hiatus

i'm down with a toothache. it's like someone put a drilling machine in my incisor.pain reliever is no help at all. i'm thinking of doing something radical like gurgling a boiling cooking oil. it might do the trick. i don't know. you might have some more radical suggestion.going to the dentist is totally ruled out.

 

of course they were friends since their elementary years

Post Turkey Day Book Hunting

 

What: Book Hunting
Where: Chino Hills Public Library
Treasure Found:
1. Death in Venice - Thomas Mann
2. A Room of One's Own- Virginia Woolf
3. Blinding Light- Paul Theroux
4. The Road-Cormac McCarthy
5. Foucault's Pendulum-Umberto Eco
6. MIddlesex- Jeffrey Euginedes

All for the outrageously low price of 8.50 dollars.

Lesson learned: Bibliophiles on tight budget, libraries are the best place to hunt great books at very low prices. Last week i ordered eight books from half.com with an overall fee of 23.00 dollars and i have to wait like 7 to 10 days for the delivery. What a bummer. It's the shipping that cost so much. Probably my last purchase online.

Waiting

Four different faces. Strangers. Looking for something. Staring at something. Something that may have eluded them for so long. Yet still waiting and hoping. Waiting as they soak up in the agonizing pain of the here and now. This is their reality. This is my reality. Our all- encompassing reality. I am a stranger. Waiting. Hoping.






All pics were taken in San Francisco

Turkey Day Special

Turkey day is coming and I came up with list of what I am thankful for.

1. I am thankful for God’s love, mercy and grace.

Praise God, from Whom all blessings flow;
Praise Him, all creatures here below;
Praise Him above, ye heavenly host;
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

With all the things that I went through, with all the bad choices I made in the past, it is only by His grace that I can still express my gratitude to the God who gives and takes away. In everything, I still say Amen.

2. I am thankful for my wife and for our marriage
It was the most outrageous of all of my idiosyncratic decisions: getting married. Not that I am underage (hell am over thirty) but it is more of my being under-nourished of life's essential experiences and minerals that need to be strongly squeezed to my convoluted mind tracts like the California freeway. Surely, it has been an exasperating mental and emotional tag of war. But in the end, without much anxiety, after the priest emphatic declaration of the sanctity of marriage inside a small and over staff councilor's office right in the heart of Manila, left my indelible and irrevocable signature on a boring piece of paper that would later undergo a slight scrutiny inside the US embassy as if it were a Unabomber letter.

Do I regret such a hasty decision? Not a bit.

I love my wife who loves all my assiduous eclecticism on anything that put a highlighted definition of ME. It's a tough job on her part. But I am learning also to be more accepting of her uniqueness. I just love the way she loves me that I wonder sometimes how she was able to hold that reservoir of love inside of her. I am no saint and so is she but I get a glimpse of her halo every time she would show grace over my deficiency. A tight hug from those loving arms would affirm that I am back inside her bubble.

I may have not gone to the mountain and wait for the proverbial voice to validate my decisions; I may have not prepared all the fireworks and the ten tier cakes, and had failed to give my wife the wedding of her choice but I am dead sure that as long as I am unwavering to my commitment to this union, we will long enjoy the sunset together.

3. I am thankful for my friends
In this age and time of dog-eats-dog, you are one damn lucky person if you got a friend who is closer than a brother. This may sound like an Oscar acceptance speech, but I am truly thankful to God for continually fattening my social capital. Over the years, I am blessed to have friends who still laugh at my jokes even if the jokes were as old and as cold as a dead turkey

 

i need a gallon of coffee for this mouth-watering donuts

Home Again

It's good to be back from Minnesota’s foreboding wintriness to California’s munificent sun. I just terribly missed the kiss of the sun on my face, how it feels in my back when I make my late morning walk, and the hint of a balmy tomorrow as the wind gently carries whiffs of freshly mowed grass along the winding roads of Irvine. After taking a nap to recharge some energy from the five hour trip, I went by the lake near our house to watch the sun set in the distant horizon, a universal magic that never ceases to mesmerize and enthrall me.

Upset

My dogs, gloomy, after a crushing defeat 6-0, 6-0, 6-3 at the paws of my neighbor’s cats.

"What a way to finish the season," said Cathy who ran into Catlyn to hug her partner after winning their 9th career title.

And so i travel... again

3000 feet in the sky and my stomach was screaming for food and my bladder was rebelling to the caramel macchiato Grande I had hurriedly bought at Starbucks before my departure from John Wayne Airport in Santa Ana on my way to St. Paul Minnesota. ETB is 3:00 at Dallas International Airport for my connecting flight. The guy seated beside me was quietly munching a chocolate bar with brand unfamiliar to me. I was close to salivating. I was entertaining the idea of grabbing the chocolate, poke his two eyes with my finger then let go one of my infamous fart attacks then jump off the plane just so to appease my rebelling stomach. Then people would be talking not about my death but about my fart. HEADLINE: ASIAN GUY JUMPS OFF THE PLANE. FART A TARGET OF INVESTIGATION. My Asian fart. What’s with the year of eating Chinese foods? Maybe i will appear someday in the movie The Chronicle of Hernia. Anyways, my initial plotting was distracted by the captain, with a voice like he’d just came from a deep slumber, made an announcement that in 30 minutes, our plane would be landing at Dallas Forth Worth International Airport and that we should keep our seatbelt on and I was expecting to hear more about fixing our hair, checking our inner selves, motives, intentions, and praying the rosary. So much of impersonal civility. I’m not sure if he even meant what he said considering the stresses pilots are having now a days. The cold and lifeless tone of the pilot’s voice with the incessant whizzing of the plane as it breaks through the clouds makes a perfect script for B-doomsday movie. I failed to grasp any positive undertones from his voice, like, maybe, ummm a promise of hot meal, ice tea, and free back massage if just in case we failed to land safely. My back was already sore and my seatmate’s breathing was close to snoring, unaware of my plot while ago to poke his two so American eyes. Suddenly my hunger was replaced by worries as I tried to mentally navigate my way to the airport, making sure I’ll not get lost getting to my connecting flight. An hour ago, I saw from one of the magazines the map of the airport with all the other major airports in the country. It’s just like airport for dummies. I was baffled with what I saw. It’s just like ten times the size of our airport in Manila. I remember my wife telling me about taking an elevator going to a train called Skylink that will take us to our respective gates like toys going through quality control before distributing to some countries only God knows where. Maybe Laos. Finally, the plane quietly taxied to the tarmac, and I took a deep breath, so deep that when I had my check-up later they found pencils, magazines, and straw inside my lungs.

As I approached the entrance, I gave a quick survey of the interior of the airport while maintaining my cool stance. The lady on the counter wearing her AA uniform was ushering a lady to the entrance when I cut her off and told her, in a wary-free voice, I have a connecting flight and I am not quite sure which gate to take. Taking a quick glimpse at my ticket as if looking at a fake bill, answered with her cheek almost reaching her ears that I should take the elevator up and that would be it. I figured it’s her way of saying I was not so stupid to miss it. On the elevator, a couple with Middle Eastern accent was arguing about the other guy’s lack of courtesy as the guy arrogantly, in between puffing, insist that it’s not the smoking that will kill him but of his wife’s baseless nagging and worrying. I gave them a quick look and smile. As my eyes were waiting to see the signs ahead as the elevator slowly ascend, a Hispanic-looking woman just a step ahead of me turned her head on and muffled something unintelligible like a child awoken from her nightmare. I thought she was giving me a reprove for standing close to her but when she showed me her ticket with the A-13 highlighted like a low score on a test then I know she was as lost as me. Worries were written all over her Hispanic face. We reached the platform and just to make sure we were on the right door, we asked the stewardess standing motionless like a mannequin in front of the D-2 gate who had graciously confirmed we are on the right gate. A few minutes passed and the Skylink’s door opened silently. Inside the train no sound at all except for the blood pounding in my ears , feeling edgy as if I was standing inside a holy sanctuary and surrounded by monks in suits and leather bags. It’s almost theatrical. Two black guys with nice suit seated and almost sprawled on the floor reading what looks like a novel. Maybe Mills and Boon. Who knows? The interior was like a space capsule, almost spotless with the flooring and bars still shimmering as sprinkled of lights outside peppered the floor and the bars. I feel outdated. It’s just like the future has totally abandoned me. Not a word was spoken inside as if to do so would transport us back to our own past, past that we are all dreading to remember. Blurred faces outside as we whizzed through. The Hispanic-looking lady’s eyes were fixed on the ticket as if to make sure the numbers will not vanish from the piece of paper she’s holding. The two black guys shuffled from their seat and started to stand up and headed to the door when no sooner they stood up that the train came to its halt. A-13.I hurriedly got off, took the elevator down, turned left as the arrow would indicate A-12 to A-20 is on the left wing of the airport. The Hispanic-lady, to my surprise, started to head to the hallway ahead and I had to make a casual remark that A-13 is on the left side. She smiled and said thank you. Muchos gracias senior. Mukha mo senior.

My heart started to decelerate and sweat drying up as I made my way to the counter. Flight confirmed. 3 PM Minnesota. I almost forgot I was hungry. I almost got angry that I have forgotten I was hungry. But I don’t want to be angry and hungry at the same time. Since I have 30 minutes to spare, McDonald was the logical choice. Quarter pounder. A quarter pound of beef. Pure beef. 1190 mg of sodium and 510 calories per serving. Good choice. So American. Feeling invigorated, I settled myself on one of the chairs in the waiting area, waiting for my flight. I sat still. Checking my watch from time to time. Two young men, burgers on their hands, the one wearing 2XL size Dallas Cowboy’s shirt and the other one a plain white shirt over a blue faded jacket. Redford White came to mind. They noticed me eyeing them as if I was a pedophile watching a prey. Fascinated with their boots and cowboy hat and how they munched their burgers and licked their fingers to catch the grease dripping in their hands, I did not notice time was slipping by. It did pass me by. Just like waking up from a deep trance, I quickly went to the counter to check if we are boarding already. Just imagine my shock when I was told that the plane had already took off 30 minutes ago and that they have been paging my name several times. I felt blood rushing to my face as I frantically asked the lady in the counter to check if there’s any plane available ASAP. The other guy, noticing the embarrassment and alarm in my voice did nothing to console me but rather kept on saying that he has been paging my name. I did not mind him; my eyes were focus on the lady checking her computer for available flight. By stroke of luck, one seat was still available but the plane will make another layover at O’hare Airport in Chicago. No choice. Gate 21, leaving in 30 minutes. I was cleared. Heart pounding but I felt a sense of adventure.

As I was making my way to gate 21, I thought I need to make a call to my wife to inform her about the delay.
Me: Hello be
She: Where are you now?
Me: umm…Still in Dallas. I missed the plane
She: What? !!!
Me: I missed the plane (calm, almost laughing)
She: Where have you been? Why? How come?
Me: Nowhere. I was just sitting there in the waiting area then I was told the plane left already. But it’s ok. I got another plane. I’ll get there at 9.
She: I can’t believe it. (Sigh..) Did you check your time?
Me: yeah
She: Did you adjust it 2 hours ahead?
Me: umm…(mumbling) but it’s ok now. I got another plane. Be cool. I’m not going anywhere/
She:!!!!!!!!!!
Me:!!!!!!!!!!@#*
Then silence. I had my ticket checked. Settled myself at seat 20B, right at the emergency exit. Closed my eyes. Smiled. Then I drifted to a deep sleep. I woke up two hours later at O’hare airport but I did not bother to get off anymore. Travel fatigue started to take its toll on me. But I felt so alive. This is exactly why travelling is so exciting. It momentarily disrupts us from the inanities of a well structured life and let us, for a moment; loses ourselves to the chaos of human activities around us, opening ourselves to surprises, delays, interruptions, and ultimately to other people.

October Readings

With all the travelling for the past two months, i only managed to read four engrossing books, two of which were almost half-a-decade old.

1. Kite Runner- a powerful and riveting novel by Khaled Hosseini. It's an honest voice that continues to linger in your head after reading it. Maybe because it is too honest to allow us to see the deepest struggle of our being human, of our inhumanity to humanity, our personal demon of self-preservation, disloyalty, insecurity, and the things we do for personal redemption even as we weed ourselves from the convoluted strings of lies, deception, and perversion. Truly gripping.
2. 2001 Best Travel Writing- Edited by none other than the master himself, Paul Theroux.
3. 2002 The Best American Nonrequired Reading- Edited by the witty Dave Egger. Quite an old issue but this is the best way to capture the massive influence of the Eggersque writing.
4. Night- Elie Wiesel’s personal account of his experience at the Nazi concentration camp

Lake Wobegon

This is the Lake Wobegon store, the fictitious lake of Minnesota (with the over 10,000 lakes in Minnesota, i dont know why G.Keillor needs to come up with this lake)that i chanced upon when we had a quick tour at the Mall of America. I told the lady in the counter that im a big fan of the famous humorist and radio man and i scurried around, her words trailing me. I was close to hysteria as i smell, touch, flip, and scan the numerous books i have already read before but look so new and inviting now.

Sunday Bloody Sunday

“What are you looking at, hu?” my dog irritably barked at me last Sunday morning. His eyes bloodshot, pallid fur as pale as ash, and paws with smudges of what seems like cigarette dust. I have a nagging suspicion that my dog Frankie is in drugs again. “You haven’t seen a smoking dog before, four eyes?” he rumbled and let out a perfect ring of smoke from his already blackened maw. It’s the voice that irritates me though. He’s been practicing that Tom Jones baritone unceasingly in an effort to impress Dolly, my neighbor’s ten years old pit-bull. I ignored him as I get myself a cup of coffee. Hey I’m talking to you! He grunts as he languidly settled himself on the couch, imitating Garfield’s sluggish demeanor. It’s his favorite TV show and his burgeoning intimacy with my cat, proves that the show had done him good psychologically. But I advised him not to give his trust too much to that cat. “Keep your friend close but keep your…before I could finish he butted in… “Keep your enemy closer! “Yap, I’ve seen Godfather too!” Beaming excitedly, “that’s line from Don Vito Corleone, right? The following morning I moved my DVD player inside my room and just keep mum about it. I’m not sure if I had hurt his feeling and that might explain his present binge with smokes and all. “Frankie, we need to talk,” I whined as I wait for the coffee to work its way to my system. “What about?” he snapped back. “I thought it’s clear with you already that I don’t allow smoking and drinking inside the church premises? You were reprimanded twice already! “You shut up sour-grapping prick!” he growled. I’m sick and tired of your don’t-do-this-don’t-do-that show of aggression when you are feeling down. Loosen up! You want us to have a pity party?

I saw his eyes burning. Jaws drooling. I felt the earth tremble, flushes of lightning in the not-too-far distant horizon, the sky turned red, deep dark red. A deafening silence. Silence. Silence. And the sky fiercely released her tears.

Mark Twain got it wrong when he said that the principal difference between man and dog is that dog will never bite the hand that feeds him.

Rest in Peace Frankie

Trees Winter Misery

Here are some of the photos i had taken last Sunday when my wife and I went driving around Twin Cities and the surrounding suburb. We have to keep the car running and take the pictures inside because it was sooooo cold outside.

Frida at Walker Art Museum

Walker Art Museum, Minneapolis, Minnesota. Sunday.The third major museums i have been to in the past two months. Highlight: Frida Kahlo's works on display. Evident on her works are the eclecticism on how she treat her primary art avenue:self-portrait.I can almost grasp the pain and sufferings she went through her life: the bus accident,hes physical disabilities, her marriage to Diego Rivera and other works that depict her friends, family, travels and her Mexican heritage.

Wrong Turn

I saw it, the sign, luminous under the lazy Sunday morning sky, but my wife missed to turn right although the GPS already informed us ahead of the next street we were to turn to. Now it’s not a technology blunder but sheer human oversight. I can’t blame her though. Just after we made the right exit at Minnesota freeway 94 to Albertville, a few meter away we were asked to turn left. Having been used to California freeway where no left exit allowed while driving on the right lane, her judgment to turn left while on the right side was deferred by such familiarity of California highways and freeways. She gave a sigh of frustration for having missed the street and I just calmly told her that the GPS will recalculate, which it did in no time. Now we were driving on a bare road, either side was farm land as far as my eyes could see. The field was still a green carpet with some brown patches of earth and rows of bare trees which appear hazy in the distant horizon. Houses with different colors appear defeated and subdued amongst the dried out trees and highlighted by the golden leaves on the ground. Neither of us were talking, just absorbing the beauty passing by the peripheries of our eyes. We turned left on a dirt road as the GPS would dictate and lo and behold: the beauty of American farmland.

The Sun Also Rises in Downtown Chicago

Hope. I don’t know how many people on this particular day in downtown Chicago embraced such an ephemeral, and almost flirting, kiss of the sun. Fleeting as it may seem, but it was enough to oil the rusty gear of my life and embraced the day with anticipation and optimism. If you happened to wake up one morning with the sun kissing you, savor the moment. Look up. Or kneel down. Say a silent prayer. And if you owned a copy of Collective Soul, play it. The older the album, the better. Kiss your wife. Enjoy a cup of coffee together. Greet your grumpy neighbor. Chew your food a little slower. Give a generous tip to the waitress. Pat the back of your colleague. On your way home, drive unhurriedly, with the windows rolled down, and relish the remaining luminosity of the day. You’re one damn lucky person. Blessed.

My Own Private Minnesota

I am holed up here at Hilton in Oakdale, Minnesota for two weeks already. One more week to go and I am off to sunny California and back to my sunny disposition. The lethargic ebb and flow of life in this provincial state is an everyday challenge to pull myself together and beat get rid any colonial state of mind. The very state of mind that every tourist and travellers tend to bring to their destinations. For one, i can't find a place to seat to enjoy the distillation of the city. Not in this part of the state. Maybe i haven't tried enough. Maybe i should try harder. Maybe i just let the city come to me. And she did. Nature is so generous to lend its beautiful sunshine and chilly wind as I wandered amidst multi- colored foliages and rolling green meadows as if mother nature was overcompensating for whatever this particular place failed to offer to a hungry hobo like me. Not for long though. These past couple of days, my intermittent and leisurely appraisal of the area were done under the suspicious gaze of the gloomy and ominous sky as if to taunt me of the hidden nostalgic feeling i have been keeping, of the homes I have had in the past, as i was awed by the sheer beauty of the gray horizons and its quiet inhabitants of trees and meadows, of green grass and yellow dried leaves almost carpeting the grass, that in every shutter of my camera bring closer to the places i call homes. I can almost touch them.

As i trained my camera to the distant horizon, i can't help but noticed the trees, naked under the overcast sky, stand like exhausted mourners listening to the wind's final elegy. In their silence, i stand still and received their silent rebuke. Yes, even in the gloomiest of season, in the darkest of night,nature never ceases to share its glint of beauty.

hello goodbye

Yes, it’s been three months already and you might have been so pissed off not hearing from me. You might have even been asking people around how to get in touch with me, you my constant correspondences for eon of times, faithful friends, enemies and disgruntled boss. I regret losing my only permanent address in the virtual world of the net. Ican’t access also my three years old blog. Oh my blulikejazz. Damn. But rejoice! The world is in constant cycle of creation and destruction. I am not doomed. Not yet. The world is waiting for me. Waiting. And I am ready.


Do I hear you snigger over my new email address? I know it’s a lame one…isn’t a compromise like that? Wait till you get married.