Sunday, October 30, 2005

Trick Or Trip

Last Wednesday morning, my friend, Chito, was in a hurry on his way to work. Driving along the traffic-jammed Ortigas Avenue Extension during the morning rush hour certainly didn’t help in his quest to break his consecutive tardy clock-ins at work for the past few days. But he was still hoping for some sort of a miracle. Maybe the traffic gods could be a bit kinder to him that day and let him zoom his way to his office in Shaw Boulevard.

But that day was not his lucky day. Traffic crawled at a snail’s pace. He was mindlessly driving by the inner lanes of the bridge along Ortigas. And he could clearly see that traffic was also building up even on the opposite lanes. This section is usually the choking point for motorists due to the bottleneck structure of the roads.

He saw a familiar vehicle coming from the adjacent opposite lane. It was Charlie’s FX. Charlie is a friend and a neighbor. He drives the FX for a living and it is not unusual that they cross each other’s path during the morning commute.

Chito honked his horn as his car neared Charlie’s FX. Charlie immediately recognized Chito’s car and beeped a greeting to him while waving his hand. Chito smiled and waved back.

“Oh crap! It’s already 9AM and I’m still here,” Chito realized.

The rest of the morning drive was as uneventful as the rest of the working day. That was until he got home later that evening and got greeted by some surprising news.

Another friend broke the news to him that Charlie died earlier that day. Jogging at the parking lot of a local mall early that morning, he suffered a stroke. He died on the spot.

“But I even saw him driving his FX early this morning,” Chito told his friend.

“Are you sure it was him?” his friend verified.

“Yup, he even honked at me and waved his hand. That was around 9AM,” Chito recounted.

“That can’t be. First of all, Charlie didn't go on any trip today since his FX is banned from the roads, being a Wednesday. You know, that coding scheme. And secondly, Charlie jogged at around 7AM and he was pronounced dead-on-arrival at the nearby hospital at around 8AM,” his friend explained.

Chito creepily realized his day wasn’t as uneventful as he initially thought.

Happy Halloween everyone!

Thursday, October 27, 2005

Shaping The Young Mind

“Wectanggu,” my three-year-old nephew AJ says.

My wife draws a rectangle using MS Paint on our PC. I just look on as AJ claps his hands upon seeing the rectangle.

“Shirkow,” utters AJ. His eyes glued to the PC monitor the whole time.

My wife draws a circle right beside the rectangle. AJ thinks this is really fun.

“Huch,” AJ instructs as the next shape to be drawn.

Wife flashes a puzzled look on her face. “What’s a huch?” she asks me.

“Beats me,” I say as I shrug my shoulders. “Mom,” I call out to my Mom to help us out translate AJ’s language. “What’s a huch?”

“A huch is a heart,” Mom explains.

“Ahhh… heart,” wife and I pronounce in chorus.

“Huch, huch,” AJ repeats as if saying yeah that’s what I meant as my wife draws a red heart on the computer.

“Ok, what’s the next shape you want us to draw AJ?” I ask the little rascal sitting on my office chair.

“Atigun,” AJ says excitedly.

My wife and I look at each other.

Atigun? What the? We’re totally clueless.

I turn around to ask Mom for help yet again. But she has already gone to the kitchen. We’re all by ourselves in trying to decipher this one.

“What’s that shape again, AJ?” I ask and this time I tried to listen as carefully as possible.

“Atigun,” AJ repeats with that pleading look on his face telling me how can you not know what an atigun is?!

I pause for a moment, trying to decipher the word. Atigun. A shape. With three syllables. We’ve already done the rectangle, circle, heart. It can’t be the square. Nor the triangle. What other shape could there be? Atigun. A-ti-gun. A-ti…

A light bulb flashes inside my head.

“I have a guess on what an atigun is,” I tell my wife.

“Is it an octagon, AJ?”

“Atigun! Atigun!” AJ says rather loudly almost to a shout, repeatedly nodding his head in agreement. If he can only express his thoughts, I know he would have said “Finally, thank God.”

And my wife draws an octagon.

Reminder to self: ask my brother as to who taught AJ what an octagon is. Little children are not supposed to learn about the octagon till they are about 7 or 8.

Monday, October 24, 2005

Oh Christmas Tree

our christmas tree
Since we got married, my wife and I decorate our Christmas tree together. And we usually do it during the extended All Saints' Day / All Souls' Days break.

But this year, we decided to break tradition and set up our tree one week earlier mainly due to two reasons. First, we are changing trees. We needed more time for adjustments should the fickle mind of my wife decide to change colors and motiff if the end result does not turn out the way she expects it to be.

And second, my wife is just plain excited with all the new decors she bought during the three-day-weekend-shop-till-you-drop-or-till-your-credit-card-maxes-out-mega-sale last weekend. Just couldn't wait one more week for us to set up the tree.

We decided to get a narrower tree this year. Not a smaller one, but a narrower one. (See picture) What the new tree lacks in width, it makes up with its height. The new one is a gigantic eight-footer, one foot higher than our former tree. I can just imagine the look on our nephews' and nieces' faces when they get to see this one. AJ would need to have a longer stick in order to pick the balls and the stars hanging on this tree.

If you think that putting up a Christmas tree with my wife is just as simple as buying different colored balls and hanging them randomly on the tree till the spaces run out, think again. This project, my dear friends, took one month of careful planning. It started with the mapping out of the color combinations using Adobe Photoshop (yup, this project involved full use of latest technology). Then we had to run back and forth to the different shops selling Chistmas decors to compare colors, designs, and prices. And, of course, before pushing through with the final purchases, a detailed plan was submitted to me containing the budget for the whole tree and ornaments.

Almost everything went according to plan. Well, except on the calculation of the Christmas lights to be used. We estimated that since the new tree would be a lot narrower than our former, this one should eat up only around 400 bulbs of Chistmas lights. That's 100 light bulbs per two feet. A reasonable estimate.

Or not.

As it turned out, I had to run to the nearest mall last weekend to purchase more lights for our tree. I still can't believe it. How can a narrow tree with a height of 8 feet consume 700 bulbs of Christmas lights?

Our electricity bill for the next two months should be interesting.

Thursday, October 20, 2005

It's-Not-Really-Butter

A few weeks ago, my wife decided to hoard on some personal items when The Body Shop in Shangri-La went on sale. It’s her way of coping up when she misses shopping at Bath and Body Works in LA.

I have posted here before about our nightly rituals before going to bed. And with my wife’s kikay artillery fully loaded with new items, her post-bath rituals at night time took a little bit longer than usual. I even saw her applying some sort of cream I haven’t seen before.

“What’s that you’re applying on your arms and legs?” ignorant husband asks.

“Butter,” wife replies matter-of-factly.

“What butter? Non-fat?” husband asks trying to annoy wife who is also watching her telenovela.

“It’s called body butter, dum-dum. It’s a body moisturizer,” wife answers without breaking a beat from her even application of the cream on her legs.

“Ahhhh…” as if husband understands what that is for.

“I think I should apply some on your elbows. They’re very dry,” wife suggests to husband.

“O-kay,” husband agrees uncertainly.

And so that night, my elbows had their first taste of body butter. It was going to be a start of a nightly ritual. And believe it or not, the butter showed results after just a few applications. My elbows aren’t that dry and rough anymore.

Next time, I’ll ask my wife if she can apply some on my knees, too.

I know, I’m a closet metrosexual.

Tuesday, October 18, 2005

Hang The DJ

My wife hates me for continuously playing the other song.

She says that I am such a KJ trying to spoil a perfectly fine song for her - the song which has been loved by more Filipinos due to its catchy beat and proud-Pinoy lyrics.

But it's just me playing out my skills as a DJ.

On CD deck A was the theme from the TV hit, reality game show, Pinoy Big Brother.

And on CD deck B was the freshly-dug-from-the-archives song, from 80's new wave band The Care, entitled Chandeliers.

I was repeatedy mixing the two songs together trying to find the perfect intro points and counting the bars for a perfect match. It wasn't really that hard.

Now, whether the Pinoy Ako song by local band Orange and Lemons is actually a rip-off of that 80's song is another matter. Ordinarily, I would have given the local band the benefit of the doubt. Musical influences can sometimes be obviously evident with some artists' work. But when I got to hear the song it has allegedly ripped-off, man oh man, was I disappointed.

And to consider the message the song's lyrics convey.

Pinoy, ikaw ay Pinoy
Ipakita sa mundo
Kung ano ang kaya mo
Ibang iba ang Pinoy
Wag kang matatakot
Ipagmalaki mo
Pinoy ako, Pinoy tayo
Listen to it yourself. You be the judge.

http://media.putfile.com/TheCare-Chandeliers

Sunday, October 16, 2005

Swipe Me Baby

I just fetched my wife from her whole day shopping therapy session scheduled for this weekend. The major malls in the Ortigas area decided that it was already the start of that time of the year when people shift into obscene spending mode in preparation for that much awaited Christmas gift-giving season.

The renewal cards from our credit card company have just been received through the mail a few weeks ago. And together with the cards was a letter informing us that our credit limit has just been increased – a piece of information which drew different and opposite reactions from me and my wife.

And so my wife decided to break-in her new credit card. A blanket permission to use it for this weekend was granted after a thorough deliberation. My wife pointed out that she needed to test it out just to be sure.


There were two major concerns. First, are the magnetic strips of these cards functioning properly? And second, was the credit card company not just pulling our leg when it said that they increased our credit limit?

For the first concern, my wife did find out that the magnetic strip of her credit card could stand repeated and continuous swiping during her visits to the various shops in the mall. No problem with that.

But for the second concern, well, we didn’t find out about it right away. And I just hope I don’t find out about it in a financially straining manner.

Thursday, October 13, 2005

When Winning Isn't Everything

Winning isn’t everything. It’s the only thing. Or is it?

A few years ago, a college basketball team was formed to represent its school in major basketball tournaments. In a sense, the formation of the team was victory in itself. This was because prior to that year, the school found it hard even just to find the warm bodies willing to train and practice to be able to form a competitive team.

The team, being newly-formed, started from the bottom. Competing against schools with more established basketball systems was really an arduous task. Loss after loss, the team didn’t give up. At that point, the team felt that giving it their best shot was already considered a victory.

Year after year, they showed improvements. Until the time came when they had a chance to finally make it to the semifinals – a feat that was quite unthinkable just a few years before.

A major game against a rival neighbor school became a defining match for the character and sportsmanship of the members of the team. After the tightly contested game, the team did win by a slim margin. More importantly, it was finally gaining the respect from its competitors.

The final buzzer already sounded and the team already savored the sweet taste of victory when they realized something. They realized that they violated a league rule regarding the fielding in of foreign players. The tournament rules state that no team can field in more than one foreign player inside the playing court at the same time.

Two of their teammates who played at the same time were classified as foreigners since their official nationalities were other than Filipino. There wouldn’t have been any doubt that they are more Filipino than Asi Taulava. But their passports say they are not. And it didn’t even matter that they were fielded in together by their coach for less than one minute; just because his players were fouling out one after another and maybe the pressure of the game situation caused the honest mistake.

But rules are rules.

But then, nobody else realized the infraction – not the referees, not the table officials, and not even the opposing team. They could have easily gotten away with it and solidify their spot for a semifinal slot. But the team felt they had to do the right thing. And so they brought up the matter to the Board’s attention. Consequently, their win was reversed.

It was a painful loss for a team which had lost every imaginable way for the past years. But the moral victory it brought to them would strengthen their foundation.

They didn’t get to win the championship that year. But that story of such a class act of sportsmanship should forever be remembered. Its lessons would be deeply etched into the characters of each member of the team.

One season later, they would be crowned champions of the league they joined. Yes, there is no sweeter victory than knowing that you strived to be your best and you adhered to the true value sportsmanship.

Congratulations to the Ateneo Lady Eagles! Congratulations for that class act you did. And congratulations for winning the 2005 UAAP Women’s Basketball title.

With the recent brouhaha in college sports, you, girls, have made us, Atenistas, really proud.

Tuesday, October 11, 2005

Ironic Bitch

Mister A became the president of our homeowners association a few years back. And one of his projects involved putting up the village’s welcome arc closer to the main road. The arc required an extra column in the middle to support its structure. And that column would stand right in the middle of the village’s entrance road.

That wouldn’t have been a problem if the road obstruction the column created wasn’t positioned right after one enters the village main road. So if your car would be coming in from the right side, facing the village, you would need to be careful in maneuvering your right turn so that you won’t hit the concrete column supporting the arc.

The project met some opposition from some homeowners. They stated the obvious danger it posed to motorists. But Mr. A managed to ignore them reasoning that nobody would be dumb enough to drive right thru that concrete column.

And so the project pushed through. It was gonna be one of Mister A’s projects during his administration.

A few weeks later, Mister A’s daughter, driving in a hurry to get home, smashed her car right into that column.

Life is an ironic bitch.

Saturday, October 08, 2005

The Intruder

Mom wakes up to the sound originating from outside their bedroom. She doesn’t know what time it is. But she can tell that it is still quite dark outside.

She hears footsteps. Someone seems to be coming down the stairs located near their room. But she can’t really be too sure.

The dogs are quiet. If it was an intruder burglarizing their house, the alarm system would have gone off. And the two layers of canine protection would have surely made noises. The bulldogs outside would intimidate to a heart attack anyone who dares trespass. And the maltese guarding inside the house produces a shrieking bark that would irritate a thief to no end.

Tatay, who is ever the light sleeper, also wakes up to the sound. In the darkness of their bedroom, they eye each other as he motions for Mom to keep quiet as they listen to what’s going to happen next.

The footsteps seem to have reached the bottom of the stairs. And they are going towards their bedroom. As the steps reach the front of their door, they suddenly stop.

Then, the doorknob was turned rather slowly. A gentle push of the door produced a light squeaking sound. But it was enough to be heard in the silence enveloping the entire house.

Tatay and Mom keep still, pretending to be asleep.

The intruder enters the room. He certainly knows where he is going. His shadow moves carefully and remains low, not knowing that my parents already knew of his presence.

He goes around my parents’ bed and positions himself right by my Mom’s foot side of the bed.

Then he grabs my Mom’s legs and shakes it purposely.

“Mama, wake up! Mama… Mama… Wake up!”

It’s their dear three-year-old apo, my adorable nephew, AJ. He wakes up 5:30 in the morning and decides to proceed to his grannies’ room to give them their wake up call.

Tuesday, October 04, 2005

Iced Tea

One hot and humid afternoon, my Mom fixes my three-year-old nephew, AJ, a glass of iced tea for refreshment. A few minutes later, AJ surprisingly comes back to my Mom handing her his empty glass.

“You’ve already finished your iced tea, AJ? That was fast,” Mom asks but suspects another mischief was cooked up by her adorable apo.

AJ just smiles naughtily.

“Did you drink all of it? Or was it spilled somewhere, AJ?” Mom asks AJ.

“Fish,” AJ pronounces with his bulol tongue.

Okay, fish. What could AJ have meant with that. My mom was wondering.

Mom goes to the lanai where my brother’s numerous aquariums are located. And there my Mom saw it. A portion of the water in one of the aquariums is slightly discolored and cubes of ice are floating around.

AJ decided that his Dad’s flowerhorns needed some refreshments, too.

Sunday, October 02, 2005

The Name Game

Yesterday, my wife duped me into going to Tiendesitas, the newest shopping corridor in the Ortigas area, under the guise of looking for the Christmas decors which we will use for our planned Christmas theme overhaul this coming Yuletide season.

We didn’t see much Chistmas decors being sold. In fact, we didn’t see much of what was being offered by the different shops as most of them were still under construction.

As my wife and I got tired roaming around the various shops, we decided to take a break and eat merienda. We tend to relate that shopping and eating should always go hand-in-hand. And that was when I saw two of my high school batchmates. Yup, two of them at the same time. What were the chances, right?

The first batchmate I saw was my good friend, Joey. Joey and I have managed to be in constant touch with each other since graduating from high school. Though we didn’t go to the same college, we did meet regularly. Our bond went from the fun-filled out-of-town gimiks, to the drink-till-you-drop inuman sessions, to the soul-searching Days With The Lord experiences, to the formal organization of our high school batch brotherhood in the form of concrete projects. In fact, we have a project, which is currently put on hold, that we have both agreed to give another push as of our meeting yesterday.

The second batchmate approached us as Joey and I were having our talk. It has already been 17 years since our high school graduation but I still do remember the guy’s face. But unfortunately, I do not remember the name. It was a good thing that Joey was good at this. He remembers the names of most of our batchmates. Or, at least, in yesterday’s case, he remembered the guy’s surname. Well, Joey was not our Student Council President for nothing.

The other guy was De Jesus. I’m not sure now if his first name is Arnel or Ariel. I have heard of him only through our Yahoo email group of which he is also a member. He was there at Tiendesitas to supervise the construction of his wife’s shop. I got to drop by his wife’s shop later on and promised that I would check it out later when it becomes operational.

I admire people who can remember the names of people whom they haven’t seen for the longest time. Too bad I didn’t get it from my Mom. You see, my Mom was a grade school teacher before she became a full-time entrepreneur. And there have been various instances when she would meet former students from 30 years back and still remember their complete names. Yes, including middle initials. Can you believe that?

I guess somewhere along the way, her genes got lost and didn’t reach me. And now, I have to contend myself with identifying people I know, not with their names, but with stories, I remember, of what they did from a long time ago.

“By the way Joey, do you remember that batchmate of ours who brought a floor mop when our World History teacher asked him to get the (world) map? What’s his name again?”