dylan's pillow

Dylan's pages finally got some finishing touches to make it seem more "complete". It's mostly a gallery of endless pictures and some sort of way to organize them all. The great thing about digital is the infinite pictures, yes. But storing, organizing and finding them all is another matter entirely. Let me tell ya, I've got countless CDs with three year's worth of pictures, not to mention CDs with scans of actual photographs. Cataloguing them is another job entirely. Hopefully, the next kid, when there is one, gets as much attention.

12:17 PM | |

moon rising


Moon over Jersey City.

6:39 PM | |

mr. softee


I don't remember the first time I bought something from the ice cream truck, but I do remember my favorite: Big Stick. In the Southern California summers, it was the best thing next to roller skating on the sidewalks. It cost me 50 cents for one.

Last week, Dylan had his first ice cream from the Mr. Softee truck: a chocolate dipped vanilla soft serve on a cone. It was so good, he finished the whole thing himself. Now he'll never look at the ice cream truck the same way again.

8:02 AM | |

seasons


The summer winds down into the cool air of autumn. In a short while, the leaves will carpet the ground in golden brown and firey red; branches bare and falling asleep to the white blanket that will soon cover the landscape.

7:51 AM | |

why indeed

Lord. Here we go. We have officially entered the "WHY?" stage, or triangle as a like to call it. Dylan, Dino and I that is. Dylan, being the tip, we parents being the two bottom points which a barrage of questions will be directed at for the rest of our natural parental lives, beginning this week. It may have began earlier, though not being verbally expressed by Dylan and was only manifested in his curiosity to see what happens when things are rhythmically dropped on the floor, or when golf balls and legos are placed in barefoot adult pathways.

So, officially, it began for us this week when he asked, "Why's that car make that sound?" (a car engine revving endlessly). I couldn't think of an answer, because, really, why does a young Asian guy next door with a fixed up Honda with spoilers, mags, and a loud ass exhaust rev his engine except to...maybe show off - to himself if no one else is around. And if that was my answer, I would have to explain what showing off means. As I deliberated, Dylan was on to something else, showing that he really didn't need an answer and was just testing his questioning prowess. He may be practicing for things later on like, Why do we go to war? and Why are the liberals planning to demonstrate in the wake of the GOP convention in Manhattan next week, creating a lot of security issues, insurmountable traffic jams and the like? and Why not? I need to get my answers ready. This is an exam of a lifetime.

7:43 AM | |

testing

OK people. Testing out the "E-mail Post to Friend" new feature of Blogger. This allows you to e-mail the post to other people and say things like "Read this, isn't it brilliant?!" or "Read this - it's absolute and pure drivel!" It is indicated by an envelope icon with an arrow on it next to the "Comment" action. Nifty. Now, if only Blogger would work half as well when posting.

6:16 AM | |

typhoon

A lot of the Manila side of blogworld seems to be affected by the typhoon whipping around the archipelago. I sort of miss those torrential downpours when bits of galvanized roof would fly around getting ready to hit some brave/stupid bystander caught out in the storm, or some old, old tree in UP Diliman would just break or fall down and die from the lashing of the wind and rain, and you would have to wade home because public transport was simply too full with ten men hanging out of each bus or jeepney door, or simply because no auto could get through the flooded roads.

It was kind of nice to be stuck indoors as long as the internet connection held up and you had some good movies to watch. There'd be extra time to cook up something experimental, catch up on sleep, on music you'd meant to listen to more intently, or finally finish reading the book you had been on for months but keept falling asleep to when you finally tried to read it at the end of the day.

When the sun would finally shine at the end of the 2, 3, or 4 day confinement, everything outside would be dewy and lush; crystal drops still glistening on leaves and windows. At that very moment, stepping outside for the first time since the storm had began, it seemed as if Manila had been cleansed of its refuse, grease and gray pallor.

6:58 AM | |

things to do at 2 am


Aside from watching Nip/Tuck and its gratuitous sex scenes and Rescue Me and its gratuitous coke snorting scenes, I have started practicing my origami. This is my first attempt at kusudama and have found it impossible to finish - well, obviously possible after practicing many, many folds of paper later which I have yet to achieve - I simply couldn't put the last piece in without ruining the rest of the ball and had to cheat by using bits of sticky tape in places that wouldn't stay put. I won't show you that spot and instead offer the impressive side that's nice to look at.


I have a fascination for Japanese products. I think it's mainly the thrill of trying to find out what strange consumer product might be inside the Japanese character covered cellophane and what it does. I love coming across brightly colored packaging with quaint drawings and trying to decipher what the actual product is by pressing, shaking, feeling it up, then finally gauging it by what section it's in (toiletries, kitchen, stationery), then looking for illustrations on how to use the product. You can find really absurd things from armpit wipes, children's cotton buds for cleaning their noses to moisture sucking devices to keep mold from growing on your shoes and clothes, the last one not being so absurd but rather useful in humid climes. I could spend hours in a Japanese market just perusing products like these.

The Japanese have an ingenious way of creating and designing things - they think of the most simple, yet brilliantly useful thing that you really don't need, but upon seeing it and thinking about the concept, you simply must have it if only to see that it really works as shown in the pictures. I think they ought to branch out and co-opt an infommercial channel and sell things like contraptions that literally suck sticky stains out of upholstery by just leaving it there for a few minutes, or a bento box meal that will cook itself by sunlight streaming in from a hot kitchen window. They would make so much money, given they employ a properly clever translator of Japanese phrases, of course.

6:31 AM | |

hanging and eating mexican in hoboken


Hoboken is a little place in New Jersey where 'ol Blue Eyes is from. The city has turned into a nice little place full of restos, cafes, live band joints, and everything within walking distance along the narrow streets, and car parking by luck. I've recently been staking out the eateries trying to see which ones get the traffic and which ones look interesting. While they all look interesting, there is one particular place across the street from the park where Dylan likes to play.

Mision Burrito sounds as Mexi-Cali as you can get, and I was hoping that it could possibly have that good as Mexican as you can get in Southern California short of crossing over to Tijuana taste (I spent a few years in San Diego). Dino tried a place in Manhattan when I had a craving for fish tacos and Mexican food in general. Maui Tacos was the place in fact - the guy was featured on Emeril and all that hype. I should have known. Hawaiian-Mex is not what I was looking for. It was a big disappointment because there was little flavor and a great big deliberate dash of "healthy" taste. You know - the health food flavor, like not enough garlic and salt and pepper and cumin and corriander. Nothing wrong with eating healthy. But. You can eat healthy without resorting to cardboard tastes. Just be sensible. Don't pour a cup of sour cream and guacamole on your tacos. Just a dolop ought to be good. Also, don't finish a dish enough for two by yourself. Do yourself a favor and share it. Common sense is the key to eating healthy, not sacrificing flavor. But I digress. What the hell, eat the whole plate! So we finally tried Mission Burrito and I was so happy to eat it because at last, it had taste, flavor; it was savory and was prepared by no less than... a Mexican cook! I love Mexican food, and if it doesn't have the flavor and spice, I'd rather go without. I'll be back for more, my carne asada loving friends, although they really should have chimichangas and Horchata! And, by the way, each order is good enough for almost three people. Now, to go see about that Cuban place, Zafra.

5:06 AM | |

congrats and celebrations

First off - a big Congratulatory Whoop for Dean whose story L'Aquilone de Estrellas was published in this Year's Best Fantasy and Horror Annual Collection (also to Nikki and Sage for being in the book too)!

It makes us proud to see a long time friend finally see print that will be read by millions outside of our little Island(s) of the Philippines. It gives one a great dose of Filipino pride when we can show the world that we are capable of contending internationally, especially next to the likes of Neil Gaiman, Setphen King and Ursula K. Le Guin! Wahoo!!!

My husband turned 33 this week and I was knee deep in ribs, pasta, and salmon - shopping for it and cooking it all! Boy, am I tired. But the celebration continues today with a cousin's birthday being also this week. Will have been a long week when it finally ends.

7:05 AM | |

mouse

Page 1


It's an ordeal, but fun. There's not much to the writing yet. I hope it improves drastically, but I like the pictures, sort of. Constructive criticism welcome.

4:51 AM | |

tea with mouse


The other night, Dylan and I sat around drinking tea and having conversation. I made a pot of rose mint green tea, and we sat Japanese style at the living room table and talked into the night.

We talked about things like our last visit to Ikea to look for some furniture for him. He spotted the Ikea catalog on the coffee table and recognized the blue and yellow logo (he's quite good at spotting and remembering logos) and yelled "Ikea! I played there, Mama!" We had been in the store looking at the children's furniture section and he spent about an hour playing there. We looked at beds, drawers and cabinets. He lay on all the beds, sat in all the chairs, see-sawed on a half-moon thingie and rolled some egg thingies. He also spent some time at the oven/stove toy making me coffee and crumpets, "I making you cuwumpets Mama. Dooon't touch it! It's vwewvy haat. Wait for it cool down! Heeere's your coffee! Heeere!"

We brought our tea cups together for a toast: "Cheers! Drink Mama!". Then he promised he would sleep in his room if he got the rainbow tent-canopy bunk bed that he liked best.

Incidently, that book you see on the table, Gray Mouse, is Dylan's new favorite. It talks about colors in relation to self-image, rejection, loneliness, and finally, being yourself and acceptance. It would have taught Gregor Samsa a very valuable lesson.

4:58 AM | |

random

Don't believe everything you see. That doteasy.com counter is an absolute falsehood. That's probably me visiting my own blog site and refreshing 600 times since I last put it up. If anyone knows of a better counter that only counts at least unique IP addys, let me know.

I can spell, really. Most of the time anyway. I just hate it when I get a moment of doubt, then it all goes downhill from there. The longer you look at the word, the more times you try to spell it out different ways, the less sense it makes - even if you've finally spelt it right, it just looks wrong. I should just make dictionary.com my home page, but because my DSL connection sucks ass right now, it takes ages to load. It's incredibly slow, and tech support gives me shit about out of a possible 100 connections I could make, I'm only getting a 20% chance of connecting. Change your splitter jack was the solution. I did. No difference. Cable didn't give me this much grief, so I have to get on the phone again with infernal tech support. Or switch to cable. Sigh. I'd love a T1 right now.

Inspired by my current favorite children's program Oswald, and Dylan's role playing this week - 'I'm a mouse', I feel compelled to create cute characters in sequential format despite my questionable drawing skills. I hope to write a story with it too. Coming not soon, but eventually.

4:53 AM | |

imeldific

I can't wait to see Imelda. Despite everything people hate or love about her, despite her shoe fetish that I have a soft spot for, she makes for one of the most interesting characters in Philippine political history and current events. Her mind works in an amazingly strange way. When I used to see broadcasts of interviews with her while I lived in Manila, I seriously thought that she had no idea of what wrong she'd done. She seemed simply oblivious to the fact that the money she used to buy her three thousand pairs of shoes or her vats of parfum did not belong to her. She truly believed that she had not wronged anyone, much less The Filipino People. Maybe she hadn't. Not in her own mind.

I've met the woman twice in my life. The first time, was in 1981. She staged a grand visit to Kenya, among many other state visits. I resented the fact that I had to get up at 4:30 in the morning so I could get into costume and get to the Nairobi airport with the rest of the Filipino Community to welcome her. But that all changed as she grandly appeared out of the doorway and down the stairway of her airplane. On the asphalt, several of us young girls and women, dressed in kimonas (embroidered national costume blouse), in unison, did a welcome dance with arches of flowers and decorated bilaos (round woven tray used for cleaning rice or serving food) that spelled out "WELCOME". A local TV crew jostled with the local Filipinos in greeting her. Later, we ushered her and her crew of beautiful ladies into a luxurious airport lounge where an interview was conducted and a presentation from the entire community ensued. My parents and I, along with the entire Filipino Community present sang Bayan Ko. It brought tears to her eyes, and I believed her. They seemed genuine tears of joy, of the feeling of acceptance, of love. What did we expatriates know of her and her husband's treachery, corruption, violence, greed? Or maybe we knew of it, but we did not see it at that moment. We were blinded by her tears before our eyes and we simply welcomed another countrywoman in a foriegn land in the calm before the political storm that swept through our land in a flash of yellow ticker tape and t-shirts. We were only too glad to be warm and welcoming to someone of the same ethnicity. We did not care for politics, for tempestous times when we ourselves were comfortable in our foriegn homes, oblivious to the rising discontent back at home. We had forgotten that the reason most of us were there in the first place was to escape. She came and shook all our hands and thanked us profusely and told us that she loved us, like we were her errant children.

The second time I met Imelda was after the great upheavel of the tanks in the streets and flowers in the barrels of guns. It was 1995, and I was in the ladies room of the Hilton Hotel in Makati. I was getting ready to meet a friend and go for a job interview. I was in front of the mirror making sure that the bus trip hadn't completely disheveled my appearance. An agent walked in and seemed to do a routine check. Seconds later, Imeldific even in entering a restroom, the lady with the famous coiffure floated in. She didn't walk in, she floated in with a breeze of a silk scarf and some imperious perfume. She was tall and stately, looked as she always has, and she gave me the broadest smile and said "Hello!" in the friendliest manner. And I, smiled back with my own weak, "Hello" and stood stock still for a beat, unable to react. She entered a stall as her security and entourage stood around waiting, eyeing my every move. I finished up and left the bathroom, my mind racing. I thought of the millions of suffering Filipinos, the former tortured political prisoners I'd met; then, I wanted to tell her that I had met her years ago, that I even danced for her on airport tarmac in a distant, neutral place called Africa. I wanted to talk to her and see what she was really like. Even if she was on trial for being a thief and tyrant, I just wanted to exchange words and know her through my own mind. But the moment passed and it was getting late, and I had to get to the job interview.

8:00 AM | |