Fruit of the south

On the first day of my trip to Zamboanga, we were squashed like sardines in a van taking in the sights. Many of the other fellow van-mates had not been back to Zamboanga in a long time, although they were born in the city. All of us were there to help a friend celebrate her daughter's debut, plus get a chance to relax in the newly retitled "Latin City of Asia" (I'm starting to collect these names of places I go; remember what Dumaguete's title is?).

We were through with the tour of downtown, and had just bought some yakan weave near the military camp. On our way back, we passed a wet market and one of the ladies asked to stop. She had spied marang for sale and wanted to share the taste with everyone.

Marang (Artocarpus odoratissimus) reminds me of three fruis - durian, langka, and atis. The fruit and it's tree are from the same family as the langka or jackfruit, but some people mistake it for a durian as the fruit has a similar squat shape. The smell of the marang can also be a bit pungent, but its less painful to the nose, and less likely to be as offputting (putrid) as the durian. Instead of spikey thorn like protrusions (as with the durian), the marang sports a shell of soft spines, observe those spines carefully as they indicate when the fruit is ready to eat. They turn color and look a bit more hollow when the fruit is ripe. Pull back the spines and squeeze the rind back for an opening then pull apart to get to the white globes within. That's when the fruit reminds me of an atis. Each tidbit of fruit meat surrounds a small seed. Eating a langka reminds me of eating atis, sucking off the sweet fruit and spitting out the seeds. This does not make for tight-assed, prissy eating, people. It's got to be eaten on a tropical island, wearing beach wear, right after a meal of fish or grilled meat and rice, a tall glass of water near by, and friends around gossiping about the latest nonsense. Use your fingers! Don't let that fork go near the fruit. Pluck a piece or two at a time, feel the custardy meat envelope your palate, lick the taste off your fingers. Spit the seed out. Repeat. After awhile, if it's just you and a couple of friends, you might feel like your tummies are full of eggy, creamy dessert. But it's fruit! Good for ya! One marang is enough to feed at least 4 people, or one hungry person when it's all I'm having for lunch.

We had the marang over in Zambo (P50 a kilo at the market) for our dessert after lunch, and most of us loved each and every tidbit.

I went to fruit market to buy some oranges and found a vendor with two marangs, rather puny but looking like they were on their way to ripeness. It was priced at P90 a kilo, but given how rarely I find it in Manila, I bought one right away. It's now ripening in my kitchen, and this morning I woke up, walked to the bathroom and was hit in the nose by the smell of something I couldn't define. Meaty. Smokey. Anyway, after trying to figure out what was putrifying downstairs, I realized it was just my marang. Waiting for the day (tomorrow? please make it tomorrow) when I can break it open and eat it, globule by sweet globule.

Bleak house

After a rather melodramatic rendition of Madame Bovary, the relatively new cable channel Velvet is broadcasting Charles Dickens BLEAK HOUSE, the 2006 Masterpiece Theater/PBS production. Written in the mold of a thriller, probably one of the first in its genre, the plot revolves around who inherits the fortune left behind rather problematically by one Jarndyce, unfortunately with two wills, and a legal system all a-ready to jump on the circumstances. As is now, the lawyers are the only ones to gain. The many strengths of the production lie in its well-adapted screenplay, the surplus of strong acting (Gillian Anderson of the X-Files alongside the British character actors, and enough of them to confuse a new viewer), and appropriately Victorian setting. If you like legal dramas, Law and Order and their ilk, catch Bleak House while it's being shown every Thursday evening. And no, there are no subtitles!

Stark sparks (spoilers)

At the start of his one week trip and before we left for Mindanao, R and I went to Mall of Asia to watch Ironman and the first set of the World Pyro Olympics. As I had never read an Ironman comic before, the story was quite novel, but reminiscent of many a Marvel comic. There's the genius hero with not a few characteristic failings (inability to show his feelings for the girl, loss of parental guidance - do all action heros have to be orphans?, incapacity to see the bad guy when he's right in front of them), lots of action sequences like flying, fast cars, fight scenes, bad guys who won't die, Oscar-winning actresses who have to take a job because better scripts aren't readily available. Robert Downey Jr. is the not as sensitive as he should be hero, who seems to be the pinnacle of capital greed, until life jolts him into realizing what money can't buy (except he still can't tell the girl how he feels, merely parries it into how much she means to him in a very vague, non-committal kind of way, plus would you mind getting killed for me and my attempt to save the world?). Gwyneth plays the girl friday with a freudian name, and another oscar winner, Jeff Bridges, shares shiney head space with the not so subtle typecast Middle Eastern villain. Bald men should boycott all Marvel comic movies. Lex Luther, and now two villains in this movie. Evil geniuses or just needy of Rogaine?

Ironman, aka Tony Sparks, is less broody than Batman/Bruce Wayne, although both are uberbillionaires with playboy reps. Mr. Downey plays the facetious title character with some feyness thrown in, and tight body shirts to show off the pecs and the glowing nuclear heart. Again, as a newbie to Ironman, does the character have to start its engines looking like Chaplin about to waddle? Or is that just a reminder that Downey played Chaplin?

Overall, the story wasn't as emotionally enthralling as the Spiderman or X-men series. Perhaps the writing needs to up the emo quotient the next time around.

As for the World Pyro, I really enjoyed the German team's spectacle, with its symmetry that succeeded without boring the audience, a textural approach to the display, and drama! Sadly the Chinese show, which opened the night, was nice, but had no punch. Wouldn't it have been nice to see an Olympics ring display? Or am I too literal minded?

Pink + babies

There are years when several friends and relatives are all marching down the aisle, there are others when it seems it's all about babies, and then years when it seems everyone I know has a death in the family. Over the last two days, I have received consecutive emails from girlfriends about pregnancies. One is having her second child, and will return to Asia from her posting in Europe just to give birth. Her first pregnancy had its rough moments, and I can only surmise that she's returning due to similar health concerns. That reminds me of the relatively recent birth of the second son of a good friend. She, too, returned to the Philippines to give birth, as she had a difficult pregnancy. There's comfort in working with the same doctor and medical specialists that kept you and the baby safe the first time around.

The second friend who told me today of her future baby is my soul sister S, whose wedding I attended in Germany. She and her husband are in Beijing and as their work plans have been unsettled so far, it is not sure where they will be when the baby is born. I would love to see her before or after she gives birth, but it may be too difficult to plan right now. Time will tell, and I can always avail of the low airfares to see both ladies while they are within the continent.

Nothing to do with babies, except for the color being highly symbolic of girl babies, but I was able to sink my toes (slightly pink in their own way) in the pink sand of Santa Cruz island off the mainland of Zamboanga. After years of visiting Zambo, I had my first visit to Sta Cruz with friends over the weekend. The sand is more salmon color than rose, the source due to crushed red coral mixed in with the beige sand. We also got to walk to the mangroves on the other side of the island (facing Basilan), where we frightened the bright red tiny crabs into their dens. The mangrove islets are awash with the red shellfish, and from afar, it looks like the muddy mounds have red dots, then they move and you realize those aren't flora. Since Zamboanga is better known for its curacha, another crablike creature, we avoided trying to nap the baby shellfish and tucked into several servings of the curacha instead, doused in not so red Alavar sauce. More of an orange hue if I may say so.

Of sandwiches and lost food

Two interesting food articles on New York Times call to mind some thoughts. The first is about sandwiches creating buzz (that sausage sandwich makes me want to grill the hungarian links I have in the refrigerator), and the second is about food losing ground, with their own champion attempting to save them from extinction. Would it be possible to set up a restaurant that only serves one kind of sandwich per day, with a rotation of styles ranging from a simple grilled cheese to a cuban to a banh mi to a hotdog to a basic burger or a simple cucumber sandwich served with teas? I think it might be rather fun, but probably not too profitable. A forum for creativity perhaps, buying fresh bread everyday, a few choice ingredients and putting together whatever strikes your fancy that day. A Sandwich a Day.

As for lost food, it reminds me of a discussion I had with food friend T over lunch. I brought her to the okonomiyaki restaurant in Little Tokyo, and we chatted about food (we're both with a local food society so it sort of makes sense or perhaps we're just obsessed). She asked me about my favorite childhood fruits and foods (typically Filipino foods that might be hard to find these days), and as we chatted nostalgically, suggested that I start surveying people about their childhood meals and put together a book. Hmmm, I think she has far more faith in my abilities than I do. Plus there are bloggers out there doing just that and in a way I wouldn't have time or means to (Marketman for one).

Kukukuchu

Major Bono confluences over the last 24 hours - first with the U2 IMAX experience, then buying the soundtrack to Across the Universe. I knew he sang two songs on the album, "I am the Walrus" and "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds", am enjoying singing along to the first (hence the title of this post).

On other domestic fronts, I was reading about the Shakers and their food, and came across a simple Shaker Lemon Pie recipe, with less than 10 ingredients to it. Macerated sliced lemons are mixed with eggs and layered into a easy to make pie crust. Bake and serve. I plan to do that this weekend with the best vanilla ice cream I can buy. That will serve as the dessert to a baked chicken plus potatoes and peas in cream, the latter another Shaker recipe. Dessert first (right Lori?)!

Last full show

Does one scream at a concert? Indeed. What about a concert that is filmed then screened on a maxxed out movie screen? Perhaps not.
Food friends C and CJ have called out to those of us who haven't gone to see the U2 concert on IMAX yet, and without much mulling over, I said yes. I've been a U2 fan since the 80's, I love the Edge, and want to see them live in concert one day. But this movie will have to do for now. If only I don't end up being the only one who screams "I love you Edge (Mr. Edge? hehehe)!!!" AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Sticky wicket

After dodging two days of rain, and attending a sad passing this morning, it's good to know there's silliness in the world. The diet Coke-mentos experiments are now on a global scale, with over 1500 students in Belgium breaking a record. Whee!

Please

I'm praying for sun. The school has an afternoon to early evening activity with all our students, parents, faculty, staff, and board members. We've been planning this for two months, all the preparations are on hand, we have little huts set up around the field to provide food, a stage for the band and performances, but as I look up into the sky, it's grey, gloomy and looks like rain. Why oh why in the middle of summer, are we having to worry about rain? Yes, I've heard of La Nina, Yes, global warming too. But why today? Rain god head back home, herd your clouds back into their stables. Sun, come out of hiding.


5:00 pm update: it poured buckets from the sky for an hour, turning the field into a sodden mess. Sigh. Good thing for back up plans and manpower. We've managed to move the food and most of the tables indoors and the event will push through, albeit a bit cramper than planned.

Grocery log

A few things I've bought, tasted, and liked the last two weeks:
1. Toasted and flavored nori snacks: available in Unimart for P50 a bag. Three flavors - original, bbq, and spicy. I downed a bag of the original, and wished I had a bowl of steamed rice to go with it, and a cup of dark green tea.
2. Ice cream cone from Sango, brand name Giant. P75 each. What I liked the most about it is the non-waxy texture of the chocolate coating, and how the ice cream is piped in to fill a cone all the way to the itty bitty end.
3. Bottle Thai iced tea at S&R, approximately P100 each. I stuck a bottle in the freezer to see if I could get it into a frozen slushy consistency that I like when I'm in Bangkok. No go. Probably some stabilizer in the mix that stops it from freezing. But it wasn't horribly sweet, as it uses cane sugar and not high fructose corn syrup. On the pricey side; homemade thai iced tea is pretty cheap.

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For duhat lovers out there, it's summer, the trees are laden, plopping down their dark purple nuggets. Dinner at my parents last night and managed to win a bowl of lightly salted and chilled duhats from my dad. He gave me a look after I finished the last duhat, sorry dad.

The weekend: stewed tomatoes, crying baby, and five shrimp

I took part in a tomato buying group with three others last week, and each of us got 2.5 kilos of tomatoes for only P50. Sweet. Lugging the kilos home, I looked at them and wondered - salsa? tomato jelly? spaghetti sauce for the month? salsa???? I gave a good lot away to my mother who will be able to eat most of her share in salads and healthy foods that she needs to ingest. And the rest, I prettified them by arranging the unripened fruit in a nice white ceramic bowl for a day. A table display. Not salsa.
The next day, starting to worry that the tomatoes would turn into their own salsa without any help from me, I decided to lop off their stems and put them into the slow cooker. I initially thought I'd make pasta sauce, but as I looked at them sllllooooowly heating up (crockpots are the worst for those of us obsessed with watching the pot boil), I figured I'd just douse the tommies with olive oil, some salt and dried herbs. Then I went to see a friend and her baby. 6 hours later, I came home to the smell of Italy. Hahahaha, well, olive oil and herbs and stewed tomatoes. For lo! I had stewed a kilo of tomatoes! Have I eaten them yet? No. But I have plans for my stewed tomatoes and I will get to that later in the week.
My friend R now has two kids, the latest is close to 4 months old and looks a lot like his brother. Mini-Sam the baby is. And he didn't want to be held by anyone but his mama. We did get some photos of him in a kiddie pool, no diaper, dabbling in the water with his older brother. But when his mom needed to eat dinner, he was ferociously unwilling to sleep. According to R, he's less fussy than his bro, but she was sorry he wouldn't deign to let me carry him without bawling. I did manage to hold him for about ten minutes when he had drifted off a bit, but I also had to head home, since Alabang is way far and my bedtime was fast approaching.
As scheduled, friend A and J met me for our Sunday painting session. Rather, the three of us yakked away for a couple of hours about J's recent family trip to Tokyo (Disneyland! and a day in slushy snow!), and all the family turmoil we've had since our last painting session a few years back. Then J's hubby called up and said he was on his way, so it was not as productive a painting session as we had hoped. To salvage what time was left, I ground up some ink, and dabbled on some paper, practicing or at least attempting to figure out the strokes for the shape of what I thought were lobsters, only to find out the painting I was looking at was entitled 6 Shrimps. Oh well. So I ended up with five shrimp, since four is a no-no number in chinese culture. And A said to place my chop and it would be ready for display. Heck no. This was practice. And I need more time to get used to my brushes again. Poor A. After a couple of years of storage, he opened his brush mats to find most of his brushes eaten up by some brush eating insect. Freaky! At least he's heading to China with the family next week and can shop for stuff galore.

Eminent feeding

What do you feed a President, a King, an Emperor or the Pope? What don't you give them when they're dropping by? In online news today, it's been noted that the Pope doesn't really need any more veal sausages of Bavarian issue. I'm sure he doesn't get that homesick for it, and must be easy enough to call up his local deli for a taste when he's back at HQ.

Recently, I had a family dinner at a local restaurant that served the last Pope that visited the Philippines. They kept the silverware and platters and had it displayed near the front door. Photos of the meal adorned the sides, and a small plaque noting the date of the auspicious event. Off-hand, I wondered aloud with my sister why they washed the dishes and utensils after. Wouldn't it be even more interesting to see the fingerprint of the pope on the wine glass?

Potatoe, potatoh

Rice shortages, hoarding, cost of transporting to the market (due to the skyrocketing oil prices), and now increasing wheat prices are constantly in the news and make for sobering thoughts. People speak of how difficult it is in the provinces, lining up for rice that is barely edible, stretching out their budgets to feed the children on gruel.

For consideration then - how about the potato? Scourge of the anti-carbohydrate era, and linked to the image of hungry Irish potato farmers during the blight, it's relatively price steady, a good source of both carbs and protein, just add the fat. Don't forget that it's also got vitamins.

It can be boiled, broiled, baked, fried, sauteed, mashed, hashed, matted, stewed, and even makes for tasty bread. Get yourself a spud today.

MyPersonality.info Badge

Note: I took a couple of days before I read the INFP profile, and while it hits the mark on several levels I wondered about the ff: they list people who are historically in the mold of the INFP/Dreamer. They've got folks like Audrey Hepburn, John F. Kennedy Jr., Peter Jackson, etc. Perhaps these folks took the Myers Briggs at one time. But what about the inclusion of John the disciple and Virgil the poet? How can they add them to the list other than basing it on the little we have of their works??? My eyebrows raised in doubt. Or perhaps that's part of my personality trait. In the list of fictional characters who fit the INFP list, I particularly enjoyed seeing Calvin (of Calvin and Hobbes fame) and Fox Mulder in the list. No wonder I like those two series so much!

A food post

In the two week visit of R, we ate at some new places, and revisited other places along the way, plus he cooked for an estimated 130 people. He wanted as much pinoy food as possible, with a quest for beef tapa and fishballs and halohalo. We were waylaid by a stomach bug the last week (it hit me first, then he picked it up a couple of days later), but it didn't stop us from making inroads into our food list.

The day he arrived, I dragged him to the Lung Center Market along Quezon Avenue on Sunday for a breakfast of bibingka and puto bumbong, with a side of pork bbq. We walked around the market looking for lunch options and fruit, picking up super spicy bicol express, a fresh lumpiang ubod, pancit lucban and mangoes. A sprig of camellia blossoms for luck. The market is a much larger spectacle than its Makati cousins (Salcedo and Legaspi Village markets), but parking is difficult after 8 am, and it gets searingly hot and humid after the first blush of the morning. I prefer getting there early, buying gulay or fruits, and stopping by some of the prepared food vendors for regional pinoy cuisine. He nearly picked up a large wooden cutting board and a musical wooden frog :)

We also went out to Angel's Kitchen in Greenhills (along Connecticut) for Sunday dinner. The place has become increasingly popular, and not knowing how packed it gets on a Sunday night, we were lucky to snag a table for two next to the dessert display. They are famous for the lechon kawali and pinakbet rice combination plate and naturally we had to have it along with a salad and fish dish. That night, there wasn't as much punch in the pinakbet, but the dish was still homey and comfortable, with a thick slab of porky lechon kawali to offset the vegetables of the pinakbet. I ordered the dory with asparagus and nori, which had a heavy dousing of black pepper, and redolent with sesame oil. We gave up dessert in lieu of a soothing pot of genmaicha pop - the green tea mixed with popped rice. It's light on the tongue, fragrant, and clears the palate.

Monday, the day we visited Ocean Park, I brought R to Chinatown, looking for a small noodle house on Benavidez. Lamien, or handpulled noodles, are a basic comfort food, propagated by the Uighur minorities in Northwest China. Where you find the Uighur you find darn good lamien noodles all over China. I have good memories of the two little noodle diners near the university where I studied mandarin and when I read of a lamien place in Binondo, my heart leaped! So R had no choice but to give into my need for hot noodle soup. We ordered one lamien soup, with beef, and one dao shao mien or knife cut noodle soup, plus a plate of steamed dumplings. For P200 we were stuffed, and I was happy. The owner makes the noodles herself, thumping the dough on the prep table in front, thump thump THUMP, and from a lump of flour and water, it stretches, ever so violently, into noodles. It's magic. Her cheeks are rosy from the daily exertion, but she has a twinkle in her eye when she sees you smiling at her aerobic cooking. She is also in charge of cutting the noodles for the dao shao mien, her knife skills dangerously fast against the mound of dough she prepares against the boiling stock. Each of the tables is laden with a big bowl of freshly chopped green onions and coriander, plus individual containers of soy sauce, black pepper and hot chilli oil. When you get your orders, add to season as you wish. I like mine extra spicy.

The next three days we spent in the province was lazy with provincial calm. We arrived early morning on Tuesday, toddled off to the market to buy some chicken and other bits, and spent the rest of the day cooking for the visitors attending the first night's procession. Since the Tuesday before Easter isn't a major holiday, the procession is relatively smaller, and the hordes less in number too. R cooked chicken wings with a garlic soy sauce glaze. Along with the meals prepared by the other members of the household, they fed over 30 folks that night, not much leftovers to worry about! Feedback from the garden where people were digging in for the meal was that the chicken was a hit, and R will have to do it again next year. On Maundy Thursday, we got to the market too late to buy beef, so we ended with 10 kilos of pork to grill that night. The procession was going to be much larger than Tuesdays, and we were warned that at least 100 people would show up after they marched through back to church. The miki had been prepared in advance, and calderos of vegetable stew had been simmering, not to mention a really large pot of rice. R was also thinking of a way to provide something sweet for the attendees and after some price haggling, collared an ice cream vendor to give us full use of his ice cream cart for the day. We had two hundred cones, two 10-gallon tubs of ice cream, and the cart! After marinating the pork for several hours in a garlicky dunk, R grilled the meat, then we chopped them into easy bite size slices, enough to fill two bandehados. R's aunt, ie Sorbetera, took up the post of scooping the ice cream for the little ones lining up for a treat, and we had great shots of happy kids eating as much ice cream as they wanted.

By the time we flew to Dumaguete, both of us had been hit by stomach flu bugs. Needless to say, food was downgraded to safe edibles like crackers, soup, noodles, and gatorade. But we hadn't found R's must-eats yet, so once he felt better, we tried a couple of places in the city for beef tapa, tapsilog to be exact. One restaurant had tender beef but the sauce was sooooo salty. It was like a beef salt lick. The other place had somewhat chewy beef with a decent flavor. The last beef tapa he tried was at Antulang, where it was a decent plate but didn't stand out. The quest continues.

The Dumaguete boardwalk has a spot dedicated to vendors of squid balls and "tempura" - mashed up shrimp and flour thinly molded into skewers and deep fried. Returning from a day trip, we walked from the ferry to the sidewalk vendors and chose a spot that was relatively busy, assuming that the higher turnover of customers would relieve us from worrying about hepatitis. Or not. But risks have to be taken in life. And for less than P100 we had ten sticks of squid balls and tempura, two softdrinks and a view of the sea at dusk. One can contemplate on a lot of philosophical issues with a tummy full of floury fishy stuff and a coke while basking in the cooler night air.

For the last quest, halohalo was one of the first meals we had, stopping by Via Mare on a sultry afternoon for a tall glass. Sadly, I remember the VM halohalo being much chunkier before. Lately, it's lost some of the stuffing and added more chunky ice. We had a strawberry ice cream and cereal halo halo in Dumaguete, which contradicted R's convictions of ube ice cream and pinipig. Progress? It was still a decent halo halo in flavor if not in ingredients. I know there was another halo halo stop before we got back, but I can't recall where and whether it was any good. During a dinner with my family, R's tummy had already been hit by the bug, and he was forced to watch my dad gobble up a tall glass of halo halo; sheer torture!

The last dinner on his trip was homemade. We tossed together a sausage ragu and pasta dish, alongside the chickpea salad I posted before; R made garlic bread, while I waited for the other garlic bulbs in the roasting pan to caramelize. Were there any vampires in my neighborhood, they'd have shrivelled up into dust by all the garlic we were consuming that night. To kill a bit of the hearty savory taste, we took a short walk to the Magnolia ice cream parlor around the block for sundaes and parfaits. Childhood memories reminiscing ice cream and summer, what a great combination. And thus was his two week trip completed.

A touchy subject

Mary Roach wrote a book about death, cadavers to be specific and how different historical and scientific er activities revolve around the use of our bodies after we die. Read it, it's a hoot! Or maybe I'm really just a morbid person. But honestly, I haven't read something that interesting in awhile.

Now, I hear that she's tackling another subject. To avoid being filtered by the web-nannies, let's just say that Bonk is all about a basic need. From the review I read and Ms. Roach's interview, I am looking forward to reading all about her research and some of the historical approaches to learning the physiognomy of this aspect of life. She writes in a very accessible manner, sometimes approaching overly facetious, but never disrespectful of the topic.

Moses laid to rest

How many times have you seen The Ten Commandments? I can't count the number of times it was shown in the movie houses or on tv when I was younger. During Easter, there were very few options available, so it was either The Ten Commandments, the Robe, another movie about Moses, and a couple of biblical movies. I don't remember Ben Hur being shown that often, but my mother let us watch it once since she figured Charleston Heston was Moses in the other film so BH must be good viewing. Or so I thought.

Then she started introducing his other movies - El Cid (Sophia Loren vavavoom!), Planet of the Apes, Agony and the Ecstasy, and then probably the movie that made me turn from CH - Soylent Green. What cheese. Or maybe in this world of GMO, what amazing foresight!

Step back - travels in two weeks

Last year, R and I took our first trips around the Philippines together. On his recent return, we retraced a couple of trips, spending a bit more time in two spots; taken several mediums of travel (plane, bus, ferry, car, train, and motorbike under our belts); plus a few more sights to look forward to. We also changed the route around this time, starting with the northernmost, heading a bit south before going further south to Central Visayas.

As we had a couple of days before our holiday trek up north, we spent a day in Manila and Chinatown, going to the newly opened Ocean Park, and seeking out a "lamien" - northern noodle soup restaurant. I'll have more about some of the meals we had in another post, otherwise I'll muddle myself up, and go round and round the topics. Wouldn't want that, I tell you. I had some reservations about the Ocean Park, but figured who best to see a big aquarium with than with R, who is in the business of marine creatures? I had been warned that the lines at the entrance were LONG, but maybe everyone was flaking off that morning as we got in with minimal fuss. The first few tanks were a bit puzzling. River fish, Amazonian fish, fish and plants that don't really have anything to do with "oceans" but I guess we have to show diversity and accessibility. We moved onwards to the small tanks holding ocean creatures. Reef fish, a few samples of corals, shrimp, a large alaskan crab that looked a bit awkward in its cubby. However, we both thought it was sad that the exhibit had to resort to fake coral, and very plasticky looking fakes at that. Stuff you'd find in Bioresearch! By the time we entered the larger tunnel walk and shark tanks we were in need of something awe-inspiring (although the mandarin fish were very cool, so look out for them).

The walk under the tunnel was fun, and watching the diver mobbed during feeding is always a blast - partly because you don't see that kind of interaction in dives in the wild. The rays and the one leopard shark give the kids a thrill, not to mention the larger shark holding tank full of black and white tip reef sharks. I loved the large tank with the three or four large puffers, the zebra puffer had lovely patterns. Then you face a rather confusing exit link back down, through construction as the hotel and the rest of the edifice has a lot left before completion. There are a few more restaurants they plan to add and a small hotel (fish beddings? a goldfish by the bedside?) on the upper stories. I say give the place a few more months before deciding whether it's worth the ticket price (P400 for adults). But for days or weeks when you can't get out to the ocean, this is one option for families over the summer.

Up north, we spent time at R's family ancestral home to attend and take part in the religious ceremonies and processions through the first few days of Holy Week. This is the same house that his relatives had told me was haunted, and even R told me about the footsteps heard around the kitchen late at night. Still no ghostly sightings, even after three nights and days. I am so not sensitive to uncorporeal revelations. Oh well.

We watched two processions, the Tuesday and Maundy Thursday marches. We spent the time before the processions watching and photographing the preparation of the 'santos', the large religious statues and dioramas; R's family has had the Mary Magdalene santa in their family for generations. She was dressed differently for each procession - a gold and silver dress on Tuesday, a dark green cape on Thursday. We were told she'd be in black on Friday or Saturday, then in full color on Sunday. The Tuesday procession only had about 8 santos, while the Thursday procession had at least 13. A lot more people too, which meant feeding a lot more too! But it's that kind of purpose that whips people into attending the gatherings. The kids, the babies, their parents and grandparents, all support the march through the streets. They build the rest stops, called abong-abong, imagine if you will, large scale diaromas depicting religious themes, decorated with local fruits and vegies or just plain vegetation. On Thursday night we walked around to view as many of the abong abongs as we could, everyone else was jammed into cars cruising around the stops taking photos. We may have been the only ones using our own ambulatory power.

After spending Easter in Anilao, Batangas, we headed south to Dumaguete, city of smiles (did you know that was the tag line? I want to go to the city of grumpy people next!). There was work to get done, but we fit in a day trip to Siquijor. I'm thrilled that I can add one new province to my list. And Siquijor has such an interesting reputation, a mystical land full of faith healers, mystics, witches, warlocks. Magical! We rented a motorbike and toured the western part of the island from Siquijor City to Lazi where the old cathedral and convent host a small religious museum. Massive stone pillars keep the building stable, and the floor planks hark back to the days when we had narra trees and molave trees. Forests, people!

Trying to find our way back through the central road, we ended up lost in the middle of the island, high enough to see that we had to head towards one side of the island. Twas a good thing we found our tracks back to Lazi and rushed back to Siquijor city in time to catch the 4:30 ferry. We lost a cap along the main road, and our arms and faces were tanned by the sun.

The last few days in Negros Oriental, we followed the recommendation to try out Antulang, which is supposedly at the very tip of the island. Go look at a map of Negros island (yup, go now and find one), see how it looks like a boot? Now look at the tip where the toes would be and that tip that sticks out into the sea is where Antulang resides. With some luck, you could actually wake up to a sunrise and gaze at a sunset, except our rooms didn't have much luck in the latter. We did have a gorgeous view of the vast waters with a shadow of Mindanao peeping above the horizon. Every hour a pair of fishing bangkas would troll the waters for fish, their nets cast between the two, which must mean there's a vast horde of fishies in those waters offshore. We strolled along the limestone and coral fossil cliffs, along walkways that spoke Gothic novel to me, trying to find any large schools of fish in the strong waves below. Except for some surgeon fish that fought for the bits of bread we threw in, we didn't see much of marine life.

I would definitely cast my vote for another trip to Siquijor, but I dearly want to bring R to Mindanao next. Hopefully his plans pan out and we can do so soon.

Next up - cooking and tasting!

Faces of death

Reading up on blog posts on backlog, I came across this link through Dooce. The reaction that made her open up the comments section made me shake my head, but I can understand why people have such a visceral reaction to the dead, so before checking the link, be prepared to be faced with photos of the dead. The photographers have created a beautiful portrait series, I didn't find myself dismayed that the photos were taken or are on display. There's nothing gratuitous about it.

Likewise, an article in the New Yorker about how long one lives or the eventual end of one's life based on winning the game of life ("my life is longer than yours") grates on me. I see my dad, many of his friends have died, he's survived most of them, and he reflects how sad that is to be the last man standing. He's had to attend funerals more than birthdays or anniversaries. He doesn't have his mates to play mahjong or walk around chinatown or eat a bowl of lugaw down by the estero or smoke ciggies with or plan a trip together. My mom's friends have survived more or less, but they're all in their late 70's or early 80's now and we can't stop fate.

Summer Sundays

Some years ago, I took up chinese watercolor painting at the Ayala Museum, met friends there, and with one other classmate, continued to paint on and off for another two years which led to making even more friends, but primarily for the lunches and meals we'd have and not for painting. Complicated? Sort of, but really, what it's come down to is that I haven't held a paintbrush in two years, although I've bought new paintbrushes and even perused art books in consideration of painting again.

Chinese or oriental brush painting is primarily watercolor based, painted with goat/rabbit/horse/wolf/animal hair brushes, using black ink or watercolor ink, and on rice paper. Watercolor painting is not easy. There's little room for mistakes. When you've put the ink to the paper, it's there. Hard to redo, smudge over, repaint, erase with another color. Good thing rice paper is relatively cheap, but unfortunately, not so easy to find in Manila.

After years of hibernation, my painting friends are interested in reviving the Sunday painting sessions. And I'm all for it. I have my brushes, my inks, my paper, my books, my water holders, and all the stuff I bought years ago. Now I have reason to dust them off and open up my artistic pores.

Chickpea!

In this list of cookbook titles, the one that spoke to me was the one about the garbanzo/s (is it singular or plural?). Last night I tossed a cup garbanzos (canned, drained), thinly sliced shallots, a crushed garlic clove, some parsley, a twist of lime juice and olive oil. I had a small head of radicchio broiling in the turbo oven for 30 minutes and when it was ready, added some slices from it to the salad. A liberal shaving of parmesan cheese. Salt and pepper to taste. Great on toasted french bread, as a side to any dinner main dish, or for leftovers add to chilled noodles. Holy cow batman! 3 in one! And it took no more than 10 minutes to prepare the base salad.

ribbit

My sister who lives in a new-ish subdivision in Northern California complained that she's aggravated by the chorus of frogs in her backyard. She comes home from work and she's got to hear them ribbit all night long. She says they can be so loud that they keep them awake at 2 am.

I am not a froggy fan. I like their legs fried with garlic, but otherwise my associations with all things frog are unpleasant. I skinned my stomach as a child trying to escape a ledge where I saw these large toadlike things at the end, blocking my way down. I took vengeance on them in bio class, but handled them with at least a couple of gloves. And a very unpleasant memory is seeing the backend of a toad/frog stuck at the end of a sewer pipe. Ugh, they wriggle, they slime, they look at you askance. Yes, they are nature's canaries in the pollution wars, and are in some cases endangered. They are not cute though.

My sister was giving away old handbags she accumulates, and one of them, a Fendi, looked like a frog. Dark brown, squat, leathery patches. Took a dislike to it immediately and sold it as soon as I could. I saw a newer cousin of the bag at the Fendi store in Vegas; it may cost the moon but to me it's still a squaty froggy fendi.

rip here and there

My stomach flu may be the cause, but I seem to be picking up only on morbid news these days. Recent deaths internationally include Arthur C. Clarke and Anthony Minghella (I'm a proud English Patient fan, sue me); then today a friend told me one of the old society dames, Chito Madrigal Collantes died last night and that our former President Cory Aquino has been diagnosed with colon cancer (she's not dead yet so there's a positive spin on it).

To offset that, M sent me a list of the cheesiest love songs on a site she found. When I couldn't remember the lyrics, I'd send out a ym to her for help and she'd send me a few clues. Nothing like hearing the shriek from Loving You to clear the mental cobwebs.

Straight from the Pope

The Vatican has added 7 new deadly sins! It's not just about lust, gluttony, and avarice, etc anymore. Now you can sin by dealing in genetic experiments, taking and dealing in illegal drugs, and by creating social injustice through amassing personal wealth (isn't that just plain greed in a nice new title?), among other human things the church doesn't agree with. The church also manages to tiptoe around its representatives sins by saying that paedophilia which created so much damage to the church is a sin, but the media blew it out of proportion. Hypocrites. I'd add that to the list too, but then you'd have to memorize 15 sins.

Connections

Over brunch yesterday, discussion ranged from recent travels and travel plans, movies, weird emails and youtube videos, and food wastage (we could still see the immense mounds of shellfish that wasn't consumed after the buffet was closed). Having members of an embassy among the group also meant some talk ended up revolving around matters of security, visa applications, visa fees, and secondary screening.

First I was relieved to hear from a friend that the renewal of passports over at the Department of Foreign Affairs is not as onerous as I had heard. I've had my last three passports renewed by simply sending it off through the travel agency. Now, I will have to go to the DFA and have my fingerprints taken. But she assured me that she wasn't there for more than an hour, plus everything else went by quickly.

Secondly, the new US visa fee rates in January of this year (an increase from $100 to $135 for non-immigrant applications) caused a few folks to grumble, but as explained by those in the know, most of the embassies are suffering a deficit due to the US dollar weakening against several currencies - including the peso. Most of the embassies don't get consul salaries from congressional funds, so that extra $35 goes towards paying off salaries and services. If the US was not such a high traffic destination, the fees would probably be higher. Luckily, more people are getting multiple year visas again (I'm only referring to tourists here, not any other category), so that extra $35 is spread out again over 5 to 10 years. I still shudder thinking about reapplying for the visa in 2 years however. The stress and the worry are enough to go through once in a lifetime, not every year or few years.

Then a friend told us of his recent experience with secondary security clearance crossing back into the US from Canada. He drove from Toronto into Detroit and was asked to step aside at the border crossing. After being interrogated about his trip, he was given the clearance to re-enter, but was curious about why he had been stopped. He travels to the US so often and this was the first time he'd ever been reviewed so strictly. And the answer he got? His hair had changed from the picture on his passport, it was no longer slicked back, but a bit shorter and spikier. Hmm. I've heard of silly, but that seems a bit myopic. Of course, one person in the table then rejoined about the overly meticulous requirements at a Northern European country's embassy that specifies how much space one needs to allocate between the frame of the photo and the top of the head and sides of the face. To the millimeter! Ok, they make great cars, but who is going to have an aneurism if the margin is off by .05mm?

Finally, the last bit on this thread of talk yesterday ended when I learned of the popularity of blogging about US visa applications in China; the typical discussion is which consul to look for when in line, hoping to get the kind hearted, generous one who never rejects applicants. Here in the Pinas, a long-standing urban visa application myth has been the cruel and heartless Korean lady consul who rejects everyone. In China, they have their own share of cruel, heartless consuls of specific traits (the red headed one, the Asian lady, etc). Unfortunately for anyone trying to line up for the sweet lolo who gives everyone a visa, those stories are never true, there isn't a quota, and it's more like a bank line, when they press the button and your number comes up, you don't get to choose which consul to adjudicate.

(we also discussed the many g/i ailments one gets living the diplomatic life; it is definitely the opposite of glamor!)

Tale of the tuko

Once upon a time, two girls and a boy were sitting on a beach, watching the water wash over the stones, while boats out on the horizon bobbed up and down. They had been walking for a long time and they were tired. They soon grew sleepy and decided to sleep under the coconut trees, they bade each other a good rest and slept.

In the morning, they woke up.

- AAAA! The girl with hair screamed.

- EEEWWWW! the girl with no hair stuck her tongue out in disgust.

- Get it off me!!!! shrieked the boy. For there on his arm was a large, ugly, bumpy, scaley lizard. It made a noise. - Tu, ko, tu, ko. - it stared at all three humans, swivelling its eyes to take in their horror.

- It's a tuko!!! AAAAAAAAA - this was the girl with hair again.

- Oh no, we won't be able to get it off! - the boy shook his arm, hoping it would take the hint and leave him be. But the tuko is known for sticky feet, once it lands on a human, it's stuck!

- Wait! I remember what my mom told me when I was young, said the girl with no hair. Look for a mirror, if the tuko sees its reflection in the mirror, it'll jump off by itself!

The ran around to look for a mirror. The boy found a shard of reflective glass, shouted to the girls to help him. He kept shaking his arm vigorously hoping the tuko would jump off, but the tuko was not going to oblige. It had found a perch and it was sticking to it.

The girl with no hair took the glass and pushed it as close to the tuko's face as close as she could. She twisted it near it's right eye, she turned it to the left. Nothing. The tuko was not afraid of its reflection and it simply stuck its tongue out the girl. -tu, ko!" it said.

- It's not working, bawled the girl with hair. -He's going to be stuck with it forever!!!

- No!!! I can't live with a noisy lizard on my arm! We have to get it off. Wait, what about one of you take a match, light it and try to scare it with fire? The boy asked his companions.

- That sounds really mean! But let's try! The girls ran to look for a match and a flint. They lit the match and poked it as close to the tuko without burning the boy. The tuko twisted to look at the flame, but didn't budge. It flicked it's tongue twice, then looked away from his tormentors. -tu, ko!" it seemed to be a brave lizard.

- Nothing is working! You're going to be stuck with it forever. The girl with no hair faced the boy with a sigh. She felt sorry for him, but was thankful she didn't have to be the one with the tuko.

- No wait, there's still one more thing we could do. The girl with hair looked out at the waves. How about you jump into the water, and keep your arm stuck way down deep into the water? I don't think the lizard can breathe under water right?

The boy cried - I can't swim! What if I drown? I'd rather be stuck with the tuko than die from drowning. Oh, why did we have to sleep under the coconuts?? Why me? Why?

- Let's go to the village. Maybe someone will know what to do. The girl with no hair pulled him on his other arm, as far from the lizard as she could, and dragged him towards the village.

When they got to the village, they asked everyone what to do about the tuko. One man said to cut it off with his machete! One woman thought it was a snail and said to pour salt over it. A child suggested beating the tuko with a paddle. But the boy with the tuko balked at all the choices. He didn't want to get his arm cut off, or be beaten, or salted. He started to cry, and was feeling sick from looking at the scaley lizard flicking its tongue at everything.

The village chief was asked for his help. He thought carefully, trying to avoid looking at the tuko on the boy's arm. He thought for many minutes, thinking how to help the poor boy. He finally stood up. He walked out to the beach; everyone in the village, and the two girls and the boy with the tuko followed him. He pointed to a small island, shaped like a hat and spoke - That is your only hope. You must go to that island with the tuko. - He said to the boy.

The boy was given a boat, and he climbed into the boat. He took the oars and started rowing out to the island. He rowed for hours, rowing over small waves, rowing over bouncy waves, he rowed and rowed towards the hat island. He grew tired, but the tuko didn't care. It stayed on his arm, it flicked its tongue. It looked at the waves, it stayed on his arm. "Tu, ko, tu, ko."

Finally, the boy grew closer and closer to the island. It had a sandy beach, and a steep slope on both sides with a flat top, like a boxy hat. No trees grew on the island, nobody lived on the island. It looked very quiet, very empty. They boy grew scared, but he had to try getting the tuko off his arm.

He landed the boat on the beach, and stepped on the rocky sand. The sun was very hot, and there were no clouds in the sky. The boy felt tired, and sweaty, and hot, and scared. He walked on the sand for a few minutes, looking around and up at the big hat rock. Suddenly, he heard a soft sound behind him. He whipped around and nearly fainted when he saw what was crawling towards him. A swarm of tukos, tens, hundreds of them, No, thousands!!!! They crawled over the sand, the pebbles, the stones, the rocks, towards the boy, towards the tuko on his arm. He ran to the boat, but he wasn't fast enough. They caught up with him and crawled up his leg and his shorts and his shirt. They crawled up to his face, flickering their tongues. They crawled up to the tuko on his arm. And then, just as the boy was about to collapse with fear, they all jumped down. Including the tuko on his arm!

He was free! His arm no longer had a tuko stuck to it! He watched as the tukos, the thousands of them all crawled away, around the hat rock. He didn't want to find out where they were going or what they were doing. He was free! No more tuko, his arm was free!

He jumped back into the boat, and rowed home.

The end.

So you think you can dance... or at least dress

On Saturday early evenings, I find myself channel surfing over to Ch 53 to catch So You Think You Can Dance. This show reminds me Dance Fever!!! I remember watching the latter show as a child with my brother (who styled himself as his generations John Travolta in Grease - he's so going to kill me for saying that heehee), and sometimes my mom. We'd watch the dances, cringe when it was gawdawful, but enjoyed all the twisty dancing and the imagination of the stylings. SYTYCD is my older self's Dance Fever, with way better dancing for the most part. I've been watching for a few weeks now, and while I could easily find out online who won the competition (2nd season I believe), it's far more fun spending an hour or so watching the show, mentally critiquing the dances that fail to speak to me, while the dances that are full of vivo and life are a joy to watch.

Since catching up with who is who, I look forward to seeing a few of the dancers, and try to avoid watching a few of the others. From the first set, Daniella and Natalie are cute, bubbly, smoking, and sympatico; Benjie and Ivan don't turn me off with their weird hairdos or bad dressing and they're getting better each week like any kind of progressive development should prove. On the latter side, please get rid of Dimitri who is a ham actor and barely manages to keep his shirt on. Travis's hair continues to be freakier each time I see the show. He is looking more like the funny looking troll dolls with scary neon hair. The others (10 dancers are still in the show) all sort of blend into one.

Tears

There's a child bawling outside my office. He is in a terrible state, and at his age of no more than two, one can only imagine what terrors are causing him to cry like that. I find it interesting that he's crying for his nanny, I suppose the role of the mother has been superseded in many families so he reaches for the person who cares for him the most.

I feel for the child. He cries for those of us who are losing something or someone. And while I can't really bawl like him, I can empathize. I hope his pain goes away soon, a lot faster than the stuff adults like me have to deal with.

I've caused pain, and I feel the pain directed towards me. It's complicated. At best, I can only accept responsibility for my actions, apologize, and move on. I won't regret that I experienced life. I just wish the pain were as easy to fix as a child's.

Frittering away on a dream

One of my favorite day dreams is to imagine my own bookstore, one that I would own after winning the lottery (segue note - did anyone else see the laconic winners who won the lottery in Atlanta, Georgia? $270 million in prize money, and the winners look like they lost their truck. I don't think I could be so downtrodden if I had just won that amount of money). It would be in a gentrified part of some city, where I wouldn't be in competition with other bookstores, but near enough to nice bakeries and bistros and art galleries. It would have that early 20th century look, brownstone exterior perhaps, with high ceilings, a second floor and lots of shelves on all walls. There would be a small office in the back, near the hallway leading to an external coffee/tea room, semi-alfresco with lots of plants. A couple of sofas, some reading lounges, and stools to sit on or to reach for a book. I'd work there with a couple of support staff, nice friendly folks who love books too. It would be near a college campus or university because we'd want to be a part of that community.

However, book dealing is not all that idealistic. It's hard work, there are lots of permits, insurance concerns, and theft. Independent bookstores rarely make any money, ergo I better win the lottery to open the store and to keep it going. A recent article about book thieves sure chips away at the dream; I may have to test the running skills of my co-workers, make sure they can sprint faster than any thief.

Since synergy always happens, I am in the middle of reading The Book Thief, a recommendation by a couple of teachers here at school. Set in Nazi Germany, it's a far more mature book than I would expect to be written for teens/young adult readers. This touches on similar topics as Schindler's List and Stones from the River (Ursula Hegi's series). Perhaps having an anthromorphized Death narrate allows for some distance to the reality of the sequence of events.

Day and night Isan

One thing that I learned about eating Thai in Thailand is that there is a strong regional belief in the amount of heat that goes into cooking the food. And other than the mountainous North, the other regions vie for the hottest, the spiciest, the tastiest. It's not all one level of spice, and many great Thai cookbooks discuss the importance of a balanced meal with sour, sweet, salt, heat, umami, and probably bitter thrown in.

A personal favorite of mine is the homeyness and sweat inducing food of Isan, a northeastern Thai province. When I visited Khon Kaen in 2004, I was warned that they do spice and heat beyond what was found in Bangkok. That was proved to be true, but it wasn't all about tongue-numbing heat. There were northern sausages, fermented for its sour yeasty flavor; the best roasted chicken for dipping into their version of the Thai salsa; a som tam (papaya salad) with river crab; frog's legs that were so crispy and tasty, you tentatively nibble one and end up finishing the entire plate.

Since it's been a little over 3 years since my last Thailand adventure, I knew that I wanted to eat as local as possible and my friends were kind enough to oblige. My first lunch was at one of the many Isan style al fresco eateries, one that long time friend E habituates for its location near his office. We treated another visitor from Australia to a sampling of the basic cuisine - the savory grilled chicken, a pork larb, slices of roast pork, a tom yum with fresh and sweet shrimp, two kinds of som tam, northeastern sausages - fermented to contrast with the sweet and the hot, and sticky rice to roll up in balls and dip into the sauces. Our fingers grew sticky, our palates held up to the heat, and our stomachs were happily full.

With two Thai friends and M, one of Switzerland's sons who chose the tropics over the Alps, we went out for another night of Isan dining. Beyond the staples, we also had crispy and nibbly frog's legs, a red curry snakehead fish, a chicken larb that reminded me of a ceviche for it's tenderness, and two seafood and vegetable dishes to offset all the heat. Ying ordered a pork intestine dish with herbs and chillis that I liked for its chewiness. Bring along a bottle of inexpensive cabernet sauvignon to cleanse the palate and you will likely feel as full as we were walking back to the apartment. I think the two bags of sweet roasted chestnuts were above and beyond what we could eat at the end, but we couldn't resist the lady seller's charming sales pitch.

Our only sad moment during dinner came when we saw the approach of a mahout and a young elephant. It's illegal for them to be walking the streets, but everytime I've been to Bangkok, I've seen at least one pair. This time was even more sad since the elephant was so young. His handler sold bananas to the customers in restaurants so they could see the elephant eat. Child labor on a different level.

Dining in these Isan eateries is not posh, and sometimes the only way to find them is to depend on friends who live in town and know where to go. I am sure I can find the lunch diner due to its location right down the alley from the Four Seasons while the dinner setting is a few blocks from E's apartment in Sathorn. If I had time enough to take in more soi based dining options, I'd be as well versed in Bangkok eateries as any long term resident could be, but I return to the not-so-spicy Manila food environment later tonight. Best get my needed intake of heat before my flight!

Crime/mystery writers

The Telegraph lists their top 50 crime writers; scrolling through the list, I have read about 12 of the writers, mostly the oldies (but goodies). Which means more books to look forward to!

Iconoclasts

In between the live Oscar show and repeating it later in the evening, the new cable channel, Velvet (ch53 for Skycable subscribers), presented a show called Iconoclasts. I hadn't seen this before and found it quite delightful. Yesterday's show, which I presume was a repeat, had two of Hollywood's icons in an entertaining dialogue - Paul Newman and Robert Redford. They had starred in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid and The Sting, both have won Oscar awards, both have weathered numerous difficulties over their careers, and both look darn good for their respective ages. Newman hosted Redford at his mansion, and toured him around a rebuilt Westport Playhouse which Newman's wife championed when it needed funds for reconstruction. At the beginning of the show, Redford is driven up to the house, and Newman and he play tag as they try to find one another on the expansive lot. "Redford! Where are you? I have laryngitis for god's sake!" "Newman! What's going on? Where are you?" heehee, even gods of the acting and directing world can get lost on their own property.

Next Monday, March 3, will be a new episode, unfortunately at 11 p.m. (I tend to droop around 10 pm these days). One of my favorite chefs, Mario Batali, will be paired with one of his idols, Michael Stipes of REM. There's a shot of Mario raving at a live REM concert. I sure hope they replay that show too! Otherwise if anyone knows where I can get copies of the series, I'd love to see the entire set. I'm sure they have lots of interesting pairings like the two above. Newman! Redford!!

Rain on their parade

After two and a half days outside Manila, we (K, F, and I) drove back to Manila under a dark rainy cloud, ominous to say the least. We had heard of possible traffic problems with EDSA closed down, and a rally by Malacanang, and a mass over in Baclaran. Throughout the trip home we encountered check-points by police which meant intermittent delays.

To keep us from losing our cool, K played dj with the ipod, and I updated my travel companions with what was happening several thousands of miles away at the Oscars. Thanks to my cohort of Oscar watching friends, I was not kept in suspense over who was winning. The upsets on the female actor awards woke us up, and waiting with bated breath over the best actor win kept us from worrying about what was waiting for us in the city. I whooped with joy when DDL won, and that raised the question over which other actors have won multiple Oscars. With more help from friends who had access to computers and the internet, we learned that 7 actors have won two awards for best actor, but no one has won a third. On the women's side, Katherine Hepburn's won 4; 11 other actresses have won 2 each.

As the rain continued on and off in Manila, it was likewise overcast and wet over in LA. I'm just glad we have the warm weather on this side.

March in Manila

What alliterative possibilities this coming month of March! Music is in the air, and the first one visiting our shores is Maroon Five, a favorite of many friends of mine (I have their current hit singing in my head). Another friend texted that Swingout Sister will also hold a concert here soon. Haven't heard a song of theirs in years, and will pass on that one too. And then Incubus, alternative rockers raising the noise level at Araneta Center in Cubao, but again, no song urges me to spend a few thousand pesos to see them.

Finally, the only concert that has caught my eye - the Harry Connick Jr. concert on March 15. With trepidation I called Ticket World and found out that the tickets range from P15,000++ to P1500++. Hmmm, I like the music, and there's a cool album of his I remember hearing once, but I'm not spending P15,000 for a ticket. With some discussion with friends who are of like minds, we plan to spend for the less expensive options. And to think I once kibbitzed at the prices for the Norah Jones concert....

In dreamland

The last week has been ripe for some way out there dreams. And even though I joked with a friend that it must have been something I ate, I wonder if there's not some other subconscious machination going on.

Dream 1: (this seriously told me I had to step away from work a bit) Board members go on a trip north, only to get stuck due to holidays. I'm trying to get them back down from their trip, and includes trying to figure out how to fit in bushels of acorns that one foodie in the group decided to buy. While I'm trying to figure out the logistics of getting them back safely, I also have to cook up pot loads of skinned rabbits which look more like chicken wings. The gore begins here as I am literally looking at all these bunny carcasses, tossing them in a vat of boiling oil. The board members return looking a bit hungry, having taken the fastest bus ever, and bringing with them more blood and guts. One takes out a calf's head, mourning the idea that the bus trip might have turned it a bit mushy; another one begins to dredge up some foie, only to eat it raw. I am still cooking the rabbit's so I don't seem fazed at all by the edibles. My dream course ends up with me tracking down another board member who is working on contracts with Joey Gosengfiao, director of Temptation Island. JG looks remarkably geeky.

Dream 2: apocalyptic, and thankfully short. A monster is on the loose and the world is facing doom. The name of the monster continues to change, morphing from something latin to "Gorgon" to something that sounded like "garmandess" to a mangle of syllables. In the meantime, while pressed by the sense of doom, my friends and I are trying to graft plants that only seem to grow in water, and they don't look like the hydroponic plants I've seen in photos. These were regular plants, but growing submerged in a liquid. We had to pinch a leaf and try to graft it to another. It was frustrating, and our hands were wrinkling.

Dream 3: a rehash of older dreams, one where the elevator in a hotel/hospital that we are staying at is constantly full and it takes forever to go up to the room. We are also burdened by more than our share of suitcases. I am, however, well dressed in a really cute suit and coat.

One head

I've lived in my neighborhood for 2 years and 4 months. It's quiet, I've got a tree, and the neighbors have dogs that yap a lot. Around the corner, there is a pinoy diner which is my literal translation of a turo-turo. Low cost, basic foods available daily. The place caught my attention, however, for their tarp sign that advertised their specialty, a soup, a sour soup well known among all filipinos. Sinigang is probably our best known soup. Similar to the thai tom yum, it's base is either tamarind, or guava or any sour fruit puree cooked with fish or pork or shrimp. This soup is so quintessentially pinoy in my mind.

Variations abound, and being special or known as a specialty for a soup so ubiquitous is darn hard to do. So my neighborhood diner's banner must mean this a darn good soup. But even more interesting was its main ingredient. At night, the tarp would roll up a bit, and coming home, I'd see this:

"Sinigang na Ulo ng Norwegian"

Literal translation - Sour soup of Norwegian head. Eegad.

When the tarp is unrolled, you see the full details - sinigang na ulo ng norwegian salmon sa miso. Norwegian salmon! ah. Fish head soup with miso in a tamarind broth.

For 2 years, 4 months, I haven't stopped to check on my neighorhood head soup. Till this afternoon. I finally went in and took home a container of hot, sour soup. And I ladled some of the soup, some of the mustard leaves and a chunk of the jaw of the norwegian. Mmmmm, tart, a hint of garlic, the miso touching on meaty, the salmon tasted lean and sweet. Perhaps not the greatest of the sinigangs in this archipelago, but a good soup. Price - P140 for a large container good enough to feed 2 to 3 people.

Look for the sign on Hemady, near Aurora Boulevard, New Manila, Quezon City. They are now advertising rolled up lechon belly, another 2 years to try that?

38

Turning 18 is a big thing. It means adulthood, emancipation, legal voting age (not necessarily legal drinking age for all), and a general sense of having reached a state of maturity and responsibility.
28, 38, 48, 58, ... none of the 8s seem to be as big as 18. As for this year, I know I'm two years till the big Four O, and really, each day should be a celebration of what I still have (all my hair, all my teeth, hearing is still sound, aches and pains aren't insurmountable, and the general decent health report).
So to me on my 38th, thanks for staying intact and working ok. Keep smiling through the next 365 days.

eh? tu cher?

Channel surfing this evening, and I catch a clip from a lifestyle show. The hostess (Angel Aquino I think) asks the restaurant owner why he created a jail motif for his kitchen (bars, the cooks are dressed in orange prison garb, etc), and his explanation is "Instead of wearing chef hats, all of the cooks have shaved heads, to prevent falling hairs." In tagalog. Hmmmm.... prisoners are bald? Talk about morale.

And earlier in the evening, I caught a clip of Cher who is promoting her new Las Vegas show (didn't she already do her 2nd or so retirement show about 3 years ago?). She was wearing a shaggy blonde wig which was poorly fit. Even her pink wig was way better looking on her face. This one just looked like she plonked it on her head and walked out to the interview. Like a bad toupee on a nightclub singer.

On Ephron

My bag, rather my tote, is a catch all. It has, in less than a month of ownership, caught my wallet, keys, phone, stray tissues, wet wipes, lip balms, camera, books, receipts that had fallen from my wallet, coins which had likewise fallen from the wallet, cold medicine, mints, flyers for cure-all bracelets from Japan, printouts from a menu, a short-leaf notebook, a planner, another notebook because you can't have enough paper to note down brilliant (ha!) ideas, dusty bits of cloth? paper? something that I don't want to examine, a button, pens, knitting needles and a ball of yarn, and magazine cutouts.

Ms. Ephron said it best, one's bag is a reflection of oneself. In this case, I am an earth-tone, woven tote bag large enough to stuff a good-sized beagle in. Hmmm. Add to that a prospective case of shoulder bursitis due to lugging the bag around.

Ms. Ephron also writes how avoiding looking at herself in a mirror allows her to keep from going crazy about the creep of age. I have to nod with her there, if she's right, I have 5 years left before hitting inevitable physical gravity (ergo, the droop). For the last two years, I haven't spent much time worrying about vanity though. Because I don't have many mirrors at home. One in the bathroom, a sorry looking circle of a glass that helps me check for spinach in my teeth, and another mirror near the front door to make sure I am wearing something remotely coordinated. It is angled from my shoulders to ankles, so there have been days when I don't realize my hair is freakier than Einstein's. My tendency to muss up my hair for mental stimulation doesn't help either.

Ms. Ephron got her break in the 60's writing for print journals like the New York Post. She wrote lifestyle stories, including food articles. It is written that many of her works are dotted by food references or passages (When Harry Met Sally's seminal scene, her autobiographical piece HEARTBURN). While reading her essay on food, it hit me - I was mentally exhausted reading about food. For the first few weeks of '08 I've read at least 4 books about food - Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant, The United States of Arugula, The Tenth Muse, a bio of Jacques Pepin, and if it can be called a food book Service Included by Phoebe Damrosch. Too much. Like eating a goiter induced meal minus the calories settling on my hips. My mind is belching food references, writers, recipes, and anecdotes. I need a good prose enema, maybe the Jose Saramago book about death.

I Feel Bad About My Neck by Nora Ephron, available in most major bookstores around Manila.

Salt or no salt?

It started out by a friend saying she wanted salted eggs for lunch. I told her I had seen them at a nearby mall, and she turned down the offer by saying those were balut, not salted eggs (the red itlog na maalat). Which made us begin debating what exactly goes into making balut. She said that her uncle who owns a balut/penoy/itlog na maalat farm in Pateros (the duck egg mecca of the Philippines) buries all the eggs in salt for 5 to 10 days, that all those eggs are called salted eggs because of the process. Which to me sounds wrong. If a duck egg on its way to being balut is buried at an early stage, it would 1. end up tasting like itlog na maalat what with the salt "cooking" the inside; and 2. any young embryo on its way towards getting cooked by the 17th or 19th day is never going to grow properly if it's salted.

So if there's anyone out there that can lead us towards proper balut light, do drop me a comment. I know you can buy a uncooked balut and cook it for a few minutes to get to your balut readiness stage, but how do they develop to the right stage? Are they simply kept warm? or is my friend right with the salting?

For Kiamee

My friend Myra's daughter is in the hospital with dengue. Turning 18 in May, and with a fabulous debut in the works, all of us who know and love the girl are praying that the fever breaks and she recovers soon.

I was watching an early morning news show yesterday and caught an interview with a doctor from the Dept of Health (DOH) about the prevalence of dengue. He made a few riveting comments:

1. Dengue cases have tripled since last year (same period of time, December and January)
2. Dengue mosquitoes are "nervous feeders" and feed during the day. They tend to be hard to kill since they bite and fly away fast.
3. They are distinguished by black and white stripes, the doctor reluctantly acknowledged they are one of the prettiest looking of the mosquito family.
4. It isn't brackish water that attracts the mosquitoes, but clean water, rain water that hasn't been eliminated from the streets or the plants or any hollow space. An article that went around by email said that the increased interest in bromeliads may have added to the spread of dengue, what with their concave petals providing perfect spaces for rain or water to settle, a home for the kiti-kiti, the mosquito larvae.
5. Dengue is now year-round. It used to be a rainy season disease, but no one is safe during the hot dry months.
6. The four strains of dengue seem to be spreading in conjunction with one another - the doctor said that they've had cases of two strains at a time.

I just killed two mozzies on my way to work this morning. They probably aren't dengue mosquitoes if I understand what the doctor said. But I also can't distinguish if they have black/white stripes. My mosquito killing abilities have improved since working at the school, am able to catch them with one hand now, which gives me a weird sense of being in a kung-fu movie ("one hand mosquito death trap").

Please look around your environment, reduce the standing water potential in your garden, your homes - check for leaky pipes, clogged drains. Read up about dengue online.

Mac Air

At a recent work meeting, a normally sober trustee made it known to the rest of us at the table that he planned to purchase the new Macbook Air, the uberthin laptop from Apple. His raves over the aesthestics and acknowledgement of its limitations (lack of dvd drive, the additional costs to buy accessories, and performance concerns) made the women on the board point out that he's going through a mid-life crisis with a high maintenance toy. Of course in the spectrum of things, at least he's only spending under $2000. And the carbon emissions of a laptop are middling compared to buying a sportscar.

Happy shopping Mr. B!

Cinematic pregnancy

My weekend plan was to watch movies. Before the weekend began, however, I made my way to the underbelly of Makati that is Makati Cinema Square to find myself stuff to watch. Oscar nominations out last week must have spurred the availability of art films in the market, and probably one good thing about the blackmarket movie scene is available copies of hard to find films. I picked up the sort-of documentary about Bob Dylan, the two Casey Affleck films that came out late last year (Assassination of Jesse James, Gone Baby Gone), The Counterfeiters (the new film nominated for a Best Foreign Film Oscar, about a Nazi counterfeiting scheme involving the Jewish inmates in a concentration camp), Ma Vie en Rose (the biopic of Edith Piaf), Atonement, and three movies about pregnancy.

The first two are of American make. I had planned to catch Juno while in the US, but I changed my mind the last night I was in LA. The film is receiving great buzz, comparisons to last year's sleeper Little Miss Sunshine, and has now received Oscar nominations. I remember reading that the marketing of the film was quite home-grown, Juno's bedroom set was taken on a tour of America in a special transport bus. Wherever the movie opened, the set was taken to give people a chance to see the actual design. Her hamburger phone became more than a curio. And striped socks sold out.

Since Juno is about teenage pregnancy, but a comedic take on it, you realize she's not going to be one of the 1.2 million cases of abortion reported recently by the US Health Dept. I don't think all abortion clinics look as depressed as the one shown in the movie, I sure hope they aren't. But the movie isn't about public health issues, it's barely about the downside of teenage pregnancy. It's more about this quirky child with an ability to find love. It's a fairy tale dressed in urban teen clothes.

Waitress, with Felicity star Keri Russell, is the adult version, with the same fairy tale like glow to it, except in this case, the heroine hates her life, hates her husband, doesn't want to have the baby, and ends up having an affair with her doctor. At first what made me want to see the movie was the fact it was all about pies. Keri plays a woman who is meant to become a champion pie maker, win the big prize for her pies, escapes from her miserable life by imagining the kinds of pies she will make and comes up with great titles for them. But she is thwarted by her life, and can't seem to say the right thing because she's a coward. It takes the birth of her baby, and the help of a friend, which gives her the courage and the financial wherewithal to make the fresh start. Perhaps the mature tone of the film allows for more discussion about wanting babies (or not), the pains, the aches, the medical concerns (although that's secondary to her infatuation with her doctor), and, in two sequences, why you may not want to have a child. As the anonymous suffering mom tells Keri "they never tell you about the pain after you give birth" while her child continues to bedevil her. Reminded me of an award winning commercial where a man is made painfully aware by his kids why he should have used a condom. Ah, hindsight.

The third film I found is the Romanian film 4 months, 3 weeks, and 2 days. This also came out in 2007, and won several accolades for the portrayal of two women's lives in one day while struggling through the last hiccups of the Ceausescu regime. The music (or in some cases lack of it), the grit and grime in most of the scenes, the pallor of the actors' faces, and the underlying knowledge that it probably won't turn out for the best kept me focused on the film. This was not an easy movie to watch, not because of brutality or violence. There was a lot of anxiety throughout the film, and it resonates with you. You wonder if it's the difference in languages that makes you twitch a lot while watching the film, or if you should look away.

Three movies, three women, three babies.

Puddin' night

I had healthy plans for tonight's dinner, but I was sideswiped by carbs. And cheese. And I let it take me by the hand, what a lack of self-control, I admit.

So. Instead of the vegetable and grilled sausages that I had mentally planned to have at 6:00 pm, I found myself dawdling in front of my kitchen sink at 7 and wondering what would happen if I just made some rice and added cheese to it. I have a lot of cheese in my fridge, very good cheese at that. Pecorino from Sardinia, my favorite humboldt fog goat cheese, aged cheddar, and some parmegiano-reggiano from last december. So I grated some of it while the rice bubbled away in my rice cooker. When my rice was just beyond al dente, I plopped the grated cheddar in it for that first intense flavor rush, then when I saw the cheese melt into the white rice, I took a large spoonful of the pudding, and served it in my bowl, sprinkled the grated pecorino for a sharper flavor, then a dollop of goat cheese on top for the 3rd cheese and tang.

The final rich hit was a dribble of truffle oil.

On my tongue - creaminess, the nuttiness of the cheddar, the savoriness of the pecorino, and the ash and acid of the goat, with flower notes from the oil. This is what Saturday nights are meant for.

Curly pig, curly pig, does whatever a curly pig....

Short snippets from the last few days:

1. lots of sadness from young hollywood (and I don't mean the never-ending strike) - deaths of two actors, Brad Renfro and Heath Ledger. Many don't remember the former, who made few films, but he was a young bright star when he first appeared in The Client. The latter was a heartthrob for many teens when he appeared in 10 Things I hate about You, and continued to make critical and box office hits for the next 9 years. His last role as the Joker will be his posthumous reward.

2. interacting with my school's board of trustees more often than normal these days with changes taking place in the upper reaches of the institution. I've come to see their many facets as individuals, not all of them positive, but for the most part they remain a group that I enjoy working with and for. They are, if nothing else, energetic and generous with their time. And full of stories.

3. there's a good thread over at blogger Anton's post over what school to send his kid to, the quality of education in the city these days, and other matters pedagogical. It's a good sign that choices in the city are no longer restricted to catholic boys/girls school or the extremely expensive international schools, but a range of providers (including my own institution) that offers the parents options, and the children a chance to find their fit. It's not one-size-fits all anymore. Yes, the majority will still end up in public schools, and one's family budget will dictate the eventual choice. Price doesn't always indicate the quality of an institution, and there's no guarantee that putting one's child in the most competitive school around will mean a chance at a Nobel prize or being the next gazillionaire. Parents do make some hard choices, education being one of them. It's fraught with stress, and it's an organic process for parents who are willing to work with the school. From a school's perspective, it would help to have transparency, and less defensiveness on the part of the parent. I also attended a legal and labor workshop last week for private schools; there are laws that provide a framework for the parent-school interaction. Too many laws in this country. How many of the parents out there have read the manuals and provisions? It was an intense workshop, condensing an entire semester's worth of educational law into one day.

4. The city where I work is making us and other services pay a ridiculous fee to work in the city. For each non-resident of the city, we have to pay a fee, and then we will be forced to get a city id, and "benefits" (I think it covers some medical and burial services). I feel insulted. When did cities start making non-residents feel unwelcome by charging fees to work in one city or the next? Is the place so in need of income that they have to start charging the employees of the company/organization, and not the company? Of course the companies end up paying for the employee, but shouldn't other cities then start fining this town's residents when they work elsewhere? Tit for tat. Or just scrap the idea and tax something else if they are so desperate.

5. A friend who was based in Africa is heading back home. After two years away, he'll be finishing up his contract working as the hospital administrator and regional manager for healthcare providers and settling back here. We never did get to see Ethiopia through his eyes...

6. Workmates are considering a trip to Batanes in May. As I have promised to attend a good friend's party in Zamboanga in May as well, there's the possibility I could do a proper Northernmost to Southernmost trip, all in one week. Zoom zoom

7. Movie marathon all weekend long, or channel surf and catch all episodes of the XFiles now showing on AXN Beyond and CS. I do have the complete XFiles DVD set, but there's something about catching a stray episode on tv that just keeps me watching the show.

8. Full, creamy moon last night ringed with reflective sunlight. Framed by the skyscrapers over the field.

9. My cousin has given birth to our family's first in-vitro twins, two boys. Hope the mama and her partner are prepared; must send diapers. Over the holidays, caught up with the 3rd generation of kids, or the kids of my cousins. We have a surplus of girls, and most of them in the 2 to 4 year old range. They all look alike, but behave so differently. There's the bossy one, who is the youngest at only 9 months. Holy terror. Then the mild, independent types; the nervous, stressed ones, and a couple of ditzes. The two boy cousins are overwhelmed.

10. Lori wrote about milkshakes at Cuilliere (Serendra) on Dessertcomesfirst; I had tried their chocolate milkshakes when the restaurant first opened last year and was not as taken with it as others had touted. But it did make me ponder on the idea of milkshakes. I noticed that McDonald's is bringing back their milkshakes (chocolate, vanilla, strawberry), and when I had one recently, was sadly disappointed. No chocolate depth, just milky. What would make a great chocolate shake? For thickness, at least 3 scoops of good ice cream (HD or maybe the triple chocolate ice cream from local producer Sebastians), milk - maybe carabao milk for that extra layer of fat, and a tall glass and straw. Don't you think that as you reach the end of a milkshake, the sound of the last drops sucked from the straw remind you of a deathrattle? But to make a good milkshake really out of this world to die for, I'd add a good couple of tablespoons of Nutella or peanut butter or grand marnier or kahlua/baileys. Not necessarily all at the same time, otherwise too many flavors will kill the shake. Going back to McDonald's my friend S and I would save up our highly valuable bottles of Baileys (gifts from friends bringing us succour) and bring a bottle of it to the first McDonald's that opened near our boondocky campus. I'd buy us two chocolate shakes, and we'd head up to the 2nd floor, pour a liberal dose of Bailey's into the shakes. Sip, sip, add more bailey's. Avoid showing the alcohol to the kiddies munching on fries nearby. Keep sipping, keep adding. Walk back carefully.

For the kitchen

I'm finally unpacked, although pictures remain to be downloaded and saved and shared. Other than chocolates, books, more books, and new purple flats with tire treads, I also pulled out a mini-prep Cuisinart (a gift from R), and my buys from Sur le Table. This may sound insane, but they were on sale for 20% and I always need good kitchen towels, so I plonked down $10 for 5 large and 3 extra large flour sack kitchen towels. While the weather here in Manila remains cool at night, I will be doing a lot of no-knead bread baking, and good kitchen towels are needed for the process. I'll save up to get myself a good dutch oven soon, but in the meantime there's my ad hoc ceramic crockpot and lid that does the job.

Santa Barbara and the inn

The last weekend before I returned home, R took me up to Santa Barbara. He made it seem like it was impromptu and told me to look up a place to stay, but eventually turned in at a quaint inn along Lillie Avenue in Summerland, called The Inn at Summer Hill. Our room was a quintessential bed and breakfast room, high mattresses (3 step footstool needed), fireplace, and pillows pillows pillows. Since the color scheme was in blue, it avoided being overly girly, but this was definitely not a guys room. I loved it!

We spent two days in town, roaming around Santa Barbara's main attractions - viewing the city from the tower of the Courthouse, taking pictures of the beautiful murals in the courthouse's meeting room, walking around the Santa Barbara mission (one of at least 10 missions up and down the California coastline and a must for any catholic pilgrims out there), eating danish food along State St, then burgers at a diner near the inn, and catching a film late at night. Poked into a dive store with a heated pool inside for those chilly winter lessons, ambled down the promenade by the bay. Somehow it reminded me of the same walk we took down a seaside pier last year in Dumaguete (albeit a bit cooler).

If there's a lesson to be learned in urban planning, consider Santa Barbara's efforts to maintain a unified image - spanish colonial/mediterranean architecture. Very few buildings detract from that style and it helps the city from looking like a mess.

Thanks to R for capping my trip with a lovely memory.

13 pounds of books

At the check-in my large suitcase was 10 pounds over the limit, and wouldn't pass inspection if I didn't reduce it pronto. R and I unzipped it, and I started transferring the books to my carry on tote. With only 8 books removed, we reweighed the case and found it to be exactly 10 lbs lighter!

I did buy a lot of hardbound copies, so the wisdom of all this? Go for paperbacks!

My book list from the holidays:

The Reluctant Fundamentalist by Mohsin Hamid. I saw the book listed on the Booker Prize shortlist and after reading a preview knew I had to have it. Jessica Zafra also posted a snippet from the book on her blog, a section that mentions a Filipino cab driver.

Three bags full by Leonie Swann. A sheep detective story. How cute! A flock of sheep work together to find out who killed their shepherd.

The Book Thief by Markus Zusak. Several of the teachers at school have mentioned how much they love this book and I started reading it while waiting through the rains. Had to bring back a copy.

The Complete Persepolis by Marjane Satrapi. A young girl matures in Iran during the revolutionary age, this is a graphic novel or series of comic strips. It was turned into a award winning film, and is under consideration for best foreign film at the Oscars.

The Tenth Muse by Judith Jones. I read a lot of food blogs, and some of my favorites have lauded Ms. Jones' memoirs and her influence on food writing. She helped Julia Child through the publication of Mastering the Art of French Cooking. But I just want to read her own words.

The United States of Arugula by David Kamp. Another recommendation by the blogosphere, I'm looking forward to another sociological treatise on food revolution (I didn't get a copy of the new Michael Pollan book, but will reserve a copy at Fully Booked soon).

Complications by Atul Gawande. A surgeon's notes on an imperfect science. Started reading it and am enjoying the perspective of what a resident's life is really like. May make you never want to let an intern examine you for tests again.

Alice, Let's Eat by Calvin Trillin. One of my life wishes is to attend one of his food trips in New York, so this is the next best thing.

A Long Way Down by Nick Hornby. 4 people attempt to throw themselves off a building in London, and find companionship in their misery. I only have ten pages left and for all other Hornby fans, it's a must read.

Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant edited by Jenni Ferrari-Adler. Admittedly, I vacuumed this book up, and am now armed with new ideas on how eat solo. This is going to be stationed near my microwave.

And not to be forgotten, I brought The Nudist on the Late Shift by Po Bronson with me on the trip and ultimately got side-tracked, oops. An "expose" of the people working in Silicon Valley during the 90's internet boom. One of his best sellers before he found his voice in What shall I do with my life?

Movies in California

Visiting Southern California during the writer's strike, I felt a bit disengaged from watching anything on the telly. I did catch the last episodes of a few programs, only to feel a bit "lost", will there be a season catch up? I missed out on catching Lost's new season, will they ever leave the island? will they return to the island? Why is Matthew Fox wearing a bush on his face? Poor Dominic Monaghan, down in the depths...

And with the non-stop travel hither and thither, add to that three storms lashing the northern california coast, I didn't catch as many movies as I promised I would. What did I see? Let me recount the reels:

- Finally saw The Kingdom and Mr. Brooks, rentals that my family up north chose, not to mention a movie about another possible explanation for Arthur, unfortunately the title eludes me; it had Colin Firth though so that's all good. I did enjoy watching the Kingdom, even with the ambiguity worked into the plot. There isn't a resolution, no bad men are really caught. Granted the FBI guys were cast as heroes, but you wonder, would they have made any difference in a real life situation?
As for Mr. Brooks, a sympathetic look into the life of a serial killer? Because you do wonder about those folks who seem to have it all, but maybe in the dark, they turn into werewolves. And their spawn are just as venal.

- There will be blood. I've written before of my groupie status for DDL, so I won't go into it here. He was fantastic, and was rarely out of frame; kudos to the performances of Paul Dano as the creepy preacher Ely, and the quiet intensity of the child actor who plays JW. The overall story was missing something, as R and I dissected it after the show, we were just getting into one subplot when it would dissipate and we'd have to follow another. Was the disjunction a plot trick? Or are we too used to focusing on one major path, forgetting that a man's life is a collective of actions that lead towards a culminating disaster? If you catch the film look out for the blazing derrick scene, and the bowling alley scenes. He is done.

- Into the Wild, Balls of Fury, Jane Austen Book Club, and the Nanny Diaries. Grateful for a bump up to business class, I settled into watching movies; it was a series of choices that made me look closely at my consumption, fall asleep, and twitch with annoyance over certain feminine traits. I loved Into the Wild, and Emile Hirsch has gravitated from playing the boy who dates a porn star to an emaciated philosopher living off the land. It is a tragic film, but I took away two lines from it: "Forgiveness is love" (and in light of a recent situation in my own life, I feel like I've been shown a great deal of love) and "Happiness is only real when it's shared" - how true, and how sad that he had to realize it too late. I hope the spirit of Alexander Supertramp finds peace knowing he might help a person or two to gain truth through less things. It made me want to get rid of a lot of material goods in my own life (one of my 2008 plans in any case).
The rest of the movies were barely negligible; best not to spend even the price of a fake dibidi for them.

On board with no lights

After 30 years of travelling, I have finally experienced flying a plane worried that I'd never make my destination. I wasn't flying some central european airline out of the last dying days of the Soviet Union, no, this was Northwest Airlines. For years, working for US government projects, I've had to take NW when flying to the US for work, and have earned a boatload of miles on my WorldPerks account. Which means I am loathe not to use the airline so I can earn more miles, hopefully to one day gain enough to fly free around the world. But while I pad my account, I have to suffer. And this last US trip found me truly concerned about the state of the plane.

On the day I left Manila, we had to return to the gate as the plane had electrical problems. We waited inside the plane for two hours and many a passenger worried we wouldn't make our connections in Tokyo to our US destinations. I also had a first hand experience, when going to use the bathroom while waiting for the takeoff, there were no lights in the bathroom. Pitch dark, try peeing in that condition; the stewardesses said we couldn't use the flashlights since they were only for emergency conditions - how severe could it get if more than a few passengers made a mess in the unlit bathrooms?

We did get off the ground that day, and made it safely to Narita.

On my flight back yesterday, there was another delay in Tokyo, not to mention lines of people waiting to board. Then, we had another delay after everyone was on board, waiting, drumming our fingers, packed like sardines. We had swung onto the tarmac already, when the captain announced that we had to return to the gate due to more electrical problems. Eeegads! We could see that we weren't going to get in till after midnight, so we did our best to get comfortable.

Arrival in Manila, at least very little turbulence. Then as we were unloading, total darkness. This was not a simple dimming of the lights, this was one minute I could see people, the next nothing. This happened twice, and the second time, the stewardesses finally came out with flashlights to help us find our way down the rows. Could they have been less responsive?

As I headed into the crowded customs area (with at least 3 other flights arriving the same time we did, so take a bad day at Naia and triple, no quadruple it, sigh), I could only think of why NW is still using a plane that is severely in need of repair for a very packed route. There are 400 passengers going each way from Manila to Tokyo, do we not deserve a decent flight with little concern over whether the plane will plunge into total darkness?

The topper this morning came when a fracas among strained tempers broke out into a fight in front of customs. Someone insulted another and it was truly a sad sight to see these people brawling. Welcome home.

retrospectivemindfart

where was i on new year 2007? manila
where was i on chinese new year 2007? manila
where was i on my birthday 2007? dealing with a fire at school, manila
what trips did i not go on in 2007? macau, mongolia
what trips did i take in 2007? locally - pampanga (several times), dumaguete, abra/vigan, zamboanga. international - china and the us
what pets did I housesit for two months? cats for my friend tonya (the cats are now in kyiv, ukraine)
what were the highs of 2007? paying off credit card debt, saving enough to invest in 3 ipos, meeting new people, long distance relationships, day trips with friends around luzon (eating trips!), cactus, balloon festival, reconnecting with people throughout the year
what were the lows of 2007? losing friends, health problems, parental health problems, long distance relationships
what book/books did I enjoy this year? On Chesil Beach, Travels with Charley, Fluke, Inheritance of Loss, Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant
what book/s did I lose interest in this year? Sacred Games, Good German
what movie did I love? Pan's Labyrinth
what was my favorite movie song in 2007? Spider Pig
What do i hope for in 2008? mindfulness, less self-induced anxiety due to what i think other people want, good cheese, more baking, more giving away of things, more time with people who care.

New year, new music

Walking through Borders on the last day of the year, yes, my book lust continues apace. I picked up more than my share of books in the last 10 days of being in the US. I have a copy of the Reluctant Fundamentalist, Tenth Muse, Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant, United States of Arugula, Persepolis (the complete set of comics that has been turned into an award winning cartoon movie from France), and another 5 books swimming in the suitcase.

I had a couple of hours of nothing, so used it by immersing myself in books, and saw new cd's and suggestions for downloads that sparked my interest. The latest from Nick Hornby, an old but good one from Calvin Trillin, and The Book Thief (young adult or no, it's still good reading).

Among the cd's, I finally bought Wintersong by Sarah McLachlan, a tribute album to Ella Fitzgerald, Sufjan Stevens' Christmas album, and a Sondheim assortment. For downloads, I downloaded three songs by Yael Naim, a french folk chanteusse.

Ok, I bought three more books. Happy New Year!