Tritan Plaza
Paseo de Magallanes, Makati City
The Bait: Namets-inspired sampling of Bacolod food
The Line: "Since 1965. Serving the Negrenses with Good Food For Over 40 years. "
The Hook: Comfort Food
The Sinker: Birthing blues with service not up to the first flux of wannabe-the-first-to-try diners.
The Catch: P350 per person; exclusive of dessert
In our marriage's restaurant choosing power play, he usually says, "same old, same all-time favorite." And she says, "anything we've never tried before."
This weekend's date night brought about a happy compromise.
Bacolod's Pride, Bob's, has been in Manila for just a few weeks. But it's been satisfying the Negrense diners since 1965. It satisfies my husband's craving for the familiar; the dishes vaguely reminds us of Dayrit's comfort food. Spanking new and already attracting a wait-in-line clientele, it sates my hunger for the novel.
If you're looking for newfangled cuisine, Bob's is not the place for you. The food is no-frills, no-surprises, just-eat-it-and-enjoy, yummy in my tummy, comfy for my soul food.
This old married couple ordered the prosaic and predictable. Buffalo Wings (5 pcs for P250) with blue cheese dip. Good, but not outstanding given the metro's choices of hot wings. Bob's Chorizo Sandwich (P105) was a bit of a disappointment -- delicious chorizo filling, but too much bread for not a whole lot of meat. They need to double up the chorizo serving and give it some visual interest. It is arguably the most boring looking sandwich on the face of the earth. The Big Boy Cheeseburger (P170) compensates. It doesn't blow your taste buds away, but it pleasantly satisfies with it simple, beefy goodness.
The major disappointment was the absence of desserts. The mention of Bacolod food conjures visions of napoleones and other sweet treats. The cafe counter fridge offers only a blah display of chocolate cakes and brazos de mercedes.
The main pic above is their place mat, which shows a copy of their menu circa 1965. Nostalgic. But shows the stark contrast of today's prices, thousands of percentage over. A bit depressing.
The service was a bit sucky; repeated follow-ups necessary before food and drinks are served. But that's also because the place was packed. We're going to give it another chance though. The steak and eggs breakfast insists on being tried.
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Sunday, October 18, 2009
Islandhopper Dines at Bob's
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Sunday, October 11, 2009
Islandhopper Dines at Purple Feet
Wine Depot, 217 Nicanor Garcia St. (formerly Reposo St.), Bel-Air,
Makati City, 8973220, 897816
The Bait: Dining in the middle of wine heaven
The Line: "Our Wine List is Our Wine Shop"
The Hook: Green tea pannacotta
The Sinker: I'm nitpicking here, but if you pick a copy of their biz card, you see their unimaginative logo, a literal translation of "purple feet," which at best reminds you of your neighborhood spa and at worse, reminds you of er, purple feet.
The Catch: P1k-2k per person; exclusive of wine
How can this semi-alcoholic, 100%-gluttonic [my word] couple refuse an invitation to dine in a wine shop on the week that Wine Depot was having a restaurant promo around the metro?
With no signs outside, Purple Feet gives you the experience of entering a speakeasy, sans the burly bouncer and the secret password. It feels like you're in on a secret, but it's the food that is the contraband, not the alcohol. Walking in, one might take several minutes to get to the dining area with all the eye candy -- glistening, glowing bottles of wine calling out your name, tempting you to shop. But we had friends waiting for us, so we had to resist all impulse to walk the aisles.
We were pretty hungry too; this made our decision to go for the set menu easy and obvious. Check out that picture of the blackboard. Four courses, each one accompanied by a glass of wine. At P888. It's a really good deal; unfortunately tonight (October 11) is the last night for it.
The Blue Cheese Seafood Chowder is hearty, creamy, flavorful -- three adjectives tops on my gustatory vocabulary. Dig deep into the tiny soup cup to find spoonfuls of shrimp and calamari. I would have wanted more, But more dishes were to follow. The Villawolf Gewutz...gewirtz...gewurtz...uhm white wine that comes with it is sweet; tastes like champagne without the fizz. A good start.
The Atlantic Smoked Trout in Macadamia Dressing doesn't look impressive, but actually tastes good. To my untrained wine palate, the Tulloch Verdelho was just okay, but that's because I'm not really big on white wine.
For entrees, my hubbalicious chose the chicken, and I had the fish -- one of the few occasions when he was right, and I was wrong. The saving grace of my Lemon Poached Garfish with Saffrom and Olives were the fresh, raw herbs topping it, and that dollop of Indonesian catsup on the side. Other than those, the fish was the opposite of spectacular. More white wine, please.
Our host, who opted for the ala-carte menu had Duck Breast, which she made me try. It's very good -- oriental-flavored, slightly sweet, crispy skin. For that price (900+) though, you might be better off getting your duck fix in chinese tea houses, says my host. Of course, aesthetically, the warehouse, secret restaurant ambience of Purple Feet is hard to beat.
The dessert totally made up for the entree. The Green Tea Pannacotta was sublime. And the Dr. Loosen Reisling was almost ignored, if not for the fact that I'm cheap and I don't want wine to go to waste. The Vittoria Coffee is very good; dense, bitter, and strong. Great ending to a good, well-paced meal.
I would love to come back on a non-promo night. The dishes on the other blackboard look like must-tries -- that Portabello Mushroom with Foie Gras and Stilton Cheese is now officially part of my bucket list.
But what's more interesting is the option to pick out "raw ingredients" like beef, scallops, duck from the board, and then collaborate with the chef to whip up dishes to your liking. That and the green tea pannacotta are worth a return trip. I'll have red wine with my dinner next time though.
(Forgive me for the lousy pictures taken by my lousy phone cam.)
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Saturday, August 29, 2009
Wear Joaquin
You like fashion? You also like literature? Here's something that brings those two elements together.
Freeway honors Philippine National Artists by designing clothing collections that showcase the artists' works. The first set features Nick Joaquin. It's a scrumptious, artistic collection of t-shirts, blouses, jackets, and dresses.
I love the way the text takes as much space as the imagery. And if you're ever stuck in an elevator/waiting room/queue without a book, you can read your shirt.
Freeway does not seem to have a website, but google led me to this site that shows off the collection: http://fashion-flick.blogspot.com/2009/08/freeway-loves-art-nick-joaquin.html
Gorgeous, huh? I know you want a piece of that.
It's a bummer though that I wasn't able to buy anything. I'm way off the size chart of Philippine apparel, so I was ready to go for a bag. But there's no bag; just a tiny kikay pouch. And really, my closet will vomit the kikay pouch if I attempt to add another to the 2 million I already have. I need something I can use, sling on my shoulder, and show off so people will say, "Wow, that's Nick Joaquin." And I will beam and carry a silly grin while thinking of myself as some kind of cool, nationalistic, literate dudette with socially-relevant fashion tastes.
Oh well, maybe I will come back to their stores one of these days to try on a men's shirt.
But for you, my lithe friends, I encourage you to check this out and get yourself a limited edition. Wear Joaquin. If you have 2 navels, now is the time to show them off. Let's support Freeway as they support our artists.
Up next for the holidays is a collection paying homage to Ang Kiukok. I can't even begin to articulate how excited I am about that collection as well, and it will break my materialistic, pa-cultured heart to leave empty handed, because here finally is my chance of having a bit of Ang Kiukok without having to pawn my husband.
Freeway people, make sure you include a tote or messenger bag for the Ang Kiukok set, okay?
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Labels: fashion, my book lust, philippines
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Submerged
Often, I find myself submerged in a thick plot, lost in the pages of a good book, deeply ensconced in an armchair and swept up in other worlds, embroiled in other people's stories. But this post is not about that. This post is about submerging the book.
Yes, dipping a book in water. Uhm, yes, liquid water.
I hear gasps and the gnashing of teeth.
Warning: The pictures that follow might cause shortness of breath, activation of tear ducts, and the rapid increase/decrease of blood pressure among my obsessive-compulsive, plastic-wrapping, book-loving friends.
Be assured, however, that no books were harmed in the filming of this blog.
This is my totally waterproof book. Melcher Media's The Soothing Soak is a collection of poems, essays, and short stories by Pablo Neruda, AS Byatt, Diane Ackerman among others. It is meant to be read in the bathtub. But since we don't have a tub, this book is my spa book.
I've been wanting to have a book like this. Ever since I discovered the existence of waterproof books, I've been entering steam bath and sauna rooms with a profound sense of emptiness and longing, knowing that if I had such a book, I would read in joyous peace instead of boring myself in contrived zen.
One time back in the days when I didn't have this book, I tried going to the sauna with a regular book, the type with porous paper pages. I panicked when I saw the pages crinkling into little waves. In this mega-humid country of ours, water damaged books have the potential to attract molds and destroy your whole book collection. (There's that gasping and gnashing sound again.)
Gimongous thanks to my Chicago based sister-in-law, Ate Pat, I finally have this.
One weekend, I baptized (uhm, literally?) the book at The Spa in Jupiter. I tucked the book into my little pink spa bag and brought it with me to the wet floor.
I read poetry at the steam room.
I felt a bit self conscious because there were 2 other girls in the room. And maybe they were thinking I was silly bringing a book in there. Or maybe they were envious. Because they had nothing to read. While I was unabashedly reading in the steam room, instead of watching my navel or doing nothing but grappling with my body issues and trying to cover up my cellulite. I was happy.
Then I moved into the Turkish pools. I love Turkish pools with the contrast hot and cold baths, except this time the hot part was not that hot, and the cold was not that cold. Normally, I would be a wee bit upset about such technical flaws, but this time I had my waterproof book, and I was a happy camper.
I read a couple of short stories. I can hardly remember the content as I was just so thrilled at the experience of being able to do two favorite things at once -- reading and spa-ing. I enjoyed myself so much, I had to force myself to stop reading, pull myself out of the pool, and get on with my spa-ing.
Two drawbacks -- one is that you need to allocate more time before your massage. The other one is that even if it is waterproof, the pages do get wet and stay wet. So I had to wipe every page before I stored the book back into my spa bag. Spritzed it with Lysol. It's waterproof. I don't know if it's mold proof.
Aaah. I can't wait until my next spa visit and my next soothing soak.
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Wednesday, August 26, 2009
What's On Your Desk Wednesday
A few Wednesdays ago, Blooey tagged me to participate in a blog meme that would shame me, my neat freak husband, and the mother who tried to teach me urbanity.
We're supposed to take pictures of our desk, and we're not supposed to tidy them up first to make them photo-pretty. Gasp!
This is for Sassy Brit's blog meme, What's On Your Desk Wednesday. The details and the instructions are all here.
I tried to ignore Blooey's tag. But what do you know -- it's Wednesday, and I'm too lazy to draft a book review or write a blog entry that makes sense. And I'm taking the easy but more embarrassing way out. So here, in all it's glorious chaos, is a picture of my desk. Click on the image for a closer, more embarrassing look. Hopefully, the dust bunnies don't show.
The rules say I shouldn't tidy up. I have to confess I tried to make it look a little presentable, but to no avail. It's a hopeless mess. It's the end of the term and there are tons of papers to be checked. It's also book sale season and well, you know how it is with book addicts who live in tiny laces -- a book shelving nightmare, the floor disappearing. Geez, what am I talking about? My desk looks like this the whole year round, so I'll shut up with the excuses.
But like they say, if a cluttered desk is a sign of a cluttered mind, then what does it mean if you have an empty desk?
Ooo, I almost forgot. I should tag 5 bloggers. So here are my victims:
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Monday, August 24, 2009
The Grandmothers by Doris Lessing
My interest in fiction has always been that of a reader. I've never dared to analyze the art and science of fiction. In my brief, limited, and safe writing career, I've focused on the known -- on the formulaic and not-too-demanding field of business writing.
But Doris Lessing has opened a dangerous, little porthole to wander in and wonder about that thing called fiction writing. Don't be alarmed. I linger far from the possibility of birthing a novel from the depths of my bowels; no, please, no. It's just that Lessing has made me wonder how one can write so tautly with no tinge of superfluity. How one can conjure images and flesh out ideas with language so well thought of. So intelligent. But raw with base human emotions. Who writes like that?
Lessing does. And I can only bite my lip in envy.
The Grandmothers is the carrier story in a collection of 4 short novels. That's probably the thing going against the book; the novels are too short. Each of them can be developed into full blown books that can eventually be developed into full blown major motion pictures. But that is the beauty of this book -- it gives you just enough to chew on, without overexplaining. The short story quality of it that leaves you a little bit unsatisfied reassures you that this book will not become all that popular and you're one of those lucky enough to be in on the secret.
The Grandmothers is an almost incestuous, but certainly scandalous, story of two women. Two golden, beautiful women who fall in love with their golden, beautiful selves. When their lives turn out to be less than the perfection they worked so hard to make it to be, they shut out the world, look within the pocket-sized, controllable world covered by their golden halo, and love only those who belong to that perfect circle -- each other's son. Golden, beautiful boys who fall in love with their older female mirrors too.
Lessing writes in a way that casts no judgment. The reader is left to make her own. To be mesmerized by such a fantastic premise, or to say ewww and be morally offended -- your choice. I felt a little bit of both. The story does not end well for the grandmothers and their sons. Which is probably well and good.
The second story, Victoria and the Staveneys, struck me as somewhat ordinary. But I suspect it is a limitation of my ability to understand the nuances more than a limitation of Lessing's storytelling. Somewhere in there are messages on race, tolerance, hypocrisy, poverty, privilege, socialism, communism, and all sorts if isms. They escape me at the moment. Okay, maybe a very long moment.
I am torn between the first and the third as my favorite of the collection. The Reason for It, classified by reviews as science fiction, is an all too real account of civilization. It is a story about the conflicts between new and old, between progress and tradition. The story is told from the perspective of the old and traditional who whines about a dying culture. And so if one were to take the side of the storyteller, one would ache at how the world has regressed instead of progressed. How art suffers and knowledge is mocked as the newfangled becomes the new standard of what is good, beautiful, and right. And culture disintegrates and society is transformed into a sad, shallow shadow (alliteration unintended) of its former glory.
This is probably the most preachy of the stories. It talks about the emptiness of beauty when it is unmatched, unsubstantiated by a fine nature and a good mind.
It is also the most thought provoking. I have visions of throwing this to my book club friends who would act like frenzied alligators at feeding time as they apply every nosebleed inducing framework to analyze this. Shhh, I won't tell them about it.
The collection ends with A Love Child. A bit predictable. On the side of sappy. And the most likely to be made into a movie starred by Ben Affleck. Which is not to say it is shallow because it is loaded with meaning and still beautifully written.
It's been months since I finished the book. And I'm now over the fiction-writing itch. But I'm not over Doris Lessing yet.
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Sunday, August 9, 2009
Contraband
I am Gege. And okay, I admit it now, I am addicted to books. And book buying. And my husband does not like it. But confessions are necessary. And therapeutic. So, I'm showing here the view from under my desk where the recent loot is in temporary confinement until my husband goes out to play golf. When I, away from his prying eyes and judging heart, can put them into their rightful alphabetical places.
Shhh, don't tell my husband.
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Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Somebody Loves Me

Somebody from the US loves me and knows the stuff I love. Thank you. I'm going to enjoy all these goodies.
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Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Bale Dutung -- House of good food, gracious entertaining, and art
July 26, 2009 -- We used Eric's arrival from Sydney as the perfect excuse to troop to Angeles, Pampanga for this 5-way lechon feast we've been hearing, reading, dreaming, salivating about.
We knew about Claude Tayag -- artist, columnist, and chef. Whipping up an amazing lunch, a degustacion that had food gluttons raising their little white towels in surrender, Chef Tayag certainly didn't disappoint.
But the surprise was Mary Ann, Claude's wife. Stylish, gracious, and entertaining, she elevates party hosting to an art.
Of course, the most pleasant surprise is Bale Dutung itself. You enter an unassuming suburban village to get there. Then once you cross the Tayag's gate you step into a rustic restaurant slash house slash gallery slash nature wonderland. A house filled with art, antiques, and creative ideas that salute Philippine food and culture.
And the food -- I honestly have never been that stuffed in my whole life. Slooooow food at its finest -- almost 5 hours. And well worth the time and the trip. (Of course, I'm not with the party that got caught in the flash flood and the 5-hour traffic jam on the way back, so I can say that.)
Resto review to follow. In the meantime, enjoy the photos at: http://islandhopper.multiply.com/photos/album/38
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Labels: my grumbling stomach, my vagabond shoes
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
A Dr. Seuss Sunday
Yippee. Yoohoo. ‘twas a Sunday!
A fine, fun Sunday, I may say
A fine day to catch up on sleep
And to read something not too deep
So I looked through my shelf
For a book I could choose
Then I thought to myself
How about Dr. Seuss?
Dr. Seuss. Dr. Seuss. He’s cool. He’s fun
And Flippers say for July he’s the one
I know, I know, some will be shocked
That I read a book about (gasp) a cat
For cats are creatures that make me say yuck
I will never like them, no matter what
This particular cat
Knows how to have fun
He brings out of the box
Thing two and thing one
This cat makes a huge mess
And gives the kids so much stress
It gives the fish a huge fright
When it lets the Things fly kites
This particular cat
Has a machine that sweeps things
Oooh, I want something like that
A gadget so amazing
But the amazing thing is this
Dr. Seuss wrote this charming piece
With the same two hundred twenty words; that’s all.
So this poem can be read by kids, big and small.
When I was done with the story
Of this cat that’s naughty and feisty
I guess I had to admit
This cat is not all that yucky
As my Sunday went on
So did my Dr. Seussathon
Book two was Green Eggs and Ham
About a creature named Sam-I-Am
Though the poem sounds rather silly
And funny with a bit of whimsy
It has a lesson to preach
About living a life more rich
Get out of your comfort zone
Is the message of the book
Venture into the unknown
Try things, taste stuff, take a look
Dr. Seuss says for us to grow
Don’t say no to what you don’t know
Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it
Don’t give yourself silly limits
Then it was time for book number three
This time, ‘twas something rather scary
What Was I Scared Of? was the next tome
This is now my fave Dr. Seuss poem
It tells us not to be afraid
Of things and folks that are unusual
We’re all just differently made
And that’s what makes us special
We need not fear
Of the strange and queer
Don’t be afraid too
Of things that are new
Then I took a break
From all the poetry
To read Theodore Seuss Geisel’s
Short biography
I learned he’s American
With traces of German
He majored in English
To be a teacher was his wish
Then he fell in love with Helen
Who became his travel companion
And it was in 1957
When Cat in the Hat became a sensation
I was also to discover
That Dr. Seuss won a Pulitzer
For giving his life to educating
And making reading entertaining
My Sunday was drawing to a close
But before I rest and finally doze
There was another book to read
The last of Dr. Seuss indeed
You’re Only Old Once
Is a book for obsolete children
This was one of the last books
From Dr. Seuss’s fabulous pen
This is a bit depressing
As Dr. Seuss tells of the stressing
Hospital visits, doctor hopping
Waiting room waiting, medicine popping
Yet it’s still full of humor
And you wish Dr. Seuss could have lived more
To write more about cats and whatnots
Green eggs and other silly plots
So that’s my Dr. Seuss bookfest
What a great way to de-stress
I felt truly truly blessed
Dr. Seuss, you are the best!
PS: After composing this, I have new found respect for Dr. Seuss. This was hard. I had to use an online rhyming dictionary to get this done. And after trying to work out a semblance of a meter, I just gave up at the end.
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Wednesday, June 17, 2009
To Poof or Not to Poof: That is the Question of the Day
Had a real nice dinner with a girlfriend last night. And we know that when two or more women gather, the discussion inevitably leads to the topic of men. And this is the question that we deliberated on last night. I am interested to know what others think. Please comment. Share your passionate views.
The question is: Do real men use the poof to clean themselves in the bath or shower?
I will share my views after hearing from you.
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Monday, June 15, 2009
DO HARD THINGS by Alex & Brett Harris

Do Hard Things, for me, is a hard read.
You see, I don’t like doing hard things. Yea, who does? But I think my aversion to doing hard things is above the average. I’ve spent my life running away from hard-to-do things. Sometimes some people do not believe me when I say I’m lazy because they see me involved in so many things. And when I’m really passionate about something, I work hard and work excellently. But I’m very selective about the things I do, focusing on things I love, I enjoy, I naturally excel in, I care about, or at least things that would bring me instant gratification. And even with those things, I always manage the degree of difficulty.
So when I read the blurbs inside the book – a lot of things about a lot of hard things – I literally put it down and eyed it as if it was the mother source of the H1N1 virus. I just didn’t want to hear/read any of it. I didn’t want to be challenged, to be goaded to do hard things, things that will make me sweat, get my hands dirty. I don’t want to do anything that would make me look stupid, incompetent. No, thanks. I like my life just the way it is. Cushy, fun, easy.
So the first hard thing I had to do was to pick up the book again and force myself to read it. The next hard thing I now have to do is to write about it. That is hard because writing about it forces me to reflect on what I have just read.
One of the things that make this a hard read is that it is really targeted towards teenagers. So, I’m reading this 25 years too late. And whatever message it has for me is a reminder of the things I should have done and shouldn’t have done many years ago. It made me a bit sad that at my age, the hard things are even so much harder to do.
So, if you are in your teens or just about to hit those years, go read this to avoid the regrets. First off, you’re going to learn that this teenage concept is a fairly new one. Ages ago, people were really just divided into two groups – children and adults. Back then, people started taking on adult roles and responsibilities when they were about 15. Child labor laws, though generally positive in intent, somehow extended the childhood stage, and so a new demographic was born. Now, the teen years are supposed to be some kind of vacation just before one gets into real life – adulthood. And vacation may seem like a euphemism for the lost, crazy, angst-filled, dysfunctional years.
How many times have you heard people warn parents about this phase? The phase when the teenagers’ search for identity is usually accompanied by wild, inexcusable but expected behavior and social experimentation. Adults sigh and say, well, what do you expect -- they're teenagers. And they’re supposed to be allowed to waste these 7 or so years drinking, doping, and coupling, basically indulging in spring break type bacchanalia. After all, they have the rest of their lives to get serious. But in the meantime, real life and real responsibilities can wait. One can just hope they pass those wasted years unscathed.
It is this problem of low expectations that Alex and Brett Harris address. They want us to rethink what we think about the teen years. They want today’s young people to rebel against low expectations and reclaim the teen years as the launching pad of their lives. They want teenagers to fight against mediocrity and to do far more than is expected of them. To do the hard things – the ones that take them away from their comfort zones, the ones that won’t give them instant gratification but far reaching and much better rewards.
It’s a message that people need to hear – whether they’re in that target reader age of 13 to 19, or whether they’re parents, teachers, and other youth-influencers. It’s a hard message for the teenagers. It’s a hard message even for the adults because they have to start raising their expectations of the youth. And for some (like me), they too have to learn to do the hard things. It’s a hard message but one worth listening to.
Alex and Brett Harris write well in a contemporary, easy manner as you would expect. I’m glad they didn’t use hip teenage jargon that could have made them sound like they’re trying too hard to sound like the teenagers that they are. A lot of well written, high-impact statements here. My highlighter pen vomited lines and lines on the book, underlining catchy phrases and calls to action that even this old fogey can learn from. I can already see the industry this book will spawn – devotionals, journals, calendars. Rubber bracelets?
The authors are very liberal with examples to inspire and practical tips to apply. Though this is obviously a book written by Christians for Christian readers, the message can be relevant to those of other faiths.
Its audience has its limits though. Even though, they give examples of the experiences of Philippine based youth, the context is most relevant to American or first world youth, those with options. It’s hard to imagine how this message might apply to youth struggling with extreme poverty, youth who have hard things thrust upon them, those who don’t even have the luxury of a real childhood. They do hard things because they have no other choice. As such, you wonder about their chances of redemption. Or maybe I expect too much. Maybe that topic is altogether for another book.
Limited audience notwithstanding, this book is a must read. I wish more young people would read this and be inspired, be alerted to a call to do great things, to excel, to achieve more than what is expected of them, to make a real, lasting difference in the world. But first they have to do hard things. And first, they have to read this hard-to-read but worthwhile book.
Read more!
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Thursday, June 4, 2009
Flippers are Foodies too
temporarily posting this here as I ask permission from the image owner, Lord Jit, here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/jityanga/339554347/
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FLUmmoxed
It was a bit surreal. To be standing alone in the school corridor because everyone has left.
One foreign student confirmed to have AH1N1. The school will be closed for 10 days. Some might think that's a bit much. But it's standard procedure they say. According to WHO. Just the same, it was pretty hard to believe that school was being shut down.
They're not revealing identities. But I suppose they're rounding up the possible contact points. And those who might have been exposed are probably in quarantine now.
Only rumors to go by. So far, I've heard the pronoun "she." And which college "she" is from. Not our college. Whew.
I'm in school 2 days a week. I interact with only a few people from the department, and my students are enrolled in major subjects. I don't go around much. The chances that her virus has somehow got to me is almost nil.
Unless she went to the library and used the desk a few minutes before I used it. Or had a kiwi strawberry shake like I did and sneezed on the straw holder, from which I picked up my straw. Or we walked together from the parking lot, and she exhaled a bit much. Insert suspense horror movie sound effects here.
Who knows where she's been? I certainly don't want to panic. But the mind is actively imagining scenarios. The erstwhile invisible air suddenly acquires a psychedelic haze and neon green dust enlarge and fly around like spring fluff landing on every throbbing surface. Every epidemic panic movie gets replayed in my head.
The second the rumors were confirmed by a memo in black in white, I started feeling psychosomatically hot and slightly diarrheic.
But really, I'm okay. Maybe I should just enjoy the extended vacation. Though a 10-day quarantine of just reading would be nice.
Ugh. I dread the repercussions of making up for lost time. Makeup classes are a pain. And my 2 sections are not on the same page anymore. Bummer.
I pray that "she" gets better and that will not be as traumatized as I imagine she'd be. It's not a cool way to get famous. I pray that no one else is infected. I pray that this scare blows over. Paranoia is not a pretty emotion.
Life in the time of the AH1N1.
The panic reminds me a bit of Saramago's Blindness. Surreal.
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gege
at
9:30 AM
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Saturday, May 30, 2009
Inanity and the Absurdity of Posterity
A record of sorts. Beating my personal bests.
No. of hours in pajamas - 25 (maybe barring the times I've been in my sickbed)
No. of kilometers traveled in pajamas - app. 394
Bontoc. I put on my pajamas at roughly 10PM. The next morning, we were traveling to Baguio to spend the night there en route to Manila. I decided I would shower in Baguio. The Baguio Country Club shower, a gazillion stars better than the one at Bontoc, beckoned. I went coffee-shopping in Bontoc and had lunch at Cafe by the Ruins in my snowflake riddled jammies. And then some people, without asking my pajamas, decided to go straight back to Manila. The country club lodging was canceled. And so my pajamas and I arrived home past 10 in the evening. My pajamas practically walked itself to the hamper.
And that, my dear friends, is another installment of utterly useless facts about me.
There is no bottom to the well of inanities I can think of.
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Posted by
gege
at
11:34 AM
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Labels: idle chatter, my vagabond shoes


