I'm reading again.

I think I've mentioned that I used to read a lot, and then now I don't. I think I've started again. I'm still reading the same book I picked up a long time ago on a trip to Rockwell's Page One, but I'm making progress. And I think when I'm done with that, I'll finally finsh the potboiler that's been sitting in my office forever.

You gotta start slow with these things.

Before and After

Sunrise, sunset

I've always been a little fascinated over what time the sun sets in a certain place. How it's different all around the world. At around this time of the year, the sun sets at 7pm in Hong Kong. I looked it up and today the sun is supposed to set at around 6:08pm in Manila.

Growing up in the Philippines, the sun was always up at 6ish and set around 6ish 12 hours later. There really was no appreciable difference between the summer months and the wet months. Sure, sometimes you felt days were "longer". But they were longer by about half an hour either way; nothing like the way days get really long as you move away from the equator.

Today the sun will set at 9pm in Paris and 8:15pm in NY. Isn't that fascinating? (Am I the only one that finds this so cool? The experience of sunset (i.e. the concept of "the end of the day") is different depending on where you live. In Manila, darkness means the end of the work day. You assume that's how that is everywhere else in the world, but it's simply not the case. Winding down and rest does not necessarily occur at "night".)

When I was in Russia during their summer months, the sun never really set. At midnight it finally became like dusk, and it stayed that way till 3 or 4 am (after which the sun would rise again). I know this because one night Chum and I actually stayed up to watch the sun (well, actually we stayed up to take a midnight cruise along the Neva, but staying up to watch solar patterns sounds cooler).

Happy Birthday, Lolo Papa!

My grandfather started calling me "Si abogada" when I was in high school, maybe even before that. He was very kind to me. When I was a child, he'd give me loose change (he'd dole out rolls of those big Peso coins) and candy. He'd make the grandkids line up in his room and he would dispense the goodies in a very egalitarian fashion. Which was a really good way to teach kids about fairness and order. So I'd simply go back to the end of the line and go again. He didn't seem to mind.

He'd tell me stories about the giant turtle mounted in his study and the books that lined its walls. He'd tell me about the time he was a judge. It's a shame I didn't pay more attention to those stories, I was always trying to score more candy.

As he (and I) got older the candy supply dried up. Visits were now more structured. I just didn't barge in his room looking for treats. We'd go in as a family and say hello. When it was time to go, I would reach for his hand to make mano and he'd pat my head and whisper, "Si abogada."

He didn't get to see me become a real lawyer (he passed away while I was a freshman in law school, a few days shy of his 102nd birthday), but it never really mattered to me. I'd been his abogada a long time.

Namamahay

"Namamahay" not only means to live in a certain place (i.e. aliping namamahay) but it also means to get settled. To get accustomed to your surroundings. To warm up to your new place.

I am currently in the throes of pagmamahay. I didn't think it would take this long (this is week 3 already) but I'm still getting used to my new apartment. I thought I psychologically prepped myself about moving out (I am truly convinced that the fabulous apartment was an unreal and inherently temporary arrangement) and found this new place 6 weeks ahead of my lease running out. But I'm still adjusting.

And my new apartment is great -- it's smaller but not too small. It's serviced too (just not daily), in a great location (it's literally down the street from the last one). It's just that it's not my old apartment, where I have the best memories.

I know one thing for sure though, I don't want to move again. I'm staying put for a while over here.

Rosie and Elisabeth duke it out

Have you guys seen the clip of Rosie's and Elisabeth's fight?

(Aside: I find the spelling of Elisabeth Hasselbeck's name to be just as annoying as she is.)

If you haven't, here's a LINK.

What was so disappointing about the whole thing was that this was not an argument about issues or the war in Iraq or conservative leanings or anything worth talking about on national television.

It was a fight about "hurt feelings". (*Sniff*)

Can't two women have an intelligent debate (or even a heated argument) about topics that are not regularly covered by Cosmo? It's really disappointing to see two (at least outwardly) intelligent and articulate women scream at each other because of "hurt feelings".

And then we wonder why guys don't take us seriously when it comes to discussing politics or current events. Do you think the Washington pundits on NewsHour or even the idiots at Fox News would go on about "expecting more from friends" in the middle of a "debate" on the war in Iraq?

Jona the Domestic Goddess

I bought a couch today. It is the FIRST adult purchase I have made. I am so pleased with myself.

I bought a leather couch. Which is something I have always wanted, in a vague general sense. Like how I've always wanted a beautiful fountain pen, with my initials engraved on it, but have never bothered to buy one, since I'm afraid I'll lose it.

It's hard to lose a couch.

They're delivering it on Wednesday, and I'll take pictures and show you how it looks in my flat, but for now, here's a peek:


Isn't it to die for? I never thought I'd be this excited over furniture.

A good life

If I stopped and counted my blessings, I wouldn't have time to do anything else.

Thank you, whoever you are.

Weekend at home

I dropped off and picked-up laundry. I bought some eggs, fried a couple and enjoyed them while watching a Woody Allen movie.

I unpacked the rest of my boxes, curled up in bed with a book and fell asleep.

I guess this is what normal people do every weekend.

I get to do this about twice a month.

They found me

After 8 months of tax free living, the HK Inland Revenue Department finally found me. There is no withholding tax in HK, so you get whatever it says on your pay check. Neat, huh?

But you can't spend the money either, because in HK, you pay tax IN ADVANCE. Yes, mahusay talaga ang mga Instik (no offense meant, S.). They assess you on the basis of your declared income (your employer declares that for you so you don't try to do anything funny) and then they multiply that amount by 2.

Yes, 2.

So you pay tax "in advance". How you get back the year you pay in advance I don't really know. Do they give it to your estate? I can understand why lessors or utility companies ask for an advance. They apply it to your last bill. I'm pretty sure you will need to pay tax on your last year of income.

It's a good thing tax rates here are at less than 15%. Even if I pay for two years, I still come out paying less than what I do at home.

...

Wait I just figured it out. It took them 8 months to find me. And I'm not expected to pay tax until another 3-4 months. That's a year with no tax. That's where the "extra" year went.

Stupid Silly me.

Same difference

At the Perm, if you work through the night, we call that "nag-overnight". At the Firm it's called "pulling an all nighter".

This week alone, I have pulled 3 all nighters.

Do the math and that is one every other day. So if I worked through Monday night into Tuesday morning, I worked again through the night Wednesday, through Thursday. And then again Friday night through to Saturday morning.

When this happens, days gel. I cannot remember when one ends and the other begins. There is only one day. Just one really long one and it gets dark for a bit now and then. I really can't tell. My back is to the window.

Days gel and your mind turns to mush. You see, I am in the business of details. Commas need to be where they should be. Numbering and bullets formatted properly (indent here, tab there). All these small details need to be processed at 4am. Uniformly throughout 5 documents.

Another day (or maybe it was 4), another dollar.

I haven't been home in a month and a half

This is the longest I've been away from Manila, not counting NY when I was away for 18 months. Strange, but these 6 weeks have felt really long.

I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

It's quiet at the top

I live on the 22nd floor. I've never lived this way up. I spent almost my entire life on the second floor. I was briefly on the 4th, 7th, 8th and recently on the 9th, but 22nd is the highest I've ever been.

The first thing I noticed was how quiet it was. There is no street noise from the 22nd floor. Apart from the almost imperceptible muzak coming out of the 22nd floor landing and the elevator (which you can't hear at all with the A/C on) it is eerily quiet.

And I love quiet.

Pass on Catch and Release

I saw Catch and Release last night. A sappy romantic comedy with Jennifer Garner in it. It was awful. SO bad. And this coming from someone who thinks Cutting Edge is a good movie.

Catch and Release is about woman whose fiance dies just before the wedding. I thought (and I think the director thought too) that the movie was supposed to be about her coping with the loss by spending time with her dead fiance's friends (and of course, eventually falling for one of them). That's the premise, but the execution was so poor.

[Aside: If you want to see a really good movie about the same kind of loss, watch Moonlight Mile (2002) with a still not-so-famous Jake Gyllenhaal.]

And what was weird about this movie was that not only was Kevin Smith in it, he had a pretty big role too. Kevin Smith made Clerks, Chasing Amy, and Mall Rats. Those were really good movies. He understands what goes into a good film. You really don't need a lot of money, what you need is a killer script and some smart editing. Catch and Release had a script that sounded like it was written by the guys who did 7th Heaven or Party of 5. It had a TV vibe to it, and not just because of Garner. Catch and Release went nowhere very quickly. The writers didn't know what to do with the characters -- there was no plot. There were pretty scenes of Boulder, Colorado, but there was no plot.

Also in the movie was Juliette Lewis, who I think is absolutely brilliant, but who was absolutely too good for this movie. Such a waste of talent.

[Aside: Why doesn't Juliette Lewis make more movies? She's totally underrated.]

[More aside: OMG! I just looked up Catch and Release on IMDB and the woman who wrote it, wrote Party of 5! I just said that to make a point and without looking it up. I actually guessed correctly. I am a genius.]

So there, that's Catch and Release for you. A strong cast, but with a script written for Jennifer Love Hewitt.

Moving Out, Moving In, Moving Up (Again)

So I moved out of my fabulous apartment and moved into a nice one. It's serviced too, so my linens and towels still get changed regularly (just not everyday). I now have two other neighbors on my floor (it used to just be me). And my celings are no longer cathedral like. They're now prayer room like.

There are a few things I need to get used to: my bathroom is now just a real bathroom, not a room where I can bathe and hold soirees. There's no DVD player in the bedroom (I never used the one in the old apartment, but somehow I actually miss it), no iPod dock. I know my flat is the farthest thing from "roughing it", but somehow when you get used to these small luxuries (and believe me, you can "get used" to these things in no time), not having them suddenly becomes an annoyance. Which is strange because I lived the first 32 years of my life without an iPod dock and I did just fine.

My new place is also smaller, so I can't really walk around my flat anymore. I have a nice view of buildings and a ledge where I can sit and read (something I didn't have in my old digs), but the whole concept of "going from one room to the next" is now a memory. Sorry, future guests, we'll be very "cozy" on your next visit.

And one other thing -- I have room service now. Which is both a blessing and a bane. It's great to have someone bring in a hot meal at 11pm when you're exhausted and can't even figure out the light switches, but it feels so artificial, just like a hotel.

Good thing I can get used to these things in no time.

At the printers

The last time I was at the printers was a little over two years ago. I was still at the Perm and the client flew N. and me to Hong Kong to work on their "book" (prospectus).

Most of you are probably wondering: why the need to print the book in Hong Kong and fly your lawyers out there? Why not just print it in Manila? Well, because printers in Hong Kong are far more sophisticated than Philippine printers. They can churn out prospectuses (with very complicated formatting -- from a printing perspective) with ease and in very little time. In the Philippines, the process would take weeks of type setting, proofing, etc. In Hong Kong, it takes hours. So that's why we Shanghai-ed to Hong Kong.

I remember being unbelievably excited about the whole concept of flying to HK. Until then, I had never had the opportunity to travel overseas for business. So this was a pretty big deal for me.

Amazing how just two years later, I get out of bed and literally amble to the printers in jeans and loafers. This whole sudden shift in perspective. It never ceases to amaze me. It's never lost on me.

Incessant thoughts

They say men think about sex every 8 minutes seconds. These are just a few of the things that I think about ALL THE TIME (actual thought pattern in parenthesis).

1. The location of my wallet ("Where on earth is it? Ok. It's here.")

2. The location of my bathroom keys. ("Where did I leave them this time? I really should just keep them in one place.")

3. The number of Chinese people in Hong Kong ("Ang daming Instik sa Hong Kong")

4. The Chinese quality of everything in Hong Kong ("Grabe talaga ang ka-Intstikan dito sa Kong Kong")

5. The size of my tummy. ("Ang laki ng tyan ko, p*tang ina.)

6. What I'll have for dinner ("Should I cook? Nah. Nakakatamad. What then?")

7. What day it is ("How many days till the weekend?" or "How far is it to payday?")

8. W.I.M. ("I wonder what W.I.M. is doing right now.")

9. Existential stuff (Combinations of: "Why am I here? How did I get here? Why am I awake? Is every one's perception the same? Do we all see and hear and smell and touch the same way? What is it like to be dead? We all live and die alone. Why can't I see my own face? Why is there so much suffering the world? Why is there so much excess? What makes people evil?")

10. The size of my tummy. ("I really should stop eating, p*tang ina.")

French movie junkie

I watch about one or two French movies a month. That's about 20 a year, give or take a few. I'm thinking that's more than the average non-French person's annual requirement.

I'm not exactly sure what it is about French cinema that I like the most. It could be just listening to the language. (Aside: I once followed a French couple all over my neighborhood just to listen to them speak.) It could be the Parisian backdrop (although Wasabi is set in Tokyo). It could be the constant intropsection of the characters and the extra minutes allotted to character development. It could be the bizarre plots (Cache is THE MOST bizarre movie ever).

What I do like about French movies is the slightly alternate perspective almost all the directors of French films manage to capture in about 3 minutes. There's this mood they want to pull you into. It's not just the story or the characters. It's a state of mind.

If you watch and enjoy French cinema, you know exactly what I'm talking about. If you don't, you think (pardon my French) that I'm talking out of my ass.

A little over 5 months, but really, I'm not counting

I'd like to think there's a difference between waiting and looking forward.

Waiting assumes you have nothing else to do but drown in anxious anticipation. Sa Tagalog, hindi ka mapalagay. Looking forward assumes nothing of that sort. You can be painting a bathroom wall or revising a contract and be "looking forward" to something in the back of your head. Much like how anti-virus software runs every two weeks or so.

Waiting is active. You're on the edge of your seat. You're tense. Mentally pacing, counting seconds go by. Looking forward is laid-back, enjoying an ice-cold diet Sprite and a salad.

I'm looking forward to Halloween this year. I wonder if people dress up over here.

Newly charged batteries

No, the title of this post is not a metaphor for rest or exercise or any sort of human rejuvintation. This post is literally about newly charged battiries. Like cellphone batteries or digicam batteries.

I love the sense you get from having newly charged batteries. The sense of "I can take a gajillion pictures without worrying about running out of juice." "I can text all day!" It's having this sense of security.

And in the same way you feel powerful with newly charged batteries you feel so insecure about being "low-batt". You can't make calls and you're worried if each text is going to be your last. You kick yourself for not charging when you could ("Ok pa 'to, this will get me through the day.."). And when your phone finally dies, you worry about all those inane messages you're not receiving.

Terrible with names, even worse with faces.

Unless I really get to know you, chances are I will forget you. This sounds mean, impersonal, and makes me sound like a jerk, but that's just the awful truth. I'm not one of those people who never forgets a face. I'm more like those people who never remembers a face.

And what makes matters worse is that people seem to remember me (I can't imagine why). I've had more than my share of uncomfortable incidents when people come up to me and say hi, and I have ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA WHO THEY ARE. Nothing. I draw a blank. No general context (i.e. someone from high school or law school, a former collegue or student). Nada. I just don't remember.

Lately, these meetings with strangers have been getting spooky. I don't know anyone in Hong Kong. So when someone says, "Oh my God, it's you" I naturally freak out. This has happened a few times since I got here. People I've met at dinner parties years ago will say hello. Some will say who they are (I'm whatshernamescousin) but others will not. They will just say my name with a tone of familiarity and I will look awkward and try to look like a have a vague idea who that person is.

So when we meet again and I look at you with this half smile half grimace, please just get me out of my misery and tell me who you are.

Walang Load

Me on the phone with B.

J: Yeah, so I'm on the Firm's Dragon Boat team.
B: But you can't swim.
J: Yeah but it doesn't matter because we're on a boat. Anyway,....

Disembodied voice that takes over conversion: Ching-chong-ling-a-ding-yang-ying-sing-tung-chang-ling-nam-siomai-mami-pong-todo-chao... (this goes on for about 10 seconds)

All it meant was, "wala ka nang load".

Breaking-in

I finally broke in my new shoes today. They're not new anymore, over a month and a half and only now can I wear them without getting little cuts on my feet (the most annoying kind).

There is something exceedingly annoying about uncomfortable shoes. There's the obvious, "Tang ina, I thought these were comfortable." thought that passes through your head after you realize you just spent a lot of money on really nice looking feet manglers. Then there's the whole mind over matter, "I will break these shoes in, come what may." And you are having a battle of wills with two pieces of badly dyed leather. You live with wearing the band-aids ("It's ok, it's really not much of a hassle.") and getting the blisters anyway ("I just won't wear them tomorrow so my feet can rest, but I'll try again the next day").

And then one day, after you've almost given up, ("Ok, fine, they really won't stretch no matter what I do") the shoes give in and they're almost wearable. That's the day you look at the small mountain of used band-aids and the significant scar tissue on your feet and think, "I knew these were super comfortable when I bought them."

F.D.F.D.

These are my final days in my fabulous digs. I will always remember my early days in Hong Kong, when I lived in a thousand foot one bedroom apartment with extraordinarily high ceilings. When I didn’t know anyone and ate by myself, but I had a housekeeper on call and my towels were changed daily. It was a time of awkward transition – I didn’t know what to do with two gigantic TVs and two DVD players. When I could plug my iPod into the apartment’s own iPod dock and play music as loud as I pleased – there is only one apartment per floor. It was a time I could make a mess in the kitchen (or anywhere else for that matter) and return to a spotless apartment, with a faint smell of pine scent.

Ah, things were so much simpler then.

"Brown-out" is universal

I always thought that brown-out was a Pinoy term. Something we made up to refer to black-outs that are temporary or those that do not affect an entire grid. You know, like translucent is to opaque. Pinoys have a penchant for making up terms like that, to cover the in-between.

Brown-out. Parang black-out. Medjo black-out.

But then last night, while watching an American movie, I heard one of the characters use the term. I hit Pause and looked the term up. Apparently "brown-out" is not a made-up Filipinized English word.

Click HERE or HERE and see.

Headlines Redux

At least one of these headlines appears in the news every week.

• 7 Killed in Baghdad Market Blast
• 14 Killed in Chinese/Russian Mine Accident
• Plane down in Congo/El Salvador
• Hundreds missing in Indian earthquake
• Dozens missing in Philippine ferry accident
• Tornado Whips Through Southern US
• Employment figures worse/better than expected
• (Due to threat of war/terrorist activity/change in Middle East outlook) Oil prices surge
• UN Peacekeepers Fired At
• N. Korea Ejects Envoy Accused of Spying
  

Why Won't Wolfowitz Walk?

God I love alliteration.

So anyway, this Wolfowitz dude. What's up with that? He admits to playing favorites with his girlfriend (getting her transferred plus giving her a raise) and yet he doesn't resign. What's up with that?

He's President of the World Bank for crissakes. You know, that gigantic financial institution that's supposed to be tough on corruption. He's admitted to the malfeasance, so why/how is he taking the high road? I don't get that. Now if he denied giving his girl a raise, and then took the high road, that I would get. Sort of how the Marcoses think they're saviors or the nation. (The $20B... oh that was Yamashita's treasure that we discovered and which we are now sharing with the country... )

Lesson number one, Mr. Wolfowitz: never admit to wrongdoing. Even if you've been caught red-handed (It's not what you think). Even if your accusers have video (Kamukha ko lang yun). Never, EVER, admit to doing anything wrong. Because when you do, you look silly taking the whole self-righteous path afterwards. You deny. You always deny. It is always better to deny then take the high road. Taking the high road after admitting you were wrong insults our intelligence. Now denying something you obviously did, that's trying to save what little dignity you have left. That's pitiful. And it insults everyone's intelligence as well, but at least there's a logic to it.

Now that BP CEO, that's a class act. He admits to lying under oath, then he resigns. I don't think he should have resigned (so he's gay, so he got involved with a male escort -- he transformed BP from a small UK oil firm to a Shell wannabe), but he admitted to the lying part, and resignation is the natural consequence of the confession. I guess that's why he's a knight and Wolfowitz is... well Wolfowitz.

Shorthand

I just realized that my vocabulary is peppered with what uninstructed people call "acronyms". The terms I refer to below are not acronyms, they're initials of terms or phrases that have acquired general understanding and acceptance. Acronyms refer to actual words formed by the initials of a series of words. Like S.C.U.B.A. or W.H.O.

BTW

FYI

WTF!

LOL

OMG

...and only for WIM, B&A :)

Wanting a tattoo

My father will never understand (nor agree with) this, but people my age (in their 30's) have at one point in their lives wanted a tattoo. Or at the very least thought tattoos were cool.

It was back in college that I thought tattoos were the bomb. They were the mark (pun intended) of tough, no-nonsense, very very dangerous girls. My standard outfit in college was a light colored Giordano polo shirt tucked into khaki shorts with a braided belt and loafers -- I was the farthest thing from dangerous. I was f*cking amiable.

There were these girls who used to hang out near we (the dorks) did. They were skinny, had long straight hair, wore Doc Martens, torn jeans, and smoked like chimneys. They were so cool. One Monday, one of them came to school with a tattoo - a unicorn (or it could have been Pegasus). And we stared. In awe.

The closest thing I got to a tattoo was getting a sun painted in henna on the back of my neck while I was on vacation in Boracay. After one shower, it looked like an impressionist octopus.

15 years after college I think tattoos are icky and gross and getting them is a really great way of catching hepatitis. But I can still remember the mystique they once had for me. And I will always understand why someone (between the ages of 16-24) would want one.

May Day

Well that was quick.

The first quarter of the year raced past me. And if that weren't enough, April came and went in a blink of an eye.

It wasn't usually like this. Time passing so rapidly. There were times I was actually bored before. I remember those times. The general impatience (now my impatience is directed at specific events and people) the "are we there yet?" attitude. Ah, to be 9 again.

But now, time is literally flying and I'm getting scared. There's the whole mortality issue (which we'll get to another time) and there's just the whole "getting older" issue. I'm not as fast as I used to be. I can't lift things like before. Stay up all night and feel nothing the next day. Ah, to be 17 again.

It's strange and exciting to be so conscious of these things now. Time used to just pass unnoticed. Now I watch every move it makes. Ah, to be 32.