I had gone to the Ferry Building while in San Francisco a week back, bought several bars of chocolate from the Scharfenberger store. I had plans of making chocolate truffles, but never got to use my stash. Instead I ended up buying some good 60% cacao chocolate from Ghirardelli, heavy cream from Trader Joe's along with some cocoa for dusting last night. As I rolled out the ganache into non-round baubles of chocolate truffles, my fingers softening from handling the cream, I enjoyed the cold weather; no need to refrigerate the ganache much in this temperature. The byline of a popular candy came to mind "melts in your mouth, not in your hands," although the homemade truffles barely made it to a plate, they were melting in the mouths of friends and family impatiently waiting for their share. No chance to even take a photo! Oh well.
Tonight, not wanting to slave over the stove, we opened a box of See's Old Fashioned chocolate candies, the nuts and chews variety. There is a surfeit of choice for chocolate candies in the US, high and low end alike. But our family loves the See's. It's always a consistently high quality product without having to pay through the nose. My mom's favorite is the english toffee, my sister and I also love the almond royales. My dad, diabetic that he is, is now infamous among family member for inhaling two boxes of chocolates. Any combination of nut and chew and chocolates work for me, just no liquers please.
I'm saving the precious Scharfenberger for home. May not be able to make the truffles unless I fashion a polar environment in my tropical kitchen. But they won't be wasted!
Monday, December 31, 2007
Friday, December 28, 2007
Sin city
Second week of my vacation, I've flown up to SF from LA, and am now spending a couple of days in Vegas, yes, Sin City itself. But in the winter, all sinning is probably put aside for staying warm inside the hotels and casinos. It's effing cold, people! I feel like a fashionable Michelin man/woman/person. I have to wear at least 4 layers and I still feel like a popsicle when I make my way back to the hotel.
So far, my only "sinful" activity has been brunch at Bouchon at the Venetian. Mimosa, eggs au gratin, and a pain de chocolat with coffee. Tourists may come to Vegas for the gambling, I'm here for the food! Nearly every major chef has a restaurant here: Daniel Bouloud, Joel Robuchon, Mario, Thomas Keller, Wolfgang Puck, the guy from Aureole has a branch here too.... If only I had a thousand dollars and a week to eat at each place.
The main show I went to see was Spamalot, the Monty Python musical. Take MP and the Holy Grail, add new songs, twist some things around for the Vegas setting and you have an hour and 45 minutes of enjoyable, slapstick, sing-along laughter. My tummy hurts, not to mention the pain from smiling for so long. Pure silliness with the Knights of Ni, the killer rabbit, knights who can't figure out what their grail quest is, and a lot of Terry Gilliam's great animation from the movie. Worth every penny and frozen toes getting to the Wynn Casino/Hotel for the show!
So far, my only "sinful" activity has been brunch at Bouchon at the Venetian. Mimosa, eggs au gratin, and a pain de chocolat with coffee. Tourists may come to Vegas for the gambling, I'm here for the food! Nearly every major chef has a restaurant here: Daniel Bouloud, Joel Robuchon, Mario, Thomas Keller, Wolfgang Puck, the guy from Aureole has a branch here too.... If only I had a thousand dollars and a week to eat at each place.
The main show I went to see was Spamalot, the Monty Python musical. Take MP and the Holy Grail, add new songs, twist some things around for the Vegas setting and you have an hour and 45 minutes of enjoyable, slapstick, sing-along laughter. My tummy hurts, not to mention the pain from smiling for so long. Pure silliness with the Knights of Ni, the killer rabbit, knights who can't figure out what their grail quest is, and a lot of Terry Gilliam's great animation from the movie. Worth every penny and frozen toes getting to the Wynn Casino/Hotel for the show!
Sunday, December 23, 2007
9:25, 12/22/07
A moment of quiet in an otherwise busy, stressful, harried, jetlagged week. I sit in the corner office of my aunt's home in very chilly San Francisco, high on top of a hill, where on a clear morning like today's, you could see the tips of the Golden Gate Bridge as you drive down the road.
I spend a quick morning at the Ferry Building, buying cheese and chocolates (some to give away, the rest to share with loved ones, and a tidbit or two for myself), resting at Lili's for a bowl of rich butternut squash soup and half a sandwich, ham and fontina cheese, drizzled with truffle oil in a lovely chewy ciabatta. I shared a table with a mother and daughter team who were in the middle of shopping as well, and their dad and other daughter soon joined in bringing a rich and cheesy mac/cheese from Eat, the deli down the market. As we noshed, I found out the family was from Philly, taking a break from the weather (although for this tropical gal, this was still too cold for my blood). The girls were well-mannered and enjoyed each bite of their sandwich and the chips, saying they were the best they ever had.
Carolers from a local school sang beautifully from the mezzanine, warming the cockles of the shoppers' hearts. We stood, craning our necks to watch, or stood close by, near the Scharffenberger chocolate store to listen, applaud after each song, blocking a lot of the walkway, but no one was annoyed. It was a good way to offset the overloaded Christmas buying rush, listening to songs of joy, songs of faith, songs of cheer.
Walking down Market, I take a rather long detour down California, through Chinatown, and then down to Union Square, where I find myself in between some of the nation's behemoth stores: Macy's (ever faithful), the newly opened Barney's, Bloomingdales (which shares the Westside Emporium with Nordstrom's), and Neiman Marcus. But I don't even attempt to join the flood, my goal is the small alley called Maiden Lane, where I know the London Sole shop is found. I will not complain about shoe prices in Manila again, since a pair of ballerina flats (in the cutest of designs, but still! $250 for a pair???) costs too much. But I am swayed by one that is rugged enough for Manila walking, the treads being made of rubber tire treads, so the saleslady says it won't ever wear out.... I should have told her that I just had the tires of my dad's car changed, so I think rubber tires do wear out. Nevertheless, my shopping budget is severely limited and I still have to buy other essentials. And I'm meeting my best friend T at the SF Museum of Modern Art in 10 minutes!!!
After a detour for other essentials at Ross, I walk through the Yerba Buena park and enter the MOMA. T and I have been friends since we were in elementary school, have gone through highs and lows and life changes of all kinds. A cousin recently said to her that she's like an adopted daughter of my family. We visit several other stores, looking for gifts for friends and family, chatting away endlessly, catching up and updating one another on work, life, love, etc. We are also trying to decide where to have dinner, since we share a lifelong goal of always eating well. After a bit of debating the merits of cuisines in the city, we are recommended by her friend to a Persian restaurant in the outskirts of North Beach. Maykadah Persian Cuisine, on Grant and Green Sts, is a warm, inviting restaurant, with a perfect menu - it doesn't overwhelm you, you can see what they are good at, and there are enough choices for the carnivore or vegetarian. We had been told that the filet mignon kebab was a good choice and we also tried the eggplant (a lighter version of baba ghanoush), a lamb with red lentils stew, and a large dish of yogurt. I also ordered the "dough", which is their yogurt drink, unsweetened with ground dried mint in it. Service is quick, but not forced, and they also serve a free set of mint with radishes, a square of feta and butter to whet your appetite. We were truly satiated by the good food.
Being in the Little Italy of the city, we weren't deterred by our full tummies not to have dessert. Gelato stores at every block convince you to come in and have something, even if it's freezing cold outside. T sticks with her tried and true combination of chocolate and hazelnut, while I want to try the eggnog with the lemon cream. While the lemon was perfect, the eggnog was soon a tiresome flavor on the tongue, not to mention it was rather hard for a gelato, not as creamy as I would have liked. Across the street, we peered into the italian bakery selling rows of custard filled baked goods, hemming and hawing over buying a canolli or not; eventually I just photographed it for a mental keepsake.
From my memories of trips to San Francisco years ago, Decembers were always foggy, and rather scary to drive at night. But today was a beautiful day, sunny with clear skies, and the drives to and from my aunt's hilltop home meant beautiful scenery throughout. I look down from the car onto the star-like streets lit up with Christmas lights, and I am content.
I spend a quick morning at the Ferry Building, buying cheese and chocolates (some to give away, the rest to share with loved ones, and a tidbit or two for myself), resting at Lili's for a bowl of rich butternut squash soup and half a sandwich, ham and fontina cheese, drizzled with truffle oil in a lovely chewy ciabatta. I shared a table with a mother and daughter team who were in the middle of shopping as well, and their dad and other daughter soon joined in bringing a rich and cheesy mac/cheese from Eat, the deli down the market. As we noshed, I found out the family was from Philly, taking a break from the weather (although for this tropical gal, this was still too cold for my blood). The girls were well-mannered and enjoyed each bite of their sandwich and the chips, saying they were the best they ever had.
Carolers from a local school sang beautifully from the mezzanine, warming the cockles of the shoppers' hearts. We stood, craning our necks to watch, or stood close by, near the Scharffenberger chocolate store to listen, applaud after each song, blocking a lot of the walkway, but no one was annoyed. It was a good way to offset the overloaded Christmas buying rush, listening to songs of joy, songs of faith, songs of cheer.
Walking down Market, I take a rather long detour down California, through Chinatown, and then down to Union Square, where I find myself in between some of the nation's behemoth stores: Macy's (ever faithful), the newly opened Barney's, Bloomingdales (which shares the Westside Emporium with Nordstrom's), and Neiman Marcus. But I don't even attempt to join the flood, my goal is the small alley called Maiden Lane, where I know the London Sole shop is found. I will not complain about shoe prices in Manila again, since a pair of ballerina flats (in the cutest of designs, but still! $250 for a pair???) costs too much. But I am swayed by one that is rugged enough for Manila walking, the treads being made of rubber tire treads, so the saleslady says it won't ever wear out.... I should have told her that I just had the tires of my dad's car changed, so I think rubber tires do wear out. Nevertheless, my shopping budget is severely limited and I still have to buy other essentials. And I'm meeting my best friend T at the SF Museum of Modern Art in 10 minutes!!!
After a detour for other essentials at Ross, I walk through the Yerba Buena park and enter the MOMA. T and I have been friends since we were in elementary school, have gone through highs and lows and life changes of all kinds. A cousin recently said to her that she's like an adopted daughter of my family. We visit several other stores, looking for gifts for friends and family, chatting away endlessly, catching up and updating one another on work, life, love, etc. We are also trying to decide where to have dinner, since we share a lifelong goal of always eating well. After a bit of debating the merits of cuisines in the city, we are recommended by her friend to a Persian restaurant in the outskirts of North Beach. Maykadah Persian Cuisine, on Grant and Green Sts, is a warm, inviting restaurant, with a perfect menu - it doesn't overwhelm you, you can see what they are good at, and there are enough choices for the carnivore or vegetarian. We had been told that the filet mignon kebab was a good choice and we also tried the eggplant (a lighter version of baba ghanoush), a lamb with red lentils stew, and a large dish of yogurt. I also ordered the "dough", which is their yogurt drink, unsweetened with ground dried mint in it. Service is quick, but not forced, and they also serve a free set of mint with radishes, a square of feta and butter to whet your appetite. We were truly satiated by the good food.
Being in the Little Italy of the city, we weren't deterred by our full tummies not to have dessert. Gelato stores at every block convince you to come in and have something, even if it's freezing cold outside. T sticks with her tried and true combination of chocolate and hazelnut, while I want to try the eggnog with the lemon cream. While the lemon was perfect, the eggnog was soon a tiresome flavor on the tongue, not to mention it was rather hard for a gelato, not as creamy as I would have liked. Across the street, we peered into the italian bakery selling rows of custard filled baked goods, hemming and hawing over buying a canolli or not; eventually I just photographed it for a mental keepsake.
From my memories of trips to San Francisco years ago, Decembers were always foggy, and rather scary to drive at night. But today was a beautiful day, sunny with clear skies, and the drives to and from my aunt's hilltop home meant beautiful scenery throughout. I look down from the car onto the star-like streets lit up with Christmas lights, and I am content.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Fear factor
A friend and I share the same gripe: why do they always use the balut for reality shows featuring the Philippines, particularly for "challenge" events? The poor balut. It gets no respect. Well I for one hereby state my love for the ugly duckling. Yes, it's not the prettiest thing in the world to open up a shell and see a half-formed duck embryo staring at you, especially if the beak is there, feathers... ok, you get the drift. But it's a tasty thing. And if you are lucky enough to have parents who do eat balut and train you from babyhood to eat it, enjoy it, beat your breast like a champion after (hahahahaha, no, seriously, no chest beating, just some tummy rubbing after eating too many of them when you could down more than 3, not to mention groaning for the comfort of your bed), well then you, my friend, are one of us. Baluteaters.
Revel in a hot, large gray egg, particularly those from the balut capital, Pateros in Rizal, not too far from Metro Manila. They look like young charcoal balls, an ivory grey color, very luxe when it's in suede and covering yon Louis Quince chair or Chippendale (not the dancing, tux-bow wearing kind).
Look for the round end, tap on it's hard shell till a crack helps you unpeel a hole, enough to check for soup. Yes, verily I say! It's got soup! For these eggs are boiled, and some crazy chemistry takes place and we've got soup in the egg. Sip soup gently, add some salt (less than a pinch, between a dash and a whisper), sip some more. No gulping, it's hot remember?
After most of the soup is gone, peel back a few more millimeters of the shell, see if you've got the white or the yolk. Add some vinegar with chilli peppers soaking it, or more salt, whatever takes your fancy. If you are a dainty eater, take thee a fork or a spoon and nibble on some of the yummy fatty boiled yolk. Poke fork tines through to see how big of a duck you've got in there and if you're squeamish, poke fast and mix yolk with the duckling and it won't be so bad. Really.
Otherwise, eat each section with care, I like to eat the yolk first, with a drizzle of vinegar and salt. Then I add more vinegar and gulp down the duckling like an oyster. It does feel like an oyster, a boiled oyster. Hmmm, maybe I should try adding some caviar the next time... Ok, then the last bit, some people don't eat it at all, the hard white dome that probably is some placenta thingy. I nibble on it, and while waiting for my dad to finish his balut, I sometimes finish the entire white stuff. It has no flavor, it's mainly a dense ball of nibbliness.
Finish off with any leftover soup at the bottom of the shell if you didn't do the job right in the beginning.
Give yourself a few minutes to feel the effects of all that cholesterol in your system and take it slow while you think of having another duckiness. Drink some hot water or a shot of gin to cleanse the system, then go for the next egg.
Cheers!
Revel in a hot, large gray egg, particularly those from the balut capital, Pateros in Rizal, not too far from Metro Manila. They look like young charcoal balls, an ivory grey color, very luxe when it's in suede and covering yon Louis Quince chair or Chippendale (not the dancing, tux-bow wearing kind).
Look for the round end, tap on it's hard shell till a crack helps you unpeel a hole, enough to check for soup. Yes, verily I say! It's got soup! For these eggs are boiled, and some crazy chemistry takes place and we've got soup in the egg. Sip soup gently, add some salt (less than a pinch, between a dash and a whisper), sip some more. No gulping, it's hot remember?
After most of the soup is gone, peel back a few more millimeters of the shell, see if you've got the white or the yolk. Add some vinegar with chilli peppers soaking it, or more salt, whatever takes your fancy. If you are a dainty eater, take thee a fork or a spoon and nibble on some of the yummy fatty boiled yolk. Poke fork tines through to see how big of a duck you've got in there and if you're squeamish, poke fast and mix yolk with the duckling and it won't be so bad. Really.
Otherwise, eat each section with care, I like to eat the yolk first, with a drizzle of vinegar and salt. Then I add more vinegar and gulp down the duckling like an oyster. It does feel like an oyster, a boiled oyster. Hmmm, maybe I should try adding some caviar the next time... Ok, then the last bit, some people don't eat it at all, the hard white dome that probably is some placenta thingy. I nibble on it, and while waiting for my dad to finish his balut, I sometimes finish the entire white stuff. It has no flavor, it's mainly a dense ball of nibbliness.
Finish off with any leftover soup at the bottom of the shell if you didn't do the job right in the beginning.
Give yourself a few minutes to feel the effects of all that cholesterol in your system and take it slow while you think of having another duckiness. Drink some hot water or a shot of gin to cleanse the system, then go for the next egg.
Cheers!
Friday, December 14, 2007
In one day
... Saturday, Dec. 15, to be exact, you can:
1. go to the Salcedo market to buy bagnet, sukang iloko, and an abel blanket at the first Ilocos fair (in tandem with the regular Saturday market);
2. get a tattoo at the Dutdutan Tattoo Expo, PTTC, corner of Roxas Boulevard and Buendia.
3. have lunch with friends at Angel's Corner in Greenhills (or debate whether to go all the way to Banawe for crab at Fook Yuen)
4. Sit in on the Why Not 2.0 Forum at Fort Bonifacio
5. Do last minute shopping at the pinoy goods expo in front of Makati Shangri-la Hotel.
6. Dash back to Katipunan for dinner with friends at In-Yo.
7. Or stay home, have the house cleaned, trash thrown, cat groomed, and catch up on sleep.
Decisions, decisions.
1. go to the Salcedo market to buy bagnet, sukang iloko, and an abel blanket at the first Ilocos fair (in tandem with the regular Saturday market);
2. get a tattoo at the Dutdutan Tattoo Expo, PTTC, corner of Roxas Boulevard and Buendia.
3. have lunch with friends at Angel's Corner in Greenhills (or debate whether to go all the way to Banawe for crab at Fook Yuen)
4. Sit in on the Why Not 2.0 Forum at Fort Bonifacio
5. Do last minute shopping at the pinoy goods expo in front of Makati Shangri-la Hotel.
6. Dash back to Katipunan for dinner with friends at In-Yo.
7. Or stay home, have the house cleaned, trash thrown, cat groomed, and catch up on sleep.
Decisions, decisions.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Cinexcitement
Movie trivia quiz - What's the connection between The Golden Compass and Elizabeth (whose sequel The Golden Age is now showing in Manila)?
While you wrack your trivia brain cells on that, here are my reasons for being thrilled with the upcoming movie season and with an upcoming trip:
- having just watched Viggo Mortensen in Eastern Promises (with two fellow Viggo-philes at that), I'm hoping he'll finally get noticed for his acting. Yes, he plays his typical laconic self, but there's understated humor interspersed with all the violence and degradation, and we 3 groupies all agreed that when this dvd comes out, we are going to be using the freeze frame option on our dvd players a lot!!!
- Daniel Day Lewis is back in a new film since Gangs of New York (has it really been 5 years since that movie came out?). "There will be Blood" is the Paul Anderson directed piece based on Upton Sinclair's "Oil!", reviews online are positive, the movie's already getting award's buzz, but I'm there just for DDL. The man can do no wrong, at least not on screen. Guilty pleasure is watching him run around in Last of the Mohicans; my favorite scene is his dialogue with Madeleine Stowe's character watching the stars. He's got this craggy profile that makes my knees go into jellylike spasms, wugawugawuga.
And as I will be in the land of Lala soon, I am so looking forward to movies! fresh out of the box! oscar worthy! Cineplexes here I come! Sweeney Todd with Johnny Depp! No Country for Old Men with Bardem! Diving Bell and the Butterfly! ! ! !
(Answer to the trivia: Daniel Craig. He stars in Golden Compass, and had a teensy role in the first Elizabeth with Cate Blanchett as John Blanchard, the assassin. Thanks to Jessica Zafra's blog entry for pointing out the reference to his scene, dark, hooded, walking through the mist for her royal blood.)
While you wrack your trivia brain cells on that, here are my reasons for being thrilled with the upcoming movie season and with an upcoming trip:
- having just watched Viggo Mortensen in Eastern Promises (with two fellow Viggo-philes at that), I'm hoping he'll finally get noticed for his acting. Yes, he plays his typical laconic self, but there's understated humor interspersed with all the violence and degradation, and we 3 groupies all agreed that when this dvd comes out, we are going to be using the freeze frame option on our dvd players a lot!!!
- Daniel Day Lewis is back in a new film since Gangs of New York (has it really been 5 years since that movie came out?). "There will be Blood" is the Paul Anderson directed piece based on Upton Sinclair's "Oil!", reviews online are positive, the movie's already getting award's buzz, but I'm there just for DDL. The man can do no wrong, at least not on screen. Guilty pleasure is watching him run around in Last of the Mohicans; my favorite scene is his dialogue with Madeleine Stowe's character watching the stars. He's got this craggy profile that makes my knees go into jellylike spasms, wugawugawuga.
And as I will be in the land of Lala soon, I am so looking forward to movies! fresh out of the box! oscar worthy! Cineplexes here I come! Sweeney Todd with Johnny Depp! No Country for Old Men with Bardem! Diving Bell and the Butterfly! ! ! !
(Answer to the trivia: Daniel Craig. He stars in Golden Compass, and had a teensy role in the first Elizabeth with Cate Blanchett as John Blanchard, the assassin. Thanks to Jessica Zafra's blog entry for pointing out the reference to his scene, dark, hooded, walking through the mist for her royal blood.)
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
In the bone
A childhood memory: rainy day, possibly a typhoon, called out from playing in my room to have lunch with the family, dash out to the dining room to make sure my brother doesn't usurp my seat on the right hand side by my father's chair, attempt to get the cat down from the dining table, resume sitting while the meal is set before us all. It's soup, but not just any soup, a bulalo, with lots of meat and vegetables, ginger bobbing in the broth, cooked long and slow till the meat falls from the bone. My goal however, is not the meat, but what's inside the bone. Marrow. Soft, jelly, tasty, soupy, succulent, rich, makes my tummy happy marrow. I hope that one of the portions with the bone will be for me, and I send up a second hope out there that the bone I get will have a good chunk of marrow I can scoop out with the flat of the knife. My plans for that rich jiggling blop is to top it on my steaming bowl of rice, add some broth, and eat it simply. As we got older, my brother and sister stopped or just resolved not to clog their arteries with it, but my dad and I continue to enjoy a good rich bulalo with the marrow as our proverbial cherry on top.
As I've gotten older, I've also learned how wonderful roasted marrow is, and with a sprinkle of fleur de sel, some hearty bread, what a meal it is! Locally, there are a few places to get your marrow fix (Cibo used to have it), and if you have a super duper urge for it, I say go to Je Suis Gourmand for one heck of a marrow plate. A month ago, 2 friends and I went over to appease our marrow urges. K and I ordered one each, and were blown away by the size of the serving. This is no crosscut of bone with perhaps a teaspoon, if you're lucky a tablespoon, of gooey yumminess. This was a femur! A leg bone, cut down the shaft, roasted and served with both halves on display. Each long crevice shimmies with marrow crying out to be eaten. (All food lovers see their food as crying to be eaten!) We gratefully acquiesced to their wishes. Dabble a bit or a chunk on your toast and chomp your way to pure joy. There's enough to feed two or three nibblers, but K and I are no pansy eaters. We finish our bones, mop up the juices and roar with womanly pride. Rowr. I bet our friend wished he had ordered the marrow! K outdid us all that night by having the foie after the marrow; while I was happy with my arugula salad. But I did have two kinds of ice cream for dessert!
Je Suis Gourmand
G/f, Net One Center Bldg
Fort Bonifacio, Taguig
Ph: 815-8801/02
As I've gotten older, I've also learned how wonderful roasted marrow is, and with a sprinkle of fleur de sel, some hearty bread, what a meal it is! Locally, there are a few places to get your marrow fix (Cibo used to have it), and if you have a super duper urge for it, I say go to Je Suis Gourmand for one heck of a marrow plate. A month ago, 2 friends and I went over to appease our marrow urges. K and I ordered one each, and were blown away by the size of the serving. This is no crosscut of bone with perhaps a teaspoon, if you're lucky a tablespoon, of gooey yumminess. This was a femur! A leg bone, cut down the shaft, roasted and served with both halves on display. Each long crevice shimmies with marrow crying out to be eaten. (All food lovers see their food as crying to be eaten!) We gratefully acquiesced to their wishes. Dabble a bit or a chunk on your toast and chomp your way to pure joy. There's enough to feed two or three nibblers, but K and I are no pansy eaters. We finish our bones, mop up the juices and roar with womanly pride. Rowr. I bet our friend wished he had ordered the marrow! K outdid us all that night by having the foie after the marrow; while I was happy with my arugula salad. But I did have two kinds of ice cream for dessert!
Je Suis Gourmand
G/f, Net One Center Bldg
Fort Bonifacio, Taguig
Ph: 815-8801/02
Monday, December 10, 2007
Damn tonsils
This is the worst week to be sick, specifically sore throat sick. Can't swallow, can't taste. Add to that the neverending flow of goodies, sweets, savories deposited on my desk practically each hour. I've been propositioned with brownies, blueberry cheesecake, suman with latik, a cupcake, and birthday cake with orange-glo spaghetti (the pinoy kind with hotdogs!). So unfair!
die bunny die
A quick run to the bookstore this weekend and found something I never thought would be available here: The Bunny Suicides by A. Riley (ok, just the 2008 calendar, but still!). For those uninitiated to the morbid antics of Mr. Riley's wabbits, he draws cartoons solely depicting suicidal options of bland looking rabbits. Rabbits may be cool and collected on the outside, but inside they are a seething, angsty, insecure bunch. At least Riley's are. And they have figured out that man's new-fangled technology can be used to self-destruct.
If you're interested in buying the Suicidal Bunny books, they are available online, or check out a short clip on youtube to get your first dose of killer bunny humor.
If you're interested in buying the Suicidal Bunny books, they are available online, or check out a short clip on youtube to get your first dose of killer bunny humor.
Sunday, December 02, 2007
Home away from home
I'm writing this on an early Sunday morning, 4:30 am to be exact, in Xiamen, China. This is my third home, where I spent 2 years of my life, where I learned another language, made friends, tried new adventures, and learned a lot about myself.
Xiamen is the largest city in Fujian province, on the southeastern coast of China. It's right across the Taiwan strait, and has a significant economic role in the region, not to mention being the direct source of many overseas Filipino-chinese families. It is not the capital of the province (Fuzhou has that distinction), but in this small corner of the chinese world, this is the place to be for business, education, and pleasure.
The two years I lived here were mainly spent in Xiamen University or Xiada, over by the then new foreign student dorm, Cai Qing Jie Lou, right across from the overseas chinese language school. We'd have class from 8 to 2 everyday, learning grammar, culture, and trying to learn the 4 tones used in speaking putonghua or mandarin chinese. We also struggled to write the characters, some 3000 of the basic ones, too many others to fully absorb. I was one of the longer residents, and saw many a roommate through my stay on the 7th floor. My primary room was #713, had canadian, japanese and german roommates. J and S are still good friends to this day, and we keep in touch by email or visits when we chance upon one another throughout life.
Since leaving in 1996, I've come back only once before; I could see the imminent changes on the city then, and now am fully amazed at how much I don't recognize in this little town that could. The airport works, the road network is expansive, most of the pokey little villages near the beach are gone to make way for the new apartment developments or a highway; there are 4 major international hotels, many more independent ones that look modern and welcoming. No more fears of questionable toilets that looked like the source of evil, carpets that look alive, or pisspots by the door.
There's a bit more global interaction now, a scatter of Italian restaurants, a german supermarket, and for the pinoys, a SM. Within that mall, Walmart has one of two outlets. Many bars and clubs are jointly owned by expats and chinese partners, and it's not unusual to find a good choice in any general store of items that we once hoarded from visits to HK (toilet paper no longer feels like it was reused from students' notebooks).
In the three days I've been visiting, friends and I toured a couple of regular sites for all Xiamen visitors to see: Gulangyu island and the temple of Nanputuo. We hiked trails, took the cable car to an aviary, were thrilled with the display of cactus in the botanical gardens, and giggled at silly english signs. As for our food choices, we'd save a bit by having breakfast at our friend's apt. followed by a late lunch/early dinner at some of the local eateries, then cruise the night life till the wee hours of the morning. That's sort of why I'm writing this at 4 am. While I have great student budget memories of cheap eats around town, we tried a few other things including an all you can eat hotpot place, a theme restaurant based around what they'd have served during the Cultural revolution (with waitresses dressed in throwback army wear), and a 24 hour hawker place for soup and roasted chicken bits. My fellow travellers were not able to stand hot and spicy food, so our one foray into sichuan cuisine was sort of half-hearted. I was all set to cry, sweat and sniffle my way through the dishes as I love a spicy meal. But not alone. One wants companionship through culinary suffering! Ah well, I got one dish that only I could have, the rest were all milder, albeit tasty.
The weather has been perfect, the main part of autumn is in full gear. I've been able to use a few sweaters and my coat, and wish I could bring home a week's worth of the cold temperature to save up for next summer in Manila. This is the perfect time to hike around Xiamen's sites, and drink large bottles of beer with your spicy soup. For the cost of US$0.30 you can have a liter of beer! Cheaper than water, and safer at times, given this is China.
The weekend's been a nice short holiday from all the hullabaloo in Manila. I'm glad I have a friends who have moved here, to visit again soon, and to revisit that part of me that is of this land. I don't think it's the place to go for everyone, but it's a charming spot, and if you see me having a plate of steamed jiaozi (pork and vegetable dumplings), you'll know I'm feeling nostalgic for my youth in China.
Xiamen is the largest city in Fujian province, on the southeastern coast of China. It's right across the Taiwan strait, and has a significant economic role in the region, not to mention being the direct source of many overseas Filipino-chinese families. It is not the capital of the province (Fuzhou has that distinction), but in this small corner of the chinese world, this is the place to be for business, education, and pleasure.
The two years I lived here were mainly spent in Xiamen University or Xiada, over by the then new foreign student dorm, Cai Qing Jie Lou, right across from the overseas chinese language school. We'd have class from 8 to 2 everyday, learning grammar, culture, and trying to learn the 4 tones used in speaking putonghua or mandarin chinese. We also struggled to write the characters, some 3000 of the basic ones, too many others to fully absorb. I was one of the longer residents, and saw many a roommate through my stay on the 7th floor. My primary room was #713, had canadian, japanese and german roommates. J and S are still good friends to this day, and we keep in touch by email or visits when we chance upon one another throughout life.
Since leaving in 1996, I've come back only once before; I could see the imminent changes on the city then, and now am fully amazed at how much I don't recognize in this little town that could. The airport works, the road network is expansive, most of the pokey little villages near the beach are gone to make way for the new apartment developments or a highway; there are 4 major international hotels, many more independent ones that look modern and welcoming. No more fears of questionable toilets that looked like the source of evil, carpets that look alive, or pisspots by the door.
There's a bit more global interaction now, a scatter of Italian restaurants, a german supermarket, and for the pinoys, a SM. Within that mall, Walmart has one of two outlets. Many bars and clubs are jointly owned by expats and chinese partners, and it's not unusual to find a good choice in any general store of items that we once hoarded from visits to HK (toilet paper no longer feels like it was reused from students' notebooks).
In the three days I've been visiting, friends and I toured a couple of regular sites for all Xiamen visitors to see: Gulangyu island and the temple of Nanputuo. We hiked trails, took the cable car to an aviary, were thrilled with the display of cactus in the botanical gardens, and giggled at silly english signs. As for our food choices, we'd save a bit by having breakfast at our friend's apt. followed by a late lunch/early dinner at some of the local eateries, then cruise the night life till the wee hours of the morning. That's sort of why I'm writing this at 4 am. While I have great student budget memories of cheap eats around town, we tried a few other things including an all you can eat hotpot place, a theme restaurant based around what they'd have served during the Cultural revolution (with waitresses dressed in throwback army wear), and a 24 hour hawker place for soup and roasted chicken bits. My fellow travellers were not able to stand hot and spicy food, so our one foray into sichuan cuisine was sort of half-hearted. I was all set to cry, sweat and sniffle my way through the dishes as I love a spicy meal. But not alone. One wants companionship through culinary suffering! Ah well, I got one dish that only I could have, the rest were all milder, albeit tasty.
The weather has been perfect, the main part of autumn is in full gear. I've been able to use a few sweaters and my coat, and wish I could bring home a week's worth of the cold temperature to save up for next summer in Manila. This is the perfect time to hike around Xiamen's sites, and drink large bottles of beer with your spicy soup. For the cost of US$0.30 you can have a liter of beer! Cheaper than water, and safer at times, given this is China.
The weekend's been a nice short holiday from all the hullabaloo in Manila. I'm glad I have a friends who have moved here, to visit again soon, and to revisit that part of me that is of this land. I don't think it's the place to go for everyone, but it's a charming spot, and if you see me having a plate of steamed jiaozi (pork and vegetable dumplings), you'll know I'm feeling nostalgic for my youth in China.
Friday, November 30, 2007
All the news that isn't fit to print
Today is a national holiday in the Philippines. Banks, offices, schools are closed. Families are together (or apart) travelling, sleeping in late, preparing for the xmas holidays, shopping, going to the carnival, or just taking time to breathe. The holiday celebrates a national hero, one Andres Bonifacio. The only image I have of AB is of him rousing his troops against the Spanish, decked in a white shirt, red pants, and wearing the red bandana tied around his neck. His arm is raised, his face distorted by his call to arms. I am sadly deficient in AB lore, which I will attempt to change by reading up on him today.
Mr. Bonifacio may have been watching the Philippines from wherever soulful state he is in, wondering what the heck was happening. Most people will probably need this three day weekend to recover from all the minor and major shocks to their system. Some more than others.
In the week of November 26, 2007, we experienced a series of environmental and political shocks. Some have died due to them, and others merely damaged. Let's start with the weather.
A week before this, typhoon Lando hit the central Visayas, causing damage in Cebu. A friend said it was as bad as the effect of typhoon Milenyo last year to Manila. No lights, no water, the city was hit hard. Lando moved west, heading out towards the South China Sea.
In came Mina. She was already a big one, a supertyphoon, and so strong in her advance that up to a million people in the province of Bicol were evacuated. She blew in, and guess who came back to join her? Lando. Yup, he couldn't resist her charms, so he turned around and surged back around the southern islands of Luzon while Mina tore through the eastern part of the island. While those two were getting cosy with one another, a third low pressure system called Nonoy was giving these two a lookieloo, maybe checking Mina out, deciding if Lando was worth taking on. He hovered around the southeast of the country, but was expected to come on board soon. With these three dancing about, the country was sort of like a sponge for rain and wind. Most parts were under some dark cloud, nights were chilly, and generally everyone's mood was the opposite of blithe.
In times like these, the national weather bureau, whom we pinoys know as Pagasa (in tagalog pagasa means hope. Calling the weather bureau by that name perhaps ammeliorates the annoyance of their miscast weather warnings. I'm guessing.), begins posting typhoon signals. Most of the Visayas had been under signal 2 or 3 with Lando, and then Mina was definitely a sure shot for a 3 if not higher. Manila and the rest of the capital region expected to be under 1 or 2 if things got really crazy, but we stayed hovered under no signal even though the outside weather was looking grey and mean.
By Tuesday night, Mina was tearing up the eastern seaboard, Lando was in Mindoro, and we were all battening down the hatches. That afternoon at 5 pm, an announcement went out that elementary levels would be suspended on Wednesday. Which was sort of strange. Because Pagasa had only hoisted signal number 1, which as the lowest signal warning meant that only pre-school classes were down for the count. All these announcements were sent out by the media, which gets their news about such stuff from the Department of Education. So happy kids cheered at the thought of no school for a day. I'm sure those with tests danced a jig of joy.
Watching the news around 8 pm, I hear the announcer state that they were retracting the news about all elementary levels were cancelled, and emphasized that only pre-school kids get the day off. ARGH. I start contacting our school's officials to check if they saw the same news, and find myself dealing with confused information and people unhappy with the thought of retracting the news. Eventually, we all agree that we have to wait for the 11 pm and 4 am Pagasa and Dept of Education announcement, and that commences a night of uneasy sleep. I check the news online at least every two hours, and keep a watch on my cell. The final word comes down from on high and it's final, there will be classes on Wed. Throughout the day, it feels like everyone is sluggish, the kids and parents drag themselves in, cursing (with camel fleas) the ineptitude of the govt and weather bureau, and on a remarkably sunny day (wither Mina and Lando?), we all just dig in to what work has in store.
I realize at this point that there is a missing piece to the story. We were hit by another natural force, on Tuesday afternoon, a 6.0+ earthquake hit the city. We were all shaken and stirred, but luckily the epicenter was far enough not to cause major damage. For the moment it struck, I wondered why I was slipping down my chair, but realized that it was not due to the need to reach for chocolate in my bag.
So as we reach Thursday morning, the count is 3 typhoons, 1 earthquake. The final stage is set.
It starts pouring buckets Wednesday night. Pounding on the galvanized rooftops, and definitely keeping many bleary eyed folks awake. Thursday arrives all grey and rainy. No winds though, but traffic soon congeals into a bigger mess; one of my staff gets stuck for 4 hours, so I share my appreciation for her guts in staying the course and coming in anyway. Poor kid.
As I'm preparing to leave at 11:30 for a trip, rumors of a manmade mess comes in. A recently elected senator who was involved in a military botched uprising 3 years ago at a hotel has walked out of his ongoing court case and manages to sway his peons to join him in another attempt to make himself heard. We hear he is amassing his supporters, and most, if not all, are in the military. Parents call in, asking to pull their kids out of class early, and we inform administration to prepare for the worst. I leave to catch my flight, and by the time I land on another shore, I find out that the putsch has failed again, with considerable damage to one of my favorite retreats in the city, the Peninsula hotel. Sorrowful tv shots of the damaged door and lobby, teargas streaming through the space and up to the second floor. The government troops have rounded up the rebels, the leaders caught once again. What may be the perfect subtitle to all this is the CNN announcers review of all that was happening on Breaking News, that he "wasn't quite sure what was going on" because that's exactly how many of us feel about the neverending dramas that occur in the Philippines. And I am relatively safe by being far away, out of reach, appreciating chilly weather.
Mr. Bonifacio may have been watching the Philippines from wherever soulful state he is in, wondering what the heck was happening. Most people will probably need this three day weekend to recover from all the minor and major shocks to their system. Some more than others.
In the week of November 26, 2007, we experienced a series of environmental and political shocks. Some have died due to them, and others merely damaged. Let's start with the weather.
A week before this, typhoon Lando hit the central Visayas, causing damage in Cebu. A friend said it was as bad as the effect of typhoon Milenyo last year to Manila. No lights, no water, the city was hit hard. Lando moved west, heading out towards the South China Sea.
In came Mina. She was already a big one, a supertyphoon, and so strong in her advance that up to a million people in the province of Bicol were evacuated. She blew in, and guess who came back to join her? Lando. Yup, he couldn't resist her charms, so he turned around and surged back around the southern islands of Luzon while Mina tore through the eastern part of the island. While those two were getting cosy with one another, a third low pressure system called Nonoy was giving these two a lookieloo, maybe checking Mina out, deciding if Lando was worth taking on. He hovered around the southeast of the country, but was expected to come on board soon. With these three dancing about, the country was sort of like a sponge for rain and wind. Most parts were under some dark cloud, nights were chilly, and generally everyone's mood was the opposite of blithe.
In times like these, the national weather bureau, whom we pinoys know as Pagasa (in tagalog pagasa means hope. Calling the weather bureau by that name perhaps ammeliorates the annoyance of their miscast weather warnings. I'm guessing.), begins posting typhoon signals. Most of the Visayas had been under signal 2 or 3 with Lando, and then Mina was definitely a sure shot for a 3 if not higher. Manila and the rest of the capital region expected to be under 1 or 2 if things got really crazy, but we stayed hovered under no signal even though the outside weather was looking grey and mean.
By Tuesday night, Mina was tearing up the eastern seaboard, Lando was in Mindoro, and we were all battening down the hatches. That afternoon at 5 pm, an announcement went out that elementary levels would be suspended on Wednesday. Which was sort of strange. Because Pagasa had only hoisted signal number 1, which as the lowest signal warning meant that only pre-school classes were down for the count. All these announcements were sent out by the media, which gets their news about such stuff from the Department of Education. So happy kids cheered at the thought of no school for a day. I'm sure those with tests danced a jig of joy.
Watching the news around 8 pm, I hear the announcer state that they were retracting the news about all elementary levels were cancelled, and emphasized that only pre-school kids get the day off. ARGH. I start contacting our school's officials to check if they saw the same news, and find myself dealing with confused information and people unhappy with the thought of retracting the news. Eventually, we all agree that we have to wait for the 11 pm and 4 am Pagasa and Dept of Education announcement, and that commences a night of uneasy sleep. I check the news online at least every two hours, and keep a watch on my cell. The final word comes down from on high and it's final, there will be classes on Wed. Throughout the day, it feels like everyone is sluggish, the kids and parents drag themselves in, cursing (with camel fleas) the ineptitude of the govt and weather bureau, and on a remarkably sunny day (wither Mina and Lando?), we all just dig in to what work has in store.
I realize at this point that there is a missing piece to the story. We were hit by another natural force, on Tuesday afternoon, a 6.0+ earthquake hit the city. We were all shaken and stirred, but luckily the epicenter was far enough not to cause major damage. For the moment it struck, I wondered why I was slipping down my chair, but realized that it was not due to the need to reach for chocolate in my bag.
So as we reach Thursday morning, the count is 3 typhoons, 1 earthquake. The final stage is set.
It starts pouring buckets Wednesday night. Pounding on the galvanized rooftops, and definitely keeping many bleary eyed folks awake. Thursday arrives all grey and rainy. No winds though, but traffic soon congeals into a bigger mess; one of my staff gets stuck for 4 hours, so I share my appreciation for her guts in staying the course and coming in anyway. Poor kid.
As I'm preparing to leave at 11:30 for a trip, rumors of a manmade mess comes in. A recently elected senator who was involved in a military botched uprising 3 years ago at a hotel has walked out of his ongoing court case and manages to sway his peons to join him in another attempt to make himself heard. We hear he is amassing his supporters, and most, if not all, are in the military. Parents call in, asking to pull their kids out of class early, and we inform administration to prepare for the worst. I leave to catch my flight, and by the time I land on another shore, I find out that the putsch has failed again, with considerable damage to one of my favorite retreats in the city, the Peninsula hotel. Sorrowful tv shots of the damaged door and lobby, teargas streaming through the space and up to the second floor. The government troops have rounded up the rebels, the leaders caught once again. What may be the perfect subtitle to all this is the CNN announcers review of all that was happening on Breaking News, that he "wasn't quite sure what was going on" because that's exactly how many of us feel about the neverending dramas that occur in the Philippines. And I am relatively safe by being far away, out of reach, appreciating chilly weather.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Eye candy
A friend is going to Switzerland next year for Euro2008. She was quite disappointed recently hearing the results of elimination games, England lost to Croatia, and Ukraine is out of competition too. She had hopes of seeing some of her favorite male football players in play, plus one who she was ready to boo and heckle. But none of them will be around. At least she will have the boys of Italy and a few favorites in the Portugal team to look out for.
She mused that if she had the power to build a stable of studs, most of them would be football players. She grudgingly agreed to consider some of the manly attributes of the french rugby team, famous for their Dieux de Stade calendars.
As we ran through her list, I wondered who I'd have in this fantasy island? I have favorite football players too, but considering how large their egos are, I don't know if I'd appreciate their other attributes. Not unless they are muzzled. So I have a shortlist of possible droolishious men for that isle:
* Canavarro of the winning Italian Team at last year's World Cup. For his bod.
* Neil Gaiman, writer, for his hair.
* Viggo Mortensen, actor, for those gorgeous eyes, and yes, the bod too.
* J. Denk, classical pianist and blogger, for writing a comparison between a rice twinkie and Beethoven. Got to have some sort of artistic/intelligent conversation while enjoying the view. Don't know if he's cute, but he can write and tinkle the ivories in the dark corner if he's not.
* Mario Batali. He's not cute, unless you want wheezy red heads, but the man can cook!
* There's a guy on some DIY/Home renovation show, has the looks of a greek god (no, not that shrimpy designer on Oprah), but whose name I can't remember. Anyway him, so he can build the stable, plus keep the island in some order.
She mused that if she had the power to build a stable of studs, most of them would be football players. She grudgingly agreed to consider some of the manly attributes of the french rugby team, famous for their Dieux de Stade calendars.
As we ran through her list, I wondered who I'd have in this fantasy island? I have favorite football players too, but considering how large their egos are, I don't know if I'd appreciate their other attributes. Not unless they are muzzled. So I have a shortlist of possible droolishious men for that isle:
* Canavarro of the winning Italian Team at last year's World Cup. For his bod.
* Neil Gaiman, writer, for his hair.
* Viggo Mortensen, actor, for those gorgeous eyes, and yes, the bod too.
* J. Denk, classical pianist and blogger, for writing a comparison between a rice twinkie and Beethoven. Got to have some sort of artistic/intelligent conversation while enjoying the view. Don't know if he's cute, but he can write and tinkle the ivories in the dark corner if he's not.
* Mario Batali. He's not cute, unless you want wheezy red heads, but the man can cook!
* There's a guy on some DIY/Home renovation show, has the looks of a greek god (no, not that shrimpy designer on Oprah), but whose name I can't remember. Anyway him, so he can build the stable, plus keep the island in some order.
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Not shopping
US clothing mega-franchise The Gap is open in Trinoma. Cheesy giveaways for buying an item included getting a Gap bumper sticker, EH????
Perusing the items on offer, why in all of tropical climates would stores sell wool jackets, and fur-lined gloves in the Philippines??? More than half the items are better suited towards those freezing their bitukas north of the border.
With the eventual opening of Banana Republic in Greenbelt 5, I think I had best wait till March before checking out warmer clime wear.
Perusing the items on offer, why in all of tropical climates would stores sell wool jackets, and fur-lined gloves in the Philippines??? More than half the items are better suited towards those freezing their bitukas north of the border.
With the eventual opening of Banana Republic in Greenbelt 5, I think I had best wait till March before checking out warmer clime wear.
Thursday, November 22, 2007
"What's that mountain goat doing at this altitude?"
Companies have tag lines. Famous ones like Nike ("just do it") are easy to remember. Some marketing genius (or lucky duck) found something, it stuck and people recall not just the name or brand, but also the motto. It's intrinsic to the brand in many cases, just as famous as their symbol.
Schools, likewise, have slogans or something to heighten the drama. Not many are memorable, I doubt many of us remember our high school's slogan if there was one. I can remember my old school's colors (green and yellow), or my college mascot (partly because it was so weird, like some blue gumby creature). But I can't rattle my grey cells for the slogans of either. A vague memory of "something et veritas" rises from the sludge when I try to focus on our old school seal. What was very clear was the noble profile of our Native American, when we were still known as the Indians. Unfortunately the Politically Correct factions got to it and now they have some weird animal instead. I think when the animal rights folks start demanding that animals shouldn't be used for mascots we'll end up back to human images again. Or maybe inanimate items. The Chicago Bulls might end up as the Chicago Great Lakes.
Anyway, what about humans? We have names, but very few people can say they have a slogan. A few supermodels have been called The Body (Elle McPherson), and you might recall some sports figures for special moments (Diego Maradona, Hand of God). But if you're the average joe/jane, what slogan would you use? Something pithy? In Latin if you feel a bit snobby? It could be like avatars, which are so popular in this day of tech and animation. So here's your challenge, think of a slogan that might epitomize you. Post it in the comments. No rules, no restrictions. Crass, poetic, whatever.
By the way, the title of the post is something I've used as a "slogan" - rephrased from a Far Side cartoon.
Schools, likewise, have slogans or something to heighten the drama. Not many are memorable, I doubt many of us remember our high school's slogan if there was one. I can remember my old school's colors (green and yellow), or my college mascot (partly because it was so weird, like some blue gumby creature). But I can't rattle my grey cells for the slogans of either. A vague memory of "something et veritas" rises from the sludge when I try to focus on our old school seal. What was very clear was the noble profile of our Native American, when we were still known as the Indians. Unfortunately the Politically Correct factions got to it and now they have some weird animal instead. I think when the animal rights folks start demanding that animals shouldn't be used for mascots we'll end up back to human images again. Or maybe inanimate items. The Chicago Bulls might end up as the Chicago Great Lakes.
Anyway, what about humans? We have names, but very few people can say they have a slogan. A few supermodels have been called The Body (Elle McPherson), and you might recall some sports figures for special moments (Diego Maradona, Hand of God). But if you're the average joe/jane, what slogan would you use? Something pithy? In Latin if you feel a bit snobby? It could be like avatars, which are so popular in this day of tech and animation. So here's your challenge, think of a slogan that might epitomize you. Post it in the comments. No rules, no restrictions. Crass, poetic, whatever.
By the way, the title of the post is something I've used as a "slogan" - rephrased from a Far Side cartoon.
Monday, November 19, 2007
The nose knows
Of the 5 senses (sight, taste, touch, smell, hearing), my sight is downright dismal, my taste is normal as far as I can tell, hearing is still decent so long as I don't overuse my earphones, touch still up to snuff, but smell, oh my. I can sniff out cigarette smoke that no one else notices, pick out a lack of natural perfume in a rose, and can remember someone by their smell.
I have memories revolving around aromas or stenches. Going to a multi-race school, we had our share of people from all over the world with their own cultural perspective on cleanliness. One day playing soccer, I accidentally rushed a classmate from the Middle East. I don't know if I hit him, but recall the horror realizing that my hand smelled of BO. I had to take a break and wash it with soap and water; could still sniff it out some hours later, that's how bad it was. It was on par with the intense, oily odor of my 2 day roommate during a conference in Philadelphia; she was from a small Western African country, and I had serious breathing problems after the first night we shared in the hotel. I also feared that the smell was settling into my own clothes, and was very grateful when at the next stop I had a single room to myself.
My sister's boyfriends soon learned that if they wanted to get on her family's good side, they would have to contend with a younger sister who was forced to chaperone them on certain events. Imagine being dragged out from doing what you want to do just because your mother/father said "go with your sister and that boy. Make sure nothing happens." ARRGGGH. The boys in question soon learned that I would put in a positive vote if they had nice smelling cars, didn't smoke (at least not around me), and brought roses that were naturally fragrant. Points removed for short stemmed wimpy flowers with not a note of perfume.
I once joked with friends about a date who had no smell. Which might be a good thing for the most part. But when someone smells more like, water? or air? it's a bit disconcerting. Makes me think he's something out of the book Perfume by Patrick Suskind. The main character is a murderer who has no smell and at the same time the most sophisticated sense of smell; the trait allows him to avoid detection, and his keen sense of what a perfume is made of makes him very rich. As for my date, you can't have any memories of a person without some sort of fleeting spectre of themselves attached via your nasal passages I think. Preferably a good smell, like chocolate!
There are cultural differences about cleanliness and body smells. On this interesting snippet from a book by Katherine Ashenburg, she writes about her research on the historical differences of washing, bathing, deodorants, hygiene, and ultimately smells. While she notes that modern day Americans are crazy about bathing and deodorant, former colleagues of mine would agree that we had our share of questionable American visitors, who we called "plucked from the gubat (forest)" for their insidious stink. The most notorious of recent years included one research fellow who wore the same pants every day for a month (we'd ask each other as we guided him from lecture to lecture when he'd ever change clothes). There was never a year that we didn't have at least one who we'd wish we could dunk in boiling hot water and a lot of soap.
I have memories revolving around aromas or stenches. Going to a multi-race school, we had our share of people from all over the world with their own cultural perspective on cleanliness. One day playing soccer, I accidentally rushed a classmate from the Middle East. I don't know if I hit him, but recall the horror realizing that my hand smelled of BO. I had to take a break and wash it with soap and water; could still sniff it out some hours later, that's how bad it was. It was on par with the intense, oily odor of my 2 day roommate during a conference in Philadelphia; she was from a small Western African country, and I had serious breathing problems after the first night we shared in the hotel. I also feared that the smell was settling into my own clothes, and was very grateful when at the next stop I had a single room to myself.
My sister's boyfriends soon learned that if they wanted to get on her family's good side, they would have to contend with a younger sister who was forced to chaperone them on certain events. Imagine being dragged out from doing what you want to do just because your mother/father said "go with your sister and that boy. Make sure nothing happens." ARRGGGH. The boys in question soon learned that I would put in a positive vote if they had nice smelling cars, didn't smoke (at least not around me), and brought roses that were naturally fragrant. Points removed for short stemmed wimpy flowers with not a note of perfume.
I once joked with friends about a date who had no smell. Which might be a good thing for the most part. But when someone smells more like, water? or air? it's a bit disconcerting. Makes me think he's something out of the book Perfume by Patrick Suskind. The main character is a murderer who has no smell and at the same time the most sophisticated sense of smell; the trait allows him to avoid detection, and his keen sense of what a perfume is made of makes him very rich. As for my date, you can't have any memories of a person without some sort of fleeting spectre of themselves attached via your nasal passages I think. Preferably a good smell, like chocolate!
There are cultural differences about cleanliness and body smells. On this interesting snippet from a book by Katherine Ashenburg, she writes about her research on the historical differences of washing, bathing, deodorants, hygiene, and ultimately smells. While she notes that modern day Americans are crazy about bathing and deodorant, former colleagues of mine would agree that we had our share of questionable American visitors, who we called "plucked from the gubat (forest)" for their insidious stink. The most notorious of recent years included one research fellow who wore the same pants every day for a month (we'd ask each other as we guided him from lecture to lecture when he'd ever change clothes). There was never a year that we didn't have at least one who we'd wish we could dunk in boiling hot water and a lot of soap.
Friday, November 16, 2007
No thanks, I MEAN IT!
Returned from an out of town conference full of well meaning people. But other than the interesting presentations, what may linger the longest was the rather annoying and intense pressure to join the group in their last night revelry. When someone says "I don't dance" or "No thank you, am not into dancing", wouldn't you just leave well enough alone? Why in all hell's bells would you continue to pester them? Was the person trying to pressure me deaf? Dumb? Insensitive? Or just plain stupid? Why continue and continue until I could barely hold myself from throwing my horrible glass of merlot at her face?
I will dance with friends, but last night was not a group of people I knew beyond a couple of hours acquantance. And being told to dance again and again is just not a nice way to spend an evening. If that woman ever ends up in Purgatory may she end up in the ring where no music reigns, and she's forced not to speak for the rest of her spiritual existence. Or persecuted by wasps saying "Dance! Dance!"
I will dance with friends, but last night was not a group of people I knew beyond a couple of hours acquantance. And being told to dance again and again is just not a nice way to spend an evening. If that woman ever ends up in Purgatory may she end up in the ring where no music reigns, and she's forced not to speak for the rest of her spiritual existence. Or persecuted by wasps saying "Dance! Dance!"
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Eavesdropping tidbits
Overheard at the theater (Music Museum, Into the Woods show):
"Act Two? There's an Act Two?" (methinks he was ready to head home)
"Couldn't understand the lyrics, it was like watching a British movie!" (Sorry, no subtitles)
"Did you hear about George Clooney and Fabio?" (Oy vey)
Distinct gasps when some onstage canoodling took place between two married characters. Yup, this is the Pinas.
"How tall was the Giant?" "Too tall to have on stage!" (Use your algebra/geometry lessons to figure it out.)
"Act Two? There's an Act Two?" (methinks he was ready to head home)
"Couldn't understand the lyrics, it was like watching a British movie!" (Sorry, no subtitles)
"Did you hear about George Clooney and Fabio?" (Oy vey)
Distinct gasps when some onstage canoodling took place between two married characters. Yup, this is the Pinas.
"How tall was the Giant?" "Too tall to have on stage!" (Use your algebra/geometry lessons to figure it out.)
Into the Woods by New Voice Company
"There are giants in the sky, there are great big terrible giants in the sky..."
"Stay with me, the world is dark and wild..."
"Agony! That can cut like a knife..."
These are but some of the lyrics swirling in my head all through the weekend. Lyrics that come from the pen of Sondheim, from one of his most memorable musicals, Into the Woods. Over the weekend, the New Voice Company premiered their representation of the Sondheim/Lapine work, and here are a few highlights to look out for:
Great performances and voices:
- Menchu Lauchengco Yulo as the Baker's Wife. For a character who doesn't have her own name, she is the lynchpin in this cast. When another theater company showcased the play, Ms. Yulo portrayed the Witch, but she brings a wonderfully bright characterization to the BW. Her voice is pitch perfect, with the necessary frustration dealing with her husband, full of awe in her encounter with the Prince, and her no-nonsense approach towards getting the job done.
- Julia Abueva as Little Red Riding Hood. Blew me away from the first note. She might sound too perfect for a child, but no quibbling here. She's definitely one of the reasons to go see the show.
- Michael Williams as the Baker. I enjoyed him in this vehicle more than when I saw him in Cabaret two years ago. Maybe his role in the latter performance was too wimpy and whiny, but as the frustrated Baker, he seems exactly what was needed for the man on a quest. He sings several pieces, mainly with other cast members, but is never out of step. His voice is smooth and appealing. And when he sings with Cinderella, and the two younger cast members in perhaps my favorite of all ITW songs, "No one is alone", his longing and strength shine.
Here are my "awards" for the cast:
Hubba-hubba cast award goes to Joaquin Valdez as Jack. I see him reprising Westley in the Princess Bride; "milkboy, fetch me that pitcher!" "As you wish." (evil grin)
Best bod has to be Lynn Sherman as the renewed Witch. Ms. Sherman's got amazing arms and shoulders. And she didn't do too shabbily singing "Stay with me", although she seemed a bit breathless doing the prologue. I missed the shiver down my spine when she sings Last Midnight. Could have used more oomph given what's happening on stage.
Most in need of a lip sync is unfortunately shared by Tommy Abuel as the Mysterious Man and whoever was stuck performing Red Riding Hood's Granny. Mr. Abuel only had to sing one song with oh, 5? ok 10 lines. But he's not a singer. Or those slightly off notes were not what I remember in the score. Er... As for Granny, she's barely in the show, she gets eaten and spewed out. But something went amiss in one of her singing/speaking lines and whatever words of wisdom she meant to impart was lost; the acids in the Wolf's stomach interfering with the wires!
Benefit of the doubt awards towards the Narrator (whose braces may be causing the noticeable lisp), and the slightly unprincely demeanor of the two princes. Jamie Wilson was happily leery as the Wolf, simply oily as Cinderella's Prince; while the other Prince has a receding hairline and looks more like he'd be better cast as a librarian. Could have used more hunky princes to make us believe Cinderella and Rapunzel would swoon into their arms.
Overally, there are more reasons to enjoy the show than not. I'm looking forward at another chance to catch the show.
(addendum: I saw a review of the play in a manila daily and I don't think the writer knows bubbly musicals from adam. Did he even listen to the words? There's more angst and philosophy in this play than most overacted soaps on tv!)
"Stay with me, the world is dark and wild..."
"Agony! That can cut like a knife..."
These are but some of the lyrics swirling in my head all through the weekend. Lyrics that come from the pen of Sondheim, from one of his most memorable musicals, Into the Woods. Over the weekend, the New Voice Company premiered their representation of the Sondheim/Lapine work, and here are a few highlights to look out for:
Great performances and voices:
- Menchu Lauchengco Yulo as the Baker's Wife. For a character who doesn't have her own name, she is the lynchpin in this cast. When another theater company showcased the play, Ms. Yulo portrayed the Witch, but she brings a wonderfully bright characterization to the BW. Her voice is pitch perfect, with the necessary frustration dealing with her husband, full of awe in her encounter with the Prince, and her no-nonsense approach towards getting the job done.
- Julia Abueva as Little Red Riding Hood. Blew me away from the first note. She might sound too perfect for a child, but no quibbling here. She's definitely one of the reasons to go see the show.
- Michael Williams as the Baker. I enjoyed him in this vehicle more than when I saw him in Cabaret two years ago. Maybe his role in the latter performance was too wimpy and whiny, but as the frustrated Baker, he seems exactly what was needed for the man on a quest. He sings several pieces, mainly with other cast members, but is never out of step. His voice is smooth and appealing. And when he sings with Cinderella, and the two younger cast members in perhaps my favorite of all ITW songs, "No one is alone", his longing and strength shine.
Here are my "awards" for the cast:
Hubba-hubba cast award goes to Joaquin Valdez as Jack. I see him reprising Westley in the Princess Bride; "milkboy, fetch me that pitcher!" "As you wish." (evil grin)
Best bod has to be Lynn Sherman as the renewed Witch. Ms. Sherman's got amazing arms and shoulders. And she didn't do too shabbily singing "Stay with me", although she seemed a bit breathless doing the prologue. I missed the shiver down my spine when she sings Last Midnight. Could have used more oomph given what's happening on stage.
Most in need of a lip sync is unfortunately shared by Tommy Abuel as the Mysterious Man and whoever was stuck performing Red Riding Hood's Granny. Mr. Abuel only had to sing one song with oh, 5? ok 10 lines. But he's not a singer. Or those slightly off notes were not what I remember in the score. Er... As for Granny, she's barely in the show, she gets eaten and spewed out. But something went amiss in one of her singing/speaking lines and whatever words of wisdom she meant to impart was lost; the acids in the Wolf's stomach interfering with the wires!
Benefit of the doubt awards towards the Narrator (whose braces may be causing the noticeable lisp), and the slightly unprincely demeanor of the two princes. Jamie Wilson was happily leery as the Wolf, simply oily as Cinderella's Prince; while the other Prince has a receding hairline and looks more like he'd be better cast as a librarian. Could have used more hunky princes to make us believe Cinderella and Rapunzel would swoon into their arms.
Overally, there are more reasons to enjoy the show than not. I'm looking forward at another chance to catch the show.
(addendum: I saw a review of the play in a manila daily and I don't think the writer knows bubbly musicals from adam. Did he even listen to the words? There's more angst and philosophy in this play than most overacted soaps on tv!)
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Kiehl's, Greenbelt 5
The new extension to Greenbelt is fast approaching completion. A few restaurants are open, and some clothing stores are in place. I'm looking forward to the first Banana Republic in Manila (at last!), but what truly made me jump for joy was finding the Kiehl's store. Kiehl's has a great collection of body, face, and hair products, I particularly love the lip balm, the body lotion, and when I swim a lot, the shampoo that clarifies against chlorine build up. Prices are set against the dollar, so it wasn't unbelievably unreasonable. Sort of what you'd expect to pay for imported items.
And as I was the only customer and the saleslady was ready to make a sale, she knew to throw in a sample or two of some things she felt I might like. I know a few friends who will be happy to see the store open at last. No more requests to friends heading to HK or the US for a few items.
And as I was the only customer and the saleslady was ready to make a sale, she knew to throw in a sample or two of some things she felt I might like. I know a few friends who will be happy to see the store open at last. No more requests to friends heading to HK or the US for a few items.
Monday, November 12, 2007
The music man - part 3, Into the Woods
The Story: 4 fairy tales are intertwined around the theme of wish fulfillment and a quest through the woods. Cinderella goes into the woods to commune with her mother's spirit and is found throughout the play stumbling through it escaping from the Prince; Rapunzel's tower is there, her prison and refuge from the world, where the witch keeps a close eye on her to protect her prize from life; Jack heads into the woods to sell his cow Milky White, urged by his mother not to trade less than 5 pounds for the cow; and Little Red Riding Hood sallies forth to pay a visit to her grandmother, and encounters her nemesis. The only undefined fairy tale is the story of the Baker and his wife, but it is the genesis for most of the play.
When the play begins, the audience is faced with three sets, each one pointing towards one of the stories. As the long prologue is sung, we learn that Cinderella is suffering from the abuse of her stepmother and stepsisters and wishes to attend the King's Festival; her stepmother torments her by promising to let her attend the festival if she manages to pick the lentils from the ashes. For those who only know the Cinderella story based on the Disney cartoon, I highly recommend reading the older versions of the fairy tale, the gorier version with eyeballs pecked out, toes and heels cut off. There are no magical speaking/singing mice involved in the play. The middle set is for Jack and his mother; she calls him a fool, and thinks he's touched in the head. He's a bumbling, but kind fellow who loves his cow. These days, he might be considered something of an artisan, but in those days, well, he's just a boy with no social interaction other than a bovine. She tells him to sell the cow as they have nothing left to eat. The last set is for the Baker and his wife, who sing of their inability to have a child. They are interrupted by two visitors, the first is Red Riding Hood buying bread and sweets for her ailing grandma who lives down a long path through the woods. The second visitor is the witch, who tells the Baker and Baker's Wife why they have remained barren.
The Baker turns out to be the never heard of brother of Rapunzel. A long time ago, their father went into the witch's garden to get vegetables for his pregnant wife. He ravishes the garden taking all sorts of greens, and not being very neighborly about it either according to the witch. He also takes beans, magical beans. In return for his actions, the witch takes the baby, Rapunzel, away from the man and his wife, and curses them with infertility for the stolen beans. The curse continues through with the Baker and his wife, but the witch offers them a reprieve. Find her four items by the stroke of midnight three days hence and the curse will be lifted: a cow as white as milk, hair as yellow as corn, a gold slipper, and a cloak as red as blood. She orders them on their quest.
Throughout Act One, the stories converge, mishaps occur, Princes run after maidens or entice them down from their towers, the cow is sold, is lost, refound, reborn. Jack gets beans for the cow, the beans grow into a redwood size-stalk and he steals three treasures from a giant, who dies in pursuit of Jack. Cinderella attends 3 nights of the King's Festival, loses her slipper to a wily Prince and is made into a princess after her sisters are handicapped. Red Riding Hood is eaten by the Wolf, but saved by the Baker. Rapunzel is nearly lost to the world, but finds her prince, all of them babes in arms. The Baker and his wife lift the curse and the witch gets her groove back. All ends happily ever after.
In Act Two, (yes, Virginia, there is an Act Two) we see the same cast of characters, but happily ever after doesn't consider all the after effects of obtaining one's heart's desires. The Witch may be young and beautiful again, but has no powers. Rapunzel may have regained her Prince, but she seems to be a neurotic mess who wants her mommy. Cinderella can't find her footing in the castle, plus her family's decided to move in with her, sort of a hypocritical greek chorus, pandering to her every whim, while her Prince isn't around much, he's got a roving eye that one. Red Riding Hood, the Baker and wife, and Jack plus his mom (and the cow) are the first to find out directly that a Giant is out and about. Soon, life as they know it is in shambles, and everyone can't find a decent hiding place against the marauding giant. Lives are lost, and family bonds break apart. Eventually, the act is completed and satisfaction is achieved, they wish.
When the play begins, the audience is faced with three sets, each one pointing towards one of the stories. As the long prologue is sung, we learn that Cinderella is suffering from the abuse of her stepmother and stepsisters and wishes to attend the King's Festival; her stepmother torments her by promising to let her attend the festival if she manages to pick the lentils from the ashes. For those who only know the Cinderella story based on the Disney cartoon, I highly recommend reading the older versions of the fairy tale, the gorier version with eyeballs pecked out, toes and heels cut off. There are no magical speaking/singing mice involved in the play. The middle set is for Jack and his mother; she calls him a fool, and thinks he's touched in the head. He's a bumbling, but kind fellow who loves his cow. These days, he might be considered something of an artisan, but in those days, well, he's just a boy with no social interaction other than a bovine. She tells him to sell the cow as they have nothing left to eat. The last set is for the Baker and his wife, who sing of their inability to have a child. They are interrupted by two visitors, the first is Red Riding Hood buying bread and sweets for her ailing grandma who lives down a long path through the woods. The second visitor is the witch, who tells the Baker and Baker's Wife why they have remained barren.
The Baker turns out to be the never heard of brother of Rapunzel. A long time ago, their father went into the witch's garden to get vegetables for his pregnant wife. He ravishes the garden taking all sorts of greens, and not being very neighborly about it either according to the witch. He also takes beans, magical beans. In return for his actions, the witch takes the baby, Rapunzel, away from the man and his wife, and curses them with infertility for the stolen beans. The curse continues through with the Baker and his wife, but the witch offers them a reprieve. Find her four items by the stroke of midnight three days hence and the curse will be lifted: a cow as white as milk, hair as yellow as corn, a gold slipper, and a cloak as red as blood. She orders them on their quest.
Throughout Act One, the stories converge, mishaps occur, Princes run after maidens or entice them down from their towers, the cow is sold, is lost, refound, reborn. Jack gets beans for the cow, the beans grow into a redwood size-stalk and he steals three treasures from a giant, who dies in pursuit of Jack. Cinderella attends 3 nights of the King's Festival, loses her slipper to a wily Prince and is made into a princess after her sisters are handicapped. Red Riding Hood is eaten by the Wolf, but saved by the Baker. Rapunzel is nearly lost to the world, but finds her prince, all of them babes in arms. The Baker and his wife lift the curse and the witch gets her groove back. All ends happily ever after.
In Act Two, (yes, Virginia, there is an Act Two) we see the same cast of characters, but happily ever after doesn't consider all the after effects of obtaining one's heart's desires. The Witch may be young and beautiful again, but has no powers. Rapunzel may have regained her Prince, but she seems to be a neurotic mess who wants her mommy. Cinderella can't find her footing in the castle, plus her family's decided to move in with her, sort of a hypocritical greek chorus, pandering to her every whim, while her Prince isn't around much, he's got a roving eye that one. Red Riding Hood, the Baker and wife, and Jack plus his mom (and the cow) are the first to find out directly that a Giant is out and about. Soon, life as they know it is in shambles, and everyone can't find a decent hiding place against the marauding giant. Lives are lost, and family bonds break apart. Eventually, the act is completed and satisfaction is achieved, they wish.
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