Friday, January 01, 2010

I Successfully Killed the Bitch That Was 2009

No apologies. I wanted to cut the crap out of my life for the longest time, and hey, it happened! Never underestimate the power of wishful thinking. I haven't blogged because I don't have anything new to say, except I had dinner here and there, watched some movie and it was amazing/great/meh/vomit-inducing or something or the other, went places, partied, got drunk, met people from my past/present/future, bought things, and details which I felt you won't care about.

But hey look, it's another year. The year 2009 was a hard year, as if all the flagellation of the past 8 years wasn't enough, it went out with a bang. The 9/11, the dot com bust, the wars, the recession, the natural disasters -- it was a mighty ten-year long buffet of kicking our asses.

And we survived it. The last decade was when I really became an adult, graduating from petty love problems to having real responsibilities and worrying about the future. I was forged during hard times. I don't relish making life-changing decisions but it had to be done, and I had to be brave about it.

I'm expecting a big, huge, humongous change this year and I will be very disappointed if it doesn't happen. Hello 2010, I hope you're better than the last.

Thursday, November 19, 2009

Recent Obsessions

Glee, the new series from Fox. This is the first time in years I am forced to watch something in installments. All the series I am addicted to were bought en bulke but after watching the pilot of Glee I am now one of the idiots waiting for Thursday afternoons when a rip of the episode would appear on Torrent. For the record my favorite is Kurt, and I would like to sleep with Puck.


Glee, the music. Glee would be just another high school cliche series were it not for the amazing amazing music. All the cast can sing, I mean really sing. I have a feeling glee clubs around the world will see a spike in popularity this year because of the show. Glee has become so popular that artists are actually discounting their music so it can be used in the show. In January there will be a Madonna episode -- she gave them their catalog for use. It's on crazy repeat (that's repeat multiplied a thousand times) in my iTunes and iPod Touch.


Cafe World. This is a Facebook game where you run a cafe by whipping up dishes and hiring staff, and decorating it. Yeah, yeah, I used to look down my nose on people who would rush home just to harvest their bananas in Farmville. I have turned into one of them, except that I still won't do farming. I'd rather buy a 75,000 fountain fixture and cook some king crab bisque for my customers. Oh yeah, I have an actor and a rockstar as waiters. You can hire your Facebook friends to be your waiters, but with their clothes on, unfortunately.



Hatchlings. This is another game that I tried but got immediately hooked on. I'm a packrat, therefore the act of collecting things will appeal to me. Throw in the words "special" and "rare" and I'm now zombified in front of the laptop trying to find the damned eggs. I'm so hooked I wrote an article about it. I love their creations.


Friday, November 13, 2009

On High School Reunions

It's been what, 17 years since I marched up the stage on that centric Con Hall (was it Con Hall? I'm confused) we all know. For three years that rectangular space inside the main compound, flanked by old classrooms and a sorry excuse for a canteen, served mainly as a shortcut for me to get from one side to another. Sometimes we congregated in huddles, talking about things most important to high schoolers. On special occassions Con Hall was a dance practice space, or some other special number practice space. I don't remember exactly all the things we used to do there, my classmates and I.

I remember a non-gay beauty pageant they held, the first time in the history of the school, I believe. Straight guys in drag, ramping it up in a makeshift catwalk. It was made more exciting by the fact that the relative "studs" (or those that passed as ones anyway) looked better with make up on. I forget who won, but seeing these boys in sportswear and evening gowns almost made up for the fact that I was actually in the school marching band holding the annoying lyre. I don't know why I joined, in hindsight I must have been taking some mind-altering substance, like kamote. I hate kamote.

School romances, urban legends, first loves borne and instantly killed - these were the fun things that compensated for the lack of a proper school library. I was afraid to enter that room; like a haunted house in a passing peryahan just in time for the town fiesta. I know there are no real ghosts, but just the same I wouldn't take my chances. Well, actually I did enter it that first and only time, to pull out a rotting and dated Encyclopedia Britannica volume to research about Japan. Which was a monumental fail, as I have always hated Social Studies.

We got the grades, moved to some form of higher education, some saw it their fate to get hitched immediately. We left the confines of secondary school's feigned innocence and went out to find our places under the sun. Years pass by, and through some quirks of nature or some bug in the universe's system, from time to time I manage to see some of my classmates and have the occasional drink. It wasn't so often as in my head it was every leap year, save for some really close friends with whom I make it a point to see with semi-regularity.

The other night I saw two of them again, where I was forcibly coerced into confirming attendance to the next reunion. I say forcibly because they asked like fifty million times and I said something like "No", "I'll have to check my schedule," "Maybe", and it's hundred and one variations for the first hundredth time they asked. Then something clicked inside my teeny tiny brain and I said "Possibly", then turned to a full-blown YES (I guess I shouted a little) because it was getting late and they weren't stopping and I still have deadlines to meet.

Don't get me wrong, I would love to attend. Three things keep me: 1) you always hold the reunions in December when the gods of cheap airline fares are on leave and therefore the published rates online are a bitch; 2) if I go in December I would only have to go specially for the reunion, and if I pay that damned bitch amount I would like to have something else to do to maximize my stay but all my family's here and I don't want to spend Christmas and New Year at my grandmother's house where it's always dark; and 3) my Decembers are always hectic.

BUT, and that is a large but, let's see. Maybe I'll consider crossing out "Attended high school reunion" off my To Do list. However, I will not participate in a group singing rendition of "Hotel California". Over my dead toenails.

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

Loserland

Dear Person Who Gets Annoying When Drunk,

Let me get this out of the way: I am not against drunkenness per se. At it's best it eases along boring nights, or gives you a boost of confidence, or at least just gives people a reason to laugh at corny jokes. Alcohol, like many other legal mind-altering and addictive substances, is best taken in moderation.

But, if you're at the point where you ask me a question sixty five thousand times and you get mad when I don't reply at I don't know, the four hundredth and twenty second time, then I'm outta here. And I don't appreciate being whispered to, or pawed, or my hair stroked. NO. NO. NO.

Yes, we're friends and I really do like you when you're sober, but next time we go out and there's drinking, I'm leaving after your fourth bottle. Seriously. Earlier you dragged me into that hole in the wall place where some middle-aged balding guy who hasn't lost his aspiring rockstar delusions belt Air Supply hits and fuckity fuck, Hotel California. I wanted to spear a fork through my chest, or at least through your chest, because you sang along with feelings.

I was in hell.

I'll see you in two years. Or here's a good idea, let's see each other every leap year only. Until then, I'll communicate with you from another zip code.

Sunday, November 08, 2009

That Which is Always Awesome

The other day we were struggling to write our assignments, but of course who cares about our struggling, we have deadlines to meet. The hardest part about any task is to get started, and to get started on an article you must know the angle you're writing from.

Usually on easier days the angle presents itself in your head almost immediately -- the flow is there, all we have to do is put fingers to keyboard. It's amazing, the way the article writes itself, when I'm just almost an audience to its creation. Letters appear on white space to make up words, and those words make up sentences. Sentences that sometimes take up too much space the problem now is cutting, because duh I don't own the paper.

There is no conscious effort to self-edit, because the hand barely catches up with the mind. That's why I hardly write by hand anymore; aside from my deteriorating penmanship, I can't write as fast as I can type. Which is sad, because handwriting is now considered a dying art.

I have always been envious of people who have great handwriting, regular and seamless strokes of pen on paper. While mine will not be mistaken for a doctor issuing a prescription, it still gives the impression that I'm always in a hurry. And I know handwriting experts would tell me my scribbles tell a lot about my personality, I am not always in a hurry. Seriously. Hurrying stresses me out, and somehow it doubles up the mistakes. That's why I usually sleep on important decisions, because everything looks different in the morning. I will not do the proverbial walk of shame on life-changing judgments.

And this, this is the awesome thing. Fingers to keyboard, no thinking.

Thursday, November 05, 2009

Lame

Thing is, you should never talk with friends about some things that could have been, because that talking will lead you into believing that things can be different, even if in reality they couldn't be salvaged for a million dollars.

Remember when we used to be friends? Like friends friends. I would tell you things and you would tell me things and I would cry sometimes and you'd tell me everything will be fine. Or the dinners and beers and tocilogs and pita breads. The YM conversations, text messages, and in general just being there.

I miss that.

We don't see each other that much, but when we do, I want to pull you over and ask you what happened. Now every conversation is strained, and we need other people to be there with us because if we're left alone for some reason or another one will eventually leave with a lame excuse.

Which is, yes, lame.

I won't say anything more because anything more would be too much already and as it is I'm trying to keep this as vague as possible. So I won't get shot down.

And this post is lame. Kill me now. Or in a month if I still feel like writing the same shit, I give you license to shoot me. I'll let you know.

Monday, October 26, 2009

This is Just Right for Halloween

The splint/cast was finally taken off today, thank the Lord God. Although not before I had my hand x-rayed to see whether it has healed properly, and seeing a damn right humongous metal plate and three screws living inside my hand made me want to curl up and suck my thumb again. But we have to move on with our lives despite these awful things that happened, so I took the x-ray plates to my doctor and demanded he take off my cast.

At first he wanted to schedule an operating room so he could take out the pin but at the word "operating room" I told him to just stop right there. The last memory I had of the operating room included someone stabbing me in the neck with a giant needle so they could numb my right arm, and it's not something I would recommend to experience if you're just bored with nothing to do. A few tears helped my case, and he agreed he could take it out in his office.

I just want to say at this point that I absolutely love my doctor, he's like the lolo I never had (opening a can of worms here). He's funny and has a lot of stories to tell, distracting me from the pain he's about to inflict on me. He's very straightforward and sometimes encourages my whiny, self-pitying mood whenever he's examining my thumb. He used to be chairman of the Orthopedic department at the Philippine General Hospital, and he still teaches at the UP College of Medicine.

When he was about to operate on me, he and the anesthesiologist (also a funny lolo) tag-teamed me with funny jokes while I was lying down on the cold steel table. I was shivering out of fear and my teeth was chattering, which is a normal reaction when people are about to use sharp things on you. They sedated me, which calmed me a bit, but not enough. By the time I heard them say "scalpel" I told them I changed my mind and I have to pee.

I thought they were going to allow me to stand up and walk out of that sterile room, but no, they brought me a bedpan. I know, so wrong. They also gave me more of that sedating drug. By that time I know the anesthesiologist was beginning to agree with me when I begged him to just knock me out. Several times during the procedure I wailed that I can feel them slicing my hand, or why are they using me as a table for their drills and stuff (seriously, they place it on top of me), or are they done because I'm bored. I also asked for an iPod in the middle of it all, but they said it wasn't allowed. Boo.

After the operation, they wheeled me to the recovery room, and I don't know the protocol for these rooms, but surely people who require recovery also requires silence? The nurses stationed here have no respect for people who just want to rest after being poked and drilled and stitched up. They were shouting at one another, or at least talking in mega-decibels. I was still heavily sedated and trying to sleep but can't, then I couldn't help it anymore. I called one of the nurses and asked her in a very slurry voice why is everybody shouting. She didn't reply, but she at least shut up.

Oh by the way, this is at the Manila Doctors Hospital. Loud as they are, they're still waaaay better than that sorry excuse for a hospital called Chinese General. That's where I was brought right after the accident, when I was a bleeding mess. Thanks for cleaning me up, Chinese Gen. But I still have a few bones (pun intended) to pick with you.

First, I was conscious and alert so there was no reason not to ask me about my medical history. You remembered to ask me how I will pay but not my blood type, allergies, or if I was pregnant. Not that I am, but isn't that standard operating procedure? You gave me shots without informing me what those shots are for, until I asked.

Second, your emergency doctors' professional judgment astounds me. I looked like a Saw movie survivor that night, my face bearing most of the bruises and wounds, not to mention my broken thumb, stitched head and numerous aches all over, yet all you can give me is Ponstan 500mg. Mefenamic fucking acid. Every 6 hours. Are you. FREAKING. KIDDING ME. Whereas when I transferred to Manila Doctors they gave me intravenous painkillers every 6 hours. Did I not look like I was in enough pain that night?

Speaking of my thumb, when you x-rayed it and interpreted it, you told me all I need is a cast. But you didn't have any ortho doctors available, but there will be one two days later. My hand was swelling like a balloon already at that time. And by the way, if I hadn't insisted that the x-ray guys do my hand it wouldn't be discovered that it was broken. Again, when I transferred to Manila Doctors, it was discovered that I fractured my thumb in FIVE places. Five. A cast won't do the job.

Fourth, you gave me the clearance that I can go home. We couldn't believe it. I was in terrible pain, I had a broken thumb, and my nose was still bleeding but you said I can go home. But not without the checklist you gave my sister, that list that said if I experience any one of them I should hurry my ass back to the ER. When my sister said that I might not be stable enough, you said "eh di dahan dahan lang po." Should I vomit blood on your shoes now, before you could take me seriously?

Fifth, gross unprofessionalism. My sister went to ask where's the resident doctor, and you blatantly tell her "Tulog po." And making no move to call her, or let her know a patient needs her. I'm sorry, did we disturb your slumber that night? Some of the other doctors wore slippers inside the ER too. Slippers. Like it was their living room. And it seemed all they do is laugh and joke around loudly. Sure it's not a criminal offense. But I still remember that guy you sent home because he was "OK", then 15 minutes later they return and the guy was dead.

Happy Halloween.

Sunday, October 18, 2009

The Day I Met a Drunk Driver

For the past three weeks, I have been going on my everyday life with only one hand – or to be technical about it, 9 fingers. My right thumb and part of my arm and hand is still in a splint, and therefore I cannot get it wet. The trait of having opposable thumbs that separates humans from other mammals is taken away from me, albeit only temporarily.

It takes an hour for me to bathe properly and another 30 minutes to dress myself. Meals are an absolute effort as I can only eat with one hand, and complicated food is out of the question. While dining out the other night, a friend peeled a shrimp for me and cut it to pieces. I wanted to cry at the table.

One Saturday night after a violin lesson I was walking to where the cabs were. I was at the sidewalk of a one-way street, when suddenly all I can see was the ground spinning so fast my brain hardly had time to register that I was rolling on the asphalt, only stopping when my head hit the bumper of a parked jeepney.

I sat up immediately, disoriented while I looked for my things. People on the street went to me, with everyone talking all at once how some speeding and swerving car hit me. I checked myself and found that I was bleeding – on my head, face, and nose. Then an old man came up to me. “Are you the one who hit me?” I asked him point blank, still in disbelief that I was almost roadkill. “Yes”, he said feebly. “Are you drunk?” “Slightly.” He reeked of alcohol.

The next few minutes where I was taken to the emergency room where they dressed my wounds, gave me shots, and x-rayed me were all a blur. I remember calling my family and friends who lived nearby, because fortunately I was conscious and alert enough to keep my things with me. I was lucky I didn’t have a concussion.

But “lucky” is relative. I had to suffer insane pain due to the wounds on my face, like if someone would press a hot iron on your cheeks. White hot, searing, and throbbing pain. Yes, it was that bad. I also had stitches on my head, and countless bruises and lacerations on my body. One giant bruise on my hip had all the colors of the rainbows at one point. I looked like a horror movie. Most of all, my thumb is fractured; and the surgeon had to put screws, a metal plate, and a pin inside my hand so I can regain normal function of my thumb.

While confined at the hospital, I can only drink through a straw because I couldn’t chew my food properly. My mother had to bathe me, her grown child, because I couldn’t do it on my own. I had to sign my name on documents with a thumbprint of my left hand, because I’m right-handed and it was just my misfortune for my dominant hand to be injured.

But the biggest hurdle for me is trying not to panic when I see open roads with motorists. I’m afraid to walk on the streets, even more to cross them. I don’t trust stoplights anymore, and I can’t be alone on a street. Physical and psychological damages I would never have were it not for someone who had too much to drink and still decided to drive home.

Alcohol is a depressant, that’s why people often drink to “relax”. The “relaxing” effect we perceive is actually a decrease in sensation. Vision, hearing and other senses are affected too, together with muscle coordination. That’s why when people are drunk they slur and stumble. Now put a complicated machinery (such as a car) in the hands of someone not in total control of their abilities, and someone is bound to get hurt.

In their 2009 publication Global Status Report on Road Safety, the World Health Organization reports that in 2006, 51% of Metro Manila’s total fatalities caused by road traffic are pedestrians. The law on drink driving is also vague, as there is no set limit for blood alcohol content for offending drivers. Although there is a seatbelt law, only half of the drivers do remember to put theirs on. These data are only derived from reported cases.

It is also predicted that by 2020, road traffic injuries would be the third leading cause of deaths worldwide. But it doesn’t have to come to that, because the factors leading to road accidents are actually preventable. The first one is driving under the influence of alcohol, followed by seatbelt use, and road and vehicle design.

Thankfully, I am alive and will be fine. I will have a four-inch scar on my hand to remind me forever (and my family and friends) never to drink and drive. But others are not so fortunate, too many lives have ended all too soon in the hands of drivers who drank too much and sped the way home.

Meanwhile, I have to learn to trust the universe again, a universe where I can cross the road safely without fearing for my life.

The 911

- Try not to panic. Your full attention is required.
- Always bring an ID with you wherever you go, preferably with a contact number of a family or friend that can be reached if something bad happens.
- Arrange for an emergency contact person, and let them know they are yours before putting their name in that identification.
- In addition to the ID, keep a summary of your medical history in your wallet that contains basic facts such as your blood type, allergies to food and medicine if any, and any other relevant information you might think is important, such as current medications you’re taking or recent operations. The contact number of the family doctor might also be helpful.
- Never let cellphones run out of charge and/or credits. It might save your life.
- Two words: speed dial. In case of an emergency, you won’t have to find their names in the phonebook, wasting precious seconds.
- Always let someone know where you’re going. This way if you don’t come back, they will know where to start looking.
- There is a saying, “Trust God but lock your car.” Be responsible, alert and conscious while on the road. You can’t be sure about the others but at least do your part.

Thursday, October 01, 2009

September - 499, Me - 0

September is finally over, but not without it whooping me in the ass while delivering a mean karate chop to my jugular vein. Before that I got bitch slapped and was called mean names.

First, it was friends getting sick.
Then, I had to go to some funerals.
Then I thought I was going to die.
Some projects haven't paid me yet.
I was getting broke.
Then, some drunk driver hit me and they had to put a metal plate in my hand so I can still function. I'll tell you all about that later because it's not as important as the next one, which brings us to...
ONDOY happened.

It began as a very rainy Friday night, the same day I got discharged from the hospital. Everyone thought it was just progressing to a very rainy Saturday, which was good because people love to sleep late on weekends. I woke up at 1:30pm to a very dark and ominous sky, like the heavens have opened and I had to quickly find a partner so I can be allowed in the ark.

Which wasn't so far out.

When we tuned in to the news channel all I kept seeing was flood waters all around Manila, and in Facebook a lot of people were trapped inside their homes, flooded in. It got worse as night fell -- some friends and relatives are in their rooftops, with no food and drink. Electricity was cut off, and monitoring situations was the priority as cellphones ran out of charges, the network was clogged, and all you can do was wait by the phone in case it rings.

Sunday was horrible, although the rains stopped the death count was just beginning. Videos upon videos of the floods were shown, how people lost their homes and loved ones, horror stories of how they went without food and water for almost 24 hours with little children and elderly included. It was heartbreaking.

If there is a silver lining to all of this, it's how the country rose as one to help those who needed it. Relief operations were started immediately, and people came in droves to donate relief goods and volunteer their help. There were a lot of relief centers that it was hard keeping up with where to go and what to do. College kids came out to volunteer, instead of sleeping at home because there are no classes.

It's a very fine moment for the country, but not for its government.

The National Disaster Coordinating Council was late and short. The president came out only to look irritable as if her sleep was bothered. The presidential son and congressman was caught buying liquor as Katipunan was being flooded. A presidentiable gave out relief goods, but with his name on every packaged meal. Fuckers all around. Why can't they be the ones flooded inside their mansions, to drown in their own irrelevancy? They are of absolutely no use.

The private sectors were more effective in mobilizing the aid, compared to the NDCC people who held a meeting three days after they were needed. And then, as if everything is not enough, you read somewhere that the P800-million emergency fund was all spent. On what? The president's travels. She's small, but she's deadly. I wonder if she can still taste the P1 million dinner they had, while watching how the people cram in double capacity in the public schools, with no beddings, no food, no drink, and no home to go to.

There's no doubt over that lavafront property in hell with her name on it.

Friday, September 18, 2009

Nine Hours with Kimmy Dora

Last Sunday the Manila airports were freaking out because of a power loss/radar shutdown/potential airport horror movie, and I was freaking out because we were flying back on Monday morning. I couldn't stress enough to the GMA Network people the importance of getting back on time the next day because I had a shoot and interview. I absolutely cannot miss that interview, even if I have to beg them to put me in a different airline. Thankfully the airport guys straightened up that mess on time because I was in Manila by 11am. I went to my sister's house to dump my bags and went straight to the studio.

Of course I got lost, and only found the right place because I saw our subject entering it. Who is the subject, you may wonder. Why, it's Kimmy Dora.



Now running on its third week (it opened on September 2), people just can't stop talking about the movie. It's about the twin heiresses Kimmy and Dora Go Dong Hae, who are different as night and day and played by Eugene Domingo. Kimmy is a right old bitch but brilliant at buying out companies and making the Go Dong Hae empire bigger. Dora is, well, not so right in the head. But what she lacks in IQ points she makes up for having a big heart. Dingdong Dantes nerdified himself in this movie, and quite effectively. Never once did he steal the spotlight from Eugene. Anyway, just watch it. Or at least the trailer.



Anywaaaay. So I saw Eugene enter the studio and I paused to take a deep breath because I didn't want to be all stuttery and nervous when I introduce myself. Pam still wasn't there because she had to pull out hats for the shoot. I know, I ignore presidential candidates and even roll my eyes at them but I'm starstruck with Eugene. Priorities, people.

We proceeded with the shoot and do you know what a shoot entails? Makeup. Then hair. Then clothes. Then more clothes until we find the right one. Then the actual taking of pictures. Then repeat the whole process until layouts are done. In between makeup and hair we all had lunch (Jollibee chicken barbecue rocks, try it try it try it) and the interview. She was so fun we wanted to keep her. She wasn't hard to bring out, one question from us generates three paragraphs of answers. Listening to the recording, about 30% of it were laughter, mostly mine and Pam's. She just cracks us up.

She was even generous enough to offer us Chris Martinez, the writer for Kimmy Dora. I don't know how to say this but, for me meeting him was a big deal. I loved him since Last Order sa Penguin, his one-act play that won a Palanca award. I've read all his works and watched the movies he wrote since Bridal Shower. He is the one-liner man. Some of the dialogues he wrote that is forever stuck in my brain.

"For one million pesos, anong kakainin mo, ubeng lasang tae o taeng lasang ube?"
"Ano daw pangalan? Jobert? Parang pangalan ng taxi."
"Ang askal crineate para magbantay ng house. Is this a house?"

Chris arrived in time for dinner, just when we were wrapping up the shoot. Over kebabs, ox brain, and keema, the real life Kimmy and Dora (except they don't want to kill each other) bantered in front of us, and with us. They told us secrets and trivia, and told us about their friendship that go way back.

We spent nine hours with them, nine fun and crazy hours. When I woke up the next day I thought I just dreamt it all, "Did I really hung out with Kimmy Dora and Chris Martinez?" It was that crazy, and until now that the pages had been closed we still can't get over Kimmy Droga. We even watched the movie again. Weird, it was funnier the second time around.

The Philippine Daily Inquirer Super Exclusive will be out on Saturday. Grab a copy. Meanwhile, some photos from the shoot.

Me and Pam standing in for lights check.


Prepping hair and make up


Jill in action


Reviewing the shots with Jill


Group picture!


With Kimmy Dora and Chris Martinez


I love my job.