kelp tail
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posted by Gregory at 4:34 PM
0 comments
Monday, July 18, 2005
Tuesday, January 04, 2005
Numbed by our own civilization
Hi there. It's been a while.
Happy New Year to you!
More importantly, here's to a better New Year to the people of Southern Asia.
By now, you've likely seen/heard/felt/watched all the tremors of the world hiccuping on its axis, resulting in one of the most catastrophic events in man's history. At this count there are nearly 140,000 dead and many more to come.
We've lost all those people.
We may have even lost time itself.
With this minor of a wobble in the Earth's axis, there's the slight possibility that time may have been shaved off its rotation, maybe microseconds, maybe not. But it was that big. What we're seeing now, what those people in Sumatra, Thailand, Sri Lanka and other places are going through, is terrifying beyond imagination.
But I stumbled on a story today that suggests there are people who imagined it. Somehow, there were some people who somehow knew just what to do.
From a co-worker, after seeing this story:
Read about the Stone Age cultures that knew. Simultaneously amazing and depressing.
My thoughts go out to everyone there. And my quiet thanks to whomever for not drowning my family in the Philippines.
Happy New Year to you!
More importantly, here's to a better New Year to the people of Southern Asia.
By now, you've likely seen/heard/felt/watched all the tremors of the world hiccuping on its axis, resulting in one of the most catastrophic events in man's history. At this count there are nearly 140,000 dead and many more to come.
We've lost all those people.
We may have even lost time itself.
With this minor of a wobble in the Earth's axis, there's the slight possibility that time may have been shaved off its rotation, maybe microseconds, maybe not. But it was that big. What we're seeing now, what those people in Sumatra, Thailand, Sri Lanka and other places are going through, is terrifying beyond imagination.
But I stumbled on a story today that suggests there are people who imagined it. Somehow, there were some people who somehow knew just what to do.
"They can smell the wind. They can gauge the depth of the sea with the sound of their oars. They have a sixth sense which we don't possess."
From a co-worker, after seeing this story:
jimray says:
all the tourists go to the water's edge to see why it's receding 300 meters while the animals and natives get the fuck to higher ground
Read about the Stone Age cultures that knew. Simultaneously amazing and depressing.
My thoughts go out to everyone there. And my quiet thanks to whomever for not drowning my family in the Philippines.
posted by Gregory at 3:49 PM
0 comments
Saturday, December 25, 2004
Fatter, happier
So happy merry to you. In Los Angeles now, basking in lovely 63 degree California winter. Well, actually it's currently 45 degrees, being night time and all, but still. That's the daytime high back home.
Spending the holidays with Stacy and her family. A lovely bunch. Lots of food, lots of gifts, all before the bell tolled 5 p.m. It's nice to be around people again.
Earlier yesterday, Stace and I walked to the pier at Manhattan Beach when this older man in sunglasses with long white hair ran past us down the hill. He was dressed all in black and fighting imaginary people, the whole time making kung-fu noises ("PWEW! BACCCHH! PWEW! SHHK!") and dodging would-be blows. He was nearly attacked by a real life assailant when he scared a German shepard and its owner as he turned the corner on to the sidewalk.
Then we sat down on a bench overlooking the beach and I ate a messy fish sandwich.
Why don't I live in California anymore?
Oh, here's my Christmas card. Enjoy.
Spending the holidays with Stacy and her family. A lovely bunch. Lots of food, lots of gifts, all before the bell tolled 5 p.m. It's nice to be around people again.
Earlier yesterday, Stace and I walked to the pier at Manhattan Beach when this older man in sunglasses with long white hair ran past us down the hill. He was dressed all in black and fighting imaginary people, the whole time making kung-fu noises ("PWEW! BACCCHH! PWEW! SHHK!") and dodging would-be blows. He was nearly attacked by a real life assailant when he scared a German shepard and its owner as he turned the corner on to the sidewalk.
Then we sat down on a bench overlooking the beach and I ate a messy fish sandwich.
Why don't I live in California anymore?
Oh, here's my Christmas card. Enjoy.
posted by Gregory at 8:44 PM
0 comments
Friday, December 17, 2004
Independent Studying
So, I haven't been updating. This is the problem with blogs, once some event or interesting life-changing thing winds down, reading somebody's random notes is fairly boring.
Well, I've been keeping my nose to the grindstone and working working working for the weekend. I dunno if I told you, but my friend Paige and I started a weekly column about indie bands we love called Independent Study on MSNBC.com. I've written a few columns now, and it's so weird to get back into the process. Doing this blog is the most writing I think I've done in about three years. Haven't touched music writing in nearly five.
I used to have such a hangup about music criticism, mostly because I generally don't think anybody's really fully qualified to tell me how good or bad something is. Music is so subjective. And truthfully I don't have an extensive working knowledge of every recording ever made, so to try and compare a new release to the history of rock is way out of my league. But I think the idea we had with Indie Study is that it's just a way to tell people about what we're listening to, and what we really like. Rather than rag on bands we think are crappy or records that maybe aren't perfect, we just don't bother writing about those. Everybody who makes music is trying to do something if they put themselves out there and take the risk of rejection. It's a brave thing, I think. What's the point of criticizing their failure or success? To me, this feels more like an extension of what I do everyday, which is absorb new stuff I hear and share it with my pals. Maybe you'll find something you like, maybe not. But it's been fun so far. This week, it's Pinback's turn for the spotlight on Indie Study. Have a listen!
Well, I've been keeping my nose to the grindstone and working working working for the weekend. I dunno if I told you, but my friend Paige and I started a weekly column about indie bands we love called Independent Study on MSNBC.com. I've written a few columns now, and it's so weird to get back into the process. Doing this blog is the most writing I think I've done in about three years. Haven't touched music writing in nearly five.
I used to have such a hangup about music criticism, mostly because I generally don't think anybody's really fully qualified to tell me how good or bad something is. Music is so subjective. And truthfully I don't have an extensive working knowledge of every recording ever made, so to try and compare a new release to the history of rock is way out of my league. But I think the idea we had with Indie Study is that it's just a way to tell people about what we're listening to, and what we really like. Rather than rag on bands we think are crappy or records that maybe aren't perfect, we just don't bother writing about those. Everybody who makes music is trying to do something if they put themselves out there and take the risk of rejection. It's a brave thing, I think. What's the point of criticizing their failure or success? To me, this feels more like an extension of what I do everyday, which is absorb new stuff I hear and share it with my pals. Maybe you'll find something you like, maybe not. But it's been fun so far. This week, it's Pinback's turn for the spotlight on Indie Study. Have a listen!
posted by Gregory at 2:02 PM
0 comments
Sunday, December 12, 2004
The Arcade Fire, live @ Neumo's, Seattle, Wa.
Ok, back to the rock and roll for a moment. My friend Paige got Stace and I tickets to see The Arcade Fire for my birthday. Belated, of course, since I was overseas for the actual b-day. A fine gift.
Now, I hafta admit, I'm not as ga-ga over their album Funeral as my friend Paige or most of the ink spilled over it, but I do think it's pretty good. I've heard comparisons to Talking Heads and Neutral Milk Hotel, but I didn't think I'd stack them quite that high.
Until I saw them live.
Their show at Neumo's is one of the best, if not THE best, I've seen all year. Live, The Arcade Fire possess a passionate, bold-faced enthusiasm for their craft. All seven members sang and shouted out Win Butler's sober words. Members swapped instruments like loose jackets. There was even motorcycle helmet abuse. It was a mesmerizing show, and was the little live supernova I've been needing. If you get a chance, go pay your respects. Click on the photo for a slideshow.
Now, I hafta admit, I'm not as ga-ga over their album Funeral as my friend Paige or most of the ink spilled over it, but I do think it's pretty good. I've heard comparisons to Talking Heads and Neutral Milk Hotel, but I didn't think I'd stack them quite that high.
Until I saw them live.
Their show at Neumo's is one of the best, if not THE best, I've seen all year. Live, The Arcade Fire possess a passionate, bold-faced enthusiasm for their craft. All seven members sang and shouted out Win Butler's sober words. Members swapped instruments like loose jackets. There was even motorcycle helmet abuse. It was a mesmerizing show, and was the little live supernova I've been needing. If you get a chance, go pay your respects. Click on the photo for a slideshow.
posted by Gregory at 3:07 PM
1 comments
Tuesday, December 07, 2004
You are what you see
Billboards say a lot about what's important to the people who are supposed to see them. I mean, if you drive around here in America and look up and see what they're throwing you, you may come to realize that you 1) stink 2) you drive a shitty car and 3) you're hungry. Hungry for awful, fattening food.
So anyone who knows me here in the States has heard me rant about the lack of Asians in the media. Specifically Asian men. Whether it's in film, TV shows, commercials or even billboards, Asian men get the shaft. We're just not sexy enough, it seems. Asian women get a pass because of some decades-long objectification by the American male and American media culture. There's something appealing, "exotic" as I've seen it called, about the Asian female that had them locked into a stereotype of subservience and uber-sexuality for years. There's no need to show us, average brown/yellow guys unless we're doing math or some form of martial arts. Lately the only positive thing for Asian men I've been able to get out of pop culture is the rise of the Asian sports badass (read: Yao, Ichiro, both Matsuis. And yeah, even Tiger half-counts).
In the Phils, it's all Pinoy all the time. Well, most of the time. Over there 1) you need some style, pare 2) your cell phone is low on minutes and 3) you need to look more like an American.
Not sure which is worse. At least they think Filipinos are sexy. That's kind of nice.
Keep your eyes peeled. Tell me where you see us.
So anyone who knows me here in the States has heard me rant about the lack of Asians in the media. Specifically Asian men. Whether it's in film, TV shows, commercials or even billboards, Asian men get the shaft. We're just not sexy enough, it seems. Asian women get a pass because of some decades-long objectification by the American male and American media culture. There's something appealing, "exotic" as I've seen it called, about the Asian female that had them locked into a stereotype of subservience and uber-sexuality for years. There's no need to show us, average brown/yellow guys unless we're doing math or some form of martial arts. Lately the only positive thing for Asian men I've been able to get out of pop culture is the rise of the Asian sports badass (read: Yao, Ichiro, both Matsuis. And yeah, even Tiger half-counts).
In the Phils, it's all Pinoy all the time. Well, most of the time. Over there 1) you need some style, pare 2) your cell phone is low on minutes and 3) you need to look more like an American.
Not sure which is worse. At least they think Filipinos are sexy. That's kind of nice.
Keep your eyes peeled. Tell me where you see us.
posted by Gregory at 9:03 PM
0 comments
Friday, December 03, 2004
Ghosts of Corregidor
We visited the tadpole-shaped island of Corregidor, where the Bataan Death March took place, and where Gen. Douglas MacArthur made good on his historical promise: "I Shall Return." It's a place filled with a history of death and courage. The ground we walked on was once soaked in blood. My relatives' blood. My father's uncle escaped the Death March, and showed up in Legazpi one morning, to the surprise of everyone who assumed him dead. One of my mother's relatives was shot and killed during a Japanese ambush on the beach where MacArthur was received. It's startling to think how my family's history is not too far off from violence. But they fought and died for a just cause, I think. The visit to Corregidor put many things, especially Iraq, in perspective for me. The causes and effects of war never seemed clearer than during World War II. The same cannot be said today. Watch a slideshow here.
posted by Gregory at 9:00 AM
0 comments
Tuesday, November 30, 2004
Be careful please
Looks like another typhoon has ripped through Luzon. There are over 150 missing after flash flooding and landslides have killed nearly 340 people. One person from Marikina, where Bong and Regan live. I hope everyone is ok. My thoughts are with you all.
Philippine typhoons are devastating. Not too unlike hurricanes, which my parents had to deal with (x4) this summer in Florida. But the basic infrastructure over there is shaky at best. Sturdy architecture, disaster relief and safety conditions are pretty tough. And they look friggin' huge next to the Philippines.
Let me know how you are.
Philippine typhoons are devastating. Not too unlike hurricanes, which my parents had to deal with (x4) this summer in Florida. But the basic infrastructure over there is shaky at best. Sturdy architecture, disaster relief and safety conditions are pretty tough. And they look friggin' huge next to the Philippines.
Let me know how you are.
posted by Gregory at 6:22 PM
5 comments
Put the gun down
I know. It's silly. But I did see this in the Philippines and it made me quite happy. I am dragging ass as far as editing these pix, but time keeps on slipping. That and Stacy and I just beat X-Men: Legends. So now maybe I can get back to reality.
posted by Gregory at 11:08 AM
0 comments
Wednesday, November 24, 2004
Do everything to win...except cheat!
Okay so this bunch of photos I had to get up just because I've been trying to explain sabong to people back home. Cockfighting, or sabong, is the second most popular sport in the Philippines, after basketball. My cousin's husband Gerry has a gamecock farm in Sorsogon, in the Bicol region of Luzon. He's got about 100 birds in his back yard, all residing in small wooden tents. Gerry even let Joe and I square off with our own birds a couple of times. Dang cool. Not for the PETA at heart. Click to view the series.
And if you really want to break down the social implications of sabong, I stumbled upon this essay by modern philosopher Leonardo Mercado about sabong as a reflectionof Filipino male hierarchy. Fascinating. Wait till you read how he breaks down the jeepney as a microcosm of society.
And if you really want to break down the social implications of sabong, I stumbled upon this essay by modern philosopher Leonardo Mercado about sabong as a reflectionof Filipino male hierarchy. Fascinating. Wait till you read how he breaks down the jeepney as a microcosm of society.
posted by Gregory at 5:38 PM
2 comments
This is my family
Photos are coming slowly but surely. Been wrestling with la grippe and so I'm finally getting around to being upright and aware.
So while I was overseas, I made sure to take Polaroids of all the family I met, 1) so I could keep a little record of them and 2) so I can try and remember everybody's names. My hope is that I can start a little family tree project with all these, like who's related to who, where so-and-so lives, etc.. But for starters, you can see them all here. AND, if any of you are reading this in the Phils, maybe we can do this as a collaborative thing... if you get a Polaroid camera and some film, I think it'd be cool if you could track down and "capture" anybody I missed and send me the pictures. One day, we'll have a big fat Polaroid family tree that we can save on the web. Worth a try.
So while I was overseas, I made sure to take Polaroids of all the family I met, 1) so I could keep a little record of them and 2) so I can try and remember everybody's names. My hope is that I can start a little family tree project with all these, like who's related to who, where so-and-so lives, etc.. But for starters, you can see them all here. AND, if any of you are reading this in the Phils, maybe we can do this as a collaborative thing... if you get a Polaroid camera and some film, I think it'd be cool if you could track down and "capture" anybody I missed and send me the pictures. One day, we'll have a big fat Polaroid family tree that we can save on the web. Worth a try.
posted by Gregory at 5:25 PM
2 comments
Sunday, November 21, 2004
I shall return
"THIS is Mr. Sorsogon?"
"Yes. Mr. Sorsogon 2000. His name is Vladimir. Good guy."
My cousin Regan looked at the Polaroid again.
"Huh."
"Why?"
"I was Mr. Sorsogon 1998."
There you have it. We have a Mr. Sorsogon in the family. Small archipelago. no?
Stateside now. Have been for almost two days now. Mostly I've been asleep. Hi there.
Right now Joe and I are digesting Red Robin hamburgers, playing violent-ass video games on the XBox. Stacy's laying on the rug reading a Tagalog romance novel I got her called "Senorita: Tatiana". ("It'll be a quick read," she just said. "I can only read every tenth sentence."). Orangie's on her chest. We're all wearing sweatshirts. We're all having a good ol' American time.
It's taking on a different color, being home. This ain't some dramatic "Jesus Saves" sort of thing; nothing that maudlin, no. But I do realize a little more than I did before that simple things like this aren't to be taken for granted. My time in the Philippines was adventurous and wonderful, even with all the stones Mother Nature and nightmarish urban planning could throw at me. It's exactly how I wanted to turn 30 and it's exactly what I needed.
We left Manila after a night of hugs and dinuguan.
Bong and Regan drove down for Marikina with food from their diner Ganchief. Dunno if I mentioned this, but my cousins quit their day jobs a couple of months ago to open a restaurant. They figured, people have bosses, bosses suck, why bother with them? They'll be their own bosses and start their own business. A modest thing, they tell me, but it's good homemade food made by good people. Bong's specialty is spicy Bicol Express and the dinuguan, which is basically cooked pig's blood. It's a tasty brew, if your stomach can get past that whole "blood" part. It's not nearly as intimidating as balut, which you'll never catch me chawin' down.
Ryan had arrived earlier to the hotel from work, and his brother Carl also arrived, although a bit late because he was working his ass off. Those guys work very very hard, and are so focused. I am quite impressed by their dedication. Turns out, Ryan, who is also a massive X-Men fan, thinks he'd be Cyclops, too. We are family, after all.
We ate and laughed in my parents' hotel room, passing around pictures, exchanging gifts. We were the happening spot on the tenth floor of the Palm Plaza.
After some late drinking and sweating at a nearby pool hall, we bid our goodbyes. I promised I'd be back, the next time in the summer when the typhoons are rarer and we have more time to relax in the sun and more time to work on my crush on the Philippines. I miss her already.
This really wasn't a vacation. This was an introduction. And the next time I come, I'll be sipping cocktails with my cousins in Boracay, or maybe go to Cebu, white sand beaches and all. And I'll surely be making a stop in Marikina for chicken adobo cooked up by my very own cousins at their very own diner.
Right now, for me, the Philippines is still a giant house waiting to be explored. So far I've only been on the first floor. But everyone says the cool stuff is upstairs. That's where the view is. That's where I'm going next time.
I've estimated that I've taken nearly 2000 pictures on this trip, the most I've ever taken of ANYTHING, and of the ones I've had a chance to edit through so far, I'm quite pleased with. I'll show 'em to you real soon, so hang tight. Thought I'd be able to post more on the fly, but what can you do. Technology.
Thanks so much for reading all this stuff, too. Dunno what I'll do with gperez.org from here on out. Not sure a new blog is in order, but we'll see. Prolly gonna take a little break for a while. Try to learn how to cook. Read up on some Philippine history. Finish the drawings I started months ago. Play video games with my girlfriend. Breathe cold, crisp Seattle air, in through my nose and out through my mouth.
That sort of thing.
"Yes. Mr. Sorsogon 2000. His name is Vladimir. Good guy."
My cousin Regan looked at the Polaroid again.
"Huh."
"Why?"
"I was Mr. Sorsogon 1998."
There you have it. We have a Mr. Sorsogon in the family. Small archipelago. no?
Stateside now. Have been for almost two days now. Mostly I've been asleep. Hi there.
Right now Joe and I are digesting Red Robin hamburgers, playing violent-ass video games on the XBox. Stacy's laying on the rug reading a Tagalog romance novel I got her called "Senorita: Tatiana". ("It'll be a quick read," she just said. "I can only read every tenth sentence."). Orangie's on her chest. We're all wearing sweatshirts. We're all having a good ol' American time.
It's taking on a different color, being home. This ain't some dramatic "Jesus Saves" sort of thing; nothing that maudlin, no. But I do realize a little more than I did before that simple things like this aren't to be taken for granted. My time in the Philippines was adventurous and wonderful, even with all the stones Mother Nature and nightmarish urban planning could throw at me. It's exactly how I wanted to turn 30 and it's exactly what I needed.
We left Manila after a night of hugs and dinuguan.
Bong and Regan drove down for Marikina with food from their diner Ganchief. Dunno if I mentioned this, but my cousins quit their day jobs a couple of months ago to open a restaurant. They figured, people have bosses, bosses suck, why bother with them? They'll be their own bosses and start their own business. A modest thing, they tell me, but it's good homemade food made by good people. Bong's specialty is spicy Bicol Express and the dinuguan, which is basically cooked pig's blood. It's a tasty brew, if your stomach can get past that whole "blood" part. It's not nearly as intimidating as balut, which you'll never catch me chawin' down.
Ryan had arrived earlier to the hotel from work, and his brother Carl also arrived, although a bit late because he was working his ass off. Those guys work very very hard, and are so focused. I am quite impressed by their dedication. Turns out, Ryan, who is also a massive X-Men fan, thinks he'd be Cyclops, too. We are family, after all.
We ate and laughed in my parents' hotel room, passing around pictures, exchanging gifts. We were the happening spot on the tenth floor of the Palm Plaza.
After some late drinking and sweating at a nearby pool hall, we bid our goodbyes. I promised I'd be back, the next time in the summer when the typhoons are rarer and we have more time to relax in the sun and more time to work on my crush on the Philippines. I miss her already.
This really wasn't a vacation. This was an introduction. And the next time I come, I'll be sipping cocktails with my cousins in Boracay, or maybe go to Cebu, white sand beaches and all. And I'll surely be making a stop in Marikina for chicken adobo cooked up by my very own cousins at their very own diner.
Right now, for me, the Philippines is still a giant house waiting to be explored. So far I've only been on the first floor. But everyone says the cool stuff is upstairs. That's where the view is. That's where I'm going next time.
I've estimated that I've taken nearly 2000 pictures on this trip, the most I've ever taken of ANYTHING, and of the ones I've had a chance to edit through so far, I'm quite pleased with. I'll show 'em to you real soon, so hang tight. Thought I'd be able to post more on the fly, but what can you do. Technology.
Thanks so much for reading all this stuff, too. Dunno what I'll do with gperez.org from here on out. Not sure a new blog is in order, but we'll see. Prolly gonna take a little break for a while. Try to learn how to cook. Read up on some Philippine history. Finish the drawings I started months ago. Play video games with my girlfriend. Breathe cold, crisp Seattle air, in through my nose and out through my mouth.
That sort of thing.
posted by Gregory at 8:47 PM
1 comments
Friday, November 19, 2004
Pool at the Alicia Hotel, Legazpi City, Bicol
Joe made yet another vivid observation about this country: there are more than a few things around here that are just sort of "half-finished." Take this pool. Or the house behind it.
posted by Gregory at 2:16 AM
1 comments
Mister Sorsogon vs. The Eruption
Mr. Sorsogon claims he has no luck with the ladies.
I don't believe him.
"I'm shy, man. Look at your brother. He's good with girls."
My brother had slid his arm behind the girl next to him, one of the singers from the Evolution Band that was doing a double set with the Eruption Band in the upstairs Dining Hall of the Alicia Hotel in Legazpi City. At the moment, the trashy NFL-Cheerleaders-Cum-Backpage-Ad girls were flailing around on the dining hall floors doing embarrassing splits and team lifts in short red skirts.
The girl's name was Maloo, I think, and Mr. Sorsogon and I agreed she was by far the best-looking girl in the room. And after their Evolutionary set, which consisted of choreographed dance moves to Jackson 5 hits mixed in with Hoobastank requests, Maloo found her way back to our table and slid in next to my brother. Joe looked strikingly like "The Man."
"Come on, Mr. Sorsogon. You're totally lying. The ladies have to love you. You're MISTER SORSOGON." I raised my San Mig Light to his with a laugh.
"Mr. Sorsogon 2000," he barked back. "Years ago, man."
"STILL!" I made frantic pointing motions to Mr. Sorsogon and got Maloo's attention. "THIS IS MR. SORSOGON!"
Maloo's eyes lit up and she covered her mouth, like I just said "Hey Maloo... this is the Beatles."
"Mr. Sorsogon TWO-THOUSAND!" he barked again laughing.
Joe looked over and clinked bottles with us, knowing full well that Mr. Sorsogon 2000 was all of a sudden a factor in his Game.
His real name is Vladimir, which is weird enough for a Pinoy kid from Legazpi. But back in 2000 Vlad won P2,000 and the title of Mr. Sorsogon by wowing the ladies with his dusky good looks and his guitar playing. He's friends with Gerry, my cousin Baby Doll's gamecock-raising husband, and he drove her and my other cousin Nening back to Legazpi City for a lovely little last dinner with us next to the hotel pool before we headed back to Manila.
Over Tupperware bowls of fresh mussels, roast chicken and my dad's favorite pinangat, I could feel my appetite supressing the Gastrointestnal Insurgents that had been kicking my ass for days. Finally ate, and it was finally good.
Now, one of my biggest regrets of this trip has to be that I never made it down to Mayric's, the famous Manila punk rock club just across the street from the University of Santo Tomas. Never really got to see a good original Pinoy rock show. But I did amass a nice little collection of about 9 or 10 new CDs thanks to my cousins and some careful hunting, and truthfully I haven't had much time to digest them all. But the three of us figured we'd get a drink and at least soak in what the Evolution/Eruption experience had to offer upstairs in the dining hall after dinner.
And rock they did! Sort of.
Ok, so I HAVE seen a few bands here in the Phils, but like I said, no ORIGINAL Pinoy rock... It's been all cover bands, in every place I stick my head into. For some reason, a lot of music here is stuck in 1994th gear; it's not unheard of to get a blast of Guns n' Roses with some Stone Temple Pilots and the occasional Janet Jackson or Whitney Houston IN THE SAME SET. One band, Ispirikitik, who we caught at Strumm's in Malate, at least added a good amount of humor and stage schtick to make it really fun (I admit, I've never seen any band ever cover "Another Brick in the Wall, Pt. 2" and make it "fun."). The house band at little bar across from our hotel specialized in girl-boy raps and harmonies, which also was the soup of the day at Ratsky's around the corner. Beyonce covers are a big fave, only because then you can have some backup singers do a lot of booty shaking to distract from the fact that it is a COVER OF A BEYONCE SONG. Look, I tried.
Now, the Evolution Band: they're the closest thing I got to the Big Rock Show I was hoping for. Never mind the Eruption Band's sassy/retarded choreographed lifts and their aerobic group Dance Off... Evolution Band had some real MUSICIANS in it. Their lead singer was this diesel-looking Pinoy with long hair and tats who would periodically show his true colors by busting out a Metal Growl here and there in between headbangs. I mean, let's be honest: you can only rock the Jackson 5 so many ways. But when this kid got a hold of some Hoobastank WATCH YOURSELF, PARE. He was flanked by two lovely backup singers in white shorts and black tanks, who did their Supremes thing (yes even during the Hoobastank) until one of their mikes cut out, and one of the girls was forced to half-heartedly play along until she finally walked off. She came back to partake in arm swirls and hip sways for the final stretch, but you could tell it wasn't an "on" night.
That girl was Maloo. The one sitting with my brother. The one making fun of Mr. Sorsogon.
"You are sitting there so...so SERIOUS!" she yells at him.
"I am just watching!" he says perking up. He and I are both sort of curious about just how the women of the Eruption Band are bending the way they are bending without seriously reconsidering their lives.
"You," she points at me. "You are so serious too. You need to have fun! You need to dance, na!" She starts doing some movements with her arms, and I start copying them. Pretty soon we're doing The Robot. And the Same As It Ever Was. And the Losing My Religion. And the Wave. Pretty soon I'm having fun again and not worrying about dying in a typhoon or losing my stomach or being kidnapped by the NPA or learning Tagalog. You don't have to know Tagalog to do the robot.
But there was one song, the last song by Maloo’s band the Evolution Band, when Mr. Sorsogon tapped me on the arm and asked "Have you heard of this? This is a Bamboo song." Now, I'd bought the new Bamboo CD, because I'd read a lot about him when he was with Rivermaya and I was curious to see what he'd do on his own. But I hadn't had a chance to hear all of it. The song was called "Noypi" and I'd never heard it. It was all in Tagalog, so I was trying my best with what little I knew to follow along. But the only line I needed to understand was the chorus, which Mr. Sorsogon was shouting along with the singer:
HOY! pinoy ako buo aking loob may agimat ang dugo ko
HOY! oh pinoy ako may agmay ang dugo ko
He was singing, no DECLARING, that he is Pinoy (noyPi) inside and out, in spirit and in blood. And the way this cat was belting it out, he made me understand it, even if hindi 'ko marunong ng Tagalog.
I love that song.
Leaving the Philippines tomorrow. Am excited to get home. Excited to see my girl and my cat and my rain. But I'm kind of sad about leaving here. Tell you more later, promise.
I don't believe him.
"I'm shy, man. Look at your brother. He's good with girls."
My brother had slid his arm behind the girl next to him, one of the singers from the Evolution Band that was doing a double set with the Eruption Band in the upstairs Dining Hall of the Alicia Hotel in Legazpi City. At the moment, the trashy NFL-Cheerleaders-Cum-Backpage-Ad girls were flailing around on the dining hall floors doing embarrassing splits and team lifts in short red skirts.
The girl's name was Maloo, I think, and Mr. Sorsogon and I agreed she was by far the best-looking girl in the room. And after their Evolutionary set, which consisted of choreographed dance moves to Jackson 5 hits mixed in with Hoobastank requests, Maloo found her way back to our table and slid in next to my brother. Joe looked strikingly like "The Man."
"Come on, Mr. Sorsogon. You're totally lying. The ladies have to love you. You're MISTER SORSOGON." I raised my San Mig Light to his with a laugh.
"Mr. Sorsogon 2000," he barked back. "Years ago, man."
"STILL!" I made frantic pointing motions to Mr. Sorsogon and got Maloo's attention. "THIS IS MR. SORSOGON!"
Maloo's eyes lit up and she covered her mouth, like I just said "Hey Maloo... this is the Beatles."
"Mr. Sorsogon TWO-THOUSAND!" he barked again laughing.
Joe looked over and clinked bottles with us, knowing full well that Mr. Sorsogon 2000 was all of a sudden a factor in his Game.
His real name is Vladimir, which is weird enough for a Pinoy kid from Legazpi. But back in 2000 Vlad won P2,000 and the title of Mr. Sorsogon by wowing the ladies with his dusky good looks and his guitar playing. He's friends with Gerry, my cousin Baby Doll's gamecock-raising husband, and he drove her and my other cousin Nening back to Legazpi City for a lovely little last dinner with us next to the hotel pool before we headed back to Manila.
Over Tupperware bowls of fresh mussels, roast chicken and my dad's favorite pinangat, I could feel my appetite supressing the Gastrointestnal Insurgents that had been kicking my ass for days. Finally ate, and it was finally good.
Now, one of my biggest regrets of this trip has to be that I never made it down to Mayric's, the famous Manila punk rock club just across the street from the University of Santo Tomas. Never really got to see a good original Pinoy rock show. But I did amass a nice little collection of about 9 or 10 new CDs thanks to my cousins and some careful hunting, and truthfully I haven't had much time to digest them all. But the three of us figured we'd get a drink and at least soak in what the Evolution/Eruption experience had to offer upstairs in the dining hall after dinner.
And rock they did! Sort of.
Ok, so I HAVE seen a few bands here in the Phils, but like I said, no ORIGINAL Pinoy rock... It's been all cover bands, in every place I stick my head into. For some reason, a lot of music here is stuck in 1994th gear; it's not unheard of to get a blast of Guns n' Roses with some Stone Temple Pilots and the occasional Janet Jackson or Whitney Houston IN THE SAME SET. One band, Ispirikitik, who we caught at Strumm's in Malate, at least added a good amount of humor and stage schtick to make it really fun (I admit, I've never seen any band ever cover "Another Brick in the Wall, Pt. 2" and make it "fun."). The house band at little bar across from our hotel specialized in girl-boy raps and harmonies, which also was the soup of the day at Ratsky's around the corner. Beyonce covers are a big fave, only because then you can have some backup singers do a lot of booty shaking to distract from the fact that it is a COVER OF A BEYONCE SONG. Look, I tried.
Now, the Evolution Band: they're the closest thing I got to the Big Rock Show I was hoping for. Never mind the Eruption Band's sassy/retarded choreographed lifts and their aerobic group Dance Off... Evolution Band had some real MUSICIANS in it. Their lead singer was this diesel-looking Pinoy with long hair and tats who would periodically show his true colors by busting out a Metal Growl here and there in between headbangs. I mean, let's be honest: you can only rock the Jackson 5 so many ways. But when this kid got a hold of some Hoobastank WATCH YOURSELF, PARE. He was flanked by two lovely backup singers in white shorts and black tanks, who did their Supremes thing (yes even during the Hoobastank) until one of their mikes cut out, and one of the girls was forced to half-heartedly play along until she finally walked off. She came back to partake in arm swirls and hip sways for the final stretch, but you could tell it wasn't an "on" night.
That girl was Maloo. The one sitting with my brother. The one making fun of Mr. Sorsogon.
"You are sitting there so...so SERIOUS!" she yells at him.
"I am just watching!" he says perking up. He and I are both sort of curious about just how the women of the Eruption Band are bending the way they are bending without seriously reconsidering their lives.
"You," she points at me. "You are so serious too. You need to have fun! You need to dance, na!" She starts doing some movements with her arms, and I start copying them. Pretty soon we're doing The Robot. And the Same As It Ever Was. And the Losing My Religion. And the Wave. Pretty soon I'm having fun again and not worrying about dying in a typhoon or losing my stomach or being kidnapped by the NPA or learning Tagalog. You don't have to know Tagalog to do the robot.
But there was one song, the last song by Maloo’s band the Evolution Band, when Mr. Sorsogon tapped me on the arm and asked "Have you heard of this? This is a Bamboo song." Now, I'd bought the new Bamboo CD, because I'd read a lot about him when he was with Rivermaya and I was curious to see what he'd do on his own. But I hadn't had a chance to hear all of it. The song was called "Noypi" and I'd never heard it. It was all in Tagalog, so I was trying my best with what little I knew to follow along. But the only line I needed to understand was the chorus, which Mr. Sorsogon was shouting along with the singer:
HOY! pinoy ako buo aking loob may agimat ang dugo ko
HOY! oh pinoy ako may agmay ang dugo ko
He was singing, no DECLARING, that he is Pinoy (noyPi) inside and out, in spirit and in blood. And the way this cat was belting it out, he made me understand it, even if hindi 'ko marunong ng Tagalog.
I love that song.
Leaving the Philippines tomorrow. Am excited to get home. Excited to see my girl and my cat and my rain. But I'm kind of sad about leaving here. Tell you more later, promise.
posted by Gregory at 1:58 AM
2 comments
Wednesday, November 17, 2004
Suspiros de Perez
Greetings from Legazpi.
Last night, I dreamed I was in the middle of a large video game field. No details come to mind, but I was driving, maybe, and I kept veering off to the right of the playing field, until I fell of the bed and hit the tile floor and banged my bum ankle on a chair.
That was the last and least frightening of the hallucinatory dreams I've had lately. I've had a good string of them for about 48 hours or so, as I've been deathly ill with what Joe calls "Beaver Fever," so-called after the illness one gets from drinking beaver shit-imbued river water in the deep south. Others call it "Montezuma's Revenge" or "Traveller's Sickness." I call it the "Worst 48 Hours Of My Life Health-Wise." But I'm better now.
See, there's a little green man with bad teeth and a Santa hat sitting inside my belly periodically making balloon animals out of my innards. At last count there have been 23 elephants, 10 or 12 giraffes and 56 unusually complex poodle dogs. Totally unnecessary, dude. This morning I woke up and he'd only made a pirate sword. So at least that's subsiding.
Add to that a raging high fever with all the accompanying aches, brainpan stress, night sweats, hallucinations AND a recovering sprained ankle and I can say I've seen death, and he speaks Tagalog.
I've been able to muster up some strength to try and enjoy things, but it's been tough.
After arriving in Bicol on Tuesday, we made a quick tour of some of Dad's spots in Legazpi. This is where he grew up, went to school learned to pray. This is his home. And it's all very very different. For a while, we were on the hunt for his favorite Bicol thing, Suspiros de Pili. Pili nuts, apparently, are found only in the Bicol region of the Philippines, and ever since my dad left, he's been thinking about them. Seriously. The man is on a mission. Suspiros de Pili or "Sigh of the Pili Nut" is a little candy made from the meat of the pili, and it's really really tasty and sweet (at least, for the 12-30 minutes I was able to taste when we got here). So every time we hit a strip of little stores, dad hops out of the van to try and score more pili goodies.
That's when the party started. We stayed at a "fancy" hotel in Legazpi, which means they gave you towels and had plumbing. But the first night here, I was roiling around in pain, hallucinating about giant bugs like an asian Kafka story. No sleep that night at all. I had drenched myself and the bed in sweat. What a horrible feeling it is to be so so so so cold in a 90 degree room.
Mom's family arrived the next morning, and it was a stunning revelation. They all looked alike! This was family! Three of the sisters, Emma, Mila and Lennie along with our cousin (Bong's sister) Baby Doll had driven two hours from Matnog to meet us and drive us back with them. They were all very sweet and accommodating, but of course, I was in a little private hell of gastrointestinal disaster. I was not a good nephew to meet.
A word to describe the drive through the provinces: lush. Just lush. Lush with green, with coconut trees and vegetation, lush with fields of rice dotted with caribou and jeepneys packed ten too many. The air is clean and humid. This whole time it's been gray because of a typhoon warning. Dad was particularly sad about this because he wanted to show off Mt. Mayon, the perfect cone-shaped volcano, but it was obscured by cloud cover. (Same way I get pissed when Mt. Rainier doesn't want to come out and play for my guests visiting Seattle).
We stopped at my cousin's house in Sorsogon so we could meed her husband Gerry. When we were in Manila, we never got to see the sabong, or cockfights, like we were supposed to. But Bong told me not to worry, we was going to hook us up in the province. And he totally did. Turns out Gerry raises champion gamecocks, about 100 of them, in his backyard. If I could post pix now, I would, but you should see it... a whole field of little wooden tents housing roosters, all of them crowing at the top of their lungs in the rain. Amazing. Even better, Gerry, strapped two of the roosters with little tiny green boxing gloves so Joe and I could be sabongneros for a day! SO COOL. Normally, in a sabong match, the two gamecocks face off to the death, with a little three-inch blade attached to their left rear talon for cutting and tearing. But with the kid gloves on, Joe and I got to face off and watch our roosters kick each others' asses. So fast! I've never seen anything like it, and I'm pretty sure if we'd gone to the cockpits in Manila, we wouldn't be fighting our own roosters. Sabong is a pretty huge business here, a strong gamecock can fetch about P40,000 ($730) and a champion can be worth over P100,000 (about $1900). The Grand Irony, of course, is that my college mascot was the Gamecock and this is the first time I've ever seen one. I am totally proud to be a Gamecock. Those are some ass-kickin' chickens.
(Hang on. The Little Green Man seems to be making a model of the Battleship Potemkin of my duodenum)
Matnog, my mother's hometown, has seen better days. My mother says that the family estate they used to own had a view of the ocean. Today it's half of what it is, on a crowded street, now a modest little tin-roofed house where Tita Lennie lives with her husband Boy. We met her other sister, Ning and it was quite a reunion. To see the sisters chirp and catch up, it was delightful. A note to travelers coming to the Phils: be prepared to eat. A lot. There are meals at every turn. Unfortunately, my guts were not agreeing with me, so I had to decline the pancit and cokes. Things were just getting worse and worse.
Thankfully my brother has been looking out for me like my bodyguard (nurse?). He's been through this before, only he had running water and electricity. Me, not so much. Two nights ago we ended up staying at a beach "motel" which was made up of a row of open air thatch-roofed bamboo huts. My folks insisted we stay in "The Mayor's House" where the Mayor of Matnog spends time. It was only marginally better for us because a) it had walls and b) it had an indoor bathroom that c) did not have plumbing. The plumbing thing is normal for Matnog, but when you've got Beaver Fever or Matnog's Revenge or whatever you want to call it, the sound of running water is like the sound of sleighbells ringing on Christmas Eve.
I lay there on the painfully thin little bed, sweating and freezing while my brother was out getting me water and drinking gin with some local guys outside. Apparently, the mayor himself had appeared out of the darkness, and was staying next door, in the other half of the duplex (and he also happens to be a distant relative. Who isn't?). He had with him a cadre of bodyguards, including Youb, an ex-Philippine Army militant who brought his handy M16 Carbine with him to the compound. Unbeknownst to Joe and I, this part of Matnog was the seat of the New People's Army, and the mayor is under armed protection at all times.
However, my parents were sorely aware of the NPA's presence. But they had no idea there were armed guards there to protect us, or at least protect the Mayor. They were scared for their lives. They were awake all night waiting to be kidnapped by NPA rebels. Oh, and the roosters in the compound would crow every hour on the hour. Even the ones UNDER their hut.
So, Joe missed his girl's birthday. He put it like this in an email just now: "Only an army of militant rebels and hurricane force winds could keep me from wishing you a happy birthday."
On paper, that sounds like such BULLSHIT. But it's all true.
I want to append that. "Only and army of militant rebels, hurricane force winds AND explosive diarrhea/hallucinatory fever could keep me from writing you."
I feel much better now, thanks. Last night, Baby Doll and Gerry came up with their kids and carload of blue crabs and prawns from Sorsogon. The kids called me "tito" which means uncle. No one has ever called me uncle before.
Ok, Joe is hungry now. It's gettin' near 1 p.m. here.
You know what? I'm kind of hungry too.
Last night, I dreamed I was in the middle of a large video game field. No details come to mind, but I was driving, maybe, and I kept veering off to the right of the playing field, until I fell of the bed and hit the tile floor and banged my bum ankle on a chair.
That was the last and least frightening of the hallucinatory dreams I've had lately. I've had a good string of them for about 48 hours or so, as I've been deathly ill with what Joe calls "Beaver Fever," so-called after the illness one gets from drinking beaver shit-imbued river water in the deep south. Others call it "Montezuma's Revenge" or "Traveller's Sickness." I call it the "Worst 48 Hours Of My Life Health-Wise." But I'm better now.
See, there's a little green man with bad teeth and a Santa hat sitting inside my belly periodically making balloon animals out of my innards. At last count there have been 23 elephants, 10 or 12 giraffes and 56 unusually complex poodle dogs. Totally unnecessary, dude. This morning I woke up and he'd only made a pirate sword. So at least that's subsiding.
Add to that a raging high fever with all the accompanying aches, brainpan stress, night sweats, hallucinations AND a recovering sprained ankle and I can say I've seen death, and he speaks Tagalog.
I've been able to muster up some strength to try and enjoy things, but it's been tough.
After arriving in Bicol on Tuesday, we made a quick tour of some of Dad's spots in Legazpi. This is where he grew up, went to school learned to pray. This is his home. And it's all very very different. For a while, we were on the hunt for his favorite Bicol thing, Suspiros de Pili. Pili nuts, apparently, are found only in the Bicol region of the Philippines, and ever since my dad left, he's been thinking about them. Seriously. The man is on a mission. Suspiros de Pili or "Sigh of the Pili Nut" is a little candy made from the meat of the pili, and it's really really tasty and sweet (at least, for the 12-30 minutes I was able to taste when we got here). So every time we hit a strip of little stores, dad hops out of the van to try and score more pili goodies.
That's when the party started. We stayed at a "fancy" hotel in Legazpi, which means they gave you towels and had plumbing. But the first night here, I was roiling around in pain, hallucinating about giant bugs like an asian Kafka story. No sleep that night at all. I had drenched myself and the bed in sweat. What a horrible feeling it is to be so so so so cold in a 90 degree room.
Mom's family arrived the next morning, and it was a stunning revelation. They all looked alike! This was family! Three of the sisters, Emma, Mila and Lennie along with our cousin (Bong's sister) Baby Doll had driven two hours from Matnog to meet us and drive us back with them. They were all very sweet and accommodating, but of course, I was in a little private hell of gastrointestinal disaster. I was not a good nephew to meet.
A word to describe the drive through the provinces: lush. Just lush. Lush with green, with coconut trees and vegetation, lush with fields of rice dotted with caribou and jeepneys packed ten too many. The air is clean and humid. This whole time it's been gray because of a typhoon warning. Dad was particularly sad about this because he wanted to show off Mt. Mayon, the perfect cone-shaped volcano, but it was obscured by cloud cover. (Same way I get pissed when Mt. Rainier doesn't want to come out and play for my guests visiting Seattle).
We stopped at my cousin's house in Sorsogon so we could meed her husband Gerry. When we were in Manila, we never got to see the sabong, or cockfights, like we were supposed to. But Bong told me not to worry, we was going to hook us up in the province. And he totally did. Turns out Gerry raises champion gamecocks, about 100 of them, in his backyard. If I could post pix now, I would, but you should see it... a whole field of little wooden tents housing roosters, all of them crowing at the top of their lungs in the rain. Amazing. Even better, Gerry, strapped two of the roosters with little tiny green boxing gloves so Joe and I could be sabongneros for a day! SO COOL. Normally, in a sabong match, the two gamecocks face off to the death, with a little three-inch blade attached to their left rear talon for cutting and tearing. But with the kid gloves on, Joe and I got to face off and watch our roosters kick each others' asses. So fast! I've never seen anything like it, and I'm pretty sure if we'd gone to the cockpits in Manila, we wouldn't be fighting our own roosters. Sabong is a pretty huge business here, a strong gamecock can fetch about P40,000 ($730) and a champion can be worth over P100,000 (about $1900). The Grand Irony, of course, is that my college mascot was the Gamecock and this is the first time I've ever seen one. I am totally proud to be a Gamecock. Those are some ass-kickin' chickens.
(Hang on. The Little Green Man seems to be making a model of the Battleship Potemkin of my duodenum)
Matnog, my mother's hometown, has seen better days. My mother says that the family estate they used to own had a view of the ocean. Today it's half of what it is, on a crowded street, now a modest little tin-roofed house where Tita Lennie lives with her husband Boy. We met her other sister, Ning and it was quite a reunion. To see the sisters chirp and catch up, it was delightful. A note to travelers coming to the Phils: be prepared to eat. A lot. There are meals at every turn. Unfortunately, my guts were not agreeing with me, so I had to decline the pancit and cokes. Things were just getting worse and worse.
Thankfully my brother has been looking out for me like my bodyguard (nurse?). He's been through this before, only he had running water and electricity. Me, not so much. Two nights ago we ended up staying at a beach "motel" which was made up of a row of open air thatch-roofed bamboo huts. My folks insisted we stay in "The Mayor's House" where the Mayor of Matnog spends time. It was only marginally better for us because a) it had walls and b) it had an indoor bathroom that c) did not have plumbing. The plumbing thing is normal for Matnog, but when you've got Beaver Fever or Matnog's Revenge or whatever you want to call it, the sound of running water is like the sound of sleighbells ringing on Christmas Eve.
I lay there on the painfully thin little bed, sweating and freezing while my brother was out getting me water and drinking gin with some local guys outside. Apparently, the mayor himself had appeared out of the darkness, and was staying next door, in the other half of the duplex (and he also happens to be a distant relative. Who isn't?). He had with him a cadre of bodyguards, including Youb, an ex-Philippine Army militant who brought his handy M16 Carbine with him to the compound. Unbeknownst to Joe and I, this part of Matnog was the seat of the New People's Army, and the mayor is under armed protection at all times.
However, my parents were sorely aware of the NPA's presence. But they had no idea there were armed guards there to protect us, or at least protect the Mayor. They were scared for their lives. They were awake all night waiting to be kidnapped by NPA rebels. Oh, and the roosters in the compound would crow every hour on the hour. Even the ones UNDER their hut.
So, Joe missed his girl's birthday. He put it like this in an email just now: "Only an army of militant rebels and hurricane force winds could keep me from wishing you a happy birthday."
On paper, that sounds like such BULLSHIT. But it's all true.
I want to append that. "Only and army of militant rebels, hurricane force winds AND explosive diarrhea/hallucinatory fever could keep me from writing you."
I feel much better now, thanks. Last night, Baby Doll and Gerry came up with their kids and carload of blue crabs and prawns from Sorsogon. The kids called me "tito" which means uncle. No one has ever called me uncle before.
Ok, Joe is hungry now. It's gettin' near 1 p.m. here.
You know what? I'm kind of hungry too.
posted by Gregory at 7:51 PM
2 comments
Sunday, November 14, 2004
Pinoy insurgent? Or Fil-Am tourist?
Like I said, the pollution is pretty bad here. While we waited for a Jeepney to jump on to go to Divisoria, Dad here took matters into his own hands and made this little bandito number from his hanky. Not at all an uncommon sight. Very uncommon for my dad, yes. But it's just nasty to sit in an open-air minibus with about a billion other open-air minibuses farting fumes into yer face.
He did, however get a few looks once he whipped out his video camera while wearing this get up. The authorities here don't take kindly to people in masks scoping out the surroundings on tape.
He did, however get a few looks once he whipped out his video camera while wearing this get up. The authorities here don't take kindly to people in masks scoping out the surroundings on tape.
posted by Gregory at 6:53 AM
0 comments
See ya Manila. He-lo Bicol.
It's 10 p.m. here and I am exhausted. Joe was just looking in the mirror lamenting: "Jesus. I look like shit."
Been a busy week. Even busier last couple of days. Tomorrow morning we get up at 5 a.m. to head to Legazpi to meet more of my dad's family and then to Matnog for three days to meet my mother's side.
First, can I tell you: I love my cousins. They rule. Ryan has been an absolute stud setting up itineraries and showing us around. He's so organized and polite and so kind to my mother, his aunt. That makes me so happy. Carl is like a big brother to me, even though I'm older. Never had that before. He's honest and direct and reliable as hell. Bong and Regan are our buds. They stayed with us in our hotel room last night after we ambled in around 4 a.m. and stayed up laughing and goofing off, like we were in high school or something. Regan used to be a singer in a band, and would burst into song at the drop of a hat. He's got these movie star looks that makes all the girls stare at him and shy away giggling when he talks to them. Bong is like having another little brother, someone really fun and energetic and amazing. Like you don't want to let him down, no matter what.
Joe turned to me in the car after dinner, when we left Regan and Bong and his girl Betsy and said "We have family, man." He was smiling ear to ear. It's true. We finally feel a connection to this place and our family and nothing is the same. Our consciousness now extends across the Pacific. It's an odd and moving feeling. i want to bring them all back with me. I need them back in the States.
Spent practically the whole day consuming Manila. This morning we hit Divisoria, the most insane flea market/urban planing disaster I've ever experienced. Wall-to-wall people, deals, food, smells, money, traffic, and a dizzying mixture of money and moneylessness. We braved our first Jeepney ride into the market, which was fairly cool, but fairly paranoid-inducing. Bong and Regan were almost robbed on the Jeepney last night. Four shady guys in denim jackets surrounded them in the back of the jeep, and Regan said he saw a gun under one of the Denim Bandits' jackets. They hopped off and reported it to the pulis. You can't be too careful. Even if you live here. The whole time in Divisoria, they held on to all of us, looking out for us like bodyguards.
Another thing Joe said: "Every day that passes, I like it better here." He's right. I do too. Am kind of sad. We're leaving for Bicol tomorrow at 7 a.m. to meet the rest of my parents' families. Bracing ourselves for more bloodline shock, but if the family in Manila was any indication, I am thrilled. We're getting away from the overwhelming vibration of this city, heading to the clear water and white sugar beaches of Matnog. The provinces are where all the pictures of the Philippines you've ever seen were taken. I just want to lay on the beach, touch the bottom of the ocean and feed chickens. We need this. We need both sides of this little peso coin.
Man. I am beat.
So it's likely you won't hear from me for a while, at least till Friday (unless I get bored in Legazpi, and if they have internet cafes). Matnog's not known for their connectedness (though two of my aunts do have cellys). Bong's father's gonna hook us up with sabong... apparently he raises champion gamecocks, and everyone says street cockpits are better than the weird WWF-style shit they do in the city. Should be fun.
So be good, you. Stay classy, (insert city here). I am thinking of you.
Been a busy week. Even busier last couple of days. Tomorrow morning we get up at 5 a.m. to head to Legazpi to meet more of my dad's family and then to Matnog for three days to meet my mother's side.
First, can I tell you: I love my cousins. They rule. Ryan has been an absolute stud setting up itineraries and showing us around. He's so organized and polite and so kind to my mother, his aunt. That makes me so happy. Carl is like a big brother to me, even though I'm older. Never had that before. He's honest and direct and reliable as hell. Bong and Regan are our buds. They stayed with us in our hotel room last night after we ambled in around 4 a.m. and stayed up laughing and goofing off, like we were in high school or something. Regan used to be a singer in a band, and would burst into song at the drop of a hat. He's got these movie star looks that makes all the girls stare at him and shy away giggling when he talks to them. Bong is like having another little brother, someone really fun and energetic and amazing. Like you don't want to let him down, no matter what.
Joe turned to me in the car after dinner, when we left Regan and Bong and his girl Betsy and said "We have family, man." He was smiling ear to ear. It's true. We finally feel a connection to this place and our family and nothing is the same. Our consciousness now extends across the Pacific. It's an odd and moving feeling. i want to bring them all back with me. I need them back in the States.
Spent practically the whole day consuming Manila. This morning we hit Divisoria, the most insane flea market/urban planing disaster I've ever experienced. Wall-to-wall people, deals, food, smells, money, traffic, and a dizzying mixture of money and moneylessness. We braved our first Jeepney ride into the market, which was fairly cool, but fairly paranoid-inducing. Bong and Regan were almost robbed on the Jeepney last night. Four shady guys in denim jackets surrounded them in the back of the jeep, and Regan said he saw a gun under one of the Denim Bandits' jackets. They hopped off and reported it to the pulis. You can't be too careful. Even if you live here. The whole time in Divisoria, they held on to all of us, looking out for us like bodyguards.
Another thing Joe said: "Every day that passes, I like it better here." He's right. I do too. Am kind of sad. We're leaving for Bicol tomorrow at 7 a.m. to meet the rest of my parents' families. Bracing ourselves for more bloodline shock, but if the family in Manila was any indication, I am thrilled. We're getting away from the overwhelming vibration of this city, heading to the clear water and white sugar beaches of Matnog. The provinces are where all the pictures of the Philippines you've ever seen were taken. I just want to lay on the beach, touch the bottom of the ocean and feed chickens. We need this. We need both sides of this little peso coin.
Man. I am beat.
So it's likely you won't hear from me for a while, at least till Friday (unless I get bored in Legazpi, and if they have internet cafes). Matnog's not known for their connectedness (though two of my aunts do have cellys). Bong's father's gonna hook us up with sabong... apparently he raises champion gamecocks, and everyone says street cockpits are better than the weird WWF-style shit they do in the city. Should be fun.
So be good, you. Stay classy, (insert city here). I am thinking of you.
posted by Gregory at 6:15 AM
2 comments
Saturday, November 13, 2004
Observations. Quickly.
Given the fact that I have had zero time to rest, let alone time to tell you good people what's up, I've been storing little bits in my head to hand you when the time came. This is the problem with blogging anything... you end up keep scraps in your brain for blog and you sometimes neglect to absorb what's happening for it's intrinsic non-blog value. That's why I stopped writing asian.com millionaire a while back. But I wanted to keep this to let you know I'm alive and to share this time with you, as much as I can, anyway.
That said, some things:
> Manila is the text-messaging capital of the world. Incredibly. I mean, I just walked by a homeless couple selling cigarettes on the street with their young kid around the corner, and even the mother was texting. Apparently it's the only option for a lot of people who don't have phone lines and don't want to pay calling charges. Texting is one peso per message. My Tita Lena is so obsessed with texting that I think she was checking her messages all through dinner the other night. I thought it was kind of cute. My cousins Ryan, Carl and Regan all text the crap out of their phones. Inside the malls here (which by the way are the biggest friggin malls I've ever seen with my own eyes. Overload) have mini cellphone malls. The other day, my family and I were on the island of Corrigador, where the Bataan Death March took place and where Gen. dMacArthur returned to free the Filipinos from the Japanse, and my cousin Ryan got FULL BARS. They have a cell tower on the island. Less than 125 people are on the island full time. And they have a cell tower.
> I now know why I have a belly. It's the rice. The rice, man. Okay, so I don't eat rice everyday back home in the states, but over time, the Filipino digestive system has this way of processing carbohydrates so as to make just about every guy here over the age of 25 the look of being 6 months pregnant. That said, I have been steadily getting fatter on a diet of, well, fat. Lechon, rice, eggs, tocino, mango juice, sinagang and sio pao. Dude. Puff Daddy changed his name to P. Diddy so I could have the name.
> Jollibee is an insidious virus infecting the Philippines Jollibee is the RP's most popular restaurant. It's basically the equivalent of McDonald's, maybe better because it has pancit, fried chicken and other weirdness (spaghetti???). But scarier than that, there's one on every corner. Now, in most metropolitan areas, this is not unheard of. I mean there are Starbucks/BK/McD's infestations everywhere. What's fucked up is that there are even Jollibees in the most remote, poor areas of Manila. Last night, I met a new driver, J.R., who used to be a revolutionary during the Marcos coup in the '80s (which, interestingly enough, my distant and controversial relative Gringo Honason helped lead) told me he lives in one of the shittiest suburbs in Manila. Their house is flooded with sewage one week out of the month. He has to drive a taxi for 24 hours every two days to keep his family of six fed. "Do you guys have a Jollibee in your neighborhood?" I asked him on the way to Cubao to meet my cousin Carl. "Oh shit yeah," he said, lighting up. "Jollibee is my favorite. I met my wife at the Jollibee." Also, I think I may be hypersensitive to Jollibee's predominance here because of the whole "Super Size Me" thing.
Their burgers are ok.
> Ragnarok is the shit. Apparently Ragnarok has stolen the lives of many a pinoy in this town. My cousin's friend Joel, who has the same birthday as me, spends entire weekends, 48 hours straight, on this little massively multiplayer RPG on his PC. Everyone here has characters, plays endlessly. It's crazy. On the way home last night, Carl was kidding with Joel: "Joel's upset. He could be leveling up right now."
> I heart the Philippines. Seeing all this, all these people struggling with a third world economy and its pitfalls, it warms me to see how positive people are and how they really savor what they get. Mom took us to the University of Santo Tomas today, her alma matter. All the students dressed in nurse-like uniforms, all buzzing with energy, all prepping for a future where they have to hope they'll get a job once they graduate, just like back home. Only, they're hoping to god they work hard enough that they'll get petitioned to work in the U.S., that they'll get out and escape the economic depression that nags at so many here. People in the Philippines value their educations. There's like a 93% literacy rate here. People vote. People revolt when there is injustice, all throughout the history of this country. They value their pesos. They party hard, even in the shantytowns. And it really makes me feel ashamed about complaining about traffic in Seattle, about how "expensive" things are, about how I could be doing more/better with my life/house/job/passions. I put my hand on my mother's shoulder in the van on the way home from UST and thanked her for everything. EVERYTHING. Everything I have, everything I got the chance to work for. Maybe things would have turned out differently, maybe better or worse, had I grown up in the Philippines. But I do know my chances are just better in the States. Because I see all these people here fighting tooth and nail for those chances.
Sige na. My cousins Bong and Regan are picking us up for gimmicks. More later, when I can.
And I swear. More pictures. Someday.
That said, some things:
> Manila is the text-messaging capital of the world. Incredibly. I mean, I just walked by a homeless couple selling cigarettes on the street with their young kid around the corner, and even the mother was texting. Apparently it's the only option for a lot of people who don't have phone lines and don't want to pay calling charges. Texting is one peso per message. My Tita Lena is so obsessed with texting that I think she was checking her messages all through dinner the other night. I thought it was kind of cute. My cousins Ryan, Carl and Regan all text the crap out of their phones. Inside the malls here (which by the way are the biggest friggin malls I've ever seen with my own eyes. Overload) have mini cellphone malls. The other day, my family and I were on the island of Corrigador, where the Bataan Death March took place and where Gen. dMacArthur returned to free the Filipinos from the Japanse, and my cousin Ryan got FULL BARS. They have a cell tower on the island. Less than 125 people are on the island full time. And they have a cell tower.
> I now know why I have a belly. It's the rice. The rice, man. Okay, so I don't eat rice everyday back home in the states, but over time, the Filipino digestive system has this way of processing carbohydrates so as to make just about every guy here over the age of 25 the look of being 6 months pregnant. That said, I have been steadily getting fatter on a diet of, well, fat. Lechon, rice, eggs, tocino, mango juice, sinagang and sio pao. Dude. Puff Daddy changed his name to P. Diddy so I could have the name.
> Jollibee is an insidious virus infecting the Philippines Jollibee is the RP's most popular restaurant. It's basically the equivalent of McDonald's, maybe better because it has pancit, fried chicken and other weirdness (spaghetti???). But scarier than that, there's one on every corner. Now, in most metropolitan areas, this is not unheard of. I mean there are Starbucks/BK/McD's infestations everywhere. What's fucked up is that there are even Jollibees in the most remote, poor areas of Manila. Last night, I met a new driver, J.R., who used to be a revolutionary during the Marcos coup in the '80s (which, interestingly enough, my distant and controversial relative Gringo Honason helped lead) told me he lives in one of the shittiest suburbs in Manila. Their house is flooded with sewage one week out of the month. He has to drive a taxi for 24 hours every two days to keep his family of six fed. "Do you guys have a Jollibee in your neighborhood?" I asked him on the way to Cubao to meet my cousin Carl. "Oh shit yeah," he said, lighting up. "Jollibee is my favorite. I met my wife at the Jollibee." Also, I think I may be hypersensitive to Jollibee's predominance here because of the whole "Super Size Me" thing.
Their burgers are ok.
> Ragnarok is the shit. Apparently Ragnarok has stolen the lives of many a pinoy in this town. My cousin's friend Joel, who has the same birthday as me, spends entire weekends, 48 hours straight, on this little massively multiplayer RPG on his PC. Everyone here has characters, plays endlessly. It's crazy. On the way home last night, Carl was kidding with Joel: "Joel's upset. He could be leveling up right now."
> I heart the Philippines. Seeing all this, all these people struggling with a third world economy and its pitfalls, it warms me to see how positive people are and how they really savor what they get. Mom took us to the University of Santo Tomas today, her alma matter. All the students dressed in nurse-like uniforms, all buzzing with energy, all prepping for a future where they have to hope they'll get a job once they graduate, just like back home. Only, they're hoping to god they work hard enough that they'll get petitioned to work in the U.S., that they'll get out and escape the economic depression that nags at so many here. People in the Philippines value their educations. There's like a 93% literacy rate here. People vote. People revolt when there is injustice, all throughout the history of this country. They value their pesos. They party hard, even in the shantytowns. And it really makes me feel ashamed about complaining about traffic in Seattle, about how "expensive" things are, about how I could be doing more/better with my life/house/job/passions. I put my hand on my mother's shoulder in the van on the way home from UST and thanked her for everything. EVERYTHING. Everything I have, everything I got the chance to work for. Maybe things would have turned out differently, maybe better or worse, had I grown up in the Philippines. But I do know my chances are just better in the States. Because I see all these people here fighting tooth and nail for those chances.
Sige na. My cousins Bong and Regan are picking us up for gimmicks. More later, when I can.
And I swear. More pictures. Someday.
posted by Gregory at 5:25 AM
2 comments
Thursday, November 11, 2004
Like Kane in Kung-Fu
So an update: turns out my ankle is sprained real good. Woke up this morning to a fleshy baseball where my left ankle was supposed to be. Painful painful painful. All the running around last night with the boys at the disco disco did nothing to improve what I thought was a minor injury. Mom had to call the hotel doctor and everything. Joe and cousin Ryan ran out to fill the painkiller prescription and picked up this badass bamboo cane so I could get around. Turning 30 really did a number on me.
Manila is doing nothing for my general health. Aside fom the smog and stuffing myself silly, now this friggin' ankle. We're heading out to the provinces next Monday by plane, out to Bicol and Matnog to see my parents' birthplaces. I can't wait.
In the meantime, we're taking a boat to Corregidor which should take all day. I need a nice boat ride. Don't you?
Manila is doing nothing for my general health. Aside fom the smog and stuffing myself silly, now this friggin' ankle. We're heading out to the provinces next Monday by plane, out to Bicol and Matnog to see my parents' birthplaces. I can't wait.
In the meantime, we're taking a boat to Corregidor which should take all day. I need a nice boat ride. Don't you?
posted by Gregory at 6:13 AM
0 comments
Birthday, part II
Words cannot express.
My 30th birthday goes down as one of the best. I met about 25 or so members of both the Perez and Gilliego clans who could make it all the way to Malate for a birthday feast. Some of them drove more than two hours in terrible Manila traffic to get there. And seeing all this family, seeing all these faces that looked like mine and the joy that brought to my parents, it's the greatest thing ever.
Oh and the lechon we had for dinner... that was pretty great too.
My cousins Carl, Ryan, Regan and Bong are the absolute coolest men in the Philippines. Add to that our new older brother Kuya Bonz (our driver who we have officially adopted into the clan), and I have myself my own little barkada. First ever. I am so happy.
My 30th birthday goes down as one of the best. I met about 25 or so members of both the Perez and Gilliego clans who could make it all the way to Malate for a birthday feast. Some of them drove more than two hours in terrible Manila traffic to get there. And seeing all this family, seeing all these faces that looked like mine and the joy that brought to my parents, it's the greatest thing ever.
Oh and the lechon we had for dinner... that was pretty great too.
My cousins Carl, Ryan, Regan and Bong are the absolute coolest men in the Philippines. Add to that our new older brother Kuya Bonz (our driver who we have officially adopted into the clan), and I have myself my own little barkada. First ever. I am so happy.
posted by Gregory at 6:03 AM
4 comments
Wednesday, November 10, 2004
Araw ng pagsilang
Today I'm 30. True.
We're meeting a bunch of family at the hotel lobby around 8 for dinner at a "cultural restaurant" called Zamboanga around the corner. Am going to meet a busload of cousins. Spent the day traveling to Laguna, two hours away, where we met my dad's sister and my cousing Jumbo. Jumbo got his name because he was born big. He's not big at all now. Skinny skinny and really cool. His brother lives in Pasig, another part of Metro Manila. His name is Jet. I shit you not. Jumbo and Jet.
Oh also, today I fell down the stairs in the hotel lobby. True.
I slipped on the last step coming down into the lobby. Heard my ankle crack. Hit the floor holding my ankle, sliding about three feet on my back like Chow Yun Fat in a John Woo movie. Joe said it was all anime-like, which makes me happy it was at least entertaining.
The hotel manager and the restaurant manager ran over with ice and pillows. My brother tended to my foot. I went into a weird kind of shock where I just started sweating really badly, my ears went inside out and I wanted to puke.
After a few minutes, I got up. Nothing wrong. Just soreness and embarassment. Went back up into the room, fighting back nausea. Collapsed on the bed and passed out for a couple of split seconds while I regained my composure.
Later, I took the elevator down.
Today I'm 30!
We're meeting a bunch of family at the hotel lobby around 8 for dinner at a "cultural restaurant" called Zamboanga around the corner. Am going to meet a busload of cousins. Spent the day traveling to Laguna, two hours away, where we met my dad's sister and my cousing Jumbo. Jumbo got his name because he was born big. He's not big at all now. Skinny skinny and really cool. His brother lives in Pasig, another part of Metro Manila. His name is Jet. I shit you not. Jumbo and Jet.
Oh also, today I fell down the stairs in the hotel lobby. True.
I slipped on the last step coming down into the lobby. Heard my ankle crack. Hit the floor holding my ankle, sliding about three feet on my back like Chow Yun Fat in a John Woo movie. Joe said it was all anime-like, which makes me happy it was at least entertaining.
The hotel manager and the restaurant manager ran over with ice and pillows. My brother tended to my foot. I went into a weird kind of shock where I just started sweating really badly, my ears went inside out and I wanted to puke.
After a few minutes, I got up. Nothing wrong. Just soreness and embarassment. Went back up into the room, fighting back nausea. Collapsed on the bed and passed out for a couple of split seconds while I regained my composure.
Later, I took the elevator down.
Today I'm 30!
posted by Gregory at 2:54 AM
2 comments
Tuesday, November 09, 2004
Mutant musings on the other side of the world
"If you had to pick, Which X-Man would you be?"
We were in the van that Dad had rented, crawling alongside the worst traffic in the world to deposit our uncle (whose name escapes me now) back to his house in Novaliches. My brother and I were crammed in the back of the van with the luggage. My auntie Lena was up front with our jolly driver Bonz. Mom and Dad and uncle were in front of us. We sat in the back watching the jeepneys and tricycles zip by, their riders' faces wrapped in handkerchiefs to ward off the smog.
"I know you'd be Gambit. You love Gambit," I said.
"I'd be either Gambit or Nightcrawler."
"The way you've been so damn philosophical lately, I'd say Nightcrawler."
"I want to be Gambit."
"You only like Gambit because he wears a trenchcoat."
"I like Gambit because he is a thief."
We turned a corner past the Jollibee, the first Filipino-run fast food place to cross the Pacific to make it to the States. There was one in Daly City, just south from where I lived in San Francisco. There are seemingly millions of them here, stacked up next to KFCs, McDonalds and, weirdly, Kenny Rogers' Roasters. I still have to get some Jollibee here. My only memento from my Jollibee days is a toy I got with a kid's meal that's sitting in my office right now.
The van turned, passing a block or two of squatter shanties. Dozens and dozens of families live hundreds of makeshift shanties here, all over Manila. Dad says they come from the provinces looking for work. When they don't find any, they stick around anyway. For the thrill of the city, he says. In poverty, without power, without Jollibee. Thrilling.
"I worry that I'm Cyclops," I said.
"That would make sense. He's the leader."
"He's an asshole."
"Yeah. He's got control issues."
"Exactly."
"But dude. Cyclops has to hold back concussive blasts from his eyes! He lives with goggles on his face. He's literally forced into living with blinders on. So you gotta expect he'd be a little obsessed with being focused and in control."
"That's true. But nobody wants to be Cyclops. Wolverine. Everybody wants to be Wolverine."
"Why not? He's a badass."
"He's small and hairy."
"And immortal!"
"That's a curse dude. What good are healing powers and claws if you just sit and watch everyone you love die decade after decade. Like Highlander."
"Yeah I suppose. That's the best part about those X-Men. There's always a drawback to having powers."
"Well, except Longshot."
"True. I'd rather be lucky than good."
The van had stopped. More traffic. Traffic traffic traffic.
"Where the hell are we?"
We were in the van that Dad had rented, crawling alongside the worst traffic in the world to deposit our uncle (whose name escapes me now) back to his house in Novaliches. My brother and I were crammed in the back of the van with the luggage. My auntie Lena was up front with our jolly driver Bonz. Mom and Dad and uncle were in front of us. We sat in the back watching the jeepneys and tricycles zip by, their riders' faces wrapped in handkerchiefs to ward off the smog.
"I know you'd be Gambit. You love Gambit," I said.
"I'd be either Gambit or Nightcrawler."
"The way you've been so damn philosophical lately, I'd say Nightcrawler."
"I want to be Gambit."
"You only like Gambit because he wears a trenchcoat."
"I like Gambit because he is a thief."
We turned a corner past the Jollibee, the first Filipino-run fast food place to cross the Pacific to make it to the States. There was one in Daly City, just south from where I lived in San Francisco. There are seemingly millions of them here, stacked up next to KFCs, McDonalds and, weirdly, Kenny Rogers' Roasters. I still have to get some Jollibee here. My only memento from my Jollibee days is a toy I got with a kid's meal that's sitting in my office right now.
The van turned, passing a block or two of squatter shanties. Dozens and dozens of families live hundreds of makeshift shanties here, all over Manila. Dad says they come from the provinces looking for work. When they don't find any, they stick around anyway. For the thrill of the city, he says. In poverty, without power, without Jollibee. Thrilling.
"I worry that I'm Cyclops," I said.
"That would make sense. He's the leader."
"He's an asshole."
"Yeah. He's got control issues."
"Exactly."
"But dude. Cyclops has to hold back concussive blasts from his eyes! He lives with goggles on his face. He's literally forced into living with blinders on. So you gotta expect he'd be a little obsessed with being focused and in control."
"That's true. But nobody wants to be Cyclops. Wolverine. Everybody wants to be Wolverine."
"Why not? He's a badass."
"He's small and hairy."
"And immortal!"
"That's a curse dude. What good are healing powers and claws if you just sit and watch everyone you love die decade after decade. Like Highlander."
"Yeah I suppose. That's the best part about those X-Men. There's always a drawback to having powers."
"Well, except Longshot."
"True. I'd rather be lucky than good."
The van had stopped. More traffic. Traffic traffic traffic.
"Where the hell are we?"
posted by Gregory at 5:11 AM
0 comments
Monday, November 08, 2004
Ragnarok
I have an incredible headache. Haven't had one quite like this since the time in college when I blacked out and was driven home by my roommate Jimmy, and I was told I had vomited out the passenger side of his shitty Honda and bowled a 97 at Irmo Lanes.
I did nothing to encourage this state. I think the smog here is getting to me early. It's very polluted in Manila, and there doesn't seem to be any real effort to fix that. Also, my brother insists on smoking in the room, so I wake up feeling like the floor of a bar. I have to make a real effort to fix that.
We did go to a bar late, actually. Got a big stein of Carlsberg, which I got by default just because it was the one I pointed at. A Carlsberg is about P100, which is about $2. Getting money is pretty easy. Learning how to spend it will take a minute or two.
Wandered around after I posted last night. Found my way back to the hotel according the homeless people who slept on the street. Left at the One-Footed Man, straight ahead past the Scabby Man and then left again by the Party of Pibe (a family of five sleeping on cardboard on the corner. Even an infant in a bassonet asleep next to her grandpa).
I'll try and post some pix, but right now I am back in the East Game Station, getting a quick word in before my father takes us on an adventure. Meeting family for the first time. It's the first time they've seen any family in 32 years, so it should make for good drama. Hardly the O.C. I'll tell you all about it later.
Tocino is good for breakpast.
I did nothing to encourage this state. I think the smog here is getting to me early. It's very polluted in Manila, and there doesn't seem to be any real effort to fix that. Also, my brother insists on smoking in the room, so I wake up feeling like the floor of a bar. I have to make a real effort to fix that.
We did go to a bar late, actually. Got a big stein of Carlsberg, which I got by default just because it was the one I pointed at. A Carlsberg is about P100, which is about $2. Getting money is pretty easy. Learning how to spend it will take a minute or two.
Wandered around after I posted last night. Found my way back to the hotel according the homeless people who slept on the street. Left at the One-Footed Man, straight ahead past the Scabby Man and then left again by the Party of Pibe (a family of five sleeping on cardboard on the corner. Even an infant in a bassonet asleep next to her grandpa).
I'll try and post some pix, but right now I am back in the East Game Station, getting a quick word in before my father takes us on an adventure. Meeting family for the first time. It's the first time they've seen any family in 32 years, so it should make for good drama. Hardly the O.C. I'll tell you all about it later.
Tocino is good for breakpast.
posted by Gregory at 4:28 PM
2 comments
Manila
Metro Manila is like Tampa, S.F. Mission and Brooklyn all rolled together. Only more Filipino and more humid. Jeepneys are chugging by. Kids on scooters are zipping along. It's laaaate. No sleep for me yet. Lots of piss smells and roaches. Cats galore. Jesus Christ I'm sounding like Claire Danes. Homeless on the street next to the disco disco. But I'm in an internet cafe across from the hotel and there are kids here playing CounterStrike mods (One computer just poppped up "THE TERRORISTS WIN." I should really get some sleep, but It hought I'd say hallo. Hallo. More later.
posted by Gregory at 10:32 AM
0 comments
Arigato
You know, I've never actually ever LOOKED at another country. Like, physically looked down and said "Hey, I'm not from there."
Flying over Japan was like that. Looked just like home, only...well. Not. Sounds dumb but it feels really good. This is the first time I have ever stepped off of a plane on to another whole nation.
Movies I got the privilege to see on the 14 hour flight to Tokyo (in order):
1. Super Size Me: Dude. DUDE. I never want to eat McDonald's again. But I will eat McDonald's again.
2. King Arthur: Terrible. Kira was lovely, but then when she got all tomboy insane Bravehart-like, I got tired of it. Oh there was that one part near the end when all the Knights of the Really LARGE Round Table gathered to battle the Saxons, and they were gussied up in their cool Power Rangers armor. That was awesome.
3. I, Robot: No sound, tried to fall asleep. Was convinced by my brother that it was actually an entertaining film. Different from good.
4. Before Sunset: Also silent, watched over my brother's shoulder. Looks intriguing. If I were French, I'd prolly be enamored by it.
5. Little Black Book: Watched this on fast-forward, silent as well. The skinny chick in that movie, the lead one (her name is escaping me, but she's only an inch bigger than Holly Hunter, meaning she is about 3 feet tall) took on this weird skeletal Vaudevillian I-Love-Lucy sort of cast while I watched her a) get dragged by her big dog b) beat her boyfriend's telephone with a hockey stick and c) get checked out by a gyno who (I assume) was one of her boyfriend's exes. Looks too complicated to enjoy even without sound.
Didn't feel like a long flight. Time flies when you're...um. Flying.
Oh yeah and Tokyo is cool. Trying not to get too excited, because THIS IS JUST THE AIRPORT.
Was standing in the Duty Free shop here at the Narita Airport and a guy in a Buccaneers hat was raving about how Tampa Bay beat Kansas City 34-31. IN TOKYO this was being discussed. I can't find a Bucs fan in the state of Washington.
More later. Going to get my katsudon on.
Flying over Japan was like that. Looked just like home, only...well. Not. Sounds dumb but it feels really good. This is the first time I have ever stepped off of a plane on to another whole nation.
Movies I got the privilege to see on the 14 hour flight to Tokyo (in order):
1. Super Size Me: Dude. DUDE. I never want to eat McDonald's again. But I will eat McDonald's again.
2. King Arthur: Terrible. Kira was lovely, but then when she got all tomboy insane Bravehart-like, I got tired of it. Oh there was that one part near the end when all the Knights of the Really LARGE Round Table gathered to battle the Saxons, and they were gussied up in their cool Power Rangers armor. That was awesome.
3. I, Robot: No sound, tried to fall asleep. Was convinced by my brother that it was actually an entertaining film. Different from good.
4. Before Sunset: Also silent, watched over my brother's shoulder. Looks intriguing. If I were French, I'd prolly be enamored by it.
5. Little Black Book: Watched this on fast-forward, silent as well. The skinny chick in that movie, the lead one (her name is escaping me, but she's only an inch bigger than Holly Hunter, meaning she is about 3 feet tall) took on this weird skeletal Vaudevillian I-Love-Lucy sort of cast while I watched her a) get dragged by her big dog b) beat her boyfriend's telephone with a hockey stick and c) get checked out by a gyno who (I assume) was one of her boyfriend's exes. Looks too complicated to enjoy even without sound.
Didn't feel like a long flight. Time flies when you're...um. Flying.
Oh yeah and Tokyo is cool. Trying not to get too excited, because THIS IS JUST THE AIRPORT.
Was standing in the Duty Free shop here at the Narita Airport and a guy in a Buccaneers hat was raving about how Tampa Bay beat Kansas City 34-31. IN TOKYO this was being discussed. I can't find a Bucs fan in the state of Washington.
More later. Going to get my katsudon on.
posted by Gregory at 1:23 AM
2 comments
Saturday, November 06, 2004
Gaano Kita Kamahal
On the way to the airport (for the second time today), Mom started singing a Tagalog tune called "Gaano Kita Kamahal" in the backseat. It means "How Much Do I Love You." My mom rocks.
posted by Gregory at 8:40 PM
2 comments
Thanks, CTA.
Call off the dogs for now. Turns out, Joe was delayed to his flight because the $%#$%&! Orange line train in Chicago got busted. So he missed the plane all together. By the time he got to the airport, the kid had to jump on the later flight that leaves at 8:45 tonight. THE ONE I HAD ORIGINALLY BOOKED FOR HIM IN THE FIRST PLACE before ATA arbitrarily bumped him down to the 2:30 flight.
Top all this with bad cell phones, worrying mothers and a stomach full of leftover dim sum, and I'm pretty much ready to go out and have a stiff drink and call it a night. 'Cept I have to go pick up my brother from the airport later at 11 p.m.
What an awesome vacation already.
Top all this with bad cell phones, worrying mothers and a stomach full of leftover dim sum, and I'm pretty much ready to go out and have a stiff drink and call it a night. 'Cept I have to go pick up my brother from the airport later at 11 p.m.
What an awesome vacation already.
posted by Gregory at 7:41 PM
0 comments
I already miss her.
And I haven't even left yet. She just took off for Sin City for a weekend. I hope when she returns we are filthy millionaires. Right now, I'm just filthy.
posted by Gregory at 1:25 PM
2 comments
Friday, November 05, 2004
Oh crap. Blog.
Man. I never thought I'd fire up one of these things again.
This is in place as a way for you, my people, to get a mental hold of me while I do battle against the New People's Army throughout the malls of Manila, where I'll be for about two weeks starting Sunday.
My parents are downstairs right now, in my basement. My father just yawned and I swear to you it's like I captured a large bear and hid him in the spare room.
This is Cesar and Judy. They got in around 7:30 p.m. from Tampa. Of course, it was a little chillier here than there, so it wasn't a surprise to see my dad sporting a sweatshirt coming out of the Shuttle Express van. That it was my mother's sweatshirt was indeed a surprise. I never knew him to be too big on the pink butterfly appliques, but hey, people change.
My brother arrives tomorrow. He was almost ready to board the wrong flight because ATA decided to declare bankruptcy and eliminate the flight we'd booked for him. Thanks, ATA.
More later. For now, hello. I missed you, too.
This is in place as a way for you, my people, to get a mental hold of me while I do battle against the New People's Army throughout the malls of Manila, where I'll be for about two weeks starting Sunday.
My parents are downstairs right now, in my basement. My father just yawned and I swear to you it's like I captured a large bear and hid him in the spare room.
This is Cesar and Judy. They got in around 7:30 p.m. from Tampa. Of course, it was a little chillier here than there, so it wasn't a surprise to see my dad sporting a sweatshirt coming out of the Shuttle Express van. That it was my mother's sweatshirt was indeed a surprise. I never knew him to be too big on the pink butterfly appliques, but hey, people change.
My brother arrives tomorrow. He was almost ready to board the wrong flight because ATA decided to declare bankruptcy and eliminate the flight we'd booked for him. Thanks, ATA.
More later. For now, hello. I missed you, too.
posted by Gregory at 9:57 PM
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About Me
- Name: Gregory A. Perez
- Location: Seattle, Wa., United States
I think I'm more interesting than I am.
Previous Posts
- kelp tail
- Numbed by our own civilization
- Fatter, happier
- Independent Studying
- The Arcade Fire, live @ Neumo's, Seattle, Wa.
- You are what you see
- Ghosts of Corregidor
- Be careful please
- Put the gun down
- Do everything to win...except cheat!
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