Hodgepodge

One poster on youtube.com exclaimed, “los chinos son dios!”

Just in case you forgot that the Chinese invented gunpowder, the spectacle that was the opening of the 2008 Beijing Olympics made people sit up and count their nuclear warheads, just in case. My mother, who goes to sleep at nine in the evening was up ‘til almost midnight, and would have continued watching if not for the blackout that unfortunately put a stop to the Olympic coverage (Spot casts an evil eye on the Visayan Electric Company).

I thought the program had a very familiar feel to it, and I was right (as usual, hehe). The production was directed by Zhang Yimou, who the wuxia masterpiece Hero. I was actually waiting for Jet Li to fly across the stadium. Instead, triple Olympic gold medallist and rubber shoe taipan Li Ning filled the other Mr. Li’s daunting kung-fu shoes and soared up to the top of the stadium with the torch in hand. He then proceeded proceeded to “run” the entire length of the Bird’s Nest before firing up the Olympic torch.

When I say “run”, this is what I mean.

Quoting Roomie: ASTIIIIIIIIG.

Buti na lang may You Tube.

Because whoever was in charge of the coverage of the Olympics in the Philippines is a complete MORON. I was watching the ceremonies on RPN9-C/S Sports and the ads were all over the place. It’s as if you’ve got a Trojan on your TV and the ads are popping up everywhere. As in, no kidding, 50 seconds of coverage would be followed by five minutes of commercials. It was so obvious that the idiots managing the broadcast were unprepared because said idiots had to cut the commercials as they almost missed the Philippine team as they entered the stadium!

&@$%*#!!!!!!!

I’m sure a lot of people signed up for a cell phone after watching a gazillion stupid ads! And yes, I am looking at you, Mr. M. V. Pangilinan!

Please don’t tell me that the dim-wit broadcaster did not know the order of the parade of nations. Per Olympic tradition, teams march alphabetically according to the language of the host country – the countries were arranged according to the number of strokes of the first character of their names in Mandarin.

There must be a way to find these things out…HELLO PEOPLE!!! It’s called the INTERNET!

Basta, I bet heads are going to roll at RPN-9, particularly since there was no shot of the beloved head of state. I wouldn’t be surprised to wake up one morning and find out that a certain ex-NEDA Director General has been appointed to head the station.

I am not a political person. After losing four elections in grade school, I decided to retire early from politics. So when people ask me about McCain, Clinton, Obama, etc., I usually break eye contact (“Oooh, look at the kitty!). Ask me about anything (yes, even chemistry!) but don’t ask me about politics.

So now that I’ve belatedly jumped the Putin-mania bandwagon, I must confess to my loyal readers (my mommy and my daddy), that the only reason I like Putin very much is this:

Her name is Koni, and she attends a lot of high-profile meetings with her Boss Vlad. In fact, she participated in a little KGB-style intimidation scheme during the visit of the German Chancellor, who is, reportedly, afraid of dogs. But anyone who owns a Lab knows that there is no such thing as an evil Lab.

Look at how scared Chancellor Merkel looks. Putin: Good girl Koni!

If you are not yet a fan of John Lloyd Cruz (amazing how I can go from Putin to John Lloyd), you will be after watching A Very Special Love. I thought that my cousin and I would be the only ones in the theater watching this film on a Wednesday afternoon. I was sorely mistaken. The Lloyd-ettes that packed the theater shrieked, sighed and giggled on cue. I must admit, it is entirely refreshing to watch a movie that elicits such a reaction from the audience (I remember in particular that long, collective “HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY…” that spread through the theater when Leo di Caprio appeared on screen in a tux in Titanic).

Most of it is the usual romantic sap that Star Cinema produces. But I think the actors rose above the mediocre plotline. Also look out for the witty banter of the perpetually suffering rag-tag editorial team bossed around by John Lloyd. And the cameo by Gloria Romero J.

And then there’s the Lloydy.

Although this movie was the cinematic debut of Sarah Geronimo, I’m sorry, Sarah, this film clearly belonged to Lloydy. In fact, most of the drama and the back-story was his. And the Lloyd-ettes could not get enough of the intense stare (wait, is it getting a bit hot in here?). Choice bits: the cliché “Sir, hwag po” scene, which they totally get away with, the pizza scene, and the outtakes at the very end.

And just because it’s been a long time…

Any excuse to put Toby on this page.

Scents of Summer

Jeckle just came back from the Hellenes, and during her layover in Dubai, she was kind enough to pick up a bottle of Chanel No. 5 for me (technically Heckle and I are supposed to share it, but the scent isn’t really in the realm of the chocolate-y fragrances that Heckle prefers). So while I am testing it out on my wrists, I was inspired to write a fragrance entry. Well, inspired is a rather strong word. Obligated may be a more appropriate term.

I’ve been keeping my nose open while on vacation hoping to enjoy some of the scents of the city: Paski’s head after he’s been shampooed with Johnson’s Baby Shampoo; the scent of a big fat raindrop falling on a hot corrugated metal roof; the scent of coconut milk and gabi leaves, hot and steamy; the scent of traffic – rubber, gasoline, asphalt, the heady fragrance of trees, flowers and grass in one particular spot in Ateneo (the “bus stop” near Bellarmine), the mix-and-match smells of a high-end department store, where perfumes sold and worn are tempered by the coolness of air-conditioning; the incensy fragrance of the new mosquito repellants out in the market; Winky’s distinct car smell, a mish-mash of upholstery, Freon and Dune by Christian Dior.

I did deliberate long and hard about the fragrances I would take with me to the tropics (though I wish I had taken Black Aoud with me to experience its mileage in the heat). Where I am now, it technically isn’t summer anymore. However, I am on my summer vacation, and the the humid-y monsoon-y, botanic-garden-conservatory-y climate is very different to what I am used to the rest of the year. When seasons change, it is a good time to re-try scents that you’ve dismissed a few months ago (probably during the height of a blizzard). I found, to my pleasant surprise, that some of the scents that I thought I had outgrown bloom in this combination of heat, wind, dust and rain.

Editions de Parfums Carnal Flower –Rumor has it that Frederic Malle, the genius behind Editions de Parfums, named this beauty in honor of his aunt, the actress Candice Bergen (she starred in Carnal Knowledge). The top notes evoke a very green tuberose, smelling of stems and leaves as well as blossoms, melting into a white heart of tuberose, gardenia and orange blossoms. I have not yet smelled real tuberose…I am only familiar with man-made interpretations of the scent. While tuberose is not an easy scent to pull off, Carnal Flower seems to be more approachable than most, and as much as an attention-grabbing whore as the rest. Resist wearing it during a snowstorm – it somehow turns into bubblegum.

The Different Company Sel de Vétiver – Salt, sand, and sun. Who doesn’t love the beach? Thank God for a beach-y scent that does not smell of coconut or suntan lotion.

Serge Lutens Un Lys – White lily, vanilla and musk. Elegant and refined in cooler weather. Heady and even a bit skanky when it’s hot. I remember sniffing it at my beloved perfume store (*waves to Miguel*) and pronouncing within two seconds that I needed a bottle of it. My friend J (who is very hot indeed) runs off with a bit every time he is in my room (don’t deny it, you strumpet! I can smell it a mile away, hahaha!).

Editions de Parfums En Passant –“In Passing.” I had never smelled lilacs until I moved to the States. On campus, there are several lilac bushes, and when I reached up to smell them, my heart stopped for a millisecond, then started to beat a more joyful tempo. Olivia Giacobetti, who created this scent, is said to have envisioned a walk through the town on a rainy day, passing by a florist’s on one side and a baker’s on the other. This is a true lilac scent, but if you try hard enough, you can smell a little bit of baguette as well. I prefer big, bold scents, but there are days when a more restrained beauty is just what I need.

The Body Shop Minteva – A green and refreshing scent. I swear I can smell basil and mint in it. I used to wear it to picnics in Central Park in early summer, when Roomie and I would grab our books, lie down on a blanket on the grass, and let the sun warm our winter-weary bones. Too bad I already gave this away…

Bvlgari Petits et Mamans – A comfort scent that smells of baby powder and chamomile. I find that I fall asleep pretty fast when I wear this. My babies should all smell like this. Except for my little perfumista prodigy who will be asking for Mitsouko extrait by the time she’s two years old.

Bond No. 9 So New York – Also known as the perfume that smells like a Starbucks drink. I did get that chocolate-y-coffee vibe, though I think New Haarlem, also by Bond No. 9, is a much better coffee scent. It is a heavy, cool weather fragrance, so use sparingly. Now that I am wearing it in warmer weather, I get a fruitier scent, as if I am eating ripe golden plums (and not bothering to wipe the juice trickling down my face) and chasing them down with a cup of coffee and cream.

Suckered!

It’s been raining the whole day due to a weather disturbance northeast of the country, so Paski and I are indoors boring each other to death (if you don’t know Paski, please refer to the Puppy Love album in my photos page). To keep us from falling into a downward spiral towards dementia, Jeckle suggested that we watch a movie that she worked on a couple of years ago called I’ve Fallen for You (yes, because that would keep my brain properly stimulated).

Jeckle works with a local film company, so she can buy original DVDs at discounted prices. In fact, I have a rather extensive Piolo Pascual collection. Or, rather, Roomie kidnapped my extensive Piolo Pascual collection. Her favorite movies are the ones in which Piolo is half-naked, because I believe they haven’t produced one where he is fully naked. If they have, please let Roomie know as soon as possible.

And because there’s only a bit of Piolo to go around, we occasionally receive movies that do not have Piolo in them. My friends and I claim that we’re not scared, but we usually have difficulty sleeping after watching a Kris Aquino horror flick. (Lesson learned from watching Feng Shui: don’t watch it unless there’s daylight and at least 10 people in the room). There’s the teen romance genre, the cinematic equivalent of reading a Sweet Dreams novel – it was fun when you were ten, but when you’re thirty, you can actually feel your brain cells dying. But because I support the Filipino film industry that puts bread and butter on my table (ay hinde, Star margarine lang pala), I watch these movies on original DVDs, and invite my friends to watch along.

And before I totally lose my train of thought, let’s go back to the movie in question. No, it’s not the Piolo-fully-naked one. Get your mind out of the estero!

I’ve Fallen for You is obviously a teen romance. Title pa lang, no. Would you really name a sophisticated film featuring cowboy on cowboy action after a sappy Jamie Rivera love song that everyone, including the author, knows the lyrics to? I think not, little puppy.

So where was I? Girl thinks she passed the UP College Admissions Test, only to find out that Boy, who has exactly the same name was the one who passed. She needs to fool her parents into thinking she is an Iskolar ng Bayan, so she decides to take up Boy’s invite to join a bike race and win a pot of money to finance her education. They encounter a lot of obstacles, of course, including, but not limited to, the fact that her father and his mother had an unresolved romance in the past (oh, dear LORD).

Then, I was sitting in the dark, munching on my lenguas de gato, when Girl’s mother, played by Lotlot de Leon, began telling her sob story about her being the second-rate replacement for her husband’s one great love. (“Hindi ako yung one great love ng daddy mo, pero siya ang aking one great love”).

And I’m like, waaaaaaaaah! Don’t cry Lotlot, (sniff, sniff). It’s okay…mahirap talagang makipag-compete with Chin-Chin Gutierrez (wipes fake tear). Dammit, yung eyeliner ko. Tahan na Lot. At least you’re a better actor than Monching. You may not have inherited the Superstar’s genes, but you are doing her proud. I don’t care what happens to Boy and Girl…you go right ahead and smack Albert Rodriguez...Martinez...whatever!

I’ll say it before anyone else does.

SUCKER!!!!!

P.S.: I would just like to reiterate the call for the fully-naked-Piolo movie. And if Piolo happens to be reading this…you know you love me. XOXO.

Announcement: Please don't use my cell to contact me in the next 8 days...

...because the cellphone will be taking a vacation to the sun-drenched island of Santorini, care of Jeckle. Here are some of the places where the cellphone is going...

Asar, di ba?

So, in order not to kill Jeckle with the roaming fees, please desist and resist from texting or calling my Manila phone.

Thank you for your consideration.

The Gang's All Here!!!

That's a heck of a family photo...

As the Doctor would say, "It's absolutely brilliant!"

My students think that my favorite show is The West Wing but that's not quite right. While Robin Hood is on hiatus until the fall, Doctor Who would be my hands-down favorite. Dorky, I know. But if a show has been running for the last 45 years, there must be something going on there, right? I've definitely seen worse shows...even Dr. House watches General Hospital.

The opening credits of Doctor Who usually consists of two names -- that of the actor playing the Doctor (that would be the hysterical David Tennant) and that of his companion (the even more hysterical Catherine Tate). But when I started watching the episode The Stolen Earth, to my delight, there were not two, not three, not four, but six names in the opening credits! They just crammed them all in there!

There were actually three shows crossing over each other in order to save the universe! Torchwood and The Sarah Jane Adventures were coming home to the mother ship to kick ass. To quote Donna (or Martha, I'm not sure now) , it was an "outer space Facebook!" This was going to be huge. Huge!

And the question that all the fans were asking was: is David leaving?

By the end of the episode, I was literally tearing my hair out. The Doctor was mortally shot by a Dalek (it’s a long story, I know) which kick-started the regeneration process (the Doctor is dying, he changes his cells to heal them, etcetera, etcetera, resulting in an entirely different looking Timelord). The show has been running since 1963 (there is actually a Guinness record going on here) and regeneration has been used as a plot device to explain the fact that many different actors have taken the role of the Doctor.

So anyway, David regenerates, then…cliffhanger!

Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks!!!

So after a week, the BBC finally puts me out of my misery. What happens to the Doctor? In the final episode of the season, we have three Doctors! THREE! I can tell you that the universe was saved, but the rest you can watch on youtube.com. The finale is actually composed of three episodes: Turn Left, The Stolen Earth, and Journey’s End.

A pleasant surprise at the very end of the finale. A short trailer for the Christmas special showed the return of the Cybermen, and a shot of my other favorite David, David Morrissey. The two Davids were last seen singing and dancing in the highly entertaining Blackpool (refer to video page). Let’s see how much damage they do on Christmas 2008.

Like It's 1977: Ladies and Gentlemen, the Bronx is Burning

I hate travelling by plane and I am not really gung-ho on the in-flight entertainment. In order to amuse myself for 20 or so hours, I usually pick up a book or two (or three, or four) to read during these marathon flights. Lately, I've been drifting towards the history sections of Barnes and Noble and Borders, particularly towards the books on medieval queens, and had wanted to pick up a book on Isabella, the She-Wolf of France (the consort of Edward II, and boy, was she wrong to marry him!). Instead, while browsing through the 20th century shelf, I found a book with an absurdly long title: Ladies and Gentlemen, the Bronx is Burning 1977, Baseball, Politics and the Battle for the Soul of a City by Jonathan Mahler.

I have always been unnaturally interested in history (people actually told me that girls don't read history books, which makes me wonder what kind of girls they hang out with) and it wasn't hard to get excited about a book on NYC in 1977. I had lived through the New York blackout of 2003, and when the lights came back after 14 hours, the news shows were making comparisons with the last blackout, which occurred in 1977. The blackout of 1977 was marked by riots that occured in many black neighorhoods in New York, and the situation was made more difficult by the shortage of New York City policement. The summer of 1977 was also dubbed "the summer of the Son of Sam" as serial killer David Berkowitz (who called himself the Son of Sam) stalked the outer boroughs. It turned out that Mr. Berkowitz was taking orders from a black Labrador that belonged to his neighbor Sam (duh!). Moreover, as a Bronx resident and Yankee fan, I was up for a little bit of baseball history.

Mahler writes in his prologue that he began to write a story about the battle of wills between then Yankee manager Alfred Manuel "Billy" Martin and baseball superstar and Reginald Martinez "Reggie" Jackson, with New York City providing the backdrop. However, the author noted that as the narrative progressed, the story of New York City moved towards the forefront, providing a parallel to the volatile Yankee season in 1977.

Mahler deftly weaves several storylines in his book. While Martin and Jackson slugged it out at Fenway Park (to the glee of the Red Sox fans), the New York Democratic primary was no less exciting as Abe Beame, Bella Abzug, Mario Cuomo and Ed Koch battled for New York City votes. The heated contest was fanned by the sensational reporting of the city's rival tabloids, the News and the Post (recently acquired by the Australian tycoon Rupert Murdoch). Meanwhile, the city's fiscal problems resulted in the layoff of thousands of policemen and firefighters in spite of the high crime and arson rates, with the crisis coming to a head during the blackout of July 13, 1977. New York had become Fear City, and in the midst of this fear, a serial killer who called himself the "Son of Sam" stalked through its streets.

This is probably one of the best books I have ever read.

I've always thought that real life is more fantastic than anything we can come up with in our imagination. This book is a great example. Mahler writes so compellingly about this period of history that I was swept into the story in a way that not many works of fiction can. In fact, I had gone through almost half of the book even before boarding the plane. I felt the sweltering heat of the summer of '77, and smelled the stink of the city in the wake of walk-outs by sanitation workers. I felt the frustration of the Yankee fan, thoroughly humiliated by the World Series defeat by the Cincinnati Reds in 1976. I heard the protests of the 5000 New York City policemen who were laid off to ease the city's fiscal woes. I walked the streets and rode the subway, scared as hell, hoping to reach home before something evil got to me first. I saw the arson fires that razed through Brooklyn and the Bronx, as I sat in the dark, waiting for the lights to come back.

Mahler writes about a New York that my generation does not remember. In 2008, New York is a slick and sophisticated Carrie Bradshaw, sipping a Cosmo, writing for Vogue, and not giving a s___ about spending $800 on a single pair of shoes. In 1977, New York was a wild woman waking up on the sidewalk with a pounding headache and no memory of the previous night. The city was a howling wilderness, full of trash and graffiti and suspicion and fear. And yet, the book shows a genuine nostalgia for this period. The phrase "if I can make it there, I'll make it anywhere" takes on a deeper meaning when you have to fight tooth and nail to get what you want. In this gritty landscape, wars were fought and dreams were made. And yes, World Series are also won.

In the Land of Lilliput

"Twenty inches. This just won't do Mammy, you have to get it down to eighteen and a half." -- Scarlett O'Hara, as she tries to fit into her corset after her waist expanded due to childirth.

I am in the women’s clothing department in the biggest mall of Asia, surrounded by gazillions of stylish yet affordable garments, and I have managed the impossible.

I could not fit into a single thing.

Nothing.

Nada.

Hiccups. I WANNA GO HOME!!!

Well, I can’t claim to be a Nicole Richie. I’m probably somewhere between a Liv Tyler and a Queen Latifah (hey, don’t say I didn’t give enough lee-way), but the selection in this city would be enough to make Ms. Tyler shake her elvish sword in frustration. I don’t even want to imagine what Queen Latifah would do.

I guess I got a bit complacent about the weight. In Nueva York, I could probably go to any store and find something in my size in about 3 seconds. Well, maybe except the chi-chi designer boutiques made for skinny bitches with fat trust funds. Based on a generic US size chart, I fluctuate between a medium and a large. I have the shoulders and hips of a size 8 but a torso of a size 12 which means I can slide my jeans down without even unbuttoning or unzipping my fly. Makes for a good party trick. I’ve always known that US sizes were bigger than anyone else’s, but the joy of being a medium again just made me forget that to that rest of the world, I might not even be on the size chart anymore.

So here I am, like Gulliver in Lilliput, being tied down by itty-bitty people, wondering how the hell I got here in the first place.

Perhaps this is a not so subtle conspiracy to get me to lose weight. My mother must have contacted all the taipans (with her Chinese connections, I would not be surprised at all) and conspired with them to make size 6 the new extra-large. So here I am, schlepping from store to store, mall to mall, and I’ve only bought a few pairs of flip-flops.

Thank God I have sexy feet.