Work and Happiness

Got this in the mail from Luis. Makes sense.

Here's some interesting articles by Penelope Trunk:

The connection between a good job and happiness is
overrated
http://blog.penelopetrunk.com/2007/01/16/the-connection-between-a-good-job-and-happiness-is-overrated/
"Sonja Lyubomirsky says being happy comes from the way
we think at our very core -- and that thinking shapes
the work we do. Not the other way around."

Here’s the real barrier to your career happiness
http://blog.penelopetrunk.com/2005/04/03/heres-the-real-barrier-to-your-career-happiness/


Five Tips for Being Happy Where You Live
http://finance.yahoo.com/expert/article/careerist/38221
"The act of choosing a place to live requires you to
balance a lot of competing factors, but don't give
work too much weight. There's little evidence to show
that a good job makes you happy -- only that you need
to limit the detrimental factors that come with some
jobs, because things like a long commute and a crazy
boss can really hurt your chances of being happy."

EXCERPTS FROM ACTUAL COURT TRANSCRIPTS

Got this in the mmail. Now I don't feel so bad about our justice system. :)


These are from a book called Disorder in the American Courts, and are taken, word for word, from actual court transcripts:

ATTORNEY: Are you sexually active?

WITNESS: No, I just lay there.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

ATTORNEY: What gear were you in at the moment of the impact?

WITNESS: Gucci sweats and Reeboks.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

ATTORNEY: This myasthenia gravis, does it affect your memory at all?

WITNESS: Yes.

ATTORNEY: And in what ways does it affect your memory?

WITNESS: I forget.

ATTORNEY: You forget? Can you give us an example of something you forgot?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

ATTORNEY: What was the first thing your husband said to you that morning?

WITNESS: He said, "Where am I, Cathy?"

ATTORNEY: And why did that upset you?

WITNESS: My name is Susan!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

ATTORNEY: Now doctor, isn't it true that when a person dies in his sleep, he doesn't know about it until the next morning?

WITNESS: Did you actually pass the bar exam?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

ATTORNEY: The youngest son, the twenty-year- old, how old is he?

WITNESS: Uh, he's twenty-one.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

ATTORNEY: Were you present when your picture was taken?

WITNESS: Are you shitt'in me?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

ATTORNEY: So the date of conception (of the baby) was August 8th?

WITNESS: Yes.

ATTORNEY: And what were you doing at that time?

WITNESS: Uh....I was gettin' laid!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

ATTORNEY: She had three children, right?

WITNESS: Yes.

ATTORNEY: How many were boys?

WITNESS: None.

ATTORNEY: Were there any girls?

WITNESS: You're kidding, right? Your Honor, I think I need a different attorney. Can I get a new attorney?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

ATTORNEY: How was your first marriage terminated?

WITNESS: By death.

ATTORNEY: And by whose death was it terminated?

WITNESS: Now, whose death do you suppose terminated it?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

ATTORNEY: Can you describe the individual?

WITNESS: He was about medium height and had a beard.

ATTORNEY: Was this a male or a female?

WITNESS: Guess.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

ATTORNEY: Is your appearance here this morning pursuant to a deposition notice which I sent to your attorney?

WITNESS: No, this is how I dress when I go to work.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

ATTORNEY: Doctor, how many of your autopsies have you performed on dead people?

WITNESS: All my autopsies were performed on dead people. Would you like to rephrase that question?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

ATTORNEY: ALL your responses MUST be oral, okay? What school did you go to?

WITNESS: Oral.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

ATTORNEY: Do you recall the time that you examined the body?

WITNESS: The autopsy started around 8:30 PM.

ATTORNEY: And Mr. Denton was dead at the time?

WITNESS: No, he was sitting up on the table wondering why I was doing an autopsy on him!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

ATTORNEY: Are you qualified to give a urine sample?

WITNESS: Huh....are you qualified to ask that question?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

And now, the best for last...

ATTORNEY: Doctor, before you performed the autopsy, did you check for a pulse?

WITNESS: No.

ATTORNEY: Did you check for blood pressure?

WITNESS: No.

ATTORNEY: Did you check for breathing?

WITNESS: No

ATTORNEY: So, then it is possible that the patient was alive when you began the autopsy?

WITNESS: No.

ATTORNEY: How can you be so sure, Doctor?

WITNESS: Because his brain was sitting on my desk in a jar.

ATTORNEY: I see, but could the patient have still been alive, nevertheless?

WITNESS: Yes, it is possible that he could have been alive and practicing law.

Why I Will Never be a Fashionista

There are two things that I will never be:
a. Thin
b. A Fashionista

This is not entirely by choice. Believe me, if I could, I would love to be a size 2 and have closets full of designer bags and quirky vintage Chanel and Vivienne Westwood outfits found in thrift shops all over the world. I would love to be forever featured in fashion magazine as a trendsetter, a pioneer, a visionary.

But alas, this is not meant to be.

And I have no one to blame but me.

I will never be a size 2 (the size of the Agnes B mini stashed in my closet just in case) because I am too lazy. Too lazy to exercise, too lazy to diet, too lazy, too lazy, too lazy. I would rather stay the way I am now, 20 pounds overweight and happily eating my way though life, than put myself through the misery of going to the gym, cutting down on food, etc. etc. I sometimes envy people, like my sister, who have made the gym their second home. The gym never did anything for me, except make me feel miserable. I never got the endorphin rush gym rats keep talking about. Either it’s a complete myth or I have reverse endorphins that make me feel depressed instead of euphoric when I exercise. Either way, I don’t see myself going to the gym anytime soon unless I have some sort of enlightenment.

I will never be a fashionista because, while I do wear something trendy once in a while, I tend to stick to classic pieces that will look the same ten years from now. But that’s not the main reason. The real reason is because I have an anti-fashionista streak in me, one that demands I wear the least fashionable (but oh, so comfy!) clothes in the least fashionable way possible. For example: I got out of bed today wanting to wear what my sister fondly calls my “Ernie (from Sesame Street) Sweater,” a snug knitted sweater with big red and grey horizontal stripes that I got from Terranova. Unfortunately, it’s also what any guy (ie. Ian N. and Luis) or horror buff will say (with glee, I might add) is actually my “Freddie Kreuger Sweater.” That, paired with two ginormous pimples (that I’m too lazy to cover with concealer), a bad hair day (I’m a total ignoramus at hair styling – I blame muscular dystrophy) and black plastic glasses (Too lazy to put on contacts) that Luis says makes me look like a member of Fall Out Boy equals Pudgy Pimpled Serial Killer Nerd Girl From Hell. It’s. Just. Not. Fashionable. But it’s comfy and I like it and there’s a certain sense of pride and defiance in wearing something that is guaranteed to make me look like a nerd but is oh so comfortable. Thankfully, I restrained myself and wore something more suited for the office instead.

So it will be my burden to know that I will never be thin and I will never be a fashion trendsetter, but it’s okay because in the end, both will have been my choice after all.

A Recipe for Disaster

How to Upset a Little Old Lady

This recipe can only be done by young people of (marriageable) Filipino Chinese descent aged 21 and above, though it may work for other xenophobic races as well.

1. First, make sure that the target (an old man or woman, or a FilChi person of any age who is known to be fanatical about “keeping our race pure”) has a really, really good impression of you. If you are a girl, you can do this by acting sweet and feminine or, if you’re lazy like me, just by flitting about and not say anything. If you’re a guy, you can easily do this just by being rich. You can talk about your latest merger and/ or acquisition, or perhaps wave your bankbook around.

2. Doing the above is sure to get you a lot of compliments, especially form older people. They are bound to say (in Chinese) with a big enthusiastic smile on their faces, “You’re so pretty/ handsome, ah! Are you in a relationship?”

3. Say “yes, I am” as politely as you can. Smile a lot. Show teeth, but no gums, please.

4. The next question will, 99.5 out of 100% be, “Is your spouse/ significant other Chinese?”

5. This is where it gets interesting. Say “No, s/he’s not” and watch their facial expressions change from shock to confusion to disbelief to finally, either disgust or resignation. All of this happens in about 2-5 seconds, so you have to catch it quick.

6. Most of the time, the old person will wander off in a state of dazed shock. There are some, however, who will persist in asking more questions in the hopes of somehow redeeming, in their eyes, your “appalling” decision to date/ marry outside the race. This is where the real fun starts.

The next question will obviously be “What do they do for a living?” You have tow options. One is shame them into thinking that your choice for a mate is a good one despite not being Chinese, and two (my personal favorite) is to shock them into thinking that you are a lost cause, a shame to the race.

To accomplish the first choice, pile the old person story upon story about how good-looking (if you’re a guy) or rich (if you’re a girl) your significant other is. Don’t’ be afraid to tell tall tales – “My girlfriend won Miss Universe and made the other contestants cry,” or “My boyfriend owns half of New York City” will be believed and applauded.

To accomplish the second choice, throw the most depraved and disgusting job descriptions at them. Don'’ be lazy and say "He'’s a bum," go all out and use your imagination. Add a dash of adventure, maybe some illicit romance. “My boyfriend flies the plane that delivers illegal drugs to first world countries” or “I met my girlfriend when I tabled her at a bar” or “My girl/boyfriend used to date Kevin Federline” (sorry, Brit Brit) is a good start. This works especially well for girls of all social classes, especially if you’re extremely pretty and well off. It might not work so much for guys, especially if you have money (because apparently, male-owned money can buy anything), but that’s the double standard for you.

Most likely, the old lady will just walk away in a daze. If you’re lucky, she’ll have to sit down and fan herself a while. Or faint. Which is more fun. It might be good to have a crash cart ready for such an occasion. Not only will you have the satisfaction of watching a little old lady faint, you’ll also get to yell “Clear!” as you jolt her chest with electrical current like they do on TV.

Congratulations! You are well on your way to upsetting the little old lady/man/close-minded idiot of your choice. Good luck!

More Gaiman-ness

Got this e-mail from Charles, who recorded and transcribed Neil Gaiman’s comments on the winning entries. Mr. Gaiman says mine is “spooky.” Neil Gaiman thinks my entry is creepy! How cool is that? :)

Here’s the e-mail in its entirety:

“Hi! Just finished transcribing Neil's feedback on your entries. Here they are (for your persual):

"Juan Perez's Corpse" really funny, nasty story. And I loved both the funniness and the nastiness of a corpse of a man killed in a plane crash, wakes up in bed in a particularly nasty condition and goes down for breakfast and the reaction of the neighbors and everybody else to what's going on and it actually manages to be moving as well which I thought was lovely.

The other thing that managed to be moving was "Lines and Spaces", our second place for comics which was basically a tribute to Alex Nino and which I thought was particularly apt since Alex Nino was one of the huge inspirations behind comics and it's a lovely little story.

Second place winner "The Bridge" very spooky. One of the things I loved about all the stories is that they all feel uniquely Filipino. And "The Bridge" which is a story about a psychic little girl and her encounter with a political leader of a country a lot like the Philippines is a very, very creepy and really nicely done.

"The Sugilanon of Epifania's Heartbreak" which Ian, who also won 1st place in last year's competition is a lovely little fable and felt it should have been illustrated. If you get it published, maybe in the book next year we can get a few illustrations.

The first place winner is science fiction and fantasy and uniquely Filipino and very, very, very odd in all of the nicest possible ways. And it's a story called "Logovore" about somebody who eats words and their encounters with the people--it's almost indescribable and I've never read anything like it before and was absolutely ready to go on the world stage. I looked at that story and--it could have been fantasy or science fiction and it ought to be picked up by the best of the year anthologies.

So honestly you guys, especially in prose, nothing to be ashamed of. So absolutely terrific showing. What I'm hoping for next year is that we not only get absolutely world class prose but we also get absolutely world class comics as well.”

Also got mail from Dean Alfar. Here’s the exchange where, as you can see, I haven’t stopped blubbering like a fan girl.

Dean:
Hey Yvette,
Here are a couple of shots of you and you-know-who :)
Congratulations again! I really enjoyed your story – and you’re becoming one of my favorite Filipino fictionists.
Best,
Dean

Me:
Wow! Thanks, Dean! For the pictures (...it's not my imagination, right? he really did pull me towards him?...) and the compliment! See you soon! :)

Dean:
Yvette,
Yup, it was definitely real!
See you soon!
Dean

My Brush with Neil Gaiman

I still can’t believe it. I just won 2nd place in the 2nd Philippine Graphic/Fiction Awards held yesterday outside Fully Booked Bonifacio High Street. The stage was pretty high, so Luis had to help me up – it looked like I had joined a beauty pageant instead of a literary contest! Fully Book’s Jaime Daez handed me a dream catcher and a certificate, then – I swear this is true – Neil Gaiman pulled me towards him and said “Here’s your hug” and then he hugged me, and then said, “Here’s your kiss,” then he made beso me (this doesn’t hold a candle to Andrew Drilon, who actually kissed Gaiman on the cheek – Go, Andrew! Idol! :D ), then he told me that he really, really liked my story. *faints* All of last year’s and this year’s winners had dinner with Neil afterwards. It felt like the prom, except with geeks in.

I got to talk to Ian Casocot (one of last year’s first and this year’s co-2nd place winner), who told me that he really liked “Stella for Star,” my entry last year (an honorable mention and is also in Expeditions, the anthology that collects all last year’s winners), and said it creeped him out. This means a lot, one, because the story managed to scare people, and two, because its Ian Casocot who’s telling me this. I also finally got to meet Tony Perez, who I think I embarrassed myself over. He gave me a pendant of the Chinese Goddess of Mercy. Also got to catch up with Paolo Ferrer, one of last year’s 3rd place comics winners, but alas, I did not get to chat with his ubercool girlfriend, Mitch. Paolo introduced me to Lienil Yu, who I have been wanting to meet for the longest time. Lienil was very nice, and said I could interview him for Tulay. Whee! I actually got to talk to a lot of people, but if I mentioned them all here, I’d begin to sound like a society columnist, and I don’t think you’d want that, right, dahlings?

We (the winners) got to chat with Neil (naks, first name basis na kami), who, after I had sign my copy of Expeditions, told me again that he really, really liked my entry. *faints again* My camera wouldn’t work the entire time, so I have no pictures of the event. The only picture I have is on my phone, and its on Neil Gaiman with his arm around me. We’re both looking at the camera except he looks dignified and I have a silly grin on my face. Aside from the fact that I’m standing beside one of the greatest writers today, I look positively skinny! Which is the whole point, really. Just kidding!

I told my mom about the win when I got home, and she set about texting everyone she knew about it, event though she wasn’t quite sure what has happened. Yes, my mother is my best publicist.

I have to apologize, I know this entry is kalat. But wouldn’t you be after hanging out with Neil Gaiman?

Thingsto Do When You're Bored

For lack of better things to do, I have come up with a few lists of things to do when, you know, you lack better things to do. Some, I have done, some I just put in for the heck of it. Can you guess which is which?

Things to do in the summertime:
1. plant kamote (sweet potatoes – am taking a cue from Nick Joaquin)
2. ride them carabaos (not as fun as it looks)
3. swim (but not too much)
4. catch salagubangs (beetles) and fireflies
5. steal mangoes from neighbor’s tree

Things not to do during rainy season:
1. pray for rain (unless global warming has kicked into high gear)
2. swim (in floodwaters and during lightning storms)
3. stand under trees (see above)
4. hunt for rats (unless you are a professional rat hunter, or a cat)
5. use straw accessories (sayang ang bag at sapatos!)

Things not to say about an acquaintance’s child:
1. I didn’t know you had a pet monkey! (ok, this was obvious)
2. Oh how cute! He looks just like a bobble-head doll!
3. She reminds me of Disney royalty – Snow White’s queen step mom in witch disguise.
4. Let me guess – you drank a lot when you were pregnant, didn’t you?
5. Poor baby. He looks just like you!

Things to have done by the time you reach 30:
1. smuggled drugs across a border with the help of a Chihuahua, a capsicum and a roll of cheese
2. hijacked a plane with a gherkin, then demanded that it fly towards the destination it was flying to anyway
3. presented the love of your life with a pig stolen from the neighbor’s yard (the same one who owns the mango tree) and fitted through her bedroom window
4. engaged a carabao in a bullfight
5. infiltrated an ultra left-wing political organization and convince its members that Walt Disney is god

Ideas for Show and Tell

We don’t really have a tradition of Show and Tell in the Philippines, but I’d like to imagine that when asked to bring something that is important to a student’s life, he or she shouldn’t be stuck to the usual items like baby pictures or favorite toys or a piece of his/ her parents’ wedding cake (half-eaten cake older than you are would make a good bribe anyway).

Here, in the spirit of creativity and going against the flock (flying against the wave?), are some ideas for a truly memorable Show and Tell, along with the explanations behind them:

Photo of bride and groom after the ceremony
“Daddy says this was taken a few minutes before I was conceived. He says if you look really close, you can see the alcove they snuck into after the ceremony. Some priests still avoid it to this day.”

Glow in the dark condom (broken)
“Mommy didn’t want to take pills and daddy hadn’t gotten his vasectomy yet so this is what they were stuck with. Obviously, it didn’t work very well.”

White thong (used)
“This was what mommy had on, or more accurately, off, when I was conceived.”

Empty martini glass
“This used to contain a lychee martini. It was what my mom was drinking when she found out she was pregnant. I think she drank a few dozen more after, you know, to steel herself for nine months of sobriety.”

Picture of cow in a field
“This is the cow that my visiting grandmother mistook for her beloved daughter two weeks before I was born. I hear my mother was not amused.”

Jar of fat
“This used to belong to my mommy. She had it sucked out of her right after I was born. Aren’t doctors great?”

Photo of a room filled with the latest games, gadgets and toys
“This is daddy’s play room. I’m allowed to look, but not to touch. He says I can have my own Mazinger Z figure and comic book collection when I grow up.”

DVDs of A Clockwork Orange, Fight Club and Sneakers
“Mommy and daddy think Barney is for sissies. They say these films build character. When I grow up, I want to wear bowler hats and beat people up, too.”

With show and tell items like these, my kid is sure to get an A! Any teacher who thinks otherwise has been watching too much Barney. Now class, what’s the first rule of Fight Club?

I iz (sort of) Famus!

More shameless self promotion: I iz famus! Sort of. People who I haven't badgered, bullied or cajoled into reading my stories have read my stories! Or at least know of me. I iz tickled. Of course, they might stop reading once they find out I sometimez speakz in lolcat. *hides under couch*

Don't beleive me? Then take a look at this blog entry that Luis found which lumps me with Krip Yuson. Yay!

Here's the link (tamad ako mag-code and di naman gumagana sa Blogger ko):

http://lengthofwords.blogspot.com/2007/10/cast-of-characters.html

And here's what he wrote:

"I might not have made it to the lineup for Dean
Alfar's third Speculative Fiction Anthology, but
apparently Dominique Cimafranca has. Seeing that this
will be his first published short story in the local
scene, you might want to congratulate him on his
achievement. :)

"Dominique joins what strikes me as a very
distinguished list of authors for the book. It's got
names that should now be established as mainstays in
the field of local Speculative Fiction (like Ian
Casocot and Andrew Drilon), wide-ranging awardwinners
(like Yvette Tan and Alfred Yuson), and people who I
could probably take on in a one-on-one cage match
(like Joseph Nacino and Charles Tan). There are a
number of notably missing names -- Vin Simbulan and
Chiles Samaniego among others -- but I'm pretty sure
that their works will be back in the spotlight soon."

Pumapalakpag ang tenga koh! Tickled writer is tickled. Hee!

Lost Boys Lost Girl

Regarding my earlier post: To be fair to my uncle, he’s a really nice guy. Now back to regular programming.

Part of my weekend was spend watching one of my favorite 80’s team ups - no, not Maricel Soriano and William Martinez, though they’re right up there with them. I’m talking about Corey Haim and Corey Feldman. I guess you could say I was feeling a little nostalgic, especially since they’ve recently broken up.

I had an unopened VCD (yes, VCD!) of The Lost Boys which I hadn’t watched yet (Kaya nga unopened, noh!). I loved that movie as a child and I wanted to see if it would hold up to the vampiric glory I associated with it. Well, it did and it didn’t, but for reasons I didn’t expect.

One of the few things I didn’t count on was that the unnamed vampires were hot. I’m not talking about Kiefer Sutherland and Alex Winter, the two vampires who I know form other movies (though Kiefer is hot in his own Kieferous way), but the two unnkowns who play David’s (Kiefer’s) henchmen. We’re talking romance novel cover hot. Hair metal hot. They looked like male models, and were definitely prettier than Star, the female lead, who looked like a man, in a pretty Val Kilmerish way. I also didn’t expect Diane Wiest, who plays Corey Haim’s mother, to be so cute. I mean, she was always cute, but she was really "I-have-to-pinch-your-cheeks" cute here. But the most unexpected thing of all – Corey Feldman wasn’t ugly. Here’s the thing. I had a crush on Corey F. growing up and always felt guilty about it because to my friends, he was the ugly Corey. I didn’t want to get teased about it, so I let everyone believe I was a boy-hating tomboy (I would later get teased about liking someone even worse looking but that’s another story) rather than let them find out I liked the ugly Corey. I really didn’t see what the deal with Corey Haim (who everyone swooned over) was. And now, watching it through adult eyes, I still don’t see what the deal with him was. Sure, he’s conventionally cuter, but Corey Feldman got the more interesting roles. And is cuter, so there.

What surprised me was the production design, which I think was too good for the sometimes lackluster script. Whoever designed the set was a genius because he or she got exactly what a vampire culture would be like when translated into a sunny, decadent California town. The set seemed like it was in a constant state of shifting between the staleness of death and the dynamism of life. Instead of going for traditional black, sets were done in dead-leaf brown and similar hues, which matched the sand, sun and surf atmosphere. Instead of an eerie mansion, the vampires lived in an old hotel which had been built on a fault and as a result had fallen into a cave (the fault of a fault). Instead of gathering at cemeteries or dark bars, the dissafected youth gathered in a carnival. There was nothing special about this carnival. No freaks, no unique rides, no mysterious fortunetellers, which somehow made it even better than if it were one straight out of a nightmare. The only thing that probably didn’t belong there was the comic book shop Corey Feldman’s character worked in, and that was great, too. Everything was beautiful without being over the top. I wish I could say the same about the casts’ outfits.

The costume designer could have done a better job, as he or she stuck with what was stereotypically weird for that time. Punks, metalheads, goths all dressed like punks, metalheads and goths. The vampires wore biker chic, all leather and jeans (but oh, how good they looked in them!) and Star, the not-quite vampire girl wore a new age/ hippie/ gypsy chic, and the little not quite vampire boy wore a suit that looked like it belonged to one of those organ grinder monkeys, but in black. Corey Haim’s character was the epitome of 80’s fashion, wearing a printed oversized polo shirt that Corey Feldman’s character made fun of (Corey Haim’s character is called Sam and Corey Feldman’s character is called Edgar The cute guy who plays his brother is Allan). Not that I care. To me, they’ll always be Corey H and Corey F). The cast was filled with people with big hair and/ or shoulderpads. Watching it made me glad I grew up in the 90’s. As it is, I’ve had enough experience with big hair and shoulderpads to scar me for life. I wasn’t too keen on the direction, but I had just seen St. Elmo’s Fire for the first time and I love it so I’m not going to say anything about this one.

The Lost Boys broke all the conventions I thought it would stick to and stuck to the conventions that I thought it would break. That it broke any at all is a good thing, since I don’t think it was meant to be anything more than a vehicle for beautiful young people to be seen on screen.

As teenyboppery as it is, it will always be one of my favorite movies of all time.

Ugly Betty and Familial Stupidity

My sister brought home the 1^st season of Ugly Betty, which I just finished. While my first instinct is to identify with Betty (don’t we all?), what really freaks me out is that I’m the same age as her older sister, Hilda, a single mother whose wonderfully gay son came nine months after her prom night. I’m continually amazed because Hilda looks older than me, and it boggles the mind that if I had somehow gotten pregnant during my last year of high school, I’d have a 12 year old child today. It’s a big thing to wrap my mind around, especially since I don’t think I’d be good with children. I can barely take care of my cat.

So its weird that the person I feel the closest to on that show is a single MILF who loves her family fiercely but who sometimes needs a smack on the head for her lack of common sense, just because we were born on the same year. She isn’t my favorite character though. That would be her incredibly cute and talented son, Justin, and Claire, the murderer mother of the show’s other main character, Daniel Meade, Betty’s boss, playboy, party animal, and EIC of Mode magazine.

Why am I writing about Ugly Betty? I’m not going to wax rhapsodic about how the show places importance on the inside vs. the outside, blah blah blah. I’m writing about the show because its how I’ve been wasting my evenings and how, for a show that’s supposed to be an inside look into the workings of a big fashion magazine, I can’t find any clothes that I’d like to wear.

In other news, I had the following insane conversation with an uncle:

Uncle: (after hearing me tell my aunt, his wife, all about my current office job) So, where do you work?

Me: Ortigas.

(What I really wanted to say: Didn’t you just hear me tell your wife all about where I work and what I do?)

Uncle: I see. Is that like your job in TV?

Me: No.

(What I really wanted to say: Yes. Because sitting around in an office all day is exactly the same as running around interviewing actors and staying late to edit an episode or finish a story. But I guess you already know that.)

Uncle: Ah. But you used to be thin then, right?

Me: …

(What I really wanted to say: Yes. And didn’t you use to be smart. Oh, my mistake. I was thinking of someone else. At least I can go back to being thin. You can never go back to being smart because it’s impossible for anyone to go back to what never were.)

You can tell I have a lot of angst about my weight, and about the intellectual savvy that some of my family members possess. How can I compete with such razor sharp wit? (Buti na lang they don’t go on line, or know what sarcasm is, or else I’d be in big trouble.)

I realized just now that this entry sounds like something Joey Dizon (Hello, Joey! :D ) wrote on his blog, except his is funnier than mine. Joey, if you’re reading this, take heart in the fact that at least you don’t have to see your teacher every time your family gets together. No wonder my cousin wants to dance half naked on TV.

Anatomy of a Filipino Children’s Birthday Party

Attended my niece’s 1^st birthday party yesterday. It was held in a Jollibee, which automatically meant sweet, hotdog-laden neon orange Jolli Spaghetti and crispilicious Chicken Joy with not enough gravy. I was not disappointed, except for the Jolli Spaghetti, which only had one hotdog in it. I could have asked for more gravy, but that would have to mean getting up and I didn’t really want to do that.

While my calendar has been filled with baptisms lately (3 this month – talk about baby boom!), it’s been a while since I attended a birthday/ christening party held in a child-themed restaurant. My earliest memories of children’s parties are of feeling slightly insulted every time I was made to attend one. You had the predictable food (sweet spaghetti, barbecue, fried chicken), the condescending party hosts, and the adults who forced you to play stupid games for stupid prizes, whether you like it or not. Yet if you asked my mother, she will tell you (and back it up with pictures, too) that when I was really young (too young to think, really), I was always the life of the party, volunteering for magic acts, lining up for games. I stopped short of impromptu dancing/ singing (thank goodness!), maybe because event hen I knew that I had two left feet and that my singing voice had the tendency to make it rain (a great business venture right there!).

I was pretty excited to go to the party. I hadn’t had Jolli Spaghetti and Chicken Joy in a while. The weird thing is that my love for them was acquired in adulthood. I remember hating Jollibee as a child and thinking that McDonalds was the bomb. Until now, I have no idea why that changed. Maybe they put drugs in their spaghetti and fried chicken. Maybe neon orange suace has a hypnotizing effect.

So I get to the party, say hello to the relatives, air kiss my slightly bewildered cousin (because I don’t really air kiss anyone in the family unless it’s their special occasion), and ask about the baby, who is cute and chubby and has no idea what the hell is going on. "She can do the papaya dance!" my cousin exclaims with motherly delight. "Great!" I reply, wondering what the papaya dance is and if I want to know. This particular cousin has a penchant for giving her kids black names. Her son is called Antione (yes, it’s French, but I have yet to see a Frenchman named Antione) and her daughter is named Ayesha. I sometimes want to ask her if she knows she’s not black. But I have to applaud her though. Antoine and Ayesha are cool names, and more imaginative than the local practice of combining both parents names (thank goodness my parents never went for that either, else I’d be Luben Tan. Or Benlu. Either way, ugh!).

Attending my niece’s children’s party was an interesting experience, if only because I got to see how it’s evolved through the years. Today’s manufactured children’s party is a combination of a wedding (except the food comes first) and a TV debut special. After everyone has eaten, an overly enthusiastic party hosts invites all the kids to come in front to greet the celebrant a happy birthday. The kids who do get a goodie bag for their efforts. This is their version of games.

The host is speaking in Tagalog, by the way, a big change in the 80’s when I remember (probably erroneously, someone correct me on this) them speaking English. And not just normal Tagalog, mind, you. Half of it was in swardspeak (Filipino gay linggo), which was interesting because no one could tell the difference! After the birthday greetings, the host told all the "kidlets" (if piglets are tiny pigs, then are kidlets tiny kids? Isn’t that redundant?) to get ready because they were to welcome a special guest, mr. Jollibee! My first thought was ‘Since when was Jollibee a Mr.???’ Do mascots grow old? Does this mean we should start addressing Ronald McDonald as Mr. MacDonald or Uncle Ronald or Mang Ron? So Jollibee comes in and the kids go wild.

The host announces that Mr. Jollibee is going to do a dance number, but not before he does a pictorial first. This is where the wedding part comes in. "Immediate family first," the host calls out. Next is immediate family with cousins, then all the kids. All the kids scramble to be part of the picture, all of them trying to get as near to the giant orange bee as possible.

Next, Mr. Jollibee does his dance number, which makes the kids go even wilder.. My littlest cousin, the one whose ambition in life is to dance half-naked on noontime television, tries to dance with him but gets hit on the face by a giant orange bee thigh by mistake. Mr. Jollibee mimes that he’s sorry, then finishes his dance number. Every children’s party has at least one child that wants to be buddies with the mascot and my littlest cousin was that child. Another thing that hasn’t changed is that the party soundtrack consists of all the stupidest songs you hear on the radio. Seriously. I wanted to stab the host with the mic and start throwing children out the window.

Then comes the blowing of the cake. After the host gets everyone to sing "Happy Birthday," she asks the paretns to tell us their wishes for the celebrant. This, I have never seen before. "I wish my child would grow up God-fearing," my cousin says, and everybody claps. Next, it’s Jollibee’s turn to tell us his wishes for the celebrant. Since he can’t talk, the host translates for him. She says, he has three wishes. The first is that she grows up smart and God-fearing." I wanted to stand up and say, "That’s two wishes! Didn’t they teach you to count in bee school?" I told this story to Luis later and he said, maybe the God-fearing part doesn’t count since it was already said. I don’t remember the other wishes because they were all boring, like grow tall and stuff. How come nobody gives exciting wishes, like ‘the confidence to unleash her inner bitch’ or ‘impeccable style’ or ‘enough Luis Vuitton bags to sink a small barge?’

Mr. Jollibee exits after he bestows his fairy bee wishes, and the party ends. The host thanks everyone for coming and thanks the sponsors, the celebrant’s parents and Jollibee (who shouldn’t be counted a sponsor as the party was paid for and not an ex deal). I seriously expected to hear canned applause after, so into the role of TV host was she. The whole experience was draining, even though I didn’t talk to anyone the whole time. I guess stupid radio songs, dancing bees and overly enthusiastic party hosts can do that to you. Or maybe old age. But it wasn’t a bad experience. I think I wouldn’t mind attending another one. This time, I hope they have more hotdogs in their spaghetti.

Weirdness in Binondo

Leah and I spent last Saturday getting lost in the Binondo/ Sampaloc area. I used to mind a store in Binondo and I know how weird conversation can get (a man tried to exchange his daughter for a bottle of Fundador once, jokingly, of course -- I think), but even that did not prepare me for the exchange I overheard in a store that sold Chinese knickknacks:

Happy smiling Chinese guy walks into store. He's obviously a regular.

Guy: Hello! I want to buy an incense holder.

Salesperson: Sure! I'll go get one for you.

Guy: Oh, I want the one for ancestors, not for gods.

I am so clueless about my cultire. *sigh*

I Heart John Silva

I love John Silva. I attended one of his workshops and learned a lot. So I'm posting this piece of his that I got in the mail, both because he's the man, and also because the sheer stupidity involved must be read by all.

THE NATIONAL PRESS CLUB’S CLUBBING OF FREEDOM OF EXPRESSION
By John L. Silva

The National Press Club’s defacement and censorship of a commissioned mural in their club restaurant recalls to mind a celebrated incident involving the Mexican artist Diego Rivera and the Rockefeller Center.

In 1933, Rivera was commissioned by Nelson Rockefeller to do a mural for the lobby of the RCA Building at New York’s Rockefeller Center. Rivera, a leftist, was well known for his grand murals replete with sinewy laborers in all forms of working poses. He had just finished a large scale mural with a similar theme for the Detroit Museum of Art sponsored by the Ford Motor Company, and despite the bias for proletarian vistas, the liberal, art loving Rockefellers decided their center should have a Rivera mural too.

Rivera though added a portrait of Lenin in the mural and this was over the top for Nelson Rockefeller. Despite his wife Abby’s lament, who collected Riveras, Rockefeller confronted the artist demanding he remove the offending Lenin. Rivera, already paid for the mural, refused, was summarily fired, and the mural destroyed. Rivera would have his revenge by recreating the same mural back in Mexico with Lenin in his glory and the patriarch John D. Rockefeller inserted elsewhere drinking martini at the expense of the toiling masses.

The National Press Club is in a similar imbroglio, having commissioned the Neo-Angono artist collective to do a mural with a press freedom theme. But the tack the Club undertook was downright abhorrent. They decided the mural was “leftist” and proceeded to have it altered without artists’ permission. They altered the mural to censor texts which included the current plight of a mother seeking an abducted son, defacing well-respected journalists, and painting over sections deemed offensive to the current Philippine president.

Paintings, particularly murals, if well done, have changed people, norms, and societies. We only need to recall Juan Luna’s Spoliarium which would influence a medical student named Jose Rizal to alter his career and write his devastating anti-colonial novels and become our national hero.

Paintings often reflect the times and if the Neo-Angono mural reflects the current state of Philippine affairs and the unpopularity of the current President, so be it. One would shudder to think if the National Press Club lived in the 19th century and found the Spoliarium to be offensive to the Spanish monarchy.

The cavalier and contemptible manner by which the National Press Club blithely desecrated a work of art is evidence enough that these so-called journalists haven’t a clue about freedom of expression. In a free society, contending thoughts, contending works of art are allowed and respected despite its inherent inclinations and viewpoints. The National Press Club’s actions has just put their profession to ridicule, painted as cowards, and now insinuates itself as being in-the-pay of the powerful. Fellow journalists who abide in the freedom of expression should call for the immediate dismissal of the club officers.

Despite the destruction of his mural, Diego Rivera secured even more artistic commissions, gained world fame and lived financially comfortable to a ripe old age. Abby Rockefeller continued collecting Riveras, later donating them to the Rockefeller funded Museum of Modern Art for the public to see and appreciate.
Rivera’s works are now revered and have a universal appeal transcending its leftist themes.

The Neo-Angono artists collective have the last laugh. In the current booming Southeast Asian art market, the moronic act by the National Press Club has just increased the appeal and selling cachet of current and future works of the Neo-Angono collective by ten fold. And, if it has universal appeal, a work of theirs could probably hang proudly in the National Museum, along with the Spoliarium.

---

John L. Silva is senior consultant to the National Museum of the Philippines

How I Waste My Time

The reason I haven't been updating recentlyis because I've been wasting my time on Facebook (www.facebook.com). And to justify my wasting time on Facebbok, I've coupled it with wasting time on Kingdom of Loathing (www.kingdomofloathing.com). You see, doing two time wasting activites at the same time qualifies as something useful. I'm so smart, I should get a prize!

Why?

Why is it that I find myself reading Chuck Klosterman in church? Not that it means anything. I was just wondering.