf picks up next week because without surfing, my whole balance gets out of whack. Masungit, irritable, just a pain in the butt attitude. Everything suffers when there is no surf.
On my walk this morning around the neighborhood, I was accosted by a chocolate lab. He didn't bite or anything, but he kept on charging at me then he'd drop back. A few times he came up to me to sniff me out but he was still doing that charging thing. So I kept walking and he'd follow me then fall back. Just when I was getting a bit frustrated, a dog catcher pulls up. I walk toward his truck and then walk away. He finally comes out, and says, is that your dog? I tell him no. He then proceeds to come out of his truck. The dog sees him, stops, growls a bit and then takes off running, as if he knew what the dog catcher was all about. I don't know if he caught the dog or not, but it was a relief that he showed up at the time he did. Somebody must have called to complain about the dog.
I am hoping that the surf picks up next week because without surfing, my whole balance gets out of whack. Masungit, irritable, just a pain in the butt attitude. Everything suffers when there is no surf.
Thursday, February 23, 2006
More and more soccer
In Jeremy's first season playing soccer, his region team came in 1st place and he was selected for the Gold all star team after the season ended. The gold all star team won the area championships and went to the Sectionals at UC Irvine. The team was just two victories away from going to the state championships but they lost to a mexican team from Wilmington. They posted a 2 wins 1 loss record at the sectionals. And Wilmington was defeated by San Juan Capistrano. The image below shows Jeremy's budding skills. He is a stopper on defense. Other players parents called him the wall during the regular season because he was like a brick wall, with opponents ending up on their back when they challenged him. Now he will continue to Spring soccer, so that means about 9 months of soccer at his first go around playing organized sports. Hopefully he will stick with it and continue to excel at the sport.
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
February 15th
Yesterday, valentine's day was such a surreal day. I mean, after spending time in front of the computer, and then going out, I didn't realize how big a deal this day was. I am terrible on days such as this. I usually don't get flowers for my wife, nor candies or anything of the sort. For the first 10 years or so of our marriage, I might have given flowers on valentine's day perhaps just once. And a card? forget it. But the last 5 or six years have been different. I have given flowers, took her out to dinner and the like. Before I just didn't get into it too much. Now i do. And I get lucky too.
Which brings me to yesterday. Driving to pick up josh from school, I noticed a boy on his bike, iPod blaring, carrying a bunch of roses in one hand. I wondered who was the lucky girl. As I passed one of the middle schools, I noticed a lot of the girls had balloons and gifts from their amors. Passing La Quinta high School, on theb electronic billboard, there was a note. Happy Valentine's Day Trang. I love you." Now that was sweet for all to see. Even at the market, when I was looking for a nice dozen roses, other guys were looking too. At the gas station, a flower vendor set up shop, and there were people lined up to get some roses. A woman at the bus stop with a valentine basket, I saw so much valentine love on the streets of Santa Ana. So I guess it still is a romantic day. It doesn't get old.
Today, the waves were blown out, so I decided to run the beach at Newport instead. I needed to get some exercise to clear my head before work, and besides, I had to burn some of the calories from the dinner the night before. Lamb and potatoes and green beans, topped off with a slice of Boston Creme Pie. I ain't dead yet, but that was a cholesterol, calorie buster right there.
So anyway at the beach, as I ran, I finally figured out where all those valentines balloons go. I picked up several deflated balloons and threw then in the trash. But I also saw a lot of other junk, water bottles, wrappers,and trhe most hideous things, those feminie things that women insert when they are menstruating, I forgot the name, but I saw several used plastic applicators on the sand. Really sad, but not surprising when you live in an area with two million other people.
Which brings me to yesterday. Driving to pick up josh from school, I noticed a boy on his bike, iPod blaring, carrying a bunch of roses in one hand. I wondered who was the lucky girl. As I passed one of the middle schools, I noticed a lot of the girls had balloons and gifts from their amors. Passing La Quinta high School, on theb electronic billboard, there was a note. Happy Valentine's Day Trang. I love you." Now that was sweet for all to see. Even at the market, when I was looking for a nice dozen roses, other guys were looking too. At the gas station, a flower vendor set up shop, and there were people lined up to get some roses. A woman at the bus stop with a valentine basket, I saw so much valentine love on the streets of Santa Ana. So I guess it still is a romantic day. It doesn't get old.
Today, the waves were blown out, so I decided to run the beach at Newport instead. I needed to get some exercise to clear my head before work, and besides, I had to burn some of the calories from the dinner the night before. Lamb and potatoes and green beans, topped off with a slice of Boston Creme Pie. I ain't dead yet, but that was a cholesterol, calorie buster right there.
So anyway at the beach, as I ran, I finally figured out where all those valentines balloons go. I picked up several deflated balloons and threw then in the trash. But I also saw a lot of other junk, water bottles, wrappers,and trhe most hideous things, those feminie things that women insert when they are menstruating, I forgot the name, but I saw several used plastic applicators on the sand. Really sad, but not surprising when you live in an area with two million other people.
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
Curious George
I just picked up the soundtrack to Curious George because one of my fave singer/songwriters wrote the soundtrack for the movie. Jack Johnson is a localboy who's music is so uplifting it is almost unbelievable that he's not some Christian singer. His stuff really reflects the spirit of Hawaii, where he is from. He has three albums out in addition to Curious George and Friends, In Between Dreams, Brushfire Fairytales, and On and On. All of it is good. Not a stinker in the lot. My sister turned me onto his wavelength about three years ago, and I've been hooked. His singing is pure as the hawaiian rains, and his guitar work sings a lovely melody. His songs remind me of the times in hawaii. And did I mention he is a north shore surfer too?
laters brah
laters brah
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
Saturday, January 21, 2006
Pacman and Soccer moms
I hadn't seen a boxing match in a while but this one was special. First, my cousin Jen Jen sang the Philippine national anthem and I had to see that. I haven't seen her since she was a small girl. She is all grown up and she sang beautifully. Jen jen is my first cousin. Her dad and my mom are siblings and grew up together with my lolo who died in 1989. Jen jen was still small when I last saw her, but tonight she was all grown up, looking more filipina than her older sister Christina. Second was Pacman. Pacman took care of business and knocked out Erik Morales in the 10th round, avenging a lost he received by Morales last eyar in a bruising fight. Watching a boxing match is really hard to watch. you Really gotta feel for the guy who takes the beating.
It was sort of like watching Jeremy's soccer matches today. Jeremy has been playing soccer since September last year, this being his first season playing an organized sport. His team, the Assasins, took first place in their region, and in the process, Jeremy made the all star team as well. So, I've been shuttling him back and forth to soccer games every weekend since September, not counting the week I was in the Philippines or the weekend during Christmas, so you can say I have been the "soccer dad" for the last several months. There is always a running joke about soccer moms, but I don't think the steretype fits the bill with soccer dads, besides, I don't drive a minivan. Today's games, they tied the first, and the second they absolutely ran circles around, beating Santa Ana 11-3. That was like watching the Morales/Pacman fight tonight. Tomorrow will be the final game of the all star season for him, so he (and I) will get a much needed rest from soccer. Won't miss the driving but will miss seeing all the soccer moms.
It was sort of like watching Jeremy's soccer matches today. Jeremy has been playing soccer since September last year, this being his first season playing an organized sport. His team, the Assasins, took first place in their region, and in the process, Jeremy made the all star team as well. So, I've been shuttling him back and forth to soccer games every weekend since September, not counting the week I was in the Philippines or the weekend during Christmas, so you can say I have been the "soccer dad" for the last several months. There is always a running joke about soccer moms, but I don't think the steretype fits the bill with soccer dads, besides, I don't drive a minivan. Today's games, they tied the first, and the second they absolutely ran circles around, beating Santa Ana 11-3. That was like watching the Morales/Pacman fight tonight. Tomorrow will be the final game of the all star season for him, so he (and I) will get a much needed rest from soccer. Won't miss the driving but will miss seeing all the soccer moms.
Friday, January 13, 2006
MacBook Pro
I want one. Finally Apple Computer announced that it will ship a notebook computer based on the Intel core Duo CPU. I want one so bad that I'll do anything to get one. You see, I first was exposed to Apple comptuers back in 1989 while doing a report on, of all things, the Comprehensive Agrarian Reform Plan, a plan that was supposed to divvy up large haciendas in the Philippines to the farmers who work the land. I stole time on the UC Irvine computer lab with my friends Vinh and Tip, who attended the university. The Mac was actually a Mac classic. It was one of those all in one comptuers with a mouse and everything. the graphical interface was what got me. Just point and click. I was hooked. Today, the mouse and the GUI are common place, thanks to Windows. But anyway, my first computer was a Powerbook, purchased in 1991 for $2499. My second was a Quadra 605 purchased when Josh was just four years old. I was an Apple bigot, until I got a job working for a magazine that published on the Windows platform. Imagine that. Virtually all magazines and newspapers are published on the Mac, but back then we were doing it on Windows, and Windows 3.1 Talking about painful. I even remember seeing a commercial where this guy is at a business meeting and he's got this report all printed out in color and everyone around the table is asking him how it was done, and he has to murmur, under his breath, "macintosh" and when his colleagues ask him again, he says it again, "macintosh," because he doesn't want to disparage the business types who insist on IBM. It was really funny.
Ain't it pretty?
Flash forward about 11 years and Apple, which had been using Motorola CPUs finally ships a Mac with an Intel processor. I just have to figure out a way to justify yet another computer purchase. We've got two notebooks and three desktopm computers on a wireless LAN already in this house. Hmmmm, leeme see. I need a macBookPro because my job requires that I stay up to date with technology? That will fly. I need a macBookPro because Macs are less prone to viruses, popups and other malware? Sure. I need a macBookPro so I can be more eficient with my digital photography? Sure. I need a macBookPro because, well shit because it is a Mac!
Ain't it pretty?
Flash forward about 11 years and Apple, which had been using Motorola CPUs finally ships a Mac with an Intel processor. I just have to figure out a way to justify yet another computer purchase. We've got two notebooks and three desktopm computers on a wireless LAN already in this house. Hmmmm, leeme see. I need a macBookPro because my job requires that I stay up to date with technology? That will fly. I need a macBookPro because Macs are less prone to viruses, popups and other malware? Sure. I need a macBookPro so I can be more eficient with my digital photography? Sure. I need a macBookPro because, well shit because it is a Mac!
Monday, January 02, 2006
Pics of 2005
Mom and Jeremy at Ala Moana parking lot
Jeremy at Waimea Bay
Ala Moana sunset
Diamond Valley Lake bluegill
Me and my boys at Pali lookout, Oahu, Hawaii summer 2005
Crashed my car
After 20 plus years of driving, I finally got in a car crash that totaled my car. WQell it happened when me and the boys were going to the desert for some dirt biking when a woman driver came onto the freeway too fast and crashed into the trailer I was pulling. I then proceeded to lose control of the Expedition, and hit the center divider, totaling the car in the process. I have been in a funk ever since, it happened Nov 19 on the 22 freeway. Such BS, but at least no one was hurt. When she came on I tried to move to give her space, but she still hit me. Another woman in a Honda civic proceeded to lose control as well and spun out, hitting the center divider as well. It was pretty much mayhem. It totally sucks, because the Ford was already paid off. Oh well, chalk it up to living in this crowded place called Orange County, not The OC, but Orange County. So now I bought a Toyota Tundra, yet another gas guzzler, but what do you do when you have toys to pull. You can't do it with a hybrid. Though the Hybrid is th next vehicle I want to buy. Gotta teach my son to be some what socially responsible, because his mom ain't gonna, what with her Mercedes Benz and fancy sunglasses. She is so OC.
iPod
I finally got an iPod. I've been learning how to use it the last few days, and I really think it is pretty cool, even though they've been around for about 6 years. I bought josh one for Christmas a few years ago, a 3G 1oGB model, but I never really used it all that much. Jeremy got a video iPod from St. Nick this Christmas, so jovi got his old shuffle. The boys gave me a $50 gift card to target and I went looking for something to buy and bought the nano, a 2GB model. Now I am trying to figure out how I am going to convert all my Cds to iTunes.
Well not all of them, and it isn't like I have a bunch of them. I looked at my collection and I've got a bunch of stuff from the 80s and 90s, Everything But the Girl, Swingout Sister, Basia, as well as some 90s stuff like Sublime, Smashing Pumpkins, Offspring (I am seeing this girl and she just might be out of her mind, well she's got baggage and its all the emotional kind), as well as some other random stuff, Eraserheads, 2-pac (same muthafucking place same mutha fuckin time), Snoop Dogg, and all kinds of other noise, Israel Kamawiwo'ole. Illona Irvine. I've been busy just converting all that stuff, but its cool to have your library playing from your car stereo instead of just 6 CDs or just one CD, which brings me to my next topic. . . .
Well not all of them, and it isn't like I have a bunch of them. I looked at my collection and I've got a bunch of stuff from the 80s and 90s, Everything But the Girl, Swingout Sister, Basia, as well as some 90s stuff like Sublime, Smashing Pumpkins, Offspring (I am seeing this girl and she just might be out of her mind, well she's got baggage and its all the emotional kind), as well as some other random stuff, Eraserheads, 2-pac (same muthafucking place same mutha fuckin time), Snoop Dogg, and all kinds of other noise, Israel Kamawiwo'ole. Illona Irvine. I've been busy just converting all that stuff, but its cool to have your library playing from your car stereo instead of just 6 CDs or just one CD, which brings me to my next topic. . . .
Wednesday, December 28, 2005
If it swells. . . Ride it!
The surf has been nothing short of excellent during the past week. Since Dec. 20, the surf has really been nothing short of epic. Tuesday we had some solid surf in the 3 to 5 ft range, not big, but clean shape. I got a few good tube rides on Tuesday. The following Wednesday morning before work, the waves were bigger, about 8ft with 10 to 12 ft faces off the jetties in Newport. I had a lot of fun on Wednesday, Thursday and Friday before work. A big swell from Hawaii wrapped around the islands and hit Newport, which was pretty much the only place holding the swell with any decent shape. HB was like a river and impossible to paddle out. Seal beach was a notable exception as it was breaking 20ft on the south side. We haven't had this much swell this big for a long time, but it has been fairly consistent. the problem though when there is a high surf advisory is all the koooks come out and want to try and catch the waves. It was crowded and for the most part , a lot of these guys don't really belong out there when the waves are so big. It realy makes it harder because now you are dealing with those who don't know the right etiquette, and also, the lineup turns into a parking lot, with speed bumps, so you have to watch out for everyone who may be in the way. Just goes with the territory of surfing in such a crowded place like Newport can be. I sometimes wish it would be a bit more radical so fewer surfers would try to paddle out, but 8 to 10ft is pretty much my max too, then I wouldn't be out to catch the waves either. Did a few Dawn Patrols to reduce the crowd situation, caught a few decent size mackers in the process. overall a good start to the winter surf sessions. I just wish it wasn't so damn cold. I'd like to stay slotted in a warm tube all the time, but that just ain't gonna happen. Except perhaps in the bedroom.
Dream: Internet overload
This one is a good one. I was at my high school reunion, and some of the people there began to roast me due to some of the writings I had written that were on the Internet. It was really weird seeing my classmates slam me for opinions on such things as Microsoft antitrust issues and other really meaningless things, because they were just that, opinions. I took it all in stride, when I said "I am on the Internet" I really meant it. but an ex came up to me and said I can't believe you, trying to negotiate a settlement on the Internet. A settlement for what? It was really a scary one, because people kept lining up to take shots at me, but I was really unfazed by it all because they were all, except the settlement one, referring to opinions, written clearly by someone who is opinionated. And then I woke up. After I woke up, I tried to get back to sleep to get back into the dream to fight back, but I just couldn't get back to sleep. The only other time I tried to get back to sleep after waking up in the middle of a dream, was when I was having sex with a woman in my dream, and everything was interupted by waking up. Those episodes have occurred several times over the course of the last 20 years, and let me tell you, those are the worse kinds to have interupted.
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