13 Dec 2008 Scrumptious’ Latte
 |  Category: Beautiful people, Oddities  | 2 Comments

“Scrumptious,” Aileen whispered when the guy by the bar asked Mimi for her name. I snickered but thought it was a good idea. So, when it was my turn to get coffee, I told the guy the iced double chocolate is for “Scrumptious.”

“Anything else, Miss Scrumptious?” he asked, looking and sounding like the words were being choked out of him.

“Well, yes, mineral water please,” I said. Behind me, Aileen was doubling over with laughter. So was Malou when she learned of the story. When it was time for the staff to call out my name (a.k.a Scrumptious), I swear, they cringed! We were seated near enough the bar so we could hear their timidly said, “Double chocolate for Scrumptious!”

“Here!” I said, waving my hand at the attendant. Of course, it didn’t help that Malou was laughing like mad and Aileen just had to go take photos of a neatly scrawled ‘Scrumptious’ on the lid.

That little coffee shop incident is now giving me ideas. I don’t go to Coffee Dream, Starbucks, or even Bo’s because I’m cheap like that. It pains me to pay P150 for coffee. The only time I go there is when I’m with friends - and the fun, fun, fun conversation we have makes the P150 well-worth the price. I think I’m changing my mind about frequenting coffee shops as I write this entry, though. These coffee shops, they’re a treasure of a place! Where else can you get away with telling people your name is Audrey Hepburn? For the price of a latte, people will humor you and call out “Ms. Hepburn! Double chocolate latte for Ms. Hepburn!”

So, just so you know, I have decided it’s high time my split personalities and I stop going around the neighborhood looking for people to beat up. We will go to coffee shops instead and order iced coffee for

1. Cinderella
2. Her Majesty
3. Free.

12 Dec 2008 PhilHosting, You Suck Vacuum Cleaners
 |  Category: Gripevine  | Leave a Comment

I hate my hosting service. My dotcom is always down. They bill on time, at times even ahead of time BUT they provide the lousiest service this side of the planet. For almost two weeks, my dotcom displayed error messages - and they were blind to emails. When it was time to fork over monthly dues, however, they promptly sent me billing. Worse, not only did they send me billing even though my dotcom hasn’t been working for some time, they actually sent me a late payment notice three times - three times, even though I’ve paid!

So, I’m gonna go take my business elsewhere. PhilHosting doesn’t need it - or at least seems not to until it’s billing time. This blog will be inactive for a while. I’ll go shop for a host that’s worth the money I pay for it. Oh, and in case you’re thinking of getting a dotcom, never host it with PhilHosting. Lousy service, lousy communication, lousy grammar - and I’ve told them so. You should know, too, before you host your blog with them.

06 Dec 2008 Bored (And Unlike Yam, Not Crafty)
 |  Category: Blathers, Gripevine  | Leave a Comment

I’m running out of awesome juice. That, or writing steam. I write for a living, you see, and while it’s lucrative and fun, it also leaves me feeling more like a typewriter than a writer at times. I keep falling asleep when I should be churning out articles and because I’ve gotten very spoiled about being able to set my own schedule, the only time I can write productively is at night, when the house is quiet and my Internet connection is at its fastest. What do I do with my mornings and afternoons? I sleep, get French tips, shop or windowshop for dresses, exchange emails or talk shop with Iris (because our baby’s finally taken off and is generating oodles of $$$), play with the kids, read books, and do lots of uploading.

Yep, you read that right. I do a lot of uploading - a fun task because I enjoy googling photos. The lovely woman who had me write girly articles before now trusts me with full-time uploading work and team management. And, as strange as that may seem to those who know what a technophobe I used to be, I now enjoy using new software, doing simple coding, and learning the ropes of Internet marketing.

Three months ago, I would never have dreamed I’d have so much time on my hands to do all the things I want. Now that I do, though, it feels strange. I don’t just have time on my hands; I have heaps of it - and now I’m actually considering doing yoga so I could - to quote Iris - learn to bend like a pretzel. The hub and I spend his days off doing some traveling, swimming (pretending to swim, in my case), or trying out new restaurants. Sometime this week, we had breakfast buffet at Marriott, lunch buffet at Marco Polo, and dinner at a place we picked in random. That’s three pig-out sessions at three different places in one day, not counting the breakfast we ate at 4am. Our new favorite is Angus. It’s a little place in Country Mall that serves great steaks and yum grilled pork chops. They’ve a great version of La Marea’s warm brownie cup, too. To be honest, though, food is not why I love the place - although their food is great. I love the place because few people go there. In all the time we’ve gone there to eat, we’ve only had to share the entire restaurant with other people twice! It’s near where we live, too, which is a plus.

But I digress. I was talking about how writing could be both a joy and an unending source of boredom. Because I write fast and upload even faster, I’ve more time than I know what to do with. So, as Yam suggested, I took up hobbies. I went back to attacking my guitars - diligently, mind you, until I realized they ruin my nails. The hub and I have turned dining out into a hobby, as well - that, and hanging out in salons and massage places. Today, I am considering signing the hub, Alex, and I for either aikido or dancing lessons. The little girl loves the idea; the hub hates it because he says these lessons would get in the way of sleep. The hub and I still have the travel project in place (in fact, we plan to travel with modernpatadyong and sigbin next) but we can’t travel as much as we would have liked because unlike my time, his isn’t his own. I do not have another hobby up my sleeve, though, so why don’t you suggest one? You will be saving my sanity, believe me. Mine and that of my family’s.

01 Dec 2008 Bruno and Tut
 |  Category: Family  | Leave a Comment

I name things. I don’t know why I feel the need to validate their existence, I just do. The poor little eepc that died was called Sophie. My notebook now is called Chloe.

This afternoon, the hub installed the printer we got my sister so she doesn’t have to go hot-foot it to the nearest Internet cafe each time she needs a paper printed. He gave our trusty desktops some memory upgrades, too. “Why didn’t you ever name this unit?” he asked, pointing to my very hardworking, loyal, five-year-old Compaq.

“But I did. It’s called It.”

He tsk-tsked. “Poor little thing. I’m renaming it. It packs serious brute force now plus it’s big so I’ll call it… Bruno!”

“Yuck.”

“It’s a Bruno - look at it! It’s black, it’s masculine, and it’s the opposite of your frilly, silly Sophie.” The hub argued his case creatively. There was no swaying me, however. If I’ve to give something I own a male name, Bruno is the last name I’d call it. We spent a few minutes debating the issue until we reached a compromise. If it’s a Bruno he wants, then it’s a Bruno he’ll get - just not my PC. That was how my sister’s printer came to be called Bruno and the PC, Tut - for the boy king Tutankhamen. So in our household, there is an Alex and a Charlie, a Sophie and a Chloe, a Chin and a Wett, and The Bruno and The Tut.

01 Dec 2008 Cookie Talk
 |  Category: Raising Alex  | Leave a Comment

Alex cannot read but she likes to pretend she can, anyway.

“Ma, what does my cookie say?”

“The one on your hand? Nothing. There are no words on it.”

“There are uy!”

I was amused. The cookie in her hand has teensy grooves, not words. But she entertains me, this little’un, so I humored her. “Okay, what does your cookie say?”

“I’m delicious. Please eat me, Alex.”

She is amusing, this four-year-old. She’s such a drama queen, too. I don’t know where she learned the words she uses to such theatrical effect; I certainly didn’t teach her those. “You ruined my plans!” she shrieked when my foot bumped into some of the blocks she had painstakingly lined half the bed with.

“Ruined? What does that mean?”

“Guba ba. You guba my plans.”

“What plans?”

“My evil plans to rule the world!”

“With blocks?”

She had the grace to look embarrassed. She always does when we flag her wrong use of English words. “Um, forget it.”

30 Nov 2008 Brokenhairted
 |  Category: Big Sad, Family  | Leave a Comment

I have so much time for idling on weekdays that by the time weekends arrive, I feel so bored I could cry. This weekend was no different. Itching to do something, anything, I dragged the sister to David’s Salon to give her a makeover. A haircut and a rebonding session later, she took one look at the mirror and sulked. To add insult to the injury, she accused me of playing a joke on her.

Now, normally, I’ve the sentimentality of a teaspoon. I get hurt quickly but you would never know that just by looking at me because the more I hurt, the more I refuse to give anyone (most of all the person who did the hurting) the satisfaction of seeing me cry. But this was different. This was the sister doing the hurting and my eyes welled with tears so quickly I wasn’t able to hold them back before they spilled. It’s the good thing the hairstylist and his assistant didn’t laugh at the little drama taking place or I would have slapped them silly. It wasn’t just that she thought I’d make her look bad on purpose that made me cry; it was the fact that she could think that when I plunked down money for a pricey cut and rebonding. If it really was a bad hair joke I wanted to play on her, it would have been easier (and cheaper, too!) to butcher her hair while she sleeps, yes? And, she didn’t look bad at all! She looked younger, sleeker, unquestionably better.

Feeling really crushed, I texted the other sister and told her the story. I don’t know what happened because the hub whisked me off to the clothes’ section so he could buy dresses for his three girls but by the time we went home, the sister was by the door, looking really remorseful. So yeah, we’re okay now but I am never going to concern myself with her hair again, even if it starts looking like a mop once more. The road to hell is indeed paved with good intentions. That, and hair.

29 Nov 2008 In Defense of Adjectives
 |  Category: Annoyances, Gripevine  | Leave a Comment

I was stupefied when a friend told me a person we both know dislikes adjectives and finds people who use them pretentious, even cruel. I can’t give you a verbatim quote because I didn’t come by the information first-hand. I didn’t know if it was written or spoken. Just the same, I felt compelled to write this post and defend adjectives, not just because I use them (and I do - a lot!) or like them but because they are indispensable.

Adjectives are a part of speech for a reason - they are necessary. Try writing a novel without adjectives and you’ll see soon enough how impossible that is. Even Ernest Hemmingway who wrote with no frills used adjectives. But what of the authors who used adjectives frequently and consistently? On the one end of the time spectrum, you have Shakespeare; on the other, you have Nick Joaquin. Were they pretentious? Cruel to their readers? Did they use adjectives to torture their audience or brag of how expansive their vocabulary is? No. They used adjectives as a literary device and to great effect. They used adjectives frequently and beautifully because they have absolute mastery of the language. They used adjectives to place you at the time and place the story was written, to make the tale so real for you you could almost hear the beating of the old man’s heart in Edgar Allan Poe’s The Tell-Tale Heart.

more…

28 Nov 2008 Absolutism, you are so off the guest list!
 |  Category: Annoyances  | Leave a Comment

I seldom have peeves because I have a mosquito’s attention span. I hop from one interest to the next and trance out on all things shiny and pretty. So the moment something gets my goat, you can be sure it’s something really worth huffing about because I’m laidback and lazy - people and their doings do not interest me or if they do, then it’s all for five minutes or so. But here’s a peeve I just can’t shuck off because it bothered me then and it still bothers me now.

I don’t like absolutists. They’re worse than elitists. Elitists simply favor a certain group, person, place, or idea. Absolutists, on the other hand, cling to only one of a certain thing, clings to it so vehemently it’s either their way or the highway. Ergo, if you’re not X, then you could only be Y. If you’re not academically intelligent, then you could only be dumb - which pretty much stomps on Howard Gardner’s multiply intelligences, does it not?

My point is, we would all have been stuck in the Middle Ages if the whole human race had been absolutists. There would have been no theory of evolution, no recognition of the sun or the fact that the earth belongs to a solar system. Perhaps we would still now be worshipping totems or tattooing our bodies every time we return from a headhunting expedition.

Sometime back, a person I know sneered at contemporary authors. “I don’t read them,” she said haughtily, “I only read classics.” I was stunned by the stupidity of that remark. Read ONLY classics? Did she really mean that or did she say it merely to impress? Because if it was the latter, then I was not at all bowled over - not at all. She was 30 when she made that remark. If, at 30, you’re a self-proclaimed bookworm who is only discovering the classics and read nothing else because you feel no other book passes muster, that’s pathetic. I read Mark Twain’s Huckleberry Finn and Jonathan Swift’s A Modest Proposal in 4th grade. That was the year I learned how effective and beautiful satire can be and I carried that love for satire through adulthood, later on delighting in the works of Joseph Heller and Kurt Vonnegut. From then on, from age 8 to present, I learned to appreciate different writing styles, love certain authors, and respect even those whose works I didn’t like. My early exposure to the classics did not turn me into a book snob of sorts. What it made me was a lover of books thick and thin, big or small, famous or obscure, classic or not. I am indebted to all the books I’ve read. They improved my vocabulary and helped me develop a skill I never knew was a skill until much later - speed reading. Most importantly, they taught me to dream. They showed me that in a world as big as ours, anything is possible.

So yes, even to this day, I find absolutism offensive especially where books are concerned. Priceless ancient libraries were burned because of absolutism. Books were banned because of absolutism. The church ex-communicated several writers, philosophers, and scientists because of absolutism. Absolutism is the true mark of a narrow mind. I’m no genius but I do know that the more I learn, the more I realize I still have a lot left to learn - and that definitely includes expanding my reading list to include Banana Yoshimoto, Bob Ong, and anyone else whose work I’ve never read before.

27 Nov 2008 Mercury-High

I have a confession - and it’s one that I could lose friends for. As Mariel puts it, I’m baduy - they’ve come to accept that as a given - but I’ve no business crowing about it to the world. After all, she is my best friend; that, by association alone, makes her baduy, too. Nonetheless, I really need to get this off my chest because it’s 3:29 in the morning and I’m sitting here overflowing - simply overflowing - with love for Queen.

I love Queen - that is my confession. I’ve loved them since I was 10 and I loved them so much I had the lyrics of Bohemian Rhapsody memorized long before I learned the wordings of Awit sa Bohol, which we had to sing every Monday and Friday in school. So what if Freddie Mercury died of Aids or that he openly admitted that he adores Liza Minelli and Cabaret? That doesn’t make him any less of an artist. If anything, it makes him even more of an artist. After all, the rock music industry is notoriously homophobic. For someone like Freddie to make it big in a testosterone-heavy arena is proof that - to borrow from Rizal - “genius knows no country, genius sprouts everywhere, genius is like light, air, the patrimony of everybody, cosmopolitan like space, like life, like God.”

Freddie was born Indian. Before there was a Freddie Mercury, there was a Farrokh Bulsara - and for Bulsara to conquer the music industry the way he did is sure evidence that sometimes, talent triumphs over clever packaging. Freddie had no machismo, no good looks, no bad boy image to sell. In fact, Spanish soprano Montserrat Caballe even said that the difference between Freddie and practically all other rock stars was that they sold their image while he sold his voice. He had to; there was nothing else he could do better or be more passionate about than making music.

Ironically, the man who is considered one of the greatest rock singers of all time never had formal voice training. I’m not sure if he had any training in songwriting, too, but with or without training, that guy sure writes well! He wrote complex harmonies and intricate melodies, used a wide range of genres, and utilized just about all types of key signatures. He was a singer, writer, musician, and performer and I would have given just about anything to see him perform live. I would have loved his flamboyance, his eccentricity, his ability to excite an indifferent audience and hold them in the palm of his hand. I would have loved the way he stuck out from other musicians like a sore thumb.

You see, I have always had the highest respect for people who dared to be different - and Freddie wasn’t only different, he was wonderfully odd, too. He took his music to the edge, drove his creativity further than the rest, and wore tights. He had gaps in his teeth and looks like he had swallowed a golf ball each time he sang. He was also - in his own words - as gay as a daffodil. How could anyone not love a man like that? And because I can’t NOT love him, I’m leaving you with one of my favorite Queen tracks, the song that best expresses what I’m feeling right now - at 3:29 in the morning. And no, I don’t mean that part about feeling like a sex machine ready to reload.

25 Nov 2008 Guess who had too much time on her hands today?
 |  Category: A'traipsing we go, Family  | Leave a Comment

Yep, I had way too much time and more - so I dragged the hub to David’s Salon early so we could get a manicure and pedicure. I got bored waiting for my nails to dry so I decided to mess with my hair again. I wanted to do something outlandish; almost asked them to dye my hair violet, truth be told. But the hub was with me and he doesn’t tolerate mad experimentation (not on my hair, anyway) so I had to settle for a haircut, instead of a full hairjob - layers, bangs, violet hue, and all.

Friends, meet my new do. It’s ugly and it reminds me of the bowl cut my mom used to give me back in kindergarten. But I refuse to stress over my tresses. It’s just hair - it will grow back. Then, too, I’ve done worse things to my hair so having it cropped this short isn’t really a tragedy of Bush-presidency proportions. And hey, I made Alex laugh with my new do. She thinks it makes me look like a homo. How many haircuts can do that? So yeah, this is me grinning over a botched cut.

Agyness Deyn, you are so paying for my therapy. I have learned my lesson. Each time I see you rockin’ your short do, I will tell myself you’ve been heavily airbrushed because it’s simply not possible for a human being to have her hair cut that short and look that hawt.