The Queue

In my aversion for Erap and his imminent plans for candidacy, I swallowed my political indifference and got myself registered. I am not proud of the fact that I’m a 27-year-old first-time voter but there never was compulsion to make the effort. Until now that is. Thank you Erap for making a better citizen out of me. If only for that, you have done a good thing. There maybe a million things wrong with this country but it doesn’t deserve to be internationally humiliated by having an ex-convict/reject for president (again). Not that I think my vote will tip the scales but whatever the outcome, at least I did what I could to keep this aberration from happening. Then again, there’s always Siberia.

Moving on…

The COMELEC registration nightmare was admittedly self-inflicted. I procrastinated to no end and was rightfully punished. We all know that being a Filipino citizen is synonymous to being a veteran of government-induced waiting. If you haven’t gone through it at some point in your adult life, it only means that A) you are a pampered offspring of some rich and powerful individual or B) you’ve been living under a rock. But let me just state this for those who are unaware: that was without a doubt the longest line I have ever had to suffer through…ever!

In the twelve hours or so I spent accomplishing this incredible test of fortitude, it dawned on me that all that was a tangible metaphor for life. You stand for hours in the sweltering heat waiting for your name to be called. You’re tired. You’re bored. Along the way, you make small talk with complete strangers just so you can find someone to commiserate with.

You go through Kübler-Ross’s five stages of grief:

1. Denial – It couldn’t possibly be this long!

2. Anger - Stupid government can’t even get their act together! Are these people allergic to efficiency?

3. Bargaining – Oh please God, just let it move two feet. I promise I will never procrastinate again!

4. Depression - What’s the point of all this? This country is beyond help either way.

5. Acceptance – Screw it, I’ll just wait…

When it’s finally your turn, it takes five minutes and it’s all over. Then you drag your sorry carcass home.

After all is said and done, I know the Chinese have it worse. That makes me feel a little better. So that’s that. Next year I vote.

 

Pinoy Resiliency At Its Finest!

I strongly encourage you to click the picture above. It is linked to a Facebook video posted by a Lemuel Espinol.  Personally, I have no idea who these people are but I found this so hilarious, I took it upon myself to give them as much free publicity as I can.

A classic example of that Pinoy just-laught-it-off attitude that sets us apart from the rest of the world. Which in a way ties in with my new motto “don’t get mad…get entertained.” Easier said than done but looks like these guys have it down to an art.

Kumakain pa ng chichirya. San ka pa lulugar! I love it, I love it, I love it!

 

The Prodigal Weirdo Returns

It’s good to be back!

It took a lot of heaving to put an end to that month-long bout of literary constipation. I also intentionally stayed away from my time-hogging computer to put a dent in my reading backlog. So my apologies to the blog’s readership. I know you’re a small bunch (my estimate circling around an innocuous single digit figure) but I really appreciate you guys sticking around. If I somehow snap out of the financial slump I’m in and I know where you live, I will send each of you a bundle of sharpened pencils as a token of gratitude. What to use them for is entirely up to you (but if you can find a way to threaten Kris Aquino with them, I will send you a freakin’ Boeing 747).

If you read my stuff, you must have wandered into my blog from the comments I made in Jessica Zafra’s site. If you understand her humor then you must have some level of weirdness floating around in your head. Quick! Run outside and thank the high heavens you’re not normal!

I think normalcy equates to mediocrity and we are stocked full of it as it is. I mean look at our attempts to secure any semblance of recognition in the Olympics. That in itself is a symptom that something’s terribly askew.

Has anybody noticed that we as a culture don’t encourage ingenuity as much as we should? Sure we come up with creative ways to get around certain day-to-day dilemmas. And we do have excellent underground talent. But an alarmingly large chunk of the societal bell curve finds fulfillment in copying others (preferrably the ones that come from overseas) which I think is completely cockeyed.

Case in point: In 1996, Alanis Morrisette came to Manila as part of her concert tour. In the weeks leading up to the said event, local noontime show A.S.A.P. held an ”Alanis look-alike/sing-alike” contest and the winner would be announced by Alanis herself. At the finals, they had about a dozen wannabees lined up on the stage and nobody seem to be cringing.

Strange concept. In North America, they do that too by the way…Every Halloween. Or maybe as a spoof of something. Or at the gay pride parade. But only we can do it with a straight face.

And do movies really need to have recycled song titles to sell at the box office? And how come a considerable percentage of local TV shows are really just travesties of imported originals?

As I’ve probably already said before, I’m proud to be weird. As should you be. It’s hard to defend sometimes but it’s easier to breathe when you’re far from the herd.

 

How Murphy Saved Juan de la Cruz

A fine example of Pinoy ingenuity if there ever was one. If at this point you’re still squinting at the object in the picture, that ladies and gentlemen is a homemade pizza carton sound mixer. A slice of genius from my friend Bob. I was chatting with him the other day and he wanted me to see his latest acquisition from Pizza Hut Technolgies Inc. Mind you, the tracks that resulted from this Mcgyvering are impeccably clear, no difference whatsoever from those recorded at a professional studio.

This reminded me of something mentioned in passing by a friend who happens to be a nursing student. She said that the one thing that sets Filipino health care workers apart from their counterparts abroad is that they can work with practically no available equipment. If they didn’t have oxygen masks, they’d cut up a mineral water bottle and attach the tube to the neck.

Leave it to us to make something useful out of what the First World classifies as junk.

I am now convinced that in the event of a technological cataclysm, we’d be one of the last ones standing. Wouldn’t be such a big change when daily life already is reminiscent of a Survivor episode.

So I’d say leave Murphy’s law to wreak havoc! It builds creativity.

 

The Meal Of Fate

I am a recently converted siopao afficionado. As with all my food preferences, the obsession was triggered by my inability to produce anything edible out of my own kitchen. Except maybe instant noodles but a daily swig of MSG is not a healthy way to thrive. Even for me, an eight-year dorm food veteran. I leave it to the pros (or whoever is willing to brave my stove) to provide me with nourishment. Not too long ago when work-related stress (or rather stress-induced laziness) prevented consumption of a proper meal, I discovered my fall-back -the lowly siopao asado from 711. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve eaten the stuff before just not with the same gusto as now.

Incidentally, I came across one of Jessica Zafra’s articles where she spewed encomiums over a certain Chinese restaurant of her youth. According to her, it once peppered the metro but have now dwindled to a handful of hard-to-find joints. She mentioned their menu was centered on three oriental staples: siomai, mami and of course, siopao.

Enough said.

I proceeded to ask Manila-raised friends if they knew where to find the reputed chain. All I got were several hesitant replies of Hindi ko alam e. Pero sabi nila masarap daw dun. Some have never even heard of it. Some were slightly more specific with their lips pointing in the general direction of Binondo (Why we do that is beyond me. Do we not have enough fingers? Does lip-pointing provide more emphasis? Remind me to investigate that one of these days). The hunt went on for weeks to no avail. It was eventually dismissed as one of those lost causes one is forced to live with. This devotee simply had to forego a visit to the supposed mecca.

Then as chance would have it, I found myself in a cab bound for the National Museum on my bestfriend’s birthday. We were to see Juan Luna’s Spolarium and while dodging vehicles on Quezon Ave, an aged neon sign materialized. I shrieked, MA MON LUK!!!

It is now safe to assume that the museum took a sudden plunge on our list of priorities.

At the entrance, we were greeted by that familiar Chinese restaurant smell. Across the large mess hall was a painting of Ma Mon Luk himself. Walls were strewn with framed newpaper articles written about how he introduced mami to the Pinoy diet. The structure is an obvious remnant of the 60s. As were the waiters who’ve been there so long, they can enumerate the menu while navigating the maze of chairs backwards to and from the kitchen with their eyes closed.

We ordered two siopaos and a bowl of chicken mami which were (in true old school fashion) carelessly plopped on our table. And darn it, it was well worth the effort! The siopao was nothing like the artificial lump of who-knows-what they sell in 711. You can actually taste the kneaded homemade dough. The mami, pure broth, no MSG. A little soy sauce and it was perfect. Zafra was right. The secret ingredient has to be that overall haphazard what’s-that-floating-in-my-soup ambiance. We seem to take with it the same daring approach we do with the tap water and carinderia food. No one has died from it so it must be clean and should we drop dead, at least we had a good meal. I’d say, with all that history, Ma Mon Luk is a shrine to the sturdy Pinoy constitution awarded exclusively to those who braved the third world.

And had he been there, I’m sure Juan Luna will understand why we bypassed his painting for steamed dumplings and a bowl of chicken soup.