because he wanted the broken kite to soar

We'll miss you, Darryel!
RIP 1955-2004

Imelda coming to a screen near you

http://movies.go.com/movies/I/imelda_2003/index.html

This documentary by Ramona Diaz was a highlight screening of the Asian
American Film Fest earlier this year. The movie interviews Imelda
herself as well as her friends, enemies, and just about anyone else who
interacted with the former first lady of the Philippines. It
intersperses various viewpoints that allow the audience to try to
figure out what might be the truth. Is she the narcissistic power
hungry greedy diva? Or is she the compassionate loving "mother" of the
Philippines?

Landmark Theaters will be running screenings of the movie in Berkeley,
San Francisco, Denver, San Diego, I believe starting June 11. Check
local listings. They're still working on venues in LA.

on praying in buildings

spent Saturday, cramming myself and the SO into and out of elevators with well travelled furniture. the evening eating sushi. spent Sunday sitting across the street from church but didn't step foot in it. had good conversation with friends on her mother's porch. got a bit sun burnt her mom enjoys us there, people to cook for, hear our laughter. got reacquainted with an old teacher. spent Monday walking with my uncle and his daughter who will soon move away from home. he misses her already. watched Monsters Inc. in the afternoon. in the evening, travelled across the bay to pray with the family of my ex-boyfriend, whose mother passed away the week before. at one point in my life, i had imagined these people to some day be my family. in many ways, they are. today i went to work. got email of a friend's sudden passing. he left behind a young son. he was taking his son to Marineworld. right now, i'm going to finish up some work and take a walk, talk to trees, listen to birds, say a prayer in the sunlight. maybe tomorrow i will take the day off. pardon me if i take a few days off from being online.

excellent movies (rented or in the theaters) for the long weekend

Though I don't think I'll have much time to watch movies this weekend, here's a list of the recent ones we've enjoyed. I think I picked up my dad's habit of getting those 2 for $20 pre-viewed dvd sales at Blockbuster. Each time I go visit them, my dad's got even more dvds. Some are kind of stashed away and hidden (as if my mother is not going to find out that he bought more dvds again).

Anyway, here we go:

Kill Bill v2 not as much fighting as the first, true, but the fighting here is still rather enjoyable not so much because of the moves (you want moves, watch hong kong kung fu flicks) but for the emotion and the storyline that propel the fighting. it's not fighting just to fight, characters actually grow and get resolution from it. watch uma cheat death several times over.

Something's Gotta Give it's been a long time since I watched a movie that 1) had two characters in more than 2 minutes of consecutive dialogue and 2) had characters that could hold volumes of conversation with their eyes. of course, only jack and diane can pull it off, every nervous stance, every angle they turn their heads, the subtle expressions that convey the world.

Rushmore a dark romantic comedy about a 15 year old boy who pulls off incredible stunts by negotiating his way through life, yet falls for a teacher who breaks his heart. a bit of a rollercoaster as he makes and breaks people's worlds. fortunately he finds redemption, cuz he's a real asshole of a guy, near the end of the movie you'd kill him yourself. it's a miracle bill murray's character doesn't throttle the life out of him.

it's better than seamonkeys

For a while I let nature take its course in my fish tank, to which nature replied with an abundant colony of snails and two forms of algae.

OK, so that didn't quite work. Next step was to clean the tank which is a slower process than having the algae build because the algae sticks to everything and needs to be scrubbed off with serious muscle power.

After a few weeks I manage to clear away half of the 6 panels so that I could at least see my fish swimming. By that time only two fish remained: an orange molly and one tattered finned blue neon tetra. I attempted to rebuild the fish tank by getting those 15 for a buck feeder fish, but apparently they die if they haven't been eaten in a few days. Let me try this again.

For the second go round I got a clown loach that enjoys the finer dining of escargot. I noticed how the snails attempted to retreat out of the water, but eventually the striped one found them all. Now, I have to figure out what to feed it. I also picked up a couple of mollys and a pair of guppies. It's often a crapshoot sometimes when getting fish from the big pet stores. You just don't know if they're healthy or not sometimes. One molly and one guppy bit the dust today.

Then I noticed as I was feeding them there were these tiny things darting around the bottom of the tank and if I crossed my eyes a bit, I could focus to see that they were tiny fish. Fish fry! (as the Filipino stomachs grumble at the thought of crisp smelt just off the stove) No, no, no, baby fish, specifically guppies. Apparently I was lucky enough to get a pregnant guppy. So, it wasn't just a fat fish. How am I supposed to know what gender it is? Then again guppies are like the rabbits of the fish world.

Anyway, according to the websites guppies come out swimming specifically so they can run away from mama who will eat them "in order to save them from imminent threat" (of who, her?). I watch them dive in and around the plants, sticking close to the gravel floor. They're kind of grayish almost translucent. You can make out their big eyes ever on the watch for the behemoth tankers known as the other fish come along.

They eat the same stuff the big fish do, only that I have to grind the flakes more between my fingers. Some of the sites say i should separate the fry, but I don't really have another tank. I just hope that they can survive for a few more weeks, build up the bulk to hang with the big fish.

They hang out among the rocks and plants and don't venture too high where the current from the filter is strong.

Though I wanted to continue to scrub the algae build up on the walls, I guess it will have to wait. I don't want to give the fry asthma or anything. Life is hard enough as it is without me mucking with it. For now, I do my weekly checks of Nitrites, Ammonia, and pH (which should be negligible, none, and 6.5) and go cross-eyed trying to find all three of them.

So now I must allow nature to once again take its course, that is, until the snails show up again.

beds, dreams, and the like

So, I have a new bedset, courtesy of a friend. It was the first furniture her family bought after they came to the U.S. There are some nicks and scratches, but it's really solid furniture with the dovetail ends to secure the drawers together. Mahogany too, as if her family was trying to reclaim a bit of the Philippines by getting the nice tropical hardwood as opposed to the furniture of American Pine.

My friend doesn't need it anymore, but can't bear to sell it or simply leave it for Salvation Army. I understand. She'd rather hand it off to someone she knows will make good use of it, as well as understand their emotional value. These are significant things that mark the passage of the immigrant family: the first winter coat, the first car, the first bed. Each purchase claims more and more of this American life and in some ways brings them farther and farther away from their past life. These are big and important choices. Money is hard earned and must be well spent. I see that in the furniture.

I calculate back 30 years and think wow, this is a very serious purchase for a family. It's not modern, but it does have just a touch of old style in its curves. It's well crafted, dove tail joints instead of penny nails. Light detail of beads, a few other decor highlights, but not overly so nor gaudy. It's about building a quality, solid foundation for a new life.

I'm still not sure where to put all the furniture. But for sure it will mean that I will be getting rid of my futon bed. When I first moved out after college, my parents didn't think it was such a good idea. They thought the big bad world would eat me alive. I knew I needed a bed. My very own bed. Not like the one at home where I was pushed off of when any new guest came to stay. Knowing I needed to get the most out of the bed, needing it to be mobile and flexible, I chose a futon as would most college students. But since I had graduated, I made sure it had the thickest mattress I could get that could still be folded in half for a couch. I could at least afford that for myself.

This futon has followed me along through 3 different residences, served as an optional guest chair at several parties. Though the last time I did that I realized allowing people to use it as a couch interfered with slumber sleep, so no more couch converting for my bed. Which brought me to the point at which I realized it was time for a bed bed or as my cousin puts it, "a grown-up bed" similar to the "big girl's bed" when you were small.

Thus, my friend's email, and the acquisition of a bed bed. Yet another sign that the universe provides in its own way.

Consequently, I'm looking to also pass along my futon to a worthy successor. Two of my cousins, both heading off to college, want it. They are where I was 7 years ago, starting out, seeing their lives as temporary from one semester to the next not yet really committing to one thing or another, flexible and open to various living possibilities. They want a futon. It's easy to move, can be both a sofa and a bed which they find to be so cool.

These last few nights going to bed, a part of me will miss my futon. It was one of the first big purchases I ever made as a young adult. My first step to show my parents I could take care of myself. It was a sign too to them of my new independence, that I would no longer be under their roof. I think my aunts and uncles realize that too, which is why my cousins haven't gotten a futon yet, though it's something they've both wanted for a long time.

I had different dreams for my life on this futon, wrote different poems in the journal that sat by its bedside. Those are old dreams. So, though I'm getting an old bed (with a hardly used mattress for excellent lumbar support), it's time for me to dream new dreams, write new poems, imagine a new life for myself. You spend a third of your life sleeping, plenty of time to recreate oneself over and over again.

please no more

Evil Clown wants to know where to send the big spoon and fork for the upcoming wedding. Unfortunately a big spoon and fork will not be on the bridal registry, we have way too many of them. I can count 3 sets already in our combined possession. In a year, we're talking BIG @$$ garagesale. I can understand why fusion is such a difficult thing in physics. How do you combine two separate households together without anyone's world imploding?

BTW, check out Aquino & Marcos

Aquino & Marcos of a Filipino's dream who speak only in hay(na)ku are visiting NYC.

10 stories the world needs to know more about

From the UN, a list of 10 stories that the world news often overlooks. Not surprisingly, half of them are from Africa. If we think we know little about the people/country/cultures of the Middle East, then we know near nil about the continent of Africa except that Charlize Theron is from South Africa, and that's only if you were paying attention during the Oscars.

In particular, a story on how women play a crucial role in rebuilding for peace as well as the economic strains of maintaining peace.

freecycle

We often keep closets full of stuff because it's still good stuff. And nothing feeds a guilty conscience more than throwing good stuff away. But, you don't have friends who you think would want your stuff, you can probably find someone on these many yahoogroup lists at Freecycle.org or you can post to Craigslist to find a loving benefactor of your stuff.

The garage sale group we casually formed is now growing with 7 folks and 3-4 side people who throw in a table or two to the lot. I mean, you have to be collecting a lot of stuff to be able to have a garagesale for 20 years to have a garagesale on your own. With a group of people it's less painful. So if you're in Alameda this Sunday and you need a kitchenette set, come to 1112 Chestnut St (cross street Encinal) from 9am to 2pm. I hear we'll have a set of golf clubs as well. Special deals for whatever is left in the last hour.

It's good for your karma.

it's on

Ok, we have seriously begun the plans for marriage. well, we've discussed it before amongst the two of us...sure...but now we've also put the engagement party date on my parent's calendar, estimated the cost of a wedding with my sister, and are now actively looking at websites and locations, and working on creating the all important guest list. The ball is certainly rolling now.

The other day in the financial group we're in, our teacher was describing how his life changed once he was married and how they handled different things, like who would pay the bills, how the marriage becomes bigger than the both of you.

I'm finding it difficult to concentrate on work today, my mind being overrun by wanting to surf through wedding sites. We do have more than a year, which helps.

Another plus side is that I have my wedding veil. My cousin had gotten it from the Philippines, as she is getting most of her wedding stuff from there (invitations, dresses, etc), but its shimmer didn't match her dress, so she had to get another one. So, she offered the first one to me.

I again spent last weekend at another family party, a baptism for my cousin's daughter. They're Baptist, so I find it the rituals quite fascinating as they differ from Catholicism. There's a lot more prayer (a LOT more prayer) and no pouring of water. The parents just get a jar of it. Marriage and motherhood have been really good for my cousin, who was looking stunningly happy. Lots of little girls and babies running around which is becoming more of the norm at parties.

Spent most of the baptism ceremony watching another niece each Pringles chips, the way she would open and close the container just hoping that maybe the next time there would be more chips, instead of the last crumbs she poured onto her hand or the ones she picked off of her shirt. 3 year olds still believe in the magic of something coming out of nothing.

Right now, I'm taking a few breaths attempting to gather a few moments before I answer my mother's email about primary sponsors.

Friday evening on the 51

"Excuse me, which stop is this?" the man with the white brimmed hat asks me across the bus aisle.

"San Pablo." I reply.

"Oh ok," as he searches for the button to request the stop. "Do you believe in God?"

"Excuse me?" I ask, not sure if I heard him clearly, a bit hesitant hoping he's not too evangelical, "um...yes?"

"Then this is for you," as he reaches into his paper lunch bag and pulls out a freshly cut rose, "God loves you."

"Thank you." The petals of the center rose just opening, surrounded by four closed buds.

I inhaled it's alluringly sweet scent past the boarded up buildings with brown grasses growing from the roof gutter and through the mists of diesel exhaust.

impressing the "friends"

A few days before the big housewarming at my aunt's I get an email from her son asking if I can bring some of the board games and other amusements. The family has gotten into a phase of playing various board games during family parties. Most of the cousins aren't old enough to really party, much less drive and quite a few of the older ones have kids, so no galavanting for them. Thus, the board games, while the aunts and uncles gamble.

Scrabble is our main game with its variant of Take One. The younger kids love Twister. And when EVERYONE is in town, my brother got us addicted to Mafia, which inevitably makes most of us lose our voices. But, our latest addiciton is Cranium, a game that combines just about every game out there: name that tune, pictionary, charades, word play with their slight variations like humming a tune, pictionary with the artist's eyes closed or using clay instead of paper.

My cousin asks because he has friends coming over to the party and he wants to impress upon them how "fun" of a family we are. So, I think, sure, ok.

We get to the party and my cousin's friends come in. We soon pick up the pattern, they're all girls. My cousin is what 14 years old. This should be interesting. My initial impression is that my cousin must be the "nice guy" in class who is always sweet and courteous to the girls. Considering that the majority of the cousins are women and that they are all his ate how could he not be the nice guy.

They spend most of the afternoon upstairs hanging out in the bedrooms with the other teenage cousins. As the party settles a bit, they come downstairs, where he goes to the piano and plays them his newly learned pop love songs. He's an excellent piano player. His friends sit on the couches. They look interminably bored. Though the SO notes that one of them was impressed by his piano skills and sat beside him with her hand on his shoulder. I'm sure we'll ask him all the intrusive and teasing questions at the next party. yup!

It's not often that we get to meet the friends of our family members. So it's always interesting to see the friends they hang out with. It's another side to them we don't often see. Being on the old end of the cousin spectrum, I've watched a lot of them grow up from being the 2 and 3 year olds that were running around that night, to some of them who are now in college and dealing with bigger issues of the heart than simply "impressing" the friends. It's nice to see that we're all basically good folk.

I don't keep track of the names of "cousin's friends" until I start to see them at several of the family parties. And then I don't really find out people's last names until I see them on the wedding invitation. There are just too many of us to occupy that much brain space.

quiet, sleep, and mangos with bite marks

The SO's sister and family left on Sunday. After they left, we took a nap. It was certainly fun having them here, creating a constant bustle from morning til night. But, it also wore us out a bit, a fun kind of fatigue. I can hear the bells in my fountain now that the 3 year old isn't making attempts to snatch them out of the water and I get a couple more hours of sleep.

I've come to realize why it's necessary for a "village" to raise a child, because two parents just aren't enough. From my calculations, you need at least four. A child just wears down two parents, but by the time the kid gets to the third and fourth adult (whether they be the babysitter or grandparents or aunts/uncles), the kid knows it's got boundaries to stay behind. A friend of mine read that a kid needs the nuclear family, extended family, and community family to develop good relationships with each to be well balanced.

On Saturday, we all went to my aunt's housewarming. It was a crazier party than most since they also invited people from work and their neighbors. We were waiting to see how the 3 year old would react to the other kids and vice versa (particularly the 2 year old with a tiger claw grab). The SO's niece or pamangkin did quite well. She tried to pet and kiss the kids younger than her. Though she doesn't quite have the fine touch of stroking so every hand movement is a smack. Apparently, she shows affection to their cat in this way as well. Good to see she has the instinct to care for the kids smaller than her.

She did become infatuated with a little 2 year old boy in overalls, who would run in terror behind her mother as the pamangkin approached. His mother said that usually he's the aggressor. Pamangkin tried grapping at his overalls, snatched his bottle. Though we're not sure now whether she liked him or simply liked his styling Osh Kosh overalls, which she wears often at the babysitters.

The family was quite surprised to see me holding and disciplining this new small child. You can see in their eyes imagining me soon with one of my own. My cousin asks, "who's kid is that? yours?" To which I replied, "yeah. I've been hiding her for 3 years."

The pamangkin enjoyed running around the backyard and up and down the steps. Everyone thought she was just so cute. She would come up to just about anyone with food and stare at their plate then at them. She always got them to give her food. Thus the throwing up episode later in the evening. What's the phrase, "takaw mata"? When your eyes get greedy for food?

I attempted several times to give the pamangkin a nap, but she wasn't used to the constant din of noise surrounding her and just couldn't rest. Kids growing up in my family learn to sleep through anything and just about anywhere.

At one point, my uncle played the "Ocho, Ocho" song to which the 2 year old and another 3 year old niece bounced their bodies to. When you really look at that song, there's a lot of sexual implications in the song and the dance movement, and the words don't make any sense, but it's perversely funny when toddlers dance to it. Go figure.

The SO chased the pamangkin around for most of the evening, up and down the flight of steps, yanking her away from the smaller kids before she showed them her slightly violent affection. My cousin's told him that his hair was turning white.

Though the pamangkin doesn't talk much, she seemed to talk more at the party. Calling for her mama, and dada and even replying to the question, "How old are you?" with a "tre" which sounded like three. Show off.

Around 10pm, it seemed like all the little kids had hit their over the edge beyond their bedtime adrenalin rush. They were all going nuts, zipping back and forth, grabbing at anything that was still in reach, up and down the stairs, then bumping their heads or falling which lead them to fits of screaming. Despite the 20 to 1 adult to kid ratio, it felt like we were being inundated with kids.

At about 10:30 we left, as did the other kiddie families. Besides, it was past Uncle's bedtime. As soon as we put pamangkin in the carseat, she was out to dreamland. And by the time we got home and put her to bed, so was Uncle.

When they packed the SUV to go home, it took us about 5 shopping carts full of stuff to get it all loaded: clothes, blankets, pillows, food, etc. AND they STILL forgot the pamangkin's chair and tray table. Tigger now sits in the chair keeping it warm til their next visit.

It's quiet here now. I'm sure the neighbors to the side are glad there is no more screaming during bath time and toothbrush time. I'm sure the neighbors below are glad there are no more tiny stomping feet and the thud of every little thing that the pamangkin would through to the ground. My refridgerator has a few mangos with her bite marks in them. She liked to steal mangos from the box and take a bite out of them. She's a true Pinay, likes to suck on the mango bone.

In many ways their visit reaffirmed my desire to have kids of my own one day. It's a life I could see myself leading. The SO's not sure if he'll survive. I think the responsibility of it all scares him. Though I think that when it's time, he'll realize it's not about him anymore and he'll have to put aside his fears to simply do what he has to do, because if he doesn't, who will? He asks his sister how she does it. She looks at him as if not understanding the question. You can see Yoda's advice as she prepares the bottles of milk and juice for the day. "Do or do not, there is no try." I'm sure he'll discover aspects about himself he never realized. I'm sure he'll do fine.

and the comments winner is...

I've decided to continue to use the old comments service and not the blogger one. Blogger only allows blogger people to have a name, while everyone else not in the "circle" has to be anonymous. I'd rather not segregate the "in" or the "out" crowd. Everyone should be free to have a name or not.

getting back my bearings

will blog more of the 3 year old adventure soon. for now, i'm getting my bearings and my sleep.

Hey, Ver, guro95 finally introduced himself to me. Small world! Of course, the two martial artists that post to your blog just happen to be teachers from the same Kali school. We've been fighting/sparring with each other for 10 years.

I spent Saturday afternoon defending real knife attacks from guro95 open hand during seminar. Dreadfully frightening, but my my sweater is still intact. Guro95 has fine control. (Kali fashion tip: Wear long sleeve shirts to knife seminar, even if it's the hottest day of the year)

testing isa, dalawa, tatlo

trying to test out this new comments feature from blogger. if it works out well, I may take out the other comment system. So at the end of the post, comments made with the link to the left of my name is the old system. new comment system on the right.

What's the real difference?

What's the difference between "children's apple juice" and regular "apple juice"? My guess is that it's just a marketing ploy cuz anything with a special adjective justifies the increased price.

The wisdom of three year olds

Luisa said her 3-year old told her after an outting with her older siblings, "There are so many things to love." or some other cutesy awww-inspiring kind of effect.

The SO's niece is now three. She still hasn't decided to speak to anyone. But she still knows how to work her game. Last night when I was sitting at the computer, she would come in, look at me, then run out, constantly. However, when Uncle was there, she would make sure to touch something or pick something up. Cuz she knows Uncle will say, "noooo" then come chase her. This morning, with Uncle away, she doesn't care to touch a thing. I just look at her and think, "you're messing with uncle, aren't you?"

I think she just likes how people react to her, tests the waters to see how far they will jump. Then run off giggling at the results. Last night, she got into experimenting with biting into an orange unpeeled. Her parents were a bit worried, but I stopped them and said, no wait, let's see what kind of face she makes when she realizes orange rind is really bitter. She chewed on the orange zest, but when she hit the white stuff it fell out of her mouth right away.

She seems to prefer physical communication like smacking you to get your attention. This morning, instead of waking mom, she decides auntie might be fun to play with as she crawls up on my bed and crawls over me, pressing her weight into my stomach with palms and knees. She looks at me, seeing if I'm going to get up and play with her. Instead I just roll over and go back to sleep. She makes continued quiet attempts for me to join her in the early morning. Too bad Auntie is not a morning person. Then her mom wakes up and drags her off of my bed. She hasn't quite figured out what will make me jump yet.

But she knows I've figured out a few of her games. Sitting in a metal high chair at a restaurant she decides to entertain herself by kicking the metal frame creating tons of noise. Telling her to stop doesn't work, but taking away her shoes does. Kicking hurts when you don't have shoes. She spends the rest of the evening staring and observing other restaurant patrons.

I wonder what I will be like when I have kids. If I can retain this demeanor. The SO already sees the layers of hair ready to be lost to fret and worry. Though I'm sure he'll have a trim figure running after them. Kids will always test your boundaries, see what they can get away with, with whom. I've watched a generation of cousins do the same exact things to their parents. I'm the auntie/cousin that can't be scammed so easily. But I'm sure my own kids will make their attempts to get one past mom, I wouldn't expect it any other way.

10lbs of food, 30 lbs of books, and a ton of fun with the bomb @$$ pinays and other folk

Today my iCal is packed with stuff to do in three different locations, a fine balance of family, friends, poetry, and community.

The SO's sister and family are in town sleeping on several blankets in the remaining space on my bedroom floor. They have a three year old, who doesn't want to speak in coherent English language yet, but who can still get her point across with a shrill scream and giggly conspiratorial laughter.

Decided to bring the families together and have Mother's Day at Japantown's Umeko Seafood Buffet (which I completley recommend for overabundant eating). My mom enjoys when they visit. She gets to be called Lola and chase tiny feet pounding on the ground. A fun time eating, walking through different stores (like the jewelry store that had a whole bunch of stuff 50% off), chasing the 3 year old up and down steps.

From there, they dropped me off at the San Francisco Public Library for the Pinay Panel with everybody on it (Reme, Leny, Jean, Eileen, Luisa, Barbara, with Melissa Nolledo being both videographer/photographer). I catch the last hour and half of talk and questions. It was quite a range of thoughts and discussion from academia's perception of wanting "mainstream" publication as opposed to smaller press, impressions on the status of writing coming from the Philippines today, a question asking if there were any Pinoy writers.

I thought that was interesting because I remember a time when the panels and readings that I attended were mostly Pinoy writers with the same one Pinay sitting amongst them, and the question that often came up was, "where are all the women?" and "are there any women?" When most people could name off the list of Carlos Bulosan, NVM Gonzales, and other male writers, while Jessica Hagedorn was just about the only woman anyone could name. Not that that's Jessica's fault, but it does speak to the notion that more and more names are being added to the pool.

I'm glad there were a lot of good and interesting questions and comments. The Q&A is often a crap shoot I think for good questions that evoke more dialogue. I've gone to panels, like Barbara said, that feel like the audience harassing you with simply comments about themselves and not really comments about what's going on. Or ones where no one has a question and everyone just stares at each other blankly.

Afterwords, people lined up to buy several of the books and anthologies. I'd like to hear from Linda Nietes (many of the books were kindly supplied by her) whether this panel was truly a "money maker," since another bookseller did not think it was a profittable venture.

We helped Reme and Luisa lighten their carry on baggage requirements by either buying out the rest of the books or shipping them book rate. I've often done that at readings. Buy an extra one or two copies to sell them out and give them later as gifts. Give them to my cousins and other folks who "didn't realize Filipinos publish, much less write."

Good to finally meet Reme in person! My second time meeting Luisa. Our last meeting was like a "blind date" in Chicago several years back where I didn't know what she looked like and left a copy of her book clearly visible on the table as I waited at Borders. I even ran into the mother of the only other Filipino in my sister's elementery school class. (There were like 3 other Filipino families, and a handful of Asians back then.)

We take a few group pictures. The line of women seems to get longer and longer. We talk about gardening. Luisa says she's been known to kill a cactus and comment about Farmer Chatelaine's innobatib approach to aerating the soil with black stilletos. New York Haute Culture meets California Valley. You know those Pinays are so resourceful.

Reme and Luisa didn't have time to come to the maganda reception across the bay. So, Jean, Eileen, Barbara, and I jumped into Jean's 4WD with bags, boxes, and arm fulls of books in search for sangria and grub over the bridge, which we found at Cafe Valpariso next to the La Pena venue holding the reception. The car chit chat consisted in part of Eileen's realization that she truly IS a FILIPINO mother, when she spoils Achilles and has guilty pangs when he's not eating all his food. Can you tell a dog that he better eat all his food because there are starving dogs in the Philippines that don't get any food at all?

The maganda reception is already on, but food and sangria come first. Can't expect Barbara and Eileen to do the poetry reading on an empty stomach. Feed the poet to feed the poetry.

I love the cafe at La Pena because everything is good. You got to love a restaurant where the toughest decision is which delicious meal you want to eat, when you really can't choose. The waiter brings us the sangria pouring out each of the glasses for us. When he returns with glasses of water, he brings a red rose for each of us. How perfect is that?

I guess it was red roses for Mother's Day and though I'm not a mother, I'd like to think that the rose was for the maternal natures in all women, for not only the children we take care of, but also the families, animals, plants, poetry and communities that we nurture and grow on a daily basis. So, glasses raised, for a lovely toast to poetry.

Best part of the cafe is that just about everything in the place is good. You can't go wrong with any of the choices. I had the Lechon Asado with black beans and plaintains. Barbara's sirloin tips dish was delish and the pastry for the empanada was quite delicate and crisp. Barbara runs inside the event to check out the program and to let them know that yes, we're here on time and to come get us when they are ready.

Cherry comes and grabs Barbara as we finish paying the bill. Barbara reads a few pieces from the current issue and sends us off with a Virgin Mary poem. A DJ mixes a few beats in between performers, while Eileen's bio is read. Barbara and I are maganda veterans, both having been a major part of several early issues. For me, it's the group that got me involved in community, taught me a lot about how to organize a panel and event, as well as got me in touch with a lot of fabulous writers. Eileen talks about how she had heard about maganda over 5 years ago while still in New York.

And when I watch her read on stage, I recall the first time I met Eileen. It was at the SF Book Fair where several Pin@y writers were present with a panel. And I had a copy of maganda #10 on hand to deliver her contributor's copy. I approached her when she was standing on a stage just like the one in La Pena. She would tell me later, one of her first thoughts was, "damn, a really tall Pinay."

Barbara and Eileen are followed by someone named Vin. He must be well known to the maganda crowd to just be Vin. Vin plays the piano. I comment, "a truly Filipino event, with a piano recital." Vin is quite talented and plays a song he wrote in the current musical vein of the slightly raspy voice of the singer/composer about losing love and knowing you weren't the one. Later on he's introduced at one of the upcoming editors, so not only is he talented, he's a glutton for punishment. I wish him well.

Some of the maganda staff are surprised to see me here as I congratulate them on the publication of the new issue. Their eyes kind of widen when they recognize my name. I guess my years with maganda are an eternity to them. They are my brother's age. I'm not sure what he remembers of being dragged to Berkeley when he was like 13 to various maganda meeting locales. Though it astounds me year after year the ability of each staff to continue with this publication and to recreate it each year. We're talking 15 years of publications. And the communities and families we created from these bonds have continued, as now the early generation of maganda staff and contributors are all out with their own books, Barbara, Maiana, and Joel Tan, while numerous others continue with various creative pursuits.

Afterwards, we take our roses, books, well fed stomachs and well nourished souls home. Barbara calls it an efficient day that is quite satisfying on various levels.

I head to my parents place for yet another meal with the families, while playing phone tag with the SO cuz he's gotten them lost in Piedmont on the way to my parent's house on the Oakland border. Perhaps "lost" isn't quite the word, maybe it's "not quite found." They were in the right direction, just couldn't make that one last turn to get them there. Tikbalang and Capri enjoy scenic routes.

Another Philippine National Artist

This from Wily:

http://www.inq7.net/brk/2004/may/06/brkpol_9-1.htm

National artist Jose Maceda dies at 87
Posted: 10:58 AM (Manila Time) | May 06, 2004
INQ7.net with GMA 7

NATIONAL Artist for music Jose Maceda died due to a lung ailment at his
Quezon City home, GMA Network's "Flash Report" said.

He was 87.

Maceda's death at 10 p.m. Wednesday came a week after National Artist for
literature Nick Joaquin died due to cardiac arrest.

His remains will be brought to the Abelardo Hall at the University of the
Philippines in Diliman, Quezon City, where he taught piano and
ethnomusicology from 1952 to 1990.

Maceda was proclaimed a National Artist in 1997. His acclaimed compositions
include Ugma-ugma (1963), Pagsamba (1968), and Udlot-udlot (1975).

See also his entry at the UCLA Ethnomusicology Archive
(http://www.ethnomusic.ucla.edu/Archive/biomaceda.htm), and the blurb for
his one US-released disc on Tzadik
(http://www.tzadik.com/CDSections/ComposerSeries/maceda.html), though
there's something wrong with the dates there...

cab ride home

Was getting used to taking cabs in New York, except for the last one that took us to the airport. He apparently sensed that these tourists hadn't gotten the quintessential NYC cab ride, so he obliged. Doesn't help when you hadn't slept at all and had had several glasses of champagne and other alcohol only a handful of hours before. We both tried to "sleep" rather than watch the world spin by in jerky stop and start movements.

After drinks at Cafe Van Kleef (Mexican beer with shot of Tequilla special) and a very stuffed dinner with Barbara Jane at Anita's Mexican Restaurant (how could you not have Mexican on Cinco de Mayo?), I take BART to MacArthur, then decide to take a cab home rather than wait at the bus stop with the wind chill going up my skirt.

It's no more than a 10 minute drive to my place. The driver is Asian Indian, more specifically Punjabi, as he wore a purple turban. He asks me as we turn the corner, where I am from because I have no accent. I tell him I was born and raised in Oakland, but my parents are from the Philippines.

Kumusta ka?

"Mabuti", I reply. He had gone to the Philippines several times: Manila, Ilo-ilo, Cebu, Batangas. He's gone to more islands than I've ever seen. He asks if I speak Tagalog. I answer that I learned in school but my parents speak another Filipino language. He's been in the US for 45 years.

When I went to the Philippines with my family one year, a friend of my sister joined us. She was Punjabi from the central valley. Filipinos referred to her as Bombay (bohm-bye). As Filipinos leave the Philippines to seek opportunity, I suppose that there are others who come to the Philippines for just the same reason.

I chat with the cab driver some more. He asks what I do for a living.

He drops me off, I pay him the fare with tip. He says, "Salamat!." He waits for me to get my keys and enter the building. Nice guy.

When I get to my living room, I realize I've left my cell phone in his cab. I call it, hoping he picks up and hoping I didn't drop it someplace else. He answers. I think I left my cell phone in your cab.

"Is this the girl from the Philippines? Would you like me to drive it over?"

Yes. Thank you, yes!

I wait for him outside. He pulls up again. Tells me how his phone sounds exactly the same as my phone. Lucky that he heard it ringing, else his next fare might have found it and kept it. He asks me where I got my cell phone. I tell him from work.

He asks me if I'm married. I've learned not to read too much into this question when men ask it. Men seem to need to know the marital status of women whether or not they're interested, whether or not they themselves are seeing someone. I tell him I'm in a relationship with plans.

He shakes my hand through the cab window, "Well then, Mahal din kita!" I think to myself, "OK." But figure he's trying out as many Tagalog phrases he knows.

I hand him a few more dollars for his kindness and his trouble. I ask him what his name is and how to say thank you in his language. Rahki, danaba! He waves as he drives off.

The Ten Commandments

Maybe they should write this in stone and put it up next to every elected officials office. The grandest one should sit right at Malacanyang's gate.

My favorite #5: Thou shall not kill other candidates, members of political parties and party list groups & voters.

And here we are in the U.S. worried about whether we should use electronic voting devices, counting hanging chads, and whether people who are qualified to vote actually exercise their rights to vote.

East Bay, Baby!

East Bay Express in the annual best of the east bay poll picked Mango Mic at Pusod as the regions best open mic (every second Saturday of the month). Plus you might be able to catch at Mango Mic their pick for best Spoken Word Artist, Rupert Estanislao, of Proletariat Bronze and V-town band Ekapo.

Tonight, heading to EBExpress' Best Bar pick, Cafe Van Kleef to have drinks with Barbara Jane in belated celebration of tres y tres anos underneath Jesus laying on a bed of roses.

What more could you ask for on a Wednesday?

Okir Haynaku

Loving
the changing
artwork at Okir

Like
watching leaves
turn in autumn.

Ingat, Patrick

Patrick Rosal is getting the ebay itch. Ebay is so addicting. It's great that you can find just about anything you want for just the right price. But it's oh so tempting to kick in that competitive nature and overbid on an item just so you can be king of hill. You can get a lot of good stuff. You can also get stuck with a lot of junk.

Cousin Patrick on the other hand is just back to the other sunny coast from being an alternate in the Jeopardy Tournament of Champions. He continues to fill his mind with other random information like real *ridiculous* laws in Florida. I'm tempted to fly out there and break the whole list of them.

Time

Saturday was my essentially last gig with Palabuniyan Kulintang Ensemble for a while at least. I've been slowly letting go of things trying to make time for other things, like a fast approaching big event in my life. I may find time some time in the future to return, maybe not, it was a good couple of years while it lasted. You can't beat getting a chance to listen to brass and bronze gongs ring week after week. And for that opportunity, I am grateful.

Being such a go getter, time has always been precious and limiting. But timing is just as important as time, knowing when it's time to move on and change direction.

It wasn't my best show. Then again it was a really long day. I did enjoy the Asian Arts Museum gig. We got to show little kids dance moves in Pangalay. There's nothing like getting a chance to play with kids. That gig was done at 3:30 and I had 2 hours to kill before meeting back up at ODC theater for the night's show, so I decided to explore the city a bit.

There was some kind of festival in Civic Center, which my its odiferous presence soon found out it was a ganja/crank/weed/marijuana festival. You could get high just standing there, a thick haze like a marijuana fog just hovered. Several stands selling hemp items, alternative medicines, pipes, and for 2 for $10 some enhanced baked goods. Two stages: one mostly bands, the other with several speakers preaching to the very high choir.

I didn't need to get a serious buzz before performing so headed to the Mission. Got off on 24th and walked my way back to 17th where ODC is located. There were less eatery places than I had thought there were. Perhaps it's because most of those restaurants are over on Valencia. I rarely walk the Mission during the day. I'm usually there in the evening for events. It's a totally different neighborhood by day. Most of the stores were discount shops: thrift stores, payless shoe stores, odd and end knick knack stores where you could get high off the smell of cheap new plastic and rubber.

Many of the shops are run by Asians who speak enough Spanish to close the deal on an item. I got a pair of cute tsinelas for $2. Inside there were several older Filipino women contemplating the floral patterns on kitchen curtains and fake flowers with light up fiberglass strands. Barely getting through the crowded aisles, it was the kitch that all immigrant households seemed to be made of: clocks that chime fake bird calls, fiberglass ornamental arrangements, and just about every plastic kitchen utensil you can imagine.

I stop at a Guatamalan restaurant for an order of tamales, which had a richer flavor wrapped in banana leaf than the usual corn wrapped tamales. Based on the menu, Guatamalans seem to like their soup and roast chicken.

Just past 17th, I stop in at Brendan Lai's Martial Arts Store. This spot has been here for decades and is a bit of must see place for various weapons, mostly Chinese swords. I hear if you're a regular, they might show you the even better stuff that they have in the back. I am not a regular and let myself be content with the showcase offerings. I did find some spears and staffs that I had been looking for that I might pick up on another day.

Walking through the Mission makes me want to walk the Fruitvale district in Oakland more often. Oakland always has the lesser known neighborhood cousins of SF: Chinatown, Fruitvale. Though the seedy reputation of deep east Oakland tends to overshadow anything that might happen in Bay View Hunter's Point or the rest of the city for that matter. Now that I have some time, I might just get a chance to do that.

because I had to find a way to say it

I was writing a post about the visit we took to WTC, but then my computer crashed because it was folding too many proteins and I lost the post. I figured it was one of those things and that I had to rewrite the post again. But rewriting it was harder than I thought it would be. So, I'll try it again.

WTC

The E line's last stop is WTC. It is our last stop for the day. We take our time as the SO calculates light and shadow figuring that it be best to arrive there later in the day rather than early morning. So we meander to B&H Photo, the mecca for photographers and videographers run by Hasidic Jews. One stands frozen for several minutes before finally deciding which section to begin browsing in.

The SO and I had discussed our reasons for wanting to go to WTC. It seemed more than just "to see." Only going there would really answer that question. I had never seen the buildings when they were standing, so I can only imagine how large they might have been, based on the numerous tourist kitch that contains their image, how they truly embodied the word "skyscraper." I wonder if it was like looking at the giant sequoias, and we are the birds and squirrels and animals running up and down its limbs and branches.

The train empties to a larger plaza where most of the people rush back and forth from the ferries that take you to New Jersey and cities like Hoboken. (which until this day had only been in my mind a city from where the penguin who cries ice cubes on a Bugs Bunny cartoon hailed) There is a large pane window where the sunlight pours from the construction site. The natives pass by this everyday. The tourists are drawn to the sunlight, take pictures and videotape.

We walk up the steps to the sidewalk. There is an old chapel surrounded by trees and Century Department Store that boasts the lowest prices in town. Shopping and Religion. There are numerous tourists here reading the signs on the metal fence outlining the center's history. How they consolidated 14 city blocks to form these 7 buildings. I had heard that the towers were so tall they sat along the flight path of migrating geese, thousands of which died upon it's glassy surface by instinct or habit.

Throughout the rest of the city, the wind breezes and swirls past you in gusts tossing even the tips of my long hair into the air. Here, it comes softly with no cliff faces to tumble upon. Even the wind knows, this is a place to slow down and contemplate. The rusting I-Beam cross stands marking the memorial that has come to repeat itself around the world of the day the building fell.

There is a flautist hoping his patriotic songs will embolden people to drop pocket change into his cup. He plays American Revolution fife songs. Marching peppy songs. Somehow, this soundtrack seems inappropriate to the feelings and thoughts I am having.

I am not familiar with buildings. I am familiar with holes. Like the one on Kearney in SF, holes fill with stories of the lives that are attached to this place. In densely populated SF and NY, spaces like these left open are painful reminders like raw sores. The outcry is almost always to build another building to replace the one that stood. Square footage is too expensive not to. A friend thinks it should be made into a park. My coworker thinks they should build an even grander building, one that rivals the tallest buildings in the world as in Asia, so that America can have the grandest structure in the world.

I read the names of the people killed September 11, their names listed for everyone to see. And I wonder about the names of people who will never be listed here. The names of the military who have died in Afghanistan and Iraq, the people of Afghanistan and Iraq. I will never be able to see their names nor their faces. How many lives, I wonder, will fill this hole.

My coworker tells me seeing the hole makes him angry. Angry at the people who took away his chance to see these monuments of grand architecture. He sees concrete and steel as men and women. It is much more tangible this way.

I cannot help but feel remorse and regret. This destruction is the consequence of our actions. A chain of cause and effect that perhaps has been cultivated for generations to bring us to this moment. Did the people that day deserve to die? Was it their time? What of the ones that die each day? What did we truly lose that day? Is it so easily counted like bricks and bodies?

When something is taken away, our instinctive reaction is to fill it, to replace, to bring everything back to the way it once was to turn back time. We dislike space. Space is chaos easily filled with any probability. We don't like chaos we want predictability even if that predictability comes at a greater cost. We would rather fill space with something tangible. The new buildings will bring new business and people and money. A park cannot be so easily itemized.

The precision of the tragedy is artful. Only two other buildings across from the center still have considerable and visible damage yet the structures are still viable and standing. Scientists study how the towers were able to fall straight down as opposed to wiping out a few other city blocks by tumbling to the side. But that's what happens with focus so pure. It's easy to get caught up in the beauty of a sword strike only to forget the amount of destruction even beauty can possess.

I remembered I spent the evening of Sept 11, 2001 teaching Kali. It fell on a Tuesday. It was warm. Class was outside. We closed class by forming a circle. The students closed their eyes concentrated on their breathing. I walked to each person, placed one hand behind their back, the other in front of their chest and prayed. I don't remember what I prayed. I only remembered that my teacher had done this once with his students. It seemed appropriate for me to do the same now. Perhaps I prayed that they may find their way through the chaos, to not be afraid and to fill this space with love. I don't know. But it's what I prayed for before getting back on the train.

This Saturday: kulintang

Palabuniyan Kulintang Ensemble will be performing this Saturday at the Asian Art Museum 1:30pm and a full show at ODC Theater at 8pm.

You might even catch me tapping on the babandir (timekeeper) or dancing with a malong.

"Our owner isn't named George"
the back of a Mets fan's shirt

When you think of NY baseball, you think of the Yankees, the Bronx Bombers. But the Boston Red Sox know of the other NY team that always gets second billing...the Mets.

Baseball is one of my favorite sports to watch live. Football is too expensive. Basketball goes too fast to see anything good from the nosebleed section you're in. Baseball is the best thing live and in person where even though you're in nosebleed country a fly ball just might head your way to let you touch the game.

On top of going to the local stadiums (PacBell and the Coliseum), I've also gone to Wrigley and sat in the center field bleachers with the ivy. That was simply fabulous! So, since we're in NY, we might as well try to catch a game. Even if you're poor, there's always cheap seats somewhere (bleachers and nosebleed) that will get you through the door.

We take the train to Queens and Flushing Meadows, home to Shea stadium and Arthur Ashe Tennis Arena. The SO enjoys his digital camera and takes hundreds of photos of people's backyards, graffitti on the walls, and all the other views of NYC he can get. The people on the train give him a slight sideways look, mentally note that he seems harmless yet are curious to know what he's doing.

We pick up the best seats we can get, field level right field. Mets are playing the Pittsburgh Pirates. I actually don't keep up with baseball stats or root exclusively for one team, though I'll have to say that I'm more of an Oakland A's fan than a Giants one.

The SO is a Dodger blue. They are sacred. He will kick you out of his house if you disparage the Dodger blue.

For me, I just want a good game, a close game that hinges on the slightest pitch, error, or throw. That would not be the case today. Today was a blowout of the Pittsburgh Pirates with most of the Mets fans leaving by the end of the 7th inning, not even long enough to stay for the 7th inning stretch.

Mr. Met, their mascot, comes around in the 5th inning to boost people's morale. Mr. Met is essentially a guy with a big huge baseball of a head, kind of like a cousin to Jack from the Jack-in-a-Box fast food franchise. See, Mets demand respect, that's "MR." Met to you, buddy!

There were numerous young kids near us as part of their Autism Awareness Day. They yelled to baseball players to throw a ball their way. For a few it was their first time at a live baseball game, they commented at "how small" players looked and how watching a game was much better on their high definition tvs at home. At first they were rooting for the Mets. But by the 8th they were yelling "Let's go Pirates! Let's go!" to which an adult fan who was 1) already pissed his team was being blown out and 2) thoroughly irritated by having a dozen 10 year olds around him quickly seethed, "SHUT UP!" which sent a string of fear in their eyes. A few minutes later another boy who apparently didn't hear the irritated man before tried to start the cheer up again but was quickly quelled by his peers, "ssshhhh...someone's going to yell at you! You're going to get mugged!" Children learn so fast.

It was a gorgeous day out. Perfect baseball weather. A plane every few minutes riding quickly (I believe from La Guardia). By the time we get to the last Mets batter with two strikes, the park is simply a wasteland with only a handful of (probably Pirates) fans still left. We stay too. Though the momentum is against them, the thing about baseball is that there is always a chance to turn the game around, unlike in basketball and football where you can calculate that it will be humanly impossible to score x number of points in y number of seconds. Until that last strike is called or the last fly ball is caught there is always hope. Just not today.

NICK JOAQUIN (1917-2004)
Rest well, may your words linger long past these days.

"He lifted his dripping face and touched his bruised lips to her toes; lifted his hands and grasped the white foot and kissed it savagely - kissed the step, the sole, the frail ankle - while she bit her lips and clutched in pain at the windowsill, her body distended and wracked by horrible shivers, her head flung back and her loose hair streaming out of the window - streaming fluid and black in the white night where the huge moon glowed like a sun and the dry air flamed into lightning and the pure heat burned with the immense intense fever of noon." (from 'The Summer Solstice' in Tropical Gothic, 1972)

West Side Intermission

Congrats to cousin Pat who gets to be an alternate for the Jeopardy Tournament of Champions. I guess if one of the top 15 chokes or bails he's in, kind of like being runner up in Miss America. So, they fly him out for a couple days of tourism and watch the taping of the show.

Spent the weekend in food. Had the SO's bro visit a day after we got back from NYC. Lucky him it was my uncle's birthday party with the spread of good eating. But first we hit up the Vallejo Farmer's Market in search of Ilokano style marinated baby bangus and longanisa. There's a woman there who sells it on Georgia Street at the Market. Alas, she's not there this weekend. Unfortunately she only goes to that market so you have to take your chances. But all is not lost! One of the fresh fish sellers is offering a slab of ahi tuna, sashimi grade for $5/lb (supermarket price $15-$20/lb). They forgot their knives so it's now or never. Their only cutting tool is half of a seashell. It's a lot of fish, but then again we're going to a party, and hard to beat a deal like that so we take the slab. As they add ice to the bag, I think of making kinilaw and Hawaiian Poke. I remember the taste of fresh kinilaw wherever I went in Mindanao. Most of my family won't eat raw fish. They think it's madumi. Then again we're from Pangasinan away from the coast and never get fish right from the sea.

But the surest bet for good eats at V-town's farmer's market is the freshly baked Senoritas at Banana Q's. People line up through the door for these rolled up finger sized buttery glazed morsels. When they're hot they're nicely crisp on the outside, slightly chewy on the inside and just enough sugar to get that caramelly taste. mmmmm.... You can easily down 6 of them in a few minutes.

At my uncle's party, everyone came with their best dish: igadoo, pinapaitan, pinakbet, shrimp lumpia, pancit palabuk, grilled oysters. Am hoping to catch my uncles and aunts mid cooking to see what their recipes are, especially my uncle's pinapaitan which is just the right balance of tartness and sweetness that has become legendary.

We spend the afternoon watching my cousin's kids try to poke each other's eyes out. They're all around 2 years old: selfish and matapang. One in particular likes to grab at people faces particularly the eyes when she doesn't like you. She'll run across the yard just to come after one of the other kids. Numerous times I've watched her parents practically tackle her just inches before she'll make a kid cry. It's actually quite funny but I know her parents are at a loss on how to stop her from this habit. It's not like there are dog trainers for toddlers.

My cousin's boyfriend bought a mini-motorcycle. I had seen one of these things a few weeks ago. It's the lastest crazy after those motorized scooters. I think they're totally insane. It's like squatting on a motorcycle with your knees sticking way out only a foot from the ground. I'm way too tall for that thing. Plus it can go like 40 mph. My uncle, who use to drive tricycles in the Philippines, takes a spin. You can see in his eyes, he's in love. It makes that high pitched buzzing like the tricycles in the PI too. The teenage boys just watch in envy. They all want to try, but know if they go anywhere their parents are going to come down on them so fast, they'll wish they had crashed on the motorcycle instead.

The eagle claw two year old likes the motorcycle too. Her mother tells me she loved riding the tricycles. The tot sees the bright ride motorbike just her size. I tell her mother, this little girl will be a biker mama one day. She already has that daring spirit. She tells me they don't plan on having any more kids.

blowing by

It's been over a week since we went to NYC and nearly a week since we got back. I'm starting to forget the sequences of events.

Saturday we watched a hip-hop group perform at Central Park. They had matching yellow-green outfits with "Oakland" in block letters. We had to stop and watch. I don't know if anyone of them had ever been to Oakland, but nice that they were giving props out to the west side! They were really excellent and I cheered loudly for them. The other tourists either couldn't really fathom what good hip hop dance is or were so overwhelmed with the sensations of NYC that these guys were just another thing with flashy moves to try to get their attention. They had the routine down including the jokes to get people to fill their donation bucket.

It was 30 blocks to the Metropolitan Museum which was a bit laboring for the SO cuz he had the backpack and everything. But we got to take some nice pictures of us and the trees in full blossom. Quite lovely. Picked up a brownie for my no C.A.R.B (Cheney/Ashcroft/Rumsfeld/Bush) diet at the MoveOn.Org table.

Got to the museum, picked up a dipped softie ice cream cone before going in. The SO had been to the Met before but missed the Egyptian exhibit. Ever the romantic he wanted to see the location for a scene in "When Harry Met Sally." A lovely exhibit with a large still pool surrounding the structure. You can see the engraved scratches from the people who dug up the pieces in the 1890s, how they "graffittied" the stones with their names and year to lay claim to these ancient pieces.

We spent most of our time in the South Asian exhibit and some of the Japanese and Chinese exhibits. We walked passed numerous statues of Vishnu and Uma and various Boddhavistas. All the women had of course voluptuous curves. There was something comforting about seeing the statues and carvings. It made me think that I might have been South Asian in a past life or something. Or perhaps I was instinctively making the connections between the various cultures. The SO takes pictures of many of the displays mostly because he says, these pieces never make it to the museum catalog.

Afterwards we follow the sound of a piano and string quartet, to the balcony area overlooking the main entrance hall. Order a couple of glasses of wine and some light snacks. The arches of the domed ceiling repeat in triplicate in descending size. One day is certainly not enough for any of the museums. No wonder people return over and over again.

It's evening. We attempt to try to take the bus back, but don't have change nor a metro card yet, so we check the map and walk over to the line on Lexington to head back to 59th to ride the horse buggies through Central Park. It's a perfect evening for it, no need for a jacket, clear evening sky. He wasn't too keen on it (horses kind of smell a bit) but he went anyway. It's a different pace. I remember a poetry class lesson about taking a walk and writing a poem using the pace and rhythm of walking in it, as opposed to cars, buses or trains. Riding the buggy gave me another pace of NY, one that goes along the clip clop of hooves on cement and cobblestone.

We walk back to the hotel, past the hip fashion displays, and the guys selling knockoff purses and watches. It's not really about having the real thing, it's about looking like you have the real thing.

Look! Shiny!

Since we're in NYC, we decided why not stop by Tiffany's. I'm really not much for wearing jewelry (my ears aren't even pierced to wear earrings), but we're getting close to that time when we'll be buying a very significant piece of jewelry.

We walk to the building on 5th avenue. People have often told me about the shopping in NY and the fashion. Unfortunately, I've never really been into either, unless it involved computer electronics. So, to me, a store is a store is a store.

The revolving door spins rapidly with tourists, many taking their picture next to the Tiffany's sign. We walk and admire the different arrangements of stones on the first floor. They are quite exquisite. We take the elevator to the 2nd floor with engagement rings. We consider taking the stairs until we realize the vaulted ceiling mean we have to go up 17 flights just to get to the 2nd floor.

I had heard rumors of women getting married and wanting $20K rings from Tiffany's. I'm not sure I want to walk around with $20K on my finger. The practical side of me feels like I'd rather put $20K down on a house with a garden where we can build a life. After 20 years together, I might want a $20K ring.

Tiffany's rings are no joke, they are quite lovely. Even the tiniest stones glimmer like they have the neon wattage of Times Square signs. You could cause serious traffic accidents with this thing with the blinding light. While a lot of women want huge rings, I would mind a small diamond if it was really high quality. Besides, martial arts sticks and rings don't go well together, which is really why I'm opting for a pendant or necklace for an engagement gift.

There are numerous other newlywed wannabes gazing through the well lit glass cases. The men silently observing where the women's eyes are drawn to. Even the smallest ring can fetch $10K. They try to tuck the price tag so you can't see it very well. They want you to fall in love with it before slapping you with the sticker price. What is the price for love?

Across the street we notice a couple of other jewelry stores, one of which is Mikimoto. I've always been a pearl fan myself. A few months ago I saw an add for one of their designs and cut it out for the SO, cuz he asked what kind of jewelry I liked. I think he's given up on trying to guess what I like, it's so much easier to ask.

Unlike Tiffany's, only a scant few walk through their doors. I actually manage to find the design that I had seen. White gold with black pearl is definitely me. The SO asks the woman about a matching ring. She shows us different combinations of black pearls with diamond framing. I try on each one. My hands certainly aren't the hand model hands, they're dry, have small nic scars and dark patches. Funny how shiny things distract you from that.

While I wasn't too excited about diamonds at Tiffany's, I do admit it was fun and exciting going through the jewelry at Mikimoto. And maybe if people weren't looking, I would have let off an girlish squeal.

I think we're done having our fun trying on jewelry when the SO asks about earrings preferably ones that can be converted to clipon type. Of course, you have to have an accessorized set. I'm glad the SO thinks of these things. I certainly don't.

Growing up these things known as "girlie" things were unknown to me. They all seemed like bizarre rituals. 4Ks instead of ABCs. Knowing designer names over the names of presidents. I just wasn't interested or wasn't paying enough attention. I'm just glad the SO spent his days learning about what "women wanted," or else he'd be proposing with a 40GB iPod, which wouldn't be so bad either. hahaha!

The SO had a dream a week before about getting my engagement gift in a blue box. My sister screamed it must be Tiffany's (every girl's dream box, right?). But Tiffany's is a light blue. His dream had a dark blue box. He asks the woman if he can see their jewelry box. A bit confused at the odd request, she complies. She brings out a dark blue box, ocean blue with a few light streaks like moonlight on the sea. The box inside is a lighter blue, not deep at all. The SO looks at it. He explains to her his dream and how he saw a velvet box, but this box is certainly the right color.

She gives him her card with the three items we picked listed. It's a looking day, not a buying day.

Off to the Metropolitan Museum and a walk past Central Park....

Back from the Big Apple: a slightly longer version

I can understand why Jet Blue is fast becoming the number one airline: it's cheap, it's got directTV, and it cut out one of the biggest complaints in the industry -- the airplane meal. Instead, they provide a couple of snacks every couple of hours and encourage folks to BYO meal. Though I saw a note to that with a fish with an x through it, which I think means that rice and toyo are out of the question for my inflight baon. oh well.

The SO has been blogging day to day about our NYC experience. I prefer the retrospective account myself. I like to see how my brain has already modified the events of the past. See before when I talked about my travels, I could make up whatever I want, but now that I have a witness I may be caught in the act of flamboyancy. Then again, in my past posts, these things did happen to me to the best of my recollection. As the SO often tells me, my telling of the events is often more entertaining than when he himself experiences the same thing.

It was raining earlier in the week in NYC before our trip, but I noted the weather folks saying it would clear up and bring lovely 70s. Without fail, I get quite freakish excellent weather on my trips.

Our hotel is a few blocks from Times Square. We take a cab through the 5 o'clock traffic from JFK to Manhattan. Flying into NYC I take in the geography. It reminds me of the opening scene to "West Side Story" where they go from broad wide views to smaller and smaller ones. I often found this opening quite dramatic, contrasting the supposedly life and death reasons the Sharks and Jets were fighting, with the reality that they are one story in a very large city. What the Sharks and Jets never get is that there is a larger world than they've created.

As I said before, a few years ago I had thought of moving to NYC, not knowing what was drawing me here. As we travelled in the cab I wondered if that thing that drew me here was still here. People name neighborhoods and streets in NY and I have no frame of reference nor meaning to them. I take in all the tall buildings, the trains, the cars, the signs to Jamaica Ave to Shea. I think the color brown. Brown, upon brown, buildings: reddish brick, but more brown than red. Maryland was red brick. Chicago had been gray. New York was brown.

The last time I was in New York, the state, I was 18 in Rochester. I had received a scholarship to go to University of Rochester for undergrad. My mom came with me. Rochester reminded me of Oakland, but smaller and lots and lots of snow. The color of Rochester was white.

We reach Manhattan. The SO recalls the Upper East Side where his friend used to live. His friend hated NY. NY is one of those cities that you know if it's calling your name. I've had a lot of friends go to NY and love it, love the vibe, love the energy, love the people. Then there are those that hate it: hate the crowds, hate the small spaces. For such a large city, there's something about the small spaces that make it intimate in an anonymous kind of way.

After resting a bit at the hotel, we look at a few of the brochures of things we might want to see, then search the streets for food. We're only a handful of blocks from Times Square and the neon glow of Sean John with fist raised beckons us in his direction. The SO has a new digicam, so he's taking pictures left and right, up and down.

Delis, video camera shops, gentleman's clubs, hot dog stands, roasted peanuts, toursity knickknack stands amidst scrolling stock numbers and shiny bright ads wanting you to look their way. Too late to look for half off broadway tickets. Every few feet there is a guy with a digital camera with the same HP color printer asking to take people's picture for $20. Next to them are Chinese charcoal artists sketching very good portraits for a price written on the back of signs that they point to or the other Chinese folks who draw your name with colorful accents. The charcoal portrait examples of stars and famous people are all the same, certainly not done by the artist at the stands. We wonder where they buy their stuff from. There's got to be some flyer somewhere, some network, where they learn a few tips on how to draw or how to take a picture, then are allowed to borrow the equipment and supplies for a fee. It's a basic economy. Immigrant who knows no English can easily pick it up. It's easy money, easier than minimum wage dish washing I suppose and it's cash with no real accountability to Uncle Sam.

We watch a pair of guys do portraits and decide to do one together. I don't usually like my own picture taken, but I thought it'd be fun to get one of the SO and I. I think the guy we get does the eyes really well. When I was a kid and did people's portraits it was always the first thing I did and concentrated on the most. It's hard to smile for 20 minutes, but he manages to make us smile in the portrait anyway. Nice part about chalk, no details like fine creases and other blemishes. These two kids he drew earlier looked older than their age, as if he was drawing who they would be in a few more years.

The artists don't usually sign their names to their work. The economy relies on their anonymity. They simply write the date with NY Times Square. Sure it's supposed to simply be copying what you see, and their are hundreds of folks throughout the city doing this in every tourist spot in town, but like any artist he gave it his own unique touch that really makes his drawing of us his view of the world. We ask him to sign it. He asks, "My name?"

I'm down for NY City cart dinner even though a few natives have warned me about the murky depths of hot dog cart water. I cling to the tourist motto: what I don't know, won't hurt me, and bite into a dog. I figure if I survived dipping fried fish balls and balut in the Philippines, I can survive this. Plus I'm that much closer to hospital facilities if I don't. Hot dog, pretzel, and honey roasted peanuts. I notice that maintaining the government balanced diet for this vacation may be difficult.

saturday: the plan: tiffany's, central park, the met and natural history museum

back from NYC

Just got back this afternoon after a wonderful first trip to the Big Apple.

The shortlist that I will blog later about: Times Square, the food, the Met, Central Park, Tiffany's, buggy ride in central park, the fabulous weather we stole from the west coast, dragonfly in west village, Mets @ Shea Stadium, tile murals in the subway, charcoal drawings, serendipity/old friends/new friends/wedding coordinator, champagne morning hangover in a NYC cab to JFK.

past life analysis

I'd always thought that I'd been around the block a few times before. Of course, based on this model, everyperson born on the same date had the same exact past life. Based on the computer algorithms of this website.

Your past life diagnosis:
I don't know how you feel about it, but you were female in your last earthly incarnation.
You were born somewhere in the territory of modern North Australia around the year 875.
Your profession was that of a philosopher and thinker.

Your brief psychological profile in your past life:
Timid, constrained, quiet person. You had creative talents, which waited until this life to be liberated. Sometimes your environment considered you strange.

The lesson that your last past life brought to your present incarnation:
Your main lesson is to develop magnanimity and a feeling of brotherhood. Try to become less adhered to material property and learn to take only as much, as you can give back.

Do you remember now?

Off to the Big Apple

We're off to the Big Apple (NYC) Friday. Going to be there for a handful of days. I've never been, so going to soak up alot of touristy stuff.

Funny, a few years ago, I had thought for sure that my future was in NY. I was looking to go to grad school there. But opportunities to go continued to close in that direction, so I never went. I'm not sure what I was looking for back then, but something tells me that I managed to find it anyway. So now, NY is just a nice place to visit.

I'm looking forward to the museums, NY pizza and deli, maybe try to score broadway tix for cheap, times square, and wherever else we manage to get to including saying hi to Patrick Rosal and other writers and folks who might be out there. It probably won't be my last trip to NY. Already looking into going back in October and/or November.

Recommendations of your favorite spots are more than welcome!

poetry 30% off

Asian American Writer's Workshop is having a poetry sale, 20%-30% off poetry books. I like getting a good deal while supporting organizations like AAWW.

I didn't say that!

I'm still fascinated by the way technnology has changed and influenced our writing as well as the way it may also create new ways of creating poetry from txt messages on phones to new languages and words.

I just discovered an item in the Mac that will summarize highlighted paragraphs. I think it does it by some identifying phrases and removing and adding certain phrases. You can adjust how long you want the summary to be. This always makes me think about how you could write a poem this way. I'll have to explore this method some more. Been working on pieces that all involve technology in some way.

Just to see it in action, I summarized a previous post about walking around Lake Merritt.

Summary #1

I would see their office, look at the pictures they have lined on their desks along with the stacks of folders, papers, and reports full of numbers and ratios, debits and credits.

...I walk back the same path and sit on a bench to eat lunch near the pierless pier stumps where the seagulls still perch.... While some change completely out of their "business" attire into formal workout clothes, others slip on the pair of walking shoes over thin socked feet and pantyhose.

...The muddy bottom near the shore looks dead, but I spot a tiny fish jetting through along with a water glider only evidenced by the small ripple it makes pushing itself across the surface.

Good (God) Saturday

Saturday I spent running around the bay area. Went from Berkeley to Oakland to SF to Castro Valley to Berkeley to Alameda. Left home at 9am, didn't really get back til 11:30p.

SF was a lunch for the "Before Their Words" cast. Maiana cooking some super tasty black eyed peas, tofu and tomatoes, and steamed broccoli. Though ironically, the conversation wandered to a fasting/cleansing method called Master Cleanse, also known as the lemonade diet. Now that there are just so many toxins out in the world, the hippest new thing is to do a cleansing of the bodily system since we can't control the world. They tell me it was a really good experience for them, slightly emotionally straining as they had to re-envision their relationship and need for food. I'm intrigued but will have to think about it some more.

Castro Valley - My cousin's grandfather passed away on Tuesday. His wake was Saturday. He was 76. My dad's side of the family is not as close as my mom's side. On my mom's side, when something happens EVERYONE knows. When something happens on my dad's side, people keep it hush for as long as they can until you just can't keep it quiet no more. So, there was plenty of drama to go around. I think it's the way each family reacts to criticism. My mom's side, there's so many people and so many critiques, people don't care anymore. Sure, people will be mad for a bit, but eventually they figure it out and talk to them or at least show up to parties. Then again, people on my dad's side don't want to give grandma a heart attack. Good to reconnect to cousins on that side.

Alameda - attended Easter Vigil, which I prefer over Easter Sunday Mass. They bless all the fire, the water, the bread. They start with the lights out and we listen to the stories with only the book lamp illuminating the reader's face. Songs too have this magical glow in the dark.

Then we all march outside to lite and bless the fire. That's when I run into my old high school english teacher. She didn't expect to see me here and we're both really glad to see each other. We have an interesting connection. She was a tremendous mentor and guide during my high school years. And somehow, we always run into each other every few years, and catch up on each other's lives. She's old enough to be my mother. In fact her daughter is around my age. But we've always had this connection. I could never lie to her. While I often hid the stress and emotion I would go through to everyone else, she always knew. We chat afterwards, exchange phone numbers, make plans to visit during the summer.

Easter Vigil continues as we watch adult baptism, communion, and confirmation all in the same night. I think about these "vows" that supposedly I have also agreed to and wonder in my heart if I still agree. I'm happy for these people this night. Church and religion is something they come to, not something expected or assumed. You can tell they want to be here. It's a feeling that's much different from the colonized idea of religion, the way it is used to control and dominate a people. God doesn't choose me, I choose God.

One of the women being baptized is a high school student. Father Rich is just dumping pitchers of water on them. She tries to ask Father Rich to just do it a little. She doesn't know Father Rich that well. He's a character. A request like this, he just can't resist. He does pour just a little bit of water the first two times, then just dumps the full pitcher of water on her.

In the tub they are baptized in, are two yellow rubber duckies. Blessed ones I'm sure. One of the younger kids, picks one up and shows the congregation. He smiles, then the cold water is poured on him.

We wait as the baptized get dressed and the women try to do their hair. While some borrow the church white robes, others are dressed in lovely white embroidered dresses. One young fellow is in an all white suit with white bow tie as the organist and brass quartet play in the loft above.

reconnecting and resurrection

The Pabasa is done in the Tagalog region of the Philippines. It's a reading of the Pasyon (pronounced pa-shYON) which is way different from your normal Passion. My friend's family is from a Tagalog town and they do the Pabasa every year. This is our second time going. They sing the Pasyon for 12-14 hrs straight. It starts at 1pm and this year it ended at 5am.

In the Philippines, you'll find older women in their 60s, 70s, sometimes 80s chanting, praying and singing the entire time from start to finish. Here too, the table was mostly elderly women with 2-3 men. We didn't stay the whole time, only for a few hours. Our young bodies aren't patient enough to endure what seems to be a lifetime that to many of these women is only a moment.

They sit at tables positioned in a square so participants can look across to the others. In the front of the room is a makeshift altar of 4-5 Santo Nino and Mother Mary saint statues with a wooden cross in the center lined with red and white flowers. The statues are dressed in black, in mourning.

The book they read from was first printed in 1949 and has been reprinted since then. It's all in Tagalog, except when Jesus speaks, which is in Latin. It's a fairly deep Tagalog, no getting by on Taglish here. You might want to bring a dictionary. The basic song stays fairly upbeat, then will switch to some kind of minor key of lament, often when Jesus is present. At others, the song becomes super upbeat. The music is not written in the books. These people know what to sing when simply by experience and memory. In between there are prayers of the Hail Mary and Our Father.

Because it is a long drawn out event, people come in and out to get food, rest, have a drink of salabat (ginger tea). The hardest part is keeping the beat from slowing down. Usually my friend's dad is good as the time keeper injecting the song with some extra energy with his guitar, but he's in the Philippines this year. His presence is missed.

There is an extensive support staff. People who keep the food hot and the salabat brewing. They serve the chanters/singers sliced oranges, water and tea. The food was incredibly delicious! Catfish, banana hearts with coconut milk, ukoy, pinakbet and other dishes. You couldn't leave the ukoy in the vinegar too long or else it's delicate batter disintegrated. For dessert, there was puto bong bong that simply melted in your mouth and kutsinta that the SO said tasted like his childhood.

My friend and the SO are watching how much food they eat, so I ended eating the most. Luckily for my friend she could divert her mother's food offering instincts to me.

The Filipino Town Club, the Tanay Club, has been around for 80 years. In fact they will be celebrating their 80th anniversary this fall. The town itself will be celebrating 400 years of existence in 2006. WOW! 1606, the founding of the town. Well before Pilgrims thought about colonizing the U.S.

The club purchased a house and hall in the Fruitvale district of Oakland to hold their events. Standing in the driveway, you hear the mix of Pasyon and mah jong tiles. Religion and gambling, and somehow you feel like you're home.

Though everyone is singing the same song, there are opportunities of interaction and teasing between participants. It's quite subtle. During areas were the song is call and response, usually the male voices and female voices. Often the men might pick on one of the women reading, perhaps in a delicate way teasing them for being a bad singer. Filipinos are so good at this, communicating something else while explicitly saying something different. These secret messages over song and music. We're thinking of documenting it on video one year to study these subtleties.

Sitting there, I came to realize how much Tagalog culture influences the idea of what Filipino is. People ask first if you speak Tagalog. They don't ask about other languages. How much of the history is told from the Manila view. Most of my friends are not Tagalog so we look at things like Pabasa as interesting but not something ingrained. My friend asked me how that makes me feel as someone from Pangasinan. Whether it's similar to being Filipino in the American culture. I said I don't really mind, but it does make me concerned when there are those that want to force it upon me. In my experience, it's Tagalogs who seem to be the most zealous about being true and pure Tagalogs. Though Illocanos and Cebuanos can be just as proud, I have found Tagalogs to be the most zealous in proclaiming and at times imposing it on others.

As a Fil-Am, I tend to accept just about any of these cultural/regional traditions from T'boli to Tagalog to Pangasinan to Ifugao to Kampangpangan. I'm not so rigid in proclaiming a region, though I am proud to be from Pangasinan, I know it's not the only way to be Filipino.

We discussed perhaps as the main capital, Manila and its outlying regions tend to be the first place of ownership and struggle, the Spanish, the Americans, the Japanese laying siege on that area the first if not the hardest. And it's this bombardment that makes Tagalogs feel like they have to fight for what is theirs. Hard to say.

In any case, the youngest person doing the Pabasa was probably the SO and he wasn't from Tanay. Club pictures line the left side of the wall. Pictures from galas held from the 1920s onward. But the children of these people, their children's children no longer participate in the club. The club is sustained from new people from Tanay immigrating and joining the club which is probably why they welcome us. We're young people who voluntarily came by our own free will and not dragged here by our parents.

But when does a town association stop being a town association? As its members gray, I wonder how long the Tanay club will last. But, that's the life cycle of these clubs. When the thing that connects these people is gone or if there are not enough people to hold the connection then, it will end. But for the moment it serves its purpose for widows who need prayer, for gamblers who like mah jong and take bus trips to Reno, for people like the SO looking for childhood memories, and for people like me always looking for another way people are Filipino.

"fuck the alamo" graffittied on Mission District ad for the movie

Here is why.

to be resurrected after the weekend

Going to a Pabasa tonight. The SO threatens to send us to hell by bring bbq pork to the reading on Good Friday. (Sometimes, I'm not quite sure how serious he is with these ideas.) The resurrection is aptly timed to the recent passing of my cousin's grandfather. I'll have a few prayers to meditate on during Easter Vigil.

shopping around

alot of good movies I'm looking forward to on DVD. here is a list of the ones I'm currently keeping an eye on and best pricing on them. (right now I only looked at buy.com, bestbuy.com, and amazon).

The Lord of the Rings: Return of the King (Amazon: $17.97) - May 25
David Chappelles Show 2 Disc unsensored (Buy.com: $17.49) - out now
I hear David Chappelle is pushing the lines of comedy. I just want to see the sketch where he's a blind black KKK leader, and no one wants to tell him btw he's black.
Star Wars Trilogy DVD (buy.com: $41.98) - Sept 21
Been waiting for this for a while. Though I was in the 2nd prequel movie, I must say the prequels thus far have sucked. And there's nothing like replaying the scenes on Endor listening for the Ewoks to say something familiar in Tagalog. "ayun, ay maganda!"
Kill Bill vol.1 (bestbuy: $15.99) - April 13
I love the old Hong Kong martial arts flicks and I really enjoyed how Tarantino really captured this affect. I particularly love the anime flashback sequence and the fight scene in sillouhette. Oh, and then there's the duel between Lucy Liu and Uma Thurman in the snow frosted garden without music, just the sound of their breath and the snow under their feet. Then I forgot about...well, maybe you should just watch it.
Matrix Revolutions (bestbuy.com: $15.99)
I think I might wait for this. I'm sure it will eventually even fall to a cheaper price than this. I watched it to complete the trilogy, but I think the hype ruined my perception of any real climax to the film. Though the film isn't as bad of a third movie as Godfather III.

Within the light, there is a seed of darkness
Within the darkness, there is a seed of light

It's Easter. A celebration of death, which I thought was kind of morose. Until I realized that in dealing with death, we inevitably celebrate life, like this woman.

I don't know what you were looking for, but you found me

Was looking at the latest referrals to my blog. Several came from Google searches. So, I clicked on the links to see how high on the google search I managed to get and what people were actually looking for when they found me.

Search: sinulog drum beat demo
The one and only link listed. The post on my trip to Surigao

Search: "pan de sal" Sacramento
#6. The post about Valerio's Bakery and driving directions from Sacramento.

Search: "Kari Edwards" Fran
#3. kari edward's blog is eighth on this list.

Search: Asian Americans passion week narrative play in the catholic church
#8. My post this week about going to a Pabasa on Good Friday.

Search: slaugtering swine pics
#2. Another adventures in the Philippines post.

Search: matthew libatique filipino
#2 of 5

Search: hoe to make a blog
#11 on MSN's search

Search: motobike crash reality
#1 from the German Google search page. Because I can't spell motorbike.

Search: Marfori lineage
the only link. The Philippine Eagle sanctuary is in Marfori Heights in Davao. I'll have to look up what Marfori culture/people is/are.

Search: philippine recipe taho
#7

Search: Bohol adventure race
#5

Search: marriage mike malou nubla
#2. Because in the month of March, I posted about Malou Nubla's makeup, Mike Bibby's head, and the statement on marriage by the American Anthropological Asoociation.