This actually happened today. I am not making any of this up.
To: S.
Cc: T.
From: Jona
Re: Steamer
I need to buy one. You need to come with me. Where should I get one.
To: Jona
Cc: T.
From: S.
Re:Re: Steamer
Steamer? As in, "Goodbye and Goodluck, Jona!"?
Exerpt from transcript of telephone conversation between S. and Jona:
J: Your e-mail. I don't get it.
S: What's not to get? Why do you need a streamer?
J: A what?
S: You know, a "Goodbye and Goodluck, Jona!" streamer.
To: Jona
Cc: S.
From: T.
Re:Re:Re: Steamer
You can find them at TrueValue. And S., you are forgiven. At first I thought she meant those things you use to make dumplings.
Monday, July 31, 2006
The Movers
Are coming by tomorrow. To take a look at my stuff so that they can make a quotation for relocation expenses.
I intend to show them the following articles and personal effects:
1.5 balikbayan box of clothes, shoes and other forms of apparel
1 crate of wine (12 bottles)
8-10 framed paintings and drawings
1 balikbayan box of books (mostly fiction – I’m leaving yesterday and law books behind)
1 DVD player
I intend to describe to them the following articles:
1 clothing steamer (yet to be purchased)
1 bicycle (yet to be purchased)
I'm really excited about the move. I get fixated over the walks I will take, the temples I will visit, the dimsum I will devour.
Five more weeks and I'm outta here.
I intend to show them the following articles and personal effects:
1.5 balikbayan box of clothes, shoes and other forms of apparel
1 crate of wine (12 bottles)
8-10 framed paintings and drawings
1 balikbayan box of books (mostly fiction – I’m leaving yesterday and law books behind)
1 DVD player
I intend to describe to them the following articles:
1 clothing steamer (yet to be purchased)
1 bicycle (yet to be purchased)
I'm really excited about the move. I get fixated over the walks I will take, the temples I will visit, the dimsum I will devour.
Five more weeks and I'm outta here.
Sunday, July 30, 2006
The ABC's of Love
Always Be Careful.
Don't Ever Forget.
Go Home Immediately.
Just Keep Loving Me.
No Other Person Quite Right Shall Treat U Very Well.
Xee You Zoon.
--Anonymous
Don't Ever Forget.
Go Home Immediately.
Just Keep Loving Me.
No Other Person Quite Right Shall Treat U Very Well.
Xee You Zoon.
--Anonymous
Nessun Dorma
I was at the opera last night. Selected Puccini arias. Puccini's Greatest Hits, you could say.
The only reason I went was to hear Nessun Dorma, the tenor aria from the third act of Turandot, Puccini's opera about a princess who makes her suitors answer three riddles. If they answer all three correctly, they win her. If they err, they lose their heads. Talk about psycho bitch.
But anyway, back to Nessun Dorma.
The first time I heard the piece was on a hot summer day in Manhattan. I was wearing my outfit of choice: a worn CU shirt, ratty shorts, and old but really expensive driving shoes (I didn't want people to think I was super kawawa). I was lying on the grass, well, on a blanket I'd laid out and was drinking wine from a plastic cup while reading a book. My bicycle was resting against a nearby tree. I remember I was worried about spilling the wine on myself. I was preoccupied by the book I was reading, but was equally (if not more) immersed in the shiraz. A moist leaf was stuck on my leg.
In the summertime, live (and did I mention free?) music plays in the park almost everyday. All you had to do was get a calendar of activities and you could just camp out and listen with a book and a bottle of wine you brought from home. For the larger events they even sold beer. Think about it: beer and Verdi. Now that's a good time.
I don't recall who actually performed that day, but what I do remember was that I was moved by the music. There are some moments in your life that have a tremendous effect on you. Moments you don't expect. They just happen. Nessun Dorma, summer of 2003.
No, I didn't become an opera buff afterwards. I became a hardcore Beniamino Gigli fan for a little while, but that's about it. But the memory of that day in the park. That stayed.
Last night's performance was not remarkable, but it did bring back vivid memories of a summer day a couple of years ago. The warm sunlight, the lightheadedness, the heartbreaking beautiful music.
The only reason I went was to hear Nessun Dorma, the tenor aria from the third act of Turandot, Puccini's opera about a princess who makes her suitors answer three riddles. If they answer all three correctly, they win her. If they err, they lose their heads. Talk about psycho bitch.
But anyway, back to Nessun Dorma.
The first time I heard the piece was on a hot summer day in Manhattan. I was wearing my outfit of choice: a worn CU shirt, ratty shorts, and old but really expensive driving shoes (I didn't want people to think I was super kawawa). I was lying on the grass, well, on a blanket I'd laid out and was drinking wine from a plastic cup while reading a book. My bicycle was resting against a nearby tree. I remember I was worried about spilling the wine on myself. I was preoccupied by the book I was reading, but was equally (if not more) immersed in the shiraz. A moist leaf was stuck on my leg.
In the summertime, live (and did I mention free?) music plays in the park almost everyday. All you had to do was get a calendar of activities and you could just camp out and listen with a book and a bottle of wine you brought from home. For the larger events they even sold beer. Think about it: beer and Verdi. Now that's a good time.
I don't recall who actually performed that day, but what I do remember was that I was moved by the music. There are some moments in your life that have a tremendous effect on you. Moments you don't expect. They just happen. Nessun Dorma, summer of 2003.
No, I didn't become an opera buff afterwards. I became a hardcore Beniamino Gigli fan for a little while, but that's about it. But the memory of that day in the park. That stayed.
Last night's performance was not remarkable, but it did bring back vivid memories of a summer day a couple of years ago. The warm sunlight, the lightheadedness, the heartbreaking beautiful music.
Friday, July 28, 2006
OWWA Bung-ga
Last night I had dinner with a bunch of former officemates at National Sports Grill. Over greasy burgers and cold beers we discussed life, love, and the pursuit of happiness. You know, all the things that happen once you’ve left The Perm.
By now most of them had heard about my new job in Hong Kong. We started talking about the move (what kind of visa I needed for China’s Special Administrative Region) when from the far end of the table, one of my favorite cohorts remarked, “Yeah and wait till you have to line up at the POEA all day.”
Now I thought this was the funniest punch line in the whole world! Timing was perfect, delivery impeccable (poker face all the way). I laughed so hard I thought I’d choke on a French fry. As I was drying the tears of happiness from my eyes I noticed something rather strange: no one else was laughing.
Oh. My. God. I really have to line up at the POEA.
Immediately I grew cold as mental images of me standing in an endless queue in a hot, crowded, decrepit government office raced through my brain. I pictured myself holding a clear plastic envelope and a Panda ball pen, walking around the POEA building looking lost while fixers tried to entice me with employment in Dubai. I imagined myself drowning in a sea of documentary requirements, missing my plane to Hong Kong, and a chance at a fabulous lifestyle.
Ok, so maybe I’m getting ahead of myself.
Apparently, when you have a work visa from another country stamped on your passport, Philippine immigration at the airport won’t let you board a plane unless you have an Overseas Employment Certificate from the OWWA, the Overseas Workers Welfare Association.
You see, the Philippine Government has to make sure I’m not leaving to be sold to slavery by a fly by night employer based in Riyadh. So I need to pay them P7,000, get a medical exam from an “accredited” medical clinic and attend a half day orientation on how to settle into a foreign country and avoid abuse from your employer.
Now that’s what I call idiotic public policy in action.
By now most of them had heard about my new job in Hong Kong. We started talking about the move (what kind of visa I needed for China’s Special Administrative Region) when from the far end of the table, one of my favorite cohorts remarked, “Yeah and wait till you have to line up at the POEA all day.”
Now I thought this was the funniest punch line in the whole world! Timing was perfect, delivery impeccable (poker face all the way). I laughed so hard I thought I’d choke on a French fry. As I was drying the tears of happiness from my eyes I noticed something rather strange: no one else was laughing.
Oh. My. God. I really have to line up at the POEA.
Immediately I grew cold as mental images of me standing in an endless queue in a hot, crowded, decrepit government office raced through my brain. I pictured myself holding a clear plastic envelope and a Panda ball pen, walking around the POEA building looking lost while fixers tried to entice me with employment in Dubai. I imagined myself drowning in a sea of documentary requirements, missing my plane to Hong Kong, and a chance at a fabulous lifestyle.
Ok, so maybe I’m getting ahead of myself.
Apparently, when you have a work visa from another country stamped on your passport, Philippine immigration at the airport won’t let you board a plane unless you have an Overseas Employment Certificate from the OWWA, the Overseas Workers Welfare Association.
You see, the Philippine Government has to make sure I’m not leaving to be sold to slavery by a fly by night employer based in Riyadh. So I need to pay them P7,000, get a medical exam from an “accredited” medical clinic and attend a half day orientation on how to settle into a foreign country and avoid abuse from your employer.
Now that’s what I call idiotic public policy in action.
Going Up
I was in the elevator of my former office building today. When the lift stopped at the 8th floor, I overheard the lady behind me say, "Eto na ba ang 14th floor?"
Recognizing she had the wrong floor she replied, "Ay, 10th pa lang."
I think this lady needs professional help (the first grade home room teacher type of help).
Recognizing she had the wrong floor she replied, "Ay, 10th pa lang."
I think this lady needs professional help (the first grade home room teacher type of help).
Thursday, July 27, 2006
We Meet Again
The first time I met David Sedaris was in New York, at Cooper Union. It was at a reading to promote his collection of short stories, "Children Playing Before the Statue of Hercules." I was in New York to take my oath for admission to the NY bar. I was there for 7 days. The Sedaris reading was on my first night. I didn't have a ticket, I just took the train downtown and said I'd wing it. If I got in, great. If I didn't, I could walk around the City and reminisce about the greatest year of my life. Win-win.
As it turned out, I did get in. Went from person to person asking for an extra ticket and on the fourth guy, I was handed one with a smile. (This technique by the way, is also how I got into the Dave Matthews Band concert at the Park.) I thanked my benefactor profusely; he waved me off.
God I love New York.
A number of authors came to read their work, including Joyce Carol Oates, Lorrie Moore, Akhil Sharma and Sarah Vowell. I felt I had died and gone to heaven.
At the book signing afterwards, I told Mr. Sedaris that he had a strong following in the Philippines. He said he was very happy to hear it. On my book he wrote, "The Philipines? Who knew?"
This afternoon I met him again at a reading sponsored by Power Books at the Shangri-la Edsa mall. There was a mid-sized crowd, about 50 or so people waiting in line to see him. When I handed him my books I said, "See, I told you you had a following in the Philippines."
His eyes lit up and said, "Oh, it's you!"
Well, that's what I had wished he said. Instead he warmly replied, "Have we met before?" I told him I was at the Cooper Union reading. We went on chatting about New York. He asked me what I was doing there. I said something about the bar. He told me horror stories about the French IRS going after him and he the lawyer he had to hire.
Walking back to the car I looked at the inscriptions he made. One read, "Nice to see you again." The other, "I wish you were my lawyer."
I felt I had died and gone to heaven.
As it turned out, I did get in. Went from person to person asking for an extra ticket and on the fourth guy, I was handed one with a smile. (This technique by the way, is also how I got into the Dave Matthews Band concert at the Park.) I thanked my benefactor profusely; he waved me off.
God I love New York.
A number of authors came to read their work, including Joyce Carol Oates, Lorrie Moore, Akhil Sharma and Sarah Vowell. I felt I had died and gone to heaven.
At the book signing afterwards, I told Mr. Sedaris that he had a strong following in the Philippines. He said he was very happy to hear it. On my book he wrote, "The Philipines? Who knew?"
This afternoon I met him again at a reading sponsored by Power Books at the Shangri-la Edsa mall. There was a mid-sized crowd, about 50 or so people waiting in line to see him. When I handed him my books I said, "See, I told you you had a following in the Philippines."
His eyes lit up and said, "Oh, it's you!"
Well, that's what I had wished he said. Instead he warmly replied, "Have we met before?" I told him I was at the Cooper Union reading. We went on chatting about New York. He asked me what I was doing there. I said something about the bar. He told me horror stories about the French IRS going after him and he the lawyer he had to hire.
Walking back to the car I looked at the inscriptions he made. One read, "Nice to see you again." The other, "I wish you were my lawyer."
I felt I had died and gone to heaven.
Making Turns
Earlier this evening I was making a tight left turn from Shaw to Nueve de Pebrero. There were two lanes turning left and I was in the inner lane. As I made the turn I had to be mindful of the stationary cars to my left who were waiting to cross Shaw from Nueve de Pebrero and be conscious of the cars to my right who were making the turn with me.
So imagine me negotiating the turn when this idiot sedan (I say that scoffingly since I drive an SUV) tried to creep in on my left, making a sandwhich out of me and the cars making turns on my right.
Needless to say I did not make the sucker pass. As I completed the turn I said outloud to myself: "The only thing I hate more than turning is parking."
I made this statement sit for a while and then I thought, "Hmmm.... that's not entirely accurate. I hate backing up too." (Yes, I think in complete sentences.) It was at this time I added inclines to my list of least favorite driving maneuvers.
Let's see now. I have turns, parking, going in reverse and inclines.
Apparently, the only kind of driving I like is the straight and flat kind.
So imagine me negotiating the turn when this idiot sedan (I say that scoffingly since I drive an SUV) tried to creep in on my left, making a sandwhich out of me and the cars making turns on my right.
Needless to say I did not make the sucker pass. As I completed the turn I said outloud to myself: "The only thing I hate more than turning is parking."
I made this statement sit for a while and then I thought, "Hmmm.... that's not entirely accurate. I hate backing up too." (Yes, I think in complete sentences.) It was at this time I added inclines to my list of least favorite driving maneuvers.
Let's see now. I have turns, parking, going in reverse and inclines.
Apparently, the only kind of driving I like is the straight and flat kind.
The Socially Inept Strike Again
I don't like wakes. Not for the obvious reason (i.e. dead person in the room). I don't like wakes because I don't do very well at them.
I get awkward; I don't know what to say so I end up being uncharacteristically quiet. When I do say something though, I say the stupidest, most inappropriate thing.
To illustrate: I was at a wake of a friend's mom a few years ago. January 2004 to be exact. I remember because I'd just gotten my new car. Was so proud of it. Could talk about nothing else at that time. So I walk in the gate of my friend's house (they're old school: wake held at home) and tables and chairs have been set up along the concrete driveway. I see my friends seated at the back.
As I'm making my way to the end of the driveway, one of them calls out to me: "O? Dala mo ba ang bago mong kotse?"
I reply, "Siempre. It's right out front."
Now the gate was open and you could see some of the cars parked on the street. So my friend asks, "Alin dyan?"
I point to my shiny new baby and answer with the accurate although inappropriate:
"Ayun, o. Yung kabaong gold na Escape."
I was mortified. Did I just say "kabaong gold" at a wake? In front of so many people I don't know? Where my friend's mother's coffin was in fact tinted gold? Am I the biggest idiot in the world?
Don't answer that.
Tonight I was at a wake . Again, a close friend's mom. Again, I was at a loss on what to say. Do you really have to ask how the person passed? Because I don't really want to know. I go to wakes to let my friends know that I'm there for them during difficult times. I want to show support, a friendly face in a sea of relatives. But if it were completely up to me, I would never bring up the deceased's medical history.
So in true socially inept form, I started talking about my new job. I used to work at the the same firm with my friend whose mom passed, so there were plenty of lawyers at the chapel. We talked shop and would invariably get to discussing my new job. I ended up hogging every conversation I had tonight, talking about this new job of mine. It was like I was a radio DJ afraid of dead air (no pun intended, really). I just chatted everyone up. It was a complete disaster.
I think my social graces have hit a dead end. (Ok, now that one was intended.)
I get awkward; I don't know what to say so I end up being uncharacteristically quiet. When I do say something though, I say the stupidest, most inappropriate thing.
To illustrate: I was at a wake of a friend's mom a few years ago. January 2004 to be exact. I remember because I'd just gotten my new car. Was so proud of it. Could talk about nothing else at that time. So I walk in the gate of my friend's house (they're old school: wake held at home) and tables and chairs have been set up along the concrete driveway. I see my friends seated at the back.
As I'm making my way to the end of the driveway, one of them calls out to me: "O? Dala mo ba ang bago mong kotse?"
I reply, "Siempre. It's right out front."
Now the gate was open and you could see some of the cars parked on the street. So my friend asks, "Alin dyan?"
I point to my shiny new baby and answer with the accurate although inappropriate:
"Ayun, o. Yung kabaong gold na Escape."
I was mortified. Did I just say "kabaong gold" at a wake? In front of so many people I don't know? Where my friend's mother's coffin was in fact tinted gold? Am I the biggest idiot in the world?
Don't answer that.
Tonight I was at a wake . Again, a close friend's mom. Again, I was at a loss on what to say. Do you really have to ask how the person passed? Because I don't really want to know. I go to wakes to let my friends know that I'm there for them during difficult times. I want to show support, a friendly face in a sea of relatives. But if it were completely up to me, I would never bring up the deceased's medical history.
So in true socially inept form, I started talking about my new job. I used to work at the the same firm with my friend whose mom passed, so there were plenty of lawyers at the chapel. We talked shop and would invariably get to discussing my new job. I ended up hogging every conversation I had tonight, talking about this new job of mine. It was like I was a radio DJ afraid of dead air (no pun intended, really). I just chatted everyone up. It was a complete disaster.
I think my social graces have hit a dead end. (Ok, now that one was intended.)
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
I Dream of Movie Pitches
Last night I dreamt of a great idea for a movie.
The film will be called May December May and will be a romantic comedy involving a young woman a (but not too young) and an older man. The first part of the movie we develop the characters and find the couple going through the usual ups and downs related to the situation of having a significant age gap between you and your significant other. Misunderstanding, nothing to talk about, etc.
Then one third into the movie we find our couple in a carnival or one of them gets a hold of magic dust yada yada yada and voila! the roles are switched and you have an older woman dating a younger man. Then they go through the same ups and downs, just that the roles are reversed.
Please don't ask me what happens next. I got up before the movie ended.
The film will be called May December May and will be a romantic comedy involving a young woman a (but not too young) and an older man. The first part of the movie we develop the characters and find the couple going through the usual ups and downs related to the situation of having a significant age gap between you and your significant other. Misunderstanding, nothing to talk about, etc.
Then one third into the movie we find our couple in a carnival or one of them gets a hold of magic dust yada yada yada and voila! the roles are switched and you have an older woman dating a younger man. Then they go through the same ups and downs, just that the roles are reversed.
Please don't ask me what happens next. I got up before the movie ended.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)