Four months in between posts, must be some sort of record…

Time flies when one is having fun.  Let’s just say this semester was an eternity.

My brain is not wired to blog yet.  This post is just to let you know I am not dead.  Yet.

A few notable discoveries during the last four months:

(1) I am severely addicted to anchovies.

(2) Hell is giving THREE (yes, count ‘em, THREE) final exams in one day.

(3) If heaven is not Serrano ham and manchego cheese slathered with fig jelly, it must be something very close to it.

(4) Rubbing Golden Retriever belly fixes most things (but I knew that already).

(5) Tablita is not “table” in Spanish.  Duh.

(6) Anchovies!!!

(7) I like red wine better than white.  Malbecs in particular. 

(8) In a battle between stipend versus sanity, we SHOULD always choose sanity, though we probably almost always never do.

(9) I am getting old. It’s funny how that just occurred to me.  

(10) ANCHOVIES!!!

I am almost ready for Christmas.  Check out my Charlie Brown Christmas tree.

I see a real Christmas tree with tons of décor in my future.  Must hit the sales on the 26th.

Xabi says Merry Christmas, everyone!

Two rants in as many days, must be some sort of record...

Sheep.  We are educating sheep.

Dahil baka magalit sa akin ang mga matatamaan ng bato-bato sa langit, itago na lang natin ang usapang ito sa salitang Pilipino/Tagalog.  Kahit na alam nyong lahat na wala akong kwentang mag-Tagalog.  Ipagpaumanhin nyo na…ako ay isang hamak na Bisayang nagsusumikap na aralin ang salita ng mga malulupit na imperyalista…eh, nagsasalita pa ba ako?

Buti na lang may G00gle Translate.

Eniwey (o, di ba Tagalog ‘yun, haha), alam ng apat na nagbabasa nitong mga kwento ko sa intarnets na medyo matagal-tagal na rin ako nagtuturo sa unibersidad.  Para sa bagong pasukan, nabigyan ako ng mga klase na kung saan lahat ng mga mag-aaral ko ay galing sa paaralan ng pangkalakalan (halata bang hindi ako pwedeng magtrabaho sa Magandang Gabi, Bayan).  Madalas akong bwisit sa mga mag-aaral nila: tamad, makulit, madalas magreklamo, at palaging nahuhuling nandadaya sa pagsubok.  ‘Yun pala, mas nakakainis pala ang mga guro at dekano nila.

So, ganito yung pinaplano nila:  gusto nilang “magkasabay” ang iba-ibang klase ng kursong tinuturo ko.  Okey, payag kami, kasi talaga naming pareho yung ginagamit na aklat ng mga guro.  Pareho kaming nagsisimula sa unang kabanata at parehong nagtatapos sa ikasampung kabanata.  Nakasulat yun lahat sa balangkas na binibigay namin sa mga studyante naming sa simula ng pasukan.  So, binigay namin sa kanila ang mga kopya ng aming mga balangkas (I am using this term loosely, but you get the idea, right?) para makita nila na magkasang-ayon naman kaming mga guro sa aming tinuturo.

Kagabi, nakatanggap ako ng sulat galing sa isang guro ng pangkalakalan, na hindi sya nagpadala ng kopya ang amo ko, at inutusan nya akong baguhin ang balangkas ko.  Hindi daw magkasabay yung mga takda ko at mga pagsubok ko dun sa ibang mga guro.  Ang gusto pala nya pare-pareho yung mga ARAW ng lahat ng takda at pagsubok namin.  Kung baga, kung yung isang klase, sa ikalabing-dalawa ng Setyembre ang unang iksamen, eh dapat lahat ng mga klase ng kursong iyon ganung araw din.

(Sa loob-loob ko, eh ano ngayon, putang ina mo, kung hindi magkasabay yung mga pagsubok ko sa pagsubok ng ibang tao?  Matataas ba ang mga marka nila sa ratemyprofessor.com?  Ha? HA???)

Nung una pa lang, nainis na ako kasi sinulatan nya akong hindi naka cc yung bosing ko, tapos INUTUSAN nya ako.  Di ko naman siya ka-ano-ano.  Hindi naman siya dekano o taga-SJ.  Aba, teka muna, yung amo ko, binabayaran para utusan ako, ikaw HINDE!  Akala mo ba dahil medyo baguhan ako ay matatakot ako sa iyo at gagawin ko ang lahat ng sinabi mo?  TARANTADO KA PALA, UUPUAN KITA DYAN!  At hindi lang ‘yan, isusumbong pa kita sa bosing ko!

JODER.  Estupida.

Okei (iba-iba yung pagbaybay ko ah), nag-antay muna ako ng ilang minuto bago ko sinagot yung sulat nya at baka kasi matawag ko syang Satanas o kung anu-ano pa.  Sinagot ko naman sya ng maayos.  Ang sinabi ko, hindi naman nakatakda ang aking mga pagsubok ayon sa mga kapritso ko.  Kung ganun, eh di sa Disyembre ko na ibibigay ang nag-iisang pagsubok nila at hayaan ko ang higit sa kalahati sa kanila ang babagsak. Ayokong maging super dali yung unang pagsubok, tapos mamamatay naman sila sa huli.  Dapat medyo pantay ang pamamahagi ng materyal na isinama sa bawat pagsubok. At syempre inaayos ko rin depende sa kung mabilis o mabagal matuto ang mga mag-aaral.  Kung baga “fair.”

Sinagot ba naman ako ng, “Eh, studyante ko rin yung mga iyon, mas kilala ko sila kaysa sa iyo!” 

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

Putang ina mo, magturo ka muna ng kurso ko ng limang taon, tsaka mo akong balikan at sabihin sa akin kung paano ko tuturuan ang mga mag-aaral ko!

Tinuloy pa nya, “Gusto naming itakda yung mga trabaho ng mga mag-aaral para HINDI SILA MABAON SA TRABAHO.”  Eh, tanga pala kayo, akala nyo ba na ‘pag nagtapos na ang mga mag-aaral nyo at nagtatrabaho na sila sa mga malalaking korporasyon iniisip ng mga amo nila, “Masyado ko yatang pinapahirapan yung mga empleyado ko.  Ayusin ko nga ang iskedyul ng trabaho para hindi sila mahirapan…”  BOBA! 

Akala mo ba nung nag-aral ako, pinadali ng mga guro ko ang buhay ko?  ABA, HINDE!   Sa totoo lang, nag-mi-miting pa nga sila para pag-isipan kung paano lalong pahirapan ang buhay ng mga mag-aaral nila.  Akala mo bang care ng mga bosing ko na napahirapan ako sa trabaho?  HINDE!!!  Eh paano matuto ang mga bwisit na ‘yan ‘pag palagi niyo silang inaalalayan?

Pigilan n’yo ako, uupakan ko na talaga ‘to!

Binuksan ko ang mga sulat ko kaninang hapon, at nakita kong pinagalitan na nga sya ng bosing ko dahil sinulatan ako ng deretso na hindi dumaan sa mga amo ko.  Malamang kailangan ko ngang baguhin ang pagtatakda ko ng kurso ko, pero hindi ko na kailangang makipag-usap sa kanya ng deretso.

Small miracles.

Ang sarap palang magmura sa Tagalog.

Pasensya na, alam kong marami akong mali sa balarila at sa pagbaybay (walang spell-check, maling ispeling lahat), pero kung naintindihan nyo ang nais kong sabihin, okei na yun.

Well, I’m glad I got that off my chest.

The comic is so obviously not mine; it is from the Genius of Piled Higher and Deeper.  But I can totally relate.

Assembling Furniture: A Tragicomedy in Three Acts

Tragedy for me, comedy for you.

Act 1.

 

For all those veterans of the furniture assembly process, what was the most difficult piece of furniture to assemble?  A seven-foot tall entertainment console?  A full length sofa?  A king-sized bed with  shelves on the headboard and drawers under the bed?

Early in the morning, I decided to pick the easiest job first, then work my way up.  Surely the toilet seat would be the easiest, no?

Forty-five minutes later, the OLD toilet seat was still screwed on to the toilet.  I mean, paking syet, how the hell did they put this on?  I kept twisting and twisting the screws, until finally I took a steak knife to them (buti na lang the screws were plastic).  I managed to loosen them a bit, but now there were all sorts of brown material coming off onto my fingers.  Don’t think about what they are (syet).  Don’t think about where they come from (syet).  Just keep working on the screw.  When this is all over, you can shower.  You can shower five times.  You can shower five times, then exfoliate with muriatic acid…

Act 2.

So after all that struggling with the furniture (let’s see: bed, mirror, sofa, coffee table, shelves, occasional table, toilet seat), it was time for me to take stock of all the cardboard in the apartment.  IT’S A LOT OF CARDBOARD.  Unfortunately, my building does not have separate bins for recycling. 

Dahil mabait ako, I go over the Department of Sanitation website and check the city’s recycling programs.  Paper and cardboard in clear bags, tin, glass and plastic bottles in blue bags.  Okay, so I’m good.  However, large cardboard boxes have to be flattened and tied up together.  Bring everything down to the curb on Monday night for collection early Tuesday morning.

Okay, this is a piece of cake.  Flatten the boxes before tying them up.  So I piled the boxes up, which were already rather flat to begin with (thank you, IKEA!) and started stepping on them to make them flatter.  Hey I can do dance moves, too!  ¯Oooh baby when you talk like that, you make a woman go mad.  So be wise and keep on reading the signs of my body…¯

I was shaking my truthful hips (i.e. they don’t lie) so enthusiastically that I did not notice that one of the cardboard sheets slipped out from under me.  The last thing I remembered before crashing sideways to the floor was “PAKING SYEEEEE…”

Act 3

I opened my eyes and wiggled my fingers and my toes.  Good, I’m not paralyzed.  Days like these, I’m grateful that I am pleasantly plump.  It’s like having lots of bubble wrap around your bones and internal organs.  Still, my right side hurts like hell.

So I drag myself to the kitchen to console myself with the munggo guisado that I cooked to perfection the previous day.  With lots and lots of pork, of course – my mother used to put a whole leg of lechon in her munggo while we all pretended that this was a healthy vegetable side dish.

So anyway, I put some in a bowl and stuck it in the microwave.  While waiting, I turned to the rice cooker.  Hmm, it’s empty, I could have sworn there were leftovers…oh well, waiting 30 minutes for the rice to cook won’t kill me…

The rice bin was empty.  Naubusan ako ng bigas.

PAKING SYET.

P.S. Photos of our new digs.  I'll get to putting up the frames.  Eventually.

Testing cross-posting from Blogger.

Testing cross-posting from Blogger.

Testing cross-posting from Multiply.

Testing cross-posting from Multiply.

See Spot Pack

“So the years roll on by, and just like the sky the road never ends.” – Allison Krauss

 

It’s the end of an era.

 

I moved into this building seven years ago; Spot and I are now preparing to leave it.  As this blog owes its name to this apartment, I think the occasion calls for a blog post.

 

For the info of my (three) dear readers, “Spot on Top of Bar” referred to the fact that our apartment used to be on top of a bar that drew crowds of undergrads with its loud music and relaxed attitude towards underage drinking.  It also refers to my best friend Spot, who lives with me, on top of a bar.  I kinda miss the bar.  The owner used to give me free cappuccino while I watched the World Cup matches in 2006.  Yes, I was there when Zizou consolidated his Dark Lord status by bringing France all the way to the final, only to bring them down by getting sent off for headbutting Marco Materazzi.

 

The bar is no more.  In its place is a convenience store that thankfully stocks coconut milk, picture frames and cheap Bounty wipes.  The people in the building have changed too.  This place is like a freaking airport – so many people have come and have gone.  Anna, Jeff, Tristan, Hannah, Paola, Ernie, Jen, Noel, Frances, Chilai, Mae, Mhir, Karla, Leanne.  By next week, Spot and I will be added to that list.

 

It is amazing to me that I have lived in this building for seven years.  For most of that time, I’ve never really felt that I could settle down here.  In “Fiddler on the Roof” Tevye explains that Jews cover their heads so that if need be they are ready to leave at any moment (e.g. the Exodus).  I have always had that subconscious covering over my head, always anticipating a moment of flight.  And just when I thought that maybe, this might be home, it is time for me to go again.

 

I arrived in this country with one large suitcase, one small suitcase, and a backpack.  Right now, I am writing this entry in a room with all the furniture pushed against the wall, all the better to accommodate the more or less (actually it’s really more) 25 boxes of my worldly possessions waiting for the moving truck to haul them away.  I give the impression that I am moving far away.  In fact, I’m only moving four blocks down.  But it’s just dawned on me that I have stayed the same place for seven years, and while I could conceivably still stay, I am getting restless.

 

Even as this new chapter is starting, I can’t help but think of the next great move.  I think of Barcelona all the time…perhaps I should take measures to plot my next adventure?  In the meantime, I am putting up an image from Casa Batlló on my inspiration board, hoping to channel Gaudi in my decorating efforts.

And because I am kinda sick of Toby, meet Mr. Perfect.

 

Well, Mr. Almost Perfect.  He doesn’t play for Liverpool.

All mine except for Xabi (damn it).  Filched from Kickette.com and the Hola Querida blog on Tumblr.

Overheard in Barcelona

K:  someone on my asked me on Facebook if I watched the El Clasico.  Maybe I should tell him that “the El Clasico” is redundant because “el “= “the.”

Heckle:  Shut up, nerd.  Nobody cares.

Jeckle: *cackles*

The best part of the trip:  I was here.

The second best part:  watching Crackovia on TV in Barcelona J:

 

The other parts (also awesome) are here:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/kristinesync