The child in me

After reading nothing for months, I read two books last night. But before you get all excited and think that I'm some genius speed reader, I should clear something up -- I read two children's books. Two children's books that should not be read by children.

The first was The Melancholy Death of Oyster Boy and Other Stories by Tim Burton. Yes, the guy who made his money by being weird. Weird hair, weird wife, weird movies.

This book is a collection of (you guessed it) weird, very short children's stories all with central characters who are outcasts -- Oyster Boy (he's half boy, half oyster), Stain Boy (he's a superhero but his only power is to leave nasty stains on everything), the Boy with Nails in his Eyes (I think this is self-explanatory).

Illustrations (also by Burton) were excellent, I thought. Common theme of "outcast getting to be the lead in his own story" got a little old by the 10th story, but that's the whole point of this book. Growing up I think we've all had the experience of being the odd one out. The thing with me is that I thought it was everyone else with the problem.

The second book was The Daydreamer, by Ian McEwan (the guy who wrote Atonement). In this book we meet Peter Fortune, a 10 year old boy, with knack for daydreaming. The book is actually rather heavy, with themes involving a death of a loved one, killing your parents (or as Peter put it, "making them vanish") and sheer terror. Not very kid friendly, but consistently well written in the "children's story" style (simple words, linear plot, usually has an animal or an animated doll in it). (Aside: for a very precise description of the "children's story" style, read the author's Introduction to the book).

Why I never get into anything

I never get into anything, because being into anything is inherently baduy.

Let me explain.

Take photography. I can take pictures. Want proof? Click here.

But if I started to take pictures for real, bought a big ass camera and started carrying humongous bags around (no offense to Wonder), then I would be baduy. (Sorry, Wonder.)

They say everything taken to an excess is bad for you. I say it's just plain baduy and should be avoided.

Like those people who know too much about a particular topic, say ballroom dancing. Having a general knowledge of the subject is cool. Makes you really smart and the star of any cocktail party conversation. But start naming the Father of Foxtrot and people will just get scared and leave you.

Being exceedingly good at anything or having anything in excess (even money -- think Donald Trump, Imelda Marcos) is baduy.

From surgery to stamp collection. Even kindness taken to Mother Teresa degrees is baduy. (I think M.Teresa's whole "God does not exist" phase (as recorded in her letters/journals) was her way of being cool.)

Think about it.

But not too much, otherwise you'll be baduy.

Chanelling Phil

Philip says "realize" a lot.

"Mom, I realize that I left my bag in the car." (Reader, the child is 3.)

And so....

I realize that I have not been blogging.

I realize that there are people out there who check this blog daily and rely on TWS for some humor and updates on the welfare of their youngest daughter.

I realize I need to start blogging again soon.

The life we would have had

You'd move here, get a job writing features articles for almost nothing. Then an editorial gig a few months later. Some days you'll just lose yourself in a market, a maze of little streets.

I'd get a real place with a real kitchen where you'd make non-pellet beef stew, spongey Swiss rolls.

We'd go on trips during long weekends. Krabi, Siem Reap, Saigon, Phomn Phen.

Or just sleep in and watch French movies all afternoon.

Here are other things you can sell

1. Luneta
2. The right to appear on a P5 coin.
3. Rights to name the airport (or kung small time ka, a waiting shed)
4. Your first born son (but there would be no takers)
5. Your soul (oh wait, but you've sold this one already, haven't you?)

I believe there are degrees in everything.

There is a difference between shooting someone and chopping someone up.

There is a difference between chopping someone up and eating someone.

There is a difference between committing plunder and pardoning it.

The good news and the bad news

Bad news first.

Bad news: I'm overweight.

Good news: I have unbelievable amounts of self discipline.

Bad news: My unbelievable amounts of self discipline have remained untapped.

Good news: I summoned the self discipline and started going to the gym like a maniac.

Bad news: I injured my knee.

Good news: I saw a doctor.

Bad news: Doctor's in HK cost a fortune.

Good news: I get paid a fortune.

Even better news: I have insurance.

Bad news: Doctor is believer in holistic approach to medicine and sent me to a therapist. (I want drugs, damnit!)

Good news: The words "deep tissue massage" were used.

Bad news: Therapist turns out to be sketchy looking Indian guy.

Unbelievably fantastic news: My knee is better.

Beserk drunk elephants get zapped

A cautionary tale, my friends.

Who knows, if I persisted in my old ways, THIS could have been about me.

WTF?!?!*

Now I think we've all seen (o sige, for you prudes, I'm sure you've heard about) some pretty bizarre, warped, weird, strange, kinky things...

But this one is just plain perverted.

Children, look away.

Look away.



Post may have also been called "Reason 742,819,538,618 to love those Japs".

Reason 742,819,538,617 to love those Japs

Though street crime is relatively low in Japan, quirky camouflage designs like this vending-machine dress are being offered to an increasingly anxious public to hide from would-be assailants.


Ms. Tsukioka also designed a disguise for children: a backpack that transforms into a Japanese-style fire hydrant, concealing the child.



Photographs and captions from the New York Times.

Because I am beyond self-obsessed

Some people Google themselves.

I Acronym Finder-ed myself.

J.O.N.A. has several meanings:

• Journal of Nursing Administration


• Japan Organic Natural (this is just a bit pilit)


• Japan Organic & Natural Foods Association


• Journal of Northwest Anthropology

Jona appears in two acronym meanings:

• NJL: Nambu-Jona-Lasinio (phenomenological model of quantum chromodynamics)


• SCRJ: Schlittschuhclub Rapperswil-Jona (Professional Ice Hockey Team, Switzerland)

Uuuy, photo essay daw...

It was a three day holiday in HK this weekend and so naturally, I returned to my Western European roots and went for a hike.

Naturally.

The hike we went on is called Stage 8 of the Hong Kong Trail, the route from To Di Wan to Tai Long Wan. To know more about the Hong Kong Trail, a series of 8 walks in (you guessed it) Hong Kong Island, click here.

So we started off at Shek O National Park and after briefly losing our way (we weren't actually lost, we just weren't sure where the trail began, that's all) we found this:

Now Shek O Peak doesn's sound sexy. And if someone said, "Hey Jona, let's go hike to Shek O Peak." I would have probably said, "Parang no." But thanks to the geniuses who run Hong Kong's park system, I agreed to hike up the "Dragon's Back". Has a much sexier ring to it.


The first hour you're walking through a mountain with no view. This was the part of the walk I enjoyed the most. When there was overgrowth -- it was cool and you had to jump over streams, watch out for the rocks and make sure you didn't twist your ankle. Here's a picture of A. who I conned into walking with me.



You climb for about an hour and when you get to a decent elevation, you see this:

Climb a little bit higher and you see this:

The walk is called Dragon's Back because once you reach a certain elevation, the trails follows the ups and downs of a set of hills. It looks like this:

You keep on going...



And then you get to the top:



And then we walked down to the town of Shek O:

We walk around a bit and checked out the local temple:

We had lunch. Sorry, no pictures of the salt and peper tofu, but here's a pic of my lemon soda.


[Aside: I am now silly crazy about soda water. On weekdays (libre kasi yung soda water so opisina) I drink about 3-4 cans a day. Yes, it makes me burp excessively; but I read somewhere it's good for digestion.]

And sat on the beach for the rest of the afternoon. Well, I actually slept for the most part.









While waiting for the bus back to Central, A. spotted a mural on a nearby house:



If you look closely, the parrot is sitting on the water pipe.

How stupid do you need to be...

to believe this story.

Gaguhan na ito.

8 glasses is just ridiculous

As most of you know, I've started what some people call a "lifesytle change" -- I quit drinking and started going to the gym. I've also started to watch what I eat. (Food does not move; it just stays on my plate.)

Further to this "healthy lifestyle", I've started to read stupid "health articles" written by dumb people for dumb people. (Lots of lists, all very short pieces, plenty of graphs, and tables.) Am not saying the articles are wrong or badly written; they're just dumbed down -- like all the writers went to the Reader's Digest school of magazine writing.

But anyway, I digress ...

All these "how to live a healthier life" articles proselytize about the virtues of drinking 8 glasses of water a day. Drinking 8 glasses of water a day has become the first commandment of healthy living now; and we all accept this as fact and something we should aspire for.

But it's just plain ridiculous. And as P. would say, "and I'll tell you why".

I tracked how many glasses of fluids I drink a day (not just water) and I've realized that eight glasses of anything within a 24 hour period is just not sustainable.

Morning coffee -- 1 glass (actually one mug)
Morning soda water -- 1 glass (actually one can)
Soda water during lunch -- 1 glass
Afternoon coffee -- 1 glass
Afternoon soda water -- 1 glass
Dinner drink (water) -- 1 glass
Post dinner drink (tea) -- .5 glass
=======
Total: 6.5 glasses (and only 4 glasses of which are water)

Thankfully, the guys at Darmouth Medical School have set the Readers Digest guys straight.

My descent into stupidity

In an effort to regain some IQ points that I have shed due to my work-out regimen, I have taken to listening to "The Philosophers" podcast. Essentially some British guy telling me what I already know about Plato and Kant.

Actually I don't really listen to what he's saying, I just enjoy the cadence of the commentator's voice.

My God, I really am turning into an idiot.

Top 10 things about not drinking

1. No hangovers
2. You save so much money
3. You lose weight
4. . . .

[someone please help me out here]

Deja vous

I saw this picture of Ricky Martin while browsing through the NYT last night:



Doesn't this remind you of his Livin' La Vida Loca shtick, which is, by the way 8 YEARS OLD?

Again, if you've got a good thing going, run with it.

For your viewing pleasure

If you get the chance, go see Fauteuils d'orchestre, the French movie of French movies. Scenes of Paris, check. Existential angst, check. Cute gapped toothed French girl with short hair, check.

From the IMDB plot synopsis:

A young woman arrives in Paris where she finds a job as a waitress in bar next to a theater. She will meet a pianist, a famous actress and a great art collector, and begin to have her own dreams of fame...

And then there is Cashback. To call this movie brilliant is too much. It's not that good. But it is amazingly good. The camera work edgy, the entire premise edgy. (Insomniac on the nightshift of a 24 hour supermarket can stop time, or at least he thinks he can.) The writer and director, a man named Sean Ellis expanded his Oscar nominated short film (also called Cashback) to make this movie. This just shows (a) he is unimaginative and (b) when you have a good thing going, run with it.

You keep used plastic bags in a drawer

If you are reading this post, chances are you are Filipino. And if you are Filipino, I am CERTAIN you keep used plastic bags in a drawer.

We all do. It's like some bizarre mark of Cain.

I know, creepy. In a really weird, non-cool way.

Exercise makes you stupid

It does. Really. I've been at it for over 7 weeks now and I am significantly dumber and more uninteresting than I was before I started.

And here's why.

When I don't exercise, am usually lying in bed or on my couch reading or thinking. Yes, just plain thinking. I believe that thinking by myself in complete silence is one of the greatest things in life. You can wander in your own little world. Testing and disproving your silly theories about life and the concept of wakefulness and technicolor dreams (I believe there is no such thing).

The ideas that play in your mind when you are in your pyjamas, lounging on your off-white couch are different from the ideas that bounce around your head when you're on the treadmill. The exercise ideas are bland and aseptic. They're about work the next day, dinner that evening, the laundry you're waiting to get delivered. Lounging ideas think about how digital pixilated pictures should be able to be blown up without blurriness (you simply multiply each pixel by two or four; a computer should be able to do that -- easy) lounging ideas think about whether there are any fat Vietnamese people.

In the last seven weeks I have also given up alcohol. This has made me really focused, but also really stupid. Not just learning impaired stupid, we're talking birth defect stupid here. I have nothing even remotely funny to say at a dinner party. People look really ugly and greasy food does not taste as good when you wash it down with soda water (my new addiction).

It's great being able to fit in those "thin pants" I keep in the back of the closet. I also sleep better and feel more rested in the morning.

But it's a sad fact -- exercise is bad for your mental health.

The other white meat

A couple of weekends ago I schlepped to my favorite Vietnamese restaurant for some pho. It was 11:58 a.m.

The doors were shut, the lights closed, but you could see the waiters standing at attention inside.

The sign at the door said they open at noon.

It is now 11:59. And the small "crowd" in front of the restaurant consists of me, a white man carrying a plump baby (with the cutest, fatest feet) and an Asian woman fawning at the child as if it were hers. It was hers.

My frustration over the one minute wait must have been visible because the man with a baby said, "Forgive them, they are very professional."

I responded truthfully, but without thinking, "I am so hungry I could eat your baby."

"Oh my God, I can't believe I said that out loud."

Instead of exhibiting shock, the couple beamed at me. The mother responds, "I know what you mean. I want to eat her up too." And she grabs those useless, but so edible feet.

Apparently, admitting to wanting to consume someone's else's baby is a great ice breaker.

Buying a good bra

I apologize in advance for the indelicacy of this post. But lately I've been giving a lot of thought about buying bras. Happy ending first -- I bought a couple of great bras at Marks and Sparks over the weekend. But only after a lot of mental agony.

x x x

The source of almost every woman's first bra is their mother. Your mom will give you a "trainer" or some other "starter" bra that will almost always be made with cotton, be white, have no pads, no underwire and will be itchy as hell.

You will wear this for a few months (maybe even a year) and then "graduate" to a "regular" bra, again, almost always bought by your mother. Cotton, white, no pads, no underwire and thank you Jesus, less itchy.

As a girl gets older, she starts buying her own bras, finding her own style and preferences. Padded, with underwire, lacey, multi-color. Any combinations thereof. The selections are infinite.

The thing is, I am not most girls.

Until this day, I wear white, cotton, no pads, no undwire and thank you Jesus, non itchy bras.

And as styles of bras become more modern and trendy, you can imagine that buying a "simple" bra can get tricky. Specially if you're "blessed" in that department. I'm no Dolly Parton, but in Manila, buying bras for gals like me can be a challenge. Don't you agree, N.?

It's a fact -- almost all bras are padded. Sorry to break this to you, Dad and G. (the only two males who read this blog). Buying an unpadded bra is like buying a yellow car. There are some out there, but you have to look for them. Most unpadded bras are made for young girls -- the trainers I mentioned. I think I've also mentioned that I've outgrown those years ago.

Most bras have underwire. I understand this gives extra "lift" to those who need it. (God I pity those poor women. I've never owned one, but I'd think it would be a bitch wear.)

So for the last 20 years or so, I've been buying facsimiles of the same bra. Most of them sold by a Pinoy manufacturer. Does this sound like something your grandmother would do? Because it surely sounds like something mine would do; I guess when it comes to bra preference I'm an old soul.

The Philippine-made bras while a perfect fit (figuratively and literally) lose their elasticity after a year. So you need to replace them regularly. And that's tricky if you live in HK. HK, where the women have even smaller breasts. Sigh.

Thank God for Marks and Sparks, where bras are made for Caucasian women and my bra size is like a size 6 for shoes (ie the most common size). Where white, cotton, unpadded, no underwire bras are sold by the truckload.

Why I stopped drinking

I used to drink a lot. And no, not a lot for a girl, a lot (period). During an average dinner party, I could have 4 glasses of wine and not flinch. If it were a "drinking party" (i.e. inuman), I could effortlessly down double that amount (the operative term here being effortlessly). And if you've seen me in action, you will know that I'm not exaggerating. It's a statement of fact -- malakas ako uminon -- noon.

Hold on to your seats friends, but in the last 30 days, I've had nothing to drink. Nada.

No, I have not found Jesus (he lives in my shower gel bottle). And no, I have not finally given in to my mother's constant "reminders" about my drinking.

I stopped drinking because I could (period). I drank to have a good time, to enjoy the taste of good liquor. To relish the lightheadedness after the third drink. I did not drink because I had to, or because I was sad or wanted an alternate reality.

Drinking to me is like reading fiction, it's a hobby. My days of boozing were great; and who knows, I might take it up again, but for now, I have no intention or desire to.

Praise the Lord.

STPPFAW

Jessica Zafra blogged about STPWW -- Support The Penniless Writer Weekend. About how she convinces her friends to buy her lunch, breakfast, coffee, a pair of shoes once a month.

I thought about adopting the same concept to myself, but somehow, Support The Penniless Project Finance Attorney doesn't ring the same bell.

Caution, medjo bad

I went to see Ang Lee's Lust, Caution last night.*

Ang Lee's the guy who did Brokeback Mountain, arguably the best movie adpated from a short story. If you have the story and own the video -- go back to the scene when Ennis (Heath Ledger) finds out Jack (Jake Gyllenhaal) is dead. Read the story again and then watch the scene. Grabe, ang galing. Mapapaiyak ka sa galing.

Ang Lee also made The Hulk. Arguably the worst movie adapted from a comic book. Not to appear repetitive, pero mapapaiyak ka sa kapangitan ng pelikulang ito.

Ok, so Ang Lee's not perfect. Even if he did make both Sense and Sensibility and Crouching Tiger (think about the versatility of vision there for just one second).

Lust Caution was er... well... medjo bad. The set design was straight out of a high school play. In one scene, there was tarp behind the actors that showed scenery. I know the movie was set in the 1940's, but does that mean they have to to adopt film making techniques of that time? Apparently so. There was NO cinematography. The music was blah. (If you re-watch Brokeback, notice the score.)

The plot took forever to develop (the movie was 3 hours long, most of the story developed in the last 20 minutes; and it really wasn't worth the two and half hour wait, apart from the "bomba" scenes everyone talked about).

The only good things out of the 270 minute debaucle were the performances of Tony Leung, Joan Chen (she's even better with age) and the new girl Wei Tang. If these guys did not deliver the way they did, the film would have been a complete disaster. Their performances drove the whole production. They had no help from the rest of the crew (you know, the director, scriptwriter, cinematographer, gaffer, best boy, etc), although Wei Tang's make-up artist and seamstress are noteworthy.

Just think about Ang Lee's versatility na lang.


==================
*This movie "review" assumes you've seen the film. I refuse to go into the plot, the NC-17 rating and everything else everyone else has discussed out this movie.

Confucius says...

She who grins like an idiot must have scored 11,990 on Brickbreaker.

Yes, this news deserves its own post

My new top score in Brickbreaker is 11,990, achieved at Level 23.

Beat that, S. and anyone else who carries a Blackberry and reads this blog.

Week 6

I've been going to the gym for 6 weeks now. And I don't mean once a week for 6 weeks. I mean 4 times a week for 6 weeks.

As usual, I am losing absolutely no weight, BUT I can walk 5.5km in an hour. I can break this easy. I'll let you know when I'm up to 6km an hour. I can also run (8.5km/hr) for 2.5 minute periods. I am trying to extend this to 5 minute periods.

I want to be that girl that can run for a 30 minute stretch.

And knowing me, I will be that girl.

Give me half a year.

Reasons why I should have moved to Hong Kong years ago

1. I love having 16 public holidays.

2. I love the smell of newly steamed rice from China.

3. I love egg tarts.

4. I like my shirts tailored.

5. I like mild changes in the weather. (It's getting cooler!!)

6. I like having a library of European films at my fingertips.

7. I like trams.

8. I like "sitting outside".

9. I like dimsum.

10. I like how no one knows how to dance but me (and I don't dance well). It's a fact - Chinese people have no timing.

The good news, and the really awful disastrous news

So Ateneo forced the "do or die" game with La Salle on Sunday.

Guess who's home for the weekend?

Sorry, P. in Tokyo.

There are no words.

Really bad, Really good, bad, ok lang, good

The only way to get over a bad movie is by watching a good one.

So I watched "Service for 10" to get over the movie (called, funnily enough) "The Ex".

The Ex was baaad. As in really bad. As in non flying bird (i.e. "foul") bad.

I picked up my copy at Metrowalk because Zach Braff was in it. So was Amanda Peet. So I'm thinking, it can't be that bad. And I saw the trailer on i-Tunes, and did not remember it being foul, so I forked out my P55 for the DBD and that's P55 I'm never getting back. Not to mention the hour and half of my life I wasted watching the film.

It was painful to watch. It was one awkward and stupid scene after another. I felt bad for Charles Grodin, I've always thought he was a nice, safe character actor. (Plus he had some work done so he kinda looks funny.) Amy Poehler was wasted.

Anyway... so I cleansed my movie palette with "Service for 10", a Brit indie film I knew was good. And I was not disappointed. It was like The History Boys, sans the "I want to be the British cousin of Dead Poet's Society" vibe.

After you watch a good movie, you think all movies are good and well written and cohesive, so of course the next thing you do is watch a movie that will remind you that you are wrong.

For me, that movie was "In the Land of Women." I saw it because Adam Brody was in it (so ok, I have thing for pa-intellectual skinny boys). It was not painful to watch, and some scenes were actually pretty good, but 25 minutes into the movie the director seems to have forgotten where he was headed and he lost his way. He never finds his way back, I'm afraid.

So now I'm thinking, ok, I watched another bad movie, let me watch a really bad one, para madala ako. So I will be shaken back to my good movie sensibilities. I watch "Music and Lyrics", the date movie with Hugh Grant and Drew Barrymore. Hugh looked old, Drew was skinny. Parts of the dialogue were great, pero medjo walang plot.

Back in the land of "let's watch movies with some sense and value", I popped in the indie film "Broken English" with Parker Posey. It was a neurotic thinking person's romatinc comedy. Very well shot. It was set in New York/Paris. This movie had great buzz, an exceptional cast, but somehow didn't quite live up to its expectations (the writing was unfocused). That said, I still thought it was pretty good.

My shower gel is possessed by Jesus

We have all read about these contemporary revelations of the Divine:

Mother Teresa on a cinnamon bun:



Jesus as a water stain:



J.C. on a potato chip:



Well, here's another one for the books: my Johnsons's Baby Shower Gel (not pictured) is possessed by Jesus. Seriously. I've had it for over six months now and I can't seem to finish it. It seems to be miraculously multipying. I am convinced that the phenomenon is a cross between the miracle at Caana and the multiplication of the loaves and the fishes.

I've considered making my shower stall into a shrine (and selling tickets to the faithful to take a quick view), but the candles get wet everytime I take a bath.

Walang pasok (aka Birthday ni Buddha)

There are 16 public holidays in Hong Kong. There are so many because Christian (Good Friday, Christmas), Buddhist (Ching Ming Festival) and Communist (National Day of the People's Republic of China) holidays are observed.

Now I love holidays (who doesn't?). But I don't care to know why there's no work. Basta walang pasok. Isn't that what really matters? Besides, most of the Buddhist/Chinese festivals are linked to the lunar calendar, so the dates swing wildly.

Sometime ago, I had dinner with a friend's houseguest, right before a Buddhist holiday. We got to talk about the upcoming event and she pressed me to explain the reason for the day off.

"Who the F cares?", I wanted to say.

Instead I said it was Buddha's birthday. I mean, with all the re-birth going on (not reincarnation dummy, I know my World Religions) in Buddhism, the Big Guy must have at least 16 birthdays.

x x x

But if you must know, because you have nothing better to do on a holiday than to think about why it is holiday, today people celebrate the Mid-Autum Festival. No work in Hong Kong. It's supposed to be some harvest festival. People light lanters, look at the moon while eating -- you guessed it -- mooncake.

Happy now?

Major Harm, No Fowl

The news wires aren't carrying the story, but there is no duck or goose for sale in Hong Kong.

The Brave Ones

The last time monks protested in Burma (in 1988) 3,000 people were killed.

It's not my problem

This climate change issue. Few scientists disagree on by how much the seas will rise (about a meter, causing devastating floods all over the planet). But they disagree on when this catastrophe is supposed to happen. Some say 50 years, others say 100 years and yet others say 150. So lets average all that (some have shorter/longer time periods, but let's not count them since that complicates this post) and you get a hundred years.

The seas will rise in a hundred years.

Let's think about that for a moment. A hundred years.

By that time, I will be 132. P. (who I consider as my link to the future) will be 103.

This really is not my issue. So CNN, please stop taking up my time with reports on how big the hole in the ozone layer is already (yawn) and footage of the latest celebrity that has gotten on the oh-so-cool climate change bandwagon.

Now before you judge -- I don't drive in HK and recycle when I can. I do this because it's the smart thing to do. Not because I'm afraid the HK bay will gobble me up.

Dreams for P.

While at Brown he will major in Finance and minor in 17th Century French Architecture. He will speak French with the most charming of accents. While in college he will apprentice in investment banks. Maybe one in London, spending weekends in Paris.

He will join cru (since he was on the team in high school).

He will then get a J.D. in Columbia, pass the NY Bar.

Work in BigLaw for two years, then get his MBA in Stanford.

He'll make the shift to investment banking. $300K on his first year.

He will marry a French woman who will call him "Fe-leep".

They will have blonde children.

In the summer he will take them sailing.

So far, so good

I've been trying to remember stuff that as I a kid I hoped I'd do someday and am actually doing/can do right now.

I've made a list and so far, I think young Jona would be very pleased:

1. I can stay up late and drink Coke in the morning.
2. I drive a really cool car.
3. I live in my own apartment. (Young Jona would have preferred a loft though.)
4. I'm a lawyer.
5. I can walk into any retail store and buy anything I want without having to ask Mom.

Paper to plastic

When I was a kid, I'd go through my father's old Time and Newsweek magazines and cut the same picture out week after week after week.

I would cut this picture out:




It came in many sizes. Actual card size, miniature size. I'd cut them all out. I'd put them in my wallet and pretend they were real. It's funny because I don't think AMEX was even accepted in the Philippines in the early 80's (I also don't think I knew what a credit card was at 6). I just thought the card was very cool.

No need to pretend now.

It's not green though.

But it is very cool.

The funny thing about halves

When you say "I'm half kidding", you actually mean (or at least you sound like you mean) that you're more serious than you are kidding.

When someone says, "I'm only half serious", it sounds like you're not serious at all.

But when you say "The glass is half full" you're being optimisitc, "half empty" you're resigned about things.

So which half is it more?

Repolyo

I am currently obsessed with cabbage.

Cabbage is my favorite vegetable and in the last 36 hours I have consumed two heads of cabbage. Isn't that just a little excessive? I think so, but cabbage from China is good sh*t. (Monster, you still owe me a decent Tagalog translation for this.)

I boil the quartered cabbage head in chicken stock for 5-10 minutes (be generous with the salt and pepper). Make like a parrot and consume the cabbage and stay full for at least 6 hours. And a head of cabbage only costs HK$4.

Ang saya ng repolyo.

Do svidaniya, B.

Flew home over the weekend to say goodbye to Chum. She's moving to New York to go back to school (again). (Really, how many post graduate degrees does a girl need? I have two and I think that's two more than necessary.)

I should've known something was up when she asked me to fly home. Chum doesn't even call me on my birthday. When I called to ask what was up, she shared the good news and said it would be great to catch up.

And we did. Gossipping like two school girls while picking on black cod and splitting a frightfully expensive bottle of wine. It's been some time since we've hung out, but we still complete each other sentences and still don't agree on anything.

Take it easy, B. I'll see you when I see you.

Further adventures in a Chinese gym

If you've been reading this blog when I started it in mid-2006 or if you've read the archives (you must be very bored or very disturbed to do this) you will know that I've never been a member of a "real" gym before.

But I am now, and I'm fascinated over gym protocol and behavior. Allow me to share with you some of my observations.

No fat people. I am the only overweight person who goes to my gym. Everyone else is buff and cut or else Sudanese thin. Why would you go to the gym if you were Sudanese thin? To build muscle? Then why go on the cardio machines? If you are Sudanese thin you need a saline drip, not a gym membership.

Gym outfits. Everyone comes in "proper" gym outfits. You know, the ones you buy at a sports shop specifically to go the gym. I wear ratty Ateneo Law or CU t-shirts. This has not worked out for me. Combine excess poundage with pambahay attire and people look at you with sad eyes and feel sorry for you. Thank God I don't give a flying rat's ass what these people think.

Make-up and jewelry. I can't understand this. Why do some of the women look like they've just stepped out of the beauty parlor on their way to a wedding? It is inappropraite to get on a step master wearing an anklet. Also, it is morbidly disgusting to perspire while wearing foundation.

Agressive gay men. With the amount of wicked glances by the weight machines, one wonders what goes on in the locker room. Senator Craig would have a field day.

This sort of sums up my relationship with the internet

Weekend plans

So S. and Wonder are coming over. I e-mailed S. to find out what the plan is and what they want to do during the three days they'll be in town.

Here is her (unabridged) response:

I think we should try Macau (ano ba ang magagawa dun, except to eat Lechon Macau? ... teka, yung lechon macau ba originated from Macau? siguro naman di ba? why else would it be called lechon MACAU?!?). Anyway, I digress. We should try Macau, let's figure out what we can do there. How much is the ferry going there? How long does it take? Should we do overnight?

I think may lechon sa Macau in the same way na may lumpia sa Shanghai.

Jobing at metlog

This is an excerpt from my chat with S., wife to Wonder and mother of the boy-genius Carlson (my godson). The text has been edited for brevity, clarity and to correct spelling errors. But the punch lines are real. You can’t make this stuff up.

S: Wonder is travelling to London, will be in Hong Kong from Saturday to Tuesday.

J: Why will Wonder be here till Tues?

S: Yeah. wala lang. stopover ng cathay ang hk di ba?

J: yeah... but layovers don't usually take 4 days

S: well, he asked me until when i can take a leave, and i said probably tuesday

J: i see... and where pray tell were you intending to stay?

S: why, at 168 apartments of course!
128?
186?

[Note to reader: my apartment building’s street number, from where it gets its name, is 338.]

J: HAHAHAHA
sige pa

S: [expletive S. had me delete] ano nga ba apartment mo?
I know there's a 2
and an 8
it's 3 numbers
there are not that many permutations. This is not rocket science.

J: I am laughing out loud.

S: 128

J: It's 338.

S: of course not! you are misleading me on purpose!
It is 128.

J: don't you think i'd know where i live?

S: right. 338. ok. Fine.
STOP

S: i have a new bading word

J: what?

S: well first it was "anik-anik"

J: what does that mean?

S: which means, uhm, abubot

J: ok

S: or nonsense
as in "anong laman ng bag mo?"
"ay, anik anik lang"
"or anong laman ng contrata?"
"anik anik"
the new one i learned is "chak chack candy"
or is it chuck chuck candy?

J: I feel a blog coming on

S: ha ha ha
but do you know what it means?

J: um, hello?

S: so do you?
It sounds like chuk chak chienes

J: I think it’s pronounced chook chak tienes

S: fine

J: which just means "tienes", which just means "nothing"

S: so how do you spell chack chack candy? or C.C.C.
i am planning to use it in a sentence, as in
"wonder, may plano ba tayong mag chak chak candy?"
stop, it's so bastos. grabe!

J: so it means sex?

S: yep

J: i see. i love it

S: di ba? eh yung "wiz"

J: ano yun?

S: wala. as in "may alam ka ba diyan?"
"wiz"
except you prolong it -- so it's like saying wiiiiiz

J: do you prolong the "i" or the "z"?
i see

S: unless you string it with other words, like, "wiz ako alam diyan."

S: before the year ends bading na jologs na ako, i swear

J: so you will become a jo-bing?

S: gasp!
di ko alam yan!
jologs na bading!

S: you just invented that, no?

J: it's been around for ages [Note to reader: Yes, I just invented it. But S. didn't know that -- until now.]

like metlog -- metrosexual na jologs

S: oo nga, i think i should blog about this

Q: What do Bin Laden, Macoy and I have in common?

A: Our worlds changed on September 11.

• Bin Laden brought down the World Trade Center.
• Ferdinand Marcos was born.
• Jona joined the Firm.

Welcome, V!

Let us (me and my army of 5 readers) welcome my newest reader: V!

A few things we should know about V:

V can sing.

V and L have the most beautiful home. (Thanks for having us over. We will be back! -- that's not a threat...)

V and L were this close to being married by Ate V.

That would have really been a blessings in the sky.

Redemption

Ateneo won over La Salle in what was a very crucial UAAP basketaball game yesterday.

I was in town yesterday.

I didn't watch the game though. Didn't want to tempt fate that much.

I am redeemed.

I've got game

Monster's here from Oslo and she gave me reindeer ham and sausage slices.

Leave it to Monster to find the best gifts.

Maraming takk!

My unexpected meeting with the iPhone

One of the things I need to do as part of my job is to take propsective associates to lunch to woo them. To tell them how great the Firm is and how working in an exciting city like Hong Kong is the greatest thing in the universe.

This is a great perk, I'm not complaining. But after some time, the lines get old, and the conspiratorial whisper I give to the applicant, "It's ok, you can relax now, the interview is over" sounds rehearsed. I try to focus on the good food and the fact that I can actually bill lunch time, but the fact is, after a dozen of these lunches or so, they simply get boring.

Until yesterday, that is.

Yesterday, the kid in the funny looking pin stripe suit (these kids wear the funniest things) discretely pulled out what I thought was an i-Phone from his pocket to answer a phone call. So I said very calmly from across the table, "Stop right now. Is that that an i-Phone you have?"

This must have frightened the poor child because he did literally stop, look at me and say, "Um, yeah. You want to see it?" He then handed me the gadget.

Since I did now want to speak to the person pin stripe suit boy had on the line, I refused and said, "say goodbye first".

He then realized his mistake, apologize to both me and the caller, then handed me the gadget again. (This act did not go unnoticed. I put in a good word for the oddly dressed kid.)

That baby is amazing.

It's smooth, slim and sexy and has rounded edges. The touch screen works like magic. It's like the damn thing came shooting out of a sci fi movie ala Purple Rose of Cairo.

I'd never buy one though -- it looked too fragile. Like it would break or worse, get scratched, if I dropped it or put in my pocket. If I simply handled it. It is meant to be admired, behind a glass window.

No shit, Sherlock

I find it amazing that researchers in Germany actually spent time and resources to come to the conclusion that men fancy physically attractive women over those who are plain looking. (Actual CNN headline: Men want hot women, study confirms.)

Full CNN story HERE.

This reminds me of the "experiment" I conducted for my second grade science class. I wanted to get to the bottom of that question that has nagged every 7 year old child --

"Do cockroaches need air?"

And if you should ask, "how, pray tell, do you go about finding the answer to that puzzle?"

Easy. First I caught four cockroaches (if you knew me at 7 you would know that this would be a piece of cake). I put one pair in two empty glass bottles. One had the lid closely shut, and the other bottle's lid had holes I'd punched in with an ice pick (God, I can actually remember doing this!)

SPOILER ALERT: The results of the experiment may shock you.

At the end of the day (sorry, wasn't keeping a record of how long it took for the cockroaches to asphyxiate) the cockroaches in the bottle with no air holes died. The roaches in the bottle with the air holes lived for a couple of days. (To be honest I don't remember what I did with them.)

"I therefore conclude that cockroaches need air."

Body Jam

A long time ago I would go to tae bo (aerobic kickboxing) class. It was Chum's idea. After work we'd go to this dance hall "along the riles" near South Super Highway, and for one hour a couple of times a week, jab and kick and hook and bend (as if dodging a punch).

Those were fun times. We'd go and bicker about our classmates while we hung out in the waiting area, but when the class started we'd find spots in the hall that were the farthest from each other. So we could make complete fools of ourselves without the other one knowing.

A few weeks of that and you "figure out" the movements and can actually do them on your own (without helplessy mimicking the person in front of you). As with all exercise routines, the sequences of the movements contain patterns, and after a few classes, you're practially Billy Blanks (well, not really).

And now am sort of at it again. I go to the gym near my apartment, and they have these classes... they switch every day and I thought that yesterday was Body Combat day. Well, it wasn't. It was Body Jam day. And Body Jam is --

The ultimate dance-based workout! BODYJAM® is an intoxicating fusion of dance and aerobic moves. The blend includes the latest hip-hop, funk and Latin music set to pre-choreographed moves, leaving you with an experience you will not forget! With an emphasis on easy-to-grasp dance moves and breaking out a good sweat, this is definitely one of the world’s best dance workouts yet.

Good thing I can dance.

Spooting

Ever notice how balikbayans dress a little weird?

Am not saying puffed up polka-dot bloomers with leggings and shiny flats (that's strictly HK apparel), I'm just referring to the slightly different clothes they wear. Clothes bought overseas. There's a subtle difference (notice how I jumped from "little weird" to "subtly different") between how balikbayans and how local Pinoys dress. (The same can also be said about men's haircuts. A guy's haircut from outside the Philippines is markedly different.)

It's the same white shirt, but the one made in France or by Brooks Brothers has the buttons in the "wrong places" or has "too many buttons". It's the same khaki pants, the pockets are different. Not as many pleats; too many pleats.

My transformation started with a pair of glasses I bought earlier this year. It looks almost exactly like my old ones, but that part of the glasses that holds both lenses together, that short piece of metal -- the glasses I bought here has one that is uniquely shaped. And you wouldn't notice unless you look closely. But the glasses viewed entirely don't look "usual" because of it.

I've mentioned the shirts I made a couple of months ago. They're ordinary business shirts, but the fabric is thicker than what we have at home. Textured. The colors are "off" too. The lightest shade of pink you can imagine.

And my shoes! The decorative buckles are muted, but actually bigger.

Funny how slowly, ever so slowly, I'm turning into a balikbayan myself.

Remembering Nanay

My maternal grandmother died 15 years ago today.

I try to think of her as often as I can, so as not to forget.

Memory lapses, even when summoning up the most precious things.

This is the kind of stuff that keeps me awake at night...

I don't understand how professional athletes can wear jewelry while they compete. I really don't.

When I was younger, I was very much into sports. Basketball (pretty good at), volleyball (sucked at), table tennis (kick ass), badminton (pwede na), bowling (I think any sport that is enjoyed with draft beer and nachos is the greatest thing on earth).

And when I would get on the court, or the lane, or approach the table, I would always make sure I put my jewelry away. First because there's a big chance that you'll lose that necklace while you're running around and also, jewelry is highly annoying when you're engaging in athletic activity. The necklace bounces around, your hair gets caught in the chain or your earrings, you can't grip the racket well if you wear rings.

So please, someone explain to me why/how these players do it?

Another post about movies you'll never see

The summer is over and I haven't seen The Bourne Ultimatum, Spiderman 3, The Simpsons Movie, Transformers, Pirates of the Carribean 3 (I wouldn't watch this even if you paid me), Harry Potter 4, Die Hard 4.0, that rat movie (I won't even pretend to know how it is spelled), Shrek 3 or Rush Hour 3.

But over the last couple of weeks, I did see the following films:

After The Wedding (Denmark) was nominated for Best Foreign Film at last year's Oscars. It was excellent. A simple story that kept your attention for two hours, kept you interested until the end and made you sit at the edge of your seat without a single gun being fired or a single car chase.

It was simple classic story telling at its best. It's what all movies are supposed to be.

A Touch of Spice is a Greek movie. Greeks are known for falafels, ships, and the Olympics. They are not known for movies. And maybe there's a reason for that.

This movie was touted as a shining example of the best in Greek contemporary cinema. And well, if this is the best, well, they have a long way to go. But the whole life = food, best things in life = spice theme was ok.

Leave it to the French to make well thought of movies. This one was not particularly brilliant, but the character development was so well done. Sigh.

The sad lonely bartend with the ailing father. The sad lonely real estate agent looking for excitement in his life. The sad lonely single woman looking for companionship. The sad lonely soldier looking to regain glory. The sad lonely caregiver who leads a double life.

The Page Turner is another French movie. You have one guess what it is about.

It's sort of like the French version of The Hand That Rocks The Cradle. Outwardly kind woman brought into your home turns out to be psychopath wanting to ruin your life. Saya.

(Aside: Doesn't Rebecca de Mornay look like a pretty Hillary Clinton? She'd make a great Hillary.)


The producers of 2 Days in Paris wanted to make another Before Sunrise. They even went to the effort of hiring Ms. Delpy.

But alas, this movie is not Before Sunrise. The writing is literally "trying hard" in the Pinoy sense. It tries to replicate (albeit painfully) the amusing banter of Before Sunrise.

In the end what you get here is a movie that reminds you of Before Sunrise and makes you realize what a good movie it was.

I, thank you.

400th post with the word "sex" in it

Yesterday I was at HMV deliberating whether I should start on Krzysztof Kieslowski's Dacalogue, a 10-hour long movie on the Ten Commandments (a 1 hour segment for every commandment). Then I spotted a special shelf for films made by Wong Kar Wai that had Eros, a collection of 3 short films about (you guessed it) desire.

So there I was, walking around HMV with the two DVDs in either hand, thinking "ten commandments or sex, ten commandments or sex." Well... you have one guess which won out.

Eros starts out strong with WKW's "The Hand". Mahusay. (Don't worry mother, it was not graphic at all. It was all in what was not said/shown) WKW had his usual dizzying kaleidiscope effect tienes (if you watch WKW, you will know what I mean and you will know that this is a compliment). The Hand, a simple story about a tailor and his relationship with a courtesan was so well shot, it made you want to weep. Magaling itong taong ito. Watch his movies.

Steven Soderbergh's "Equilibrium" was mildly amusing. Robert Downey, Jr. plays anxious therapy patient with a recurring dream of a beautiful woman. Alan Arkin plays his peeping tom shrink. This gets a grade of "Ok lang."

(Aside: I think Mr. Soderbergh's best movie of all time is The Limey. If you see this movie in your random trip to a video rental place, Metrowalk or just about any place selling videos, grab this film. You will not regret it.)

Michelangelo Antonioni's segment "Il filo pericoloso delle cose" aka "The Dangerous Thread of Things" has been called the weakest of the three because it simply is. This one went no where fast. No plot, just lots of naked ladies. Which if you think about it, is pretty much what a 90 year old man like Antonioni would think about desire.

S.S.D.D.

I'm running out of things to write about.

In the course of the last 13 months or so, I've blogged about the things that concern me (i.e. inane news, general day-to-day life in China, movies, alcohol, life at the Perm, at the Firm). And I imagine that after the first 6 months or so, you've gotten a pretty good picture of what's in my silly little head most of the time.

I need a new schtick.

Reasons 32-35 to live in Hong Kong

The following articles are available at the neigborhood tindahan (i.e. the grocery store down the street from my apartment):

32. three kinds of Cotes du Rhone (my favorite French table wine)

33. Australian rib-eye and corn-fed sirloin

34. Stella Artois and Lowenbrau

35. Coke Zero

It's official: hell has frozen over

I woke up (without any external forces) at 7:30am on a Saturday in an unbelievably good mood.

I showered, did my dishes, tidied up.

Ironed two business shirts and a pair of shorts using the ironing horse with a surprising amount of dexterity. (Any amount of dexterity in ironing is an amazing amount for me.)

Dropped off my laundry.

Started my first episode of Life On Mars for the weekend.

Blogged a post with a "real" date.

All before 10 am.

My entry to Overheard in New York

Jona strolling down Broadway by herself somewhere in Morningside Heights....

Jona approaches man sweeping in front of generic deli.

Man: Neee-hao!

Jona looks at man but otherwise ignores him.

Man: Hey, Nee-haaaaooooow!

Jona walks passed man.

Man: Neeeeee-haaaww!

Jona turns, looks at man and yells: "What the f*ck are you saying?!"

God I miss New York.

Laying off the sweet stuff

I was at an MCLE (mandatory continuing legal education) class a few months ago and the woman next to me, a friend of a friend, offered me some candy.

I politely said no.

The next day, she offered me chocolate. Same response from my end.

On the third day, for merienda, she handed me an ensaymada. I declined yet again.

At this point I could sense she was getting frustrated with me, so I explained, "I'm not a big fan of sweets." (Which you wouldn't guess if you took one look at me.)

My seatmate obviously thought the same thing and then asked, so what are you a big fan of?

"Sinigang."

Portion control

I can't seem to figure out how to cook one serving of something. I always end up with three meals (sometimes three days) worth of anything I prepare.

And so tonight, for the third time this week, tenderloin tips.

One can do worse.

Adobo on my mind

There is nothing like good, greasy, three day old adobo. The kind that has partially disintigrated due to the heating and re-heating of the last few days.

Since I grew up in a Visayan household, I prefer my adobo "light". As in literally light colored. Not too much soy sauce, heavy on the suka and the patis.

I remember a long time ago, R. and G. (not married yet), C. and I went up to Baguio for a few days and stayed in K.'s house. I had asked my mom to prepare a half a gallon (And I mean literally half a gallon -- we'd use an empty ice cream tub as a container) of adobo we'd survive on for the trip.

By day 3, it was the greatest thing on earth.

The strange things you remember on a cold rainy day.

Happy Birthday, Lolo Ting-go!

Today is father's birthday.
I cook-ked him his favorite carrot cake
Wishing his home coming, more earlier.
Doesn't he?

--Anonymous

This immortal passage was on a Japanese-made tupperware C. used to bring to school.

Inmates Do The Algorithm March

What you get when you combine the bored inmates with the Algorithm March.

Algorithm March

I am crazy silly about this now. You gotta love them Japanese folks.

What if you had a thousand inmates with nothing to do?

Stuff like this makes me really proud to be Filipino. This is f*ing brilliant.

What do all these places have in common?

Felix, The Pen


Spoon, Hotel Intercontinental


Amber, Mandarin Oriental (The Landmark)

Pierre, Mandarin Oriental

Nichollinis, The Conrad


Grissini's, Grand Hyatt



Toscana, The Ritz



L'Atelier de Joel Robuchon



The Verandah, Repulse Bay