Whatcha gonna do when they come for you?

A night after watching a movie about good cops (The Untouchables was showing on HBO), we ran into a couple of bad ones.

My sibs and I were on our way home from dinner in Greenbelt. My brother was driving, and we were singing along with The Who blaring away on the car stereo. Suddenly 2 cops were in front of our car, waving us down. We stopped, my bro rolled down his window, and one of the cops told him he had just seen him run a red light. Bens reacted in outraged disbelief, for we hadn't even come from the direction the cop was claiming. A heated debate ensued, with Bens yelling at the cop and refusing to hand over his license, and the cop harping on the same imaginary traffic violation and refusing to give his name. The scumbag kept saying he wouldn't give my brother a ticket if he just showed him his license, ''kasi madali lang naman kaming kausap.'' That of course is police code for ''madadaan kami sa lagay.''

I kept jumping in to back my brother up, while trying to be the placating voice of reason in the verbal tussle. Hanks got our mom on the phone, who advised us to just give the cop a hundred bucks and get it over with. However, it didn't have to come to that, because finally, I think we managed to wear him out with our arguments and incessant protests. The cop caved and showed us his name, my bro showed him his license, which the cop returned with a perfunctory warning to be more careful next time (but not without another ''madali lang kaming kausap'' which we ignored), and that was the end of the drama. I guess either the cop was intimidated by our apparent righteous anger and invocation of citizens' rights, or he figured that we were just too dense to take a hint and give him something to buy a midnight snack with.

My brother was shaking with fury as we drove away. He is the least confrontational of the 3 of us (my softspoken sister hides a terrifying temper and is prone to violent outbursts), and he could even be called a pacifist, so it was surprising to see him flare up like that. I could sympathize though, because nothing makes me more angry than to be falsely accused of something and be unjustly punished for it.

On hindsight, it was foolhardy and even dangerous to have had a shouting match with an armed cop at such a late hour. It would have been easy enough to slip him a bribe and settle the whole thing. But as my brother said, still seething as we drove home, he would have rather gotten a ticket than given the bastard money.

After that incident I had newfound respect for my brother (whom his big sister usually regards with exasperation because of his irresponsibility and happy-go-lucky ways). I give him credit not only because he had the guts to stand up to a cop and defend himself, but more so because he had the backbone not to stoop down to the sleaze's level. I just hope he doesn't have another run-in like this again, because crooked cops don't give a rat's ass about principles, and moral fiber does not make one bulletproof.

Back in the saddle again

Yesterday I conducted my first training seminar for our promo girls (i.e. sales ladies) under Criterion. I have been the acting brand head since we acquired the brand in May, so I took it upon myself to train our sales personnel. Most of them are new, and some are inexperienced, so they need the market and product knowledge. The first batch was composed of 6 persons, and the session lasted for roughly 2 and a half hours... longer than a double period in English (more like a triple period!). I was armed with our new HP laptop (my overused and abused ThinkPad is now resting in peace) and our brand new Panasonic projector, which makes all the EIKI and Epson projectors in ICA look like bulky relics, hehe. It felt great to be sort-of teaching again, aided by PowerPoint and all. Of course unlike before, I actually speak in Filipino and Taglish during these training seminars. I'm sure my former students would get a kick out of that. :p

Speaking of former students, Sobriety's going on their retreat today. I wish I were going with them. I really miss those kids. I hope they have a fun and meaningful retreat, and that they'll further strengthen the great friendships they share... and I hope the retreat house is soundproof.

Parting is such sweet sorrow...

Worth a thousand words indeed.

Half-Blood Prince: not half bad

My love for the Harry Potter series has waned considerably over the years, especially after I read Philip Pullman's majestic masterpiece, the trilogy His Dark Materials, which severely kicked HP butt (Rowling's celebrated creativity is nothing compared to Pullman's brilliant genius). But I was still eager to get started on Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, the 6th and penultimate installation in the HP series.

I finished the book after two nights of reading into the wee hours. The verdict: it's not as rich and engaging as Book 3 (still the best of the series, in my opinion), it's mercifully not as annoying and burdened with long, pointless chapters as Book 5 (definitely Rowling's worst work), but it gives Book 4 a run for its money in terms of suspense and tragedy. However, unlike Goblet of Fire's shocker which prompted me to put down the book and wander around the house in a disbelieving daze, HBP's twists and tragic turns were a little predictable. I saw the character and relationship developments and demises coming from as early as Book 2, although this predictability was strangely satisfying (to my students and HP fanatics Laureen and Clarisse: HAH! I told you so... ;p). Everything's beginning to fall into place, albeit a little late, and in spite of myself I am looking forward to finding out how it all ends.

After HBP, things are quickly coming to a head for The Boy Who Lived and his whole wizarding world, and it's going to be interesting to see how Rowling manages to cram the sure-to-be-sensational conclusion to her phenomenal series in one final book. From the number of unresolved matters left hanging at the end of Book 6, Book 7 might turn out to be even longer than Book 5... but hopefully without the same disappointing results. Harry and his friends-- and enemies--deserve a good send-off, and Rowling had better not screw this one up, or she'll be facing this Muggle's wrath.

Strong

Generally, I find Oprah an entertaining talk show, especially when Ms. Winfrey gives away free nifty stuff and when her guests are hot celebs (both make me drool ;p). But I quickly switch to another channel when she's talking about her Book Club (I'm just not comfortable taking literary recommendations from Oprah) or when her guests are bound to make the audience weepy and me depressed (troubled teens, estranged spouses, cancer survivors, etc.). The only exceptions, respectively, were East of Eden, the thickest classic I've ever read and which I devoured in less than a week, and Lance Armstrong.

Before seeing him on Oprah, I only had a vague idea that Lance Armstrong was the popular (and seemingly overhyped) American cyclist dating Sheryl Crow. By the end of the program, I had more respect and admiration for Lance than any other athlete I've known. His story seems almost too inspirational to be real: he battled and bounced back from cancer in his twenties, then went on to win the Tour de France 6 (and very soon it will be 7) times. And the Tour de France, I learned, is not just some pansy-ass bike race. It's 24 days of furious cycling through the steep French Alps and Pyrenees, with 200 competitors from all over the world vying for the coveted maillot jaune, or yellow jersey. It's not just about speed, it's about endurance, and Armstrong is a champion of both.

I am truly in awe of his grit and determination, how he not merely survived but defeated cancer-- hell, he humiliated cancer-- with all he's accomplished. He's the reason I shelled out P55 (US$1) for a piece of yellow silicone, because all proceeds of his "Live Strong" wristbands go to the Lance Armstrong Foundation, which supports cancer research and other organizations fighting cancer. Whenever I wear my wristband, it reminds me of how he's been through so much pain and the incredible will and fortitude it took to triumph over it. It also reminds me that there are people who have suffered and are suffering far worse than anything I have gone through, so I have no right to throw up my hands and give up.

And of course this weekend, I'll be wearing my Live Strong wristband in honor of Lance, who is going to ride into Paris on Sunday to claim his 7th record-shattering Tour de France title. Absolutely awesome.

Excellence and ineptitude

Thumbs up

Arrow has won the 2004 Philippine Marketing Excellence Award for Most Outstanding Men's Clothing. Last night I attended the awarding ceremony at the Westin Philippine Plaza. I was decked out in an Arrow Woman blazer, Arrow Woman pinstripe slacks, and an Arrow necktie, which my dad helped me knot (the only tie I know how to knot is the weird maroon one that came with my high school uniform). While I'm at it, I might as well use my blog to promote our ongoing 5th Anniversary Sale, with big discounts and special offers at all Arrow boutiques. Hehehe.

Thumbs down

Every morning going to work, I pass through Boni Serrano (a.k.a. Santolan). Last week, before I left for Hong Kong/China, I noticed that there was a manhole left uncovered in the middle of the street. Someone had placed an orange plastic roadblock beside it to warn motorists of the potential danger the gaping hole presented. Fast forward to more than a week later, after I had returned from my trip... and the manhole was still uncovered! Not only that, but the orange roadblock was smashed to a mangled mound, probably having been hit by a vehicle with a not-so-alert driver. This morning, the ruined roadblock had been replaced with a new one. To the people who were thoughtful and efficient enough to change the roadblock: hey, geniuses, COVER THE MANHOLE!

Canton clips

East meets West

I love how Hong Kong is an amalgam of old Oriental and new cosmopolitan. It’s Chinese enough, but not too Chinese… meaning the public rest rooms are actually clean. In fact I was in a bathroom cubicle when the idea occurred to me: if the Philippines had been colonized by the British instead of the Americans, maybe we’d be in a much better state that the sordid one we’re currently in. We’d have a stronger economy, better education, more efficient transport systems and cleaner public facilities, including toilets.

This is CNN

Whenever we go abroad, we tend to watch a lot of CNN when we’re in our hotel room. It’s as if there’s this inherent compulsion to find out what’s happening with the rest of the world because we’re not home… perhaps in order not to feel so adrift and out of touch.

My favorite CNN news anchor is Richard Quest, the Briton with the hoarse voice and expressive, almost exuberant, manner of speaking. He makes even the most dreary news sound interesting, even entertaining. I especially love watching him report from the street, where he really gets into it, with matching hyper gesticulations and audacious interview questions. Every time I watch him, I think to myself, now there’s a guy who really loves his job. I appreciate his zest, his humor, his vitality… I’m tempted to use the word “vivacity” but it sounds too flippant; I don’t want to give the impression he’s not a serious, credible journalist, for he is. But what sets him apart from his colleagues at CNN is that Richard Quest is not just a talking head, because he puts his heart into what he does.

Then there’s my least favorite CNN news anchor, our very own Veronica Pedrosa. Or maybe I shouldn’t say “our very own” since she doesn’t seem to want to acknowledge her being Filipino. She speaks with this absurdly affected British accent that annoys me, especially when she pronounces her own frickin’ name “Pay-drow-zaa.” My friend Shirley once pointed out how ridiculous it is that Ms. Paydrowzaa pronounces “tsunami” the Western way, with a silent T. “Bakit, diba meron naman tayong tsonggo? Tsinelas?” It’s impressive how Ms. Paydrowzaa has gotten to where she is, but it’s impossible for me to admire someone who has lost touch with and seemingly turned her back on her origins.

Lost and not found

I lost my beloved ankh pendant in a Guangzhou flea market. (To the hieroglyphically challenged: the ankh is the ancient Egyptian symbol of life. It resembles the Christian cross, which my pendant was often mistaken for.) The clasp of my necklace must have snagged on my bag strap and opened by itself, and the ankh fell off. What made it even more frustrating was that I didn’t lose the chain, which could have been easily replaced. I tried not to get too upset over it, forcing myself to think that it was only a material possession, and I’ve lost items with far more sentimental value. I guess I will just have to take on the challenge of finding a new ankh accessory. Sigh.

Racking up mileage points

I'm leaving on another business trip tomorrow (my third in four months), this time to attend a trade fair in Hong Kong, my favorite city in the world (although New York was elevated to a very close second after my last trip). I'll be accompanying my mom this time, which requires a whole different dynamic compared to traveling with my dad. Ma is all about efficiency, efficiency-- closer to my traveling style, actually. She was born in Hong Kong, and though she doesn't speak Cantonese she always seems to fit right in with the locals: walking at a breakneck pace, consuming copious amounts of tea and dimsum, and shopping like there's no tomorrow. I think I got a lot of her Hong Kong-ness in me, which may be why I love the city and its lifestyle so much.

We will also be taking a train to Guangzhou, the birthplace of SARS (note to self: must remember to pack hand sanitizer). I'm excited to get some serious shopping done at the flea markets there. I hope my haggling skills in Chinese haven't gone rusty from lack of use. :)

I'll be back on the 19th, and hopefully only my luggage will have gained a few pounds. Haha.

The Ateneo way

So we lost to La Salle, and let’s face, we deserved to lose. Our boys came out strong, but wilted too early… about 76 minutes too early. What looked like a promising start, with impressive defense and strong drives to the basket, quickly petered out into one of the sorriest Ateneo collapses in recent memory.

It’s always easy to point fingers and try to pin the blame on someone: the team for not playing well, the coach for committing errors in judgment, the referees for making bad calls, Badjie del Rosario for being the dumbest player on the floor. It could have been any, all or none of the above (but I think I can safely say that everyone would agree Badjie really was colossally stupid). Bottom line: La Salle massacred us.

But if anyone knows how to lose well, especially to La Salle, it’s Ateneo. At one point during the slaughter, when it became painfully apparent that La Salle was going to trounce us, my friend Yang wailed, “Hope is all we have.” I heard her words over the triumphant roar of the La Salle crowd as an Archer sank another stab-to-our-already-bleeding-hearts basket. I looked over at the sea of green and thought, it must be nice to be so used to winning, but if you’ve never really known despair, can you ever really know the wondrous power of a tiny flicker of hope? And in the heart of a staunch Atenean, hope is capable of turning a humiliating 30-point deficit into moments of fierce fervor and quiet redemption.

To illustrate: During halftime, despite the glaring 20-50 score flashed overhead, the Ateneo crowd responded thunderously to the Blue Babble Battalion’s rousing cries of “Halikinu” and “Blue Eagle Spelling.” In the third quarter, the Blue Babble guy assigned to our section was yelling with a bright smile, “It’s only 26 points, guys!” in a laughable but admirable effort to keep our morale high. Angelo, Yang’s eternally acerbic hubby, kept cracking jokes about our impending loss, but at the same time would scream “FIGHT!” at the top of his lungs. As the clock wound down to the game’s inevitable conclusion, we were still applauding and cheering every point our players could scrounge, as if we were actually leading and winning rather than on our way to a miserable loss. And besides, as Yang’s cousin cheerfully pointed out when she saw him after the game, we actually beat La Salle in the second half, 40-28. Now that’s what I call seeing an empty glass half-full.

My dad, former team manager of the UST Tigers during their "four-peat" glory days, has seen his fair share of UAAP games. He’s a big Ateneo critic, but he always concedes that we have the strongest fighting spirit of all UAAP schools. As I told my students who were writing their Ateneo application essays last week, Ateneans are all about HEART. We do everything with passion, even losing. We give everything one big fight, even if we end up losing. And we keep our heads held high, even after losing. That’s why win or lose, it’s the school we choose… because even when we lose, we lose with spirit.

Oh, and to the La Salle scum who sounded a horn while we were singing our school hymn: you made your school look unclassy, and you degraded your team’s victory with that cheap shot. Congratulations.

Kryptonite

Many think I am a hard-nosed bitch, and they aren't exactly wrong. However, those who know me well are aware that I am also a closet sap (a special shout-out to my fellow closet saps out there... you know who you are). I do not deny I can be a softie (just ask any of my students who wheedle me into doing stuff for them :p), but the things that make my cold heart melt are... unusual.

The other night, while my brother was at the PC playing online poker, I was in the same room watching Star Trek: Nemesis on Cinemax. When it came to the part where the android Data sacrifices himself to save Captain Picard, my brother instinctively swiveled around in his chair to look at me and asked with a knowing grin, "Umiiyak ka na no?" True enough, I was sniffling like the big crybaby that I am. Movies about inspiring leaders/teachers/mentors and loyal teams/followers/students always get to me. Heck, sometimes I get choked up watching Olympic athletes receive their medals and listening to their national anthems being played. The other night when London won the bid to host the 2012 Olympics, I welled up seeing the crowd in Trafalgar Square cheer and celebrate when the name of their city was announced. I'm pathetic.

Aside from weepy (but not mushy) movies and winning moments, I am also a sucker for the following:

• handwritten letters and notes
• yellow flowers
• stuffed animals (try to swallow your laughter)
• good books, books that make me laugh, cry, think, forget, and remember
• songs that evoke memories of people I love
• the sound of my siblings' laughter
• and of course, brainy, brooding, bad boy types (right Sis? ;p)

Hmm. Maybe it's not wise to be revealing these weaknesses to my readers-- who knows how you'll use them against me? But then again, it wouldn't hurt if one of you introduces me to a brainy, brooding guy bearing yellow roses, a handwritten love letter, a teddy bear and a new E.L. Konigsberg book...

Props, Mr. Chairman!

You've got to hand it to Gilbert Remulla. As chairman of the House committee on public information, he's doing an impressive job handling the Congressional hearings on the wire-tapping issue. He's patient but firm, polite but direct, and exudes an air of authority and self-assurance that inspires confidence in anyone watching the proceedings. Auntie Nene, my mom's best friend, says it's an amazing feat by itself how he can keep the names of all the congressmen straight. What makes it all the more impressive is how young Remulla is (well, young for a House committee chair anyway) and yet he's holding his own against older, more experienced legislators, despite the bullying and badgering from some of them. Sure, he bangs the gavel a little too fast, but hey, keep up old farts. You snooze, you lose.

The only thing that bugs me about Remulla is that he bears a striking resemblance to a History teacher I had in college. I made the mistake of signing up for his Rizal class and it was one of the most excruciatingly boring classes I ever took. But that's another blog post...

Hail to the thief

January 20, 2001. It was the last day of the EDSA Dos "revolution", when the Filipino people overthrew a corrupt, womanizing president and thrust the enormous responsibility of leading our nation on the tiny shoulders of the more intelligent, and presumably more competent, and hopefully more honest, vice president. It was also my birthday, and I turned 20 sitting on top of the highest flyover overlooking the EDSA Shrine with my college friends. Around 2AM we trooped back to and crashed at my house (all 12 of us, guys included), and we woke up to the morning news announcing that Erap had left Malacanang.

It was the happiest and most memorable birthday of my life... but not anymore, for two reasons: one, my 24th birthday bumped it off the top spot, thanks to my students and all their wonderful surprises; and two, I'm not exactly proud anymore that I helped GMA become president in the first place.

Watching the whole "Gloriagate" scandal unfold on the nightly news, it riles me to think that we ousted Erap based on moral principles (at least that was why I was there at EDSA Dos), only to realize that his replacement is just as morally questionable, if not worse. I am not such an idealistic fool as to think any politician, no matter how educated or celebrated, could be absolutely morally upright and squeaky clean, but at the very least I expect my government officials to adhere to basic professional ethics and uphold basic human values. Common decency, is that so much to ask?

One of our friends, Bud, was not with us at EDSA Dos because he was pro-Estrada. We ganged up on him a lot during that time, picking on him and teasing him to death about his political leanings. I wouldn't blame him if he's laughing at us now and saying "I told you so." (Fortunately, Bud's too much of a gentleman to rub it in; I always told him that if he ran for president I'd help run his campaign. Still hoping, Mr. Britanico!)

I do not regret having been part of EDSA Dos, because at the time, it was the morally right thing to do. But I lament that our actions, which had been rooted in principles and motivated by values like justice and patriotism, paved the way for more corruption, more deception, more insult and injury to those very principles and values we stood up for. I do not necessarily believe all the charges against GMA (the opposition isn't exactly a paragon of purity either), but I am inclined to suspect her (and her sleaze of a husband) of having perpetrated a lot of sneaky and scummy things. She has lost her credibility, and my respect, and from this citizen's point of view, that seriously undermines her right to govern this nation.

Junkie

I'm glad I don't have any real vices to speak of, because when I get hooked on something, I have a very hard time detoxing. My recent addictions:

• Star Trek: The Next Generation (whenever there's an idle moment at home, one of us is bound to yell, "Star Trek!" as an invitation/demand to pop a DVD into the player and watch 4 to 8 episodes straight)
• Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf chai latte (I got my brother hooked too; last night we were at UCC, and he put down the menu and whined, "I want a chai latte." haha)
• Nivea LipCare Caregloss & Shine (goodbye Born Lippy!)
• Ricola Orange Mint Sugar-free Herb Lozenges (an innocent last-minute impulse purchase at Watson's that is now becoming a regular after-meal mint)
• Haagen-Dazs ice cream, any flavor with chunks (which is why I'm getting fatter and fatter, eek)
• and of course, blogging (isn't it obvious?)

Someone check me into rehab now.

The Tom Cruise Movie

That might as well have been the title of War of the Worlds, since the whole frickin' movie seemed to be more about him and his super-incredible-awesome-[insert other adjectives frequently used by Katie Holmes here] greatness than anything else. For a film that's supposed to be about the annihilation of the human race, the only human the movie was actually concerned about was Tom Cruise.

Before I proceed, to those who haven't seen the movie: yes, most definitely this entry will contain spoilers, but don't worry. I can't possibly do more damage to an already rotten film. In fact, I'll do you a big favor and tell you right now: just read my blog post, and save your movie money for something else.

Most of you have an idea of the basic storyline: Aliens invade the Earth. Aliens start picking off humans like roaches. Humans run like hell. But let me fill you in on the real crucial element of the plot: Tom Cruise is Superman. No, really! You thought he was playing an ordinary construction worker/divorced father of two? Hell no! What the trailer didn't reveal is that this is actually a superhero movie! Why go see the Fantastic Four when you can watch Tom Cruise single-handedly destroy a giant alien destroyer robot? It's not about the destruction of our planet (we don't even get to see a single important landmark blown to smithereens; in fact, we don't even see what happens to the rest of the world outside of the US East Coast), War of the Worlds is about how Tom Cruise is totally indestructible! Wow! I'm sure H.G. Wells didn't think of that angle when he wrote the original story!

All right, all right, maybe I am being too harsh. I did, after all, learn some very valuable survival lessons from this movie. Allow me to enumerate these pearls of wisdom:

1. If you're running down a street while a giant alien destroyer robot behind you is pulverizing every human being in sight, make sure you are not running beside Tom Cruise, because the giant alien destroyer robot will surely hit everyone around him, but not him. He is, after all, Tom Cruise. Even aliens recognize his greatness.
2. If Tom Cruise tells you to do something, like get in the car, or close your eyes, or put down the ax you're about to use to chop off an alien anaconda-like probe thingy, just do it. It's Tom Cruise! He knows best!
3. If a 747 comes crashing down on top of your house, it helps to be in the basement with Tom Cruise. You'll sleep right through it, guaranteed.
4. If you should be so lucky to be in Tom Cruise's car (the only functioning car in all of Jersey-- but hey, trust Tom Cruise to find it and steal it from his neighbor!), and you're driving down the expressway, running away from the giant alien destroyer robots, you will find that all the stalled vehicles on the road had conveniently stopped along the sides of the highway, leaving a clear path in the middle for Tom to cruise down (pun intended).
5. If you're boarding a jam-packed ferry boat to get away from giant alien destroyer robots, stick close to Tom Cruise. He'll find a way to get onboard. He's Tom Cruise!
6. If said ferry boat gets tipped over by a giant alien destroyer robot, swim beside Tom Cruise. You will not drown, be hit with debris, or even get zapped by the giant alien destroyer robot, because it's too busy zapping everyone else who is not with Tom Cruise.
7. If you're a 6'4" man roughly the built and weight of Tim Robbins, and you happen to be armed with a shovel, you still do not stand a chance against an unarmed, 5'7" Tom Cruise. He will severely kick your Susan-Sarandon-loving ass.
8. If you've been caught by one of those pesky giant alien destroyer robots (shit!), but you're in the same cage as Tom Cruise (hooray!), you can be sure he'll save you because he will be able to arm himself with grenades split seconds before he's sucked into the alien craft, and he will pull the pins out with his mouth, AND he will be pulled back out into the cage by the rest of the captives who band together to save him... because-- all together now-- he's Tom Cruise! (Note that there were no bayanihan heroics for the first guy who got sucked in, poor chump.)
9. If you're a member of the US armed forces, it pays to listen to tactical advice from Tom Cruise. He's so-ooo sharp, that Tom Cruise.
10. If you're Tom Cruise's son or daughter, you will inherit his amazing powers of invulnerability and under no circumstances (capture by a giant alien destroyer robot and acts of sheer stupidity included) will you die.

Oh, and one more thing. Apparently, the more upscale neighborhoods in Boston are the safest places in America because for some reason, aliens will refuse to destroy any of the nice brownstones there. You can remain there with your immaculately dressed family (pregnant women included) throughout the alien invasion and stay perfectly safe. Apparently, the aliens have no qualms wiping out the blue-collar areas, but they will spare the rich folk. Who knew aliens were such elitists?

I cannot end without mentioning the part of the movie that made me literally slap my forehead. While hiding out in slightly-psycho Tim Robbins' basement, Dakota Fanning asked Tom Cruise to sing her a lullaby. My mind was going, "'Wag kang kakanta. 'Wag kang kakanta..." When he did not know the first song she asked for, she requested another ("'Wag kang kakanta. 'Wag kang kakanta...") and he didn't know it either. I waited breathlessly for a third request, and then... he started singing. I wish I could say that cheeseball moment ruined the entire movie, but really, what was left to ruin?