The new way to go

“The moment I wake up, before I put on my make-up, I say a little prayer for you… oh yes I do… “

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Bye-bye dearest, dearest, dearest Ditas!!!

It was a passing like no other…

Ditas’ friends through the years [ as were her siblings' ] were all there:  Elvira Araneta, Joe Assad,  Louie Cruz, Didit Diaz, Ricky Gallaga, Lory & Eddie Guidotti, Chiqui Mabanta, Tony Martino, and many, many more…

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06 May 2012, Sunday, 4:30 p.m..

I was doing some work in the study when my dear, dear, dear friend Ditas Gomez uncharacteristically called at 4:30 p.m….

“Hey, come and visit me ‘cuz I have to tell you something, something important…”  Ditas requested, casually.

“You can tell me now!”

“Hmm… it’s best said in friggin’ movin’ livin’ color… really… ”  she insisted.

“What?  C’mon, tell me now, Ditas!”

“I have cancer.”  she said plainly.

“Oh.  Cancer of the what?”  I asked, pretending to be casual about it.

“Cancer of the liver.  It came from the Hepa – C virus.  Y’ know:  sex, drugs, rock ‘n’ roll in those days [ the late 1960s ]…  I have three months to go…”  she stated plainly.  Stoically.

“Oh God, Ditas.  I hope you’re not in pain…”  I inquired, concerned.

“Not really.  Sometimes.”

“I’m taking this alternative medicine…  Reiji mushrooms…  they power up your immunity!!!”

“What was upsetting you all this time???  Cancer is nothing but stress…”

“It must have been all those bad vibes at Ramona…”  I conjectured.

“Well, ******* and all that… but so much more!!!”

“I want a parteeeee when I’m gone!”  Ditas requested.

“Visit me, ha?”  she reminded.

***After we hung up at 6:30 p.m., I had to sit quickly on a big chair to steady myself from the shocking news, if not, I would have fallen to the floor.  Dearest Ditas with cancer?  Three months to gooooo???  WTF???!!!  F*CK!!!!!!!!   :O   :O   :O

I so wept inside of me…

That time, I had not realized that it was the last time I would speak with dearest Ditas.  The last time — that was IT!

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It was as Ditas wanted it exactly:  No more tears.  Just togetherness, smiles, jokes, laughter, singing, dancing, and remembering all the good times that were, somehow still are, and still could be.  And then joyfully going on to the next new thing.  It’s “the new way to go,” and I totally like it.  Absolutely!!!   :D    :D    :D

[ + Mercedes Tomasa "Ditas" Gonzalez-Favis Gomez, 1951 - 2012 ]

Lunch out

Not only the good food, and the scintillating company, but the cool air, the trees, plants, flowers, and the colorful “koi” fishes in the various ponds that make dining at practically everyone’s favorite resto in distant Tagaytay, no matter how frequent, so pleasant…

Comedy relief: Kiddie sensibility

I am often “blamed” by my lawyer brother and his foreign wife for the expensive tastes of their 6 year old daughter, who happens to be my “ahijada” goddaughter, as they jokingly insist that much of her behavior is directly attributable to me…  although, believe me, I have never done anything to encourage such extravagances, so unsuited to these times of economic uncertainty.  [ When I am in an occasional tightwad mode, I can "out-kuripot" Manila's most notorious "conchudissimas" and "conchudissimos"...   :P   :P   :P   ]

Teacher:  “Tell the class what your favorite ‘baon’ is…”

Niece:  “Caviar.  The little black ones.”

Aymygulay!!!

Teacher:  “To dress simply is to dress nicely, class…”

Niece:  “Simple is boring, Ma’am.  More is more!!!  Lay it on!!!”

Aymygulay!!!

And she’s only 6 years old…  what will happen when she’s 18…  in her 20s or 30s when she’s married???

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Although I will make sure it won’t happen to us…  it kinda reminds me of the extremely, superbly fashionable daughter of one of Manila’s extremely, superbly fashionable ladies.  Mommy accompanied her daughter to London for her tertiary studies in a very expensive institution.  Daughter told Mommy that while she already had several, really nice “Marchesa” and “Temperley” dresses for nights out, she needed “everyday clothes” for school.  Mommy said “Of course, hija…”

Daughter promptly brought Mommy to Chanel on Sloane street.   :P   :P   :P

Comedy relief: Upward mobility

[ This true story was related by a cousin at a Valdes [ Pampanga ] clan Reunion 2012 planning lunch last Saturday at Serge and Salie Naguiat’s chic La Vista home and it got everybody laughing, so I want to share it with you, my friends…  ]

A chichi cousin and her expensive D.I. [ dance instructor ] attended the usual weekday ballroom dancing night at the Makati Sports Club.  Seated among her ballroom dancing friends at their table was an equally chichi friend with an unfamiliar, but goodlooking and well-groomed, D.I. …

“I want you to meet my new D.I., Aga…”  equally chichi friend introduced her new D.I..

Chichi cousin watched her equally chichi friend with the new D.I. as they whirled around the dance floor…  Chichi cousin’s curiosity was piqued because the new D.I. seemed strangely familiar, but she could not remember when or where she met him…

“You know…  I know you… We’ve met before…  But I don’t remember when or where… !!!”  she told the new D.I., trying to establish a connection.

The new D.I. replied politely and sweetly:  “Opo naman, Ma’am, natatandaan ko kayo…  Ako po si Agapito, naging driver niyo po ako noong 2009.  Hindi na po ako nakabalik sa inyo kasi namatay po ang tatay ko sa probinsya…”

Chichi cousin rolled her eyes.  From ‘Agapito’ to ‘Aga,’ from driver to D.I.!!!

Bwahahahahah!!!   :P    :P    :P

Comedy relief: To quiche or not to quiche

Two young ladies, all made up and with straight-from-the-beauty-parlor-hair wearing fake branded clothes, fake branded bags, and fake branded shoes, with all the naked ambitions in the world, walked into a chic cafe…

The waiter handed them the menu…

“I’m going to have ‘KEEECH.’”  ordered the first.

“Hoy, it’s not ‘KEEECH’!!!  It’s…   ‘KOOOWEEESH’… !!!”  corrected the second condescendingly.

???!!!~!@#$%^&*()_+!!!???

Both wrong!!!  Bwahahah!!!   :P    :P    :P

Marrying well

“I married young and quick, from a place of love and hope, but without a lot of discussion over what the realities of marriage would mean.  Nobody advised me on my marriage.  I had been raised by my parents to be independent, self-providing, self-deciding.  By the time I reached the age of twenty-four, it was assumed by everyone that I could make all my own choices, autonomously.  Of course the world was not always like this.  If I’d been born during any other century of Western patriarchy, I would’ve been considered the property of my father, until which time he passed me over to my husband, to become marital property.  I would’ve had precious little say in the major matters of my own life.  At one time in history, if a man had been my suitor, my father might have sat that man down with a long list of questions to establish whether this would be an appropriate match.  He would have wanted to know, “How will you provide for my daughter?  What is your reputation in this community?  How is your health?  Where will you take her to live?  What are your debts and your assets?  What are the strengths of your character?”  My father would not have just given me away in marriage to anybody for the mere fact that I was in love with the fellow.  But in modern life, when I made the decision to marry, my modern father didn’t become involved at all.  He would have no more interfered with that decision than he would have told me how to style my hair.”

from “Eat, Pray, Love” by Elizabeth Gilbert, p. 380, Penguin Books 2006.

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June is traditionally the month of weddings in the Philippines, although it is already being superseded by December, so I think that the subject of “marrying well” is timely…

“Marrying well” is not only marrying rich.  Of course it’s the point, but it’s just the tip of the iceberg.  In its fullest sense, it is marrying a partner who has high career potential and prospects [ somebody who will be president or chairman of the company, CEO, COO;  somebody who will succeed the father at the helm of the conglomerate;  somebody who will start a successful, billion-peso fastfood chain;  at least somebody who will head the Finance department of the corporation...  correspondingly, somebody with substantial brains [ and preferably with considerable beauty ] to infuse into the genetic pool and to serve as a competent and suitable partner to her husband in his occupations and businesses, or at the least a trustworthy assistant in her husband’s business affairs; somebody who was expensively educated here and abroad, with the resultant savvy in the ways of the world; somebody who will bring her large inheritance into the marriage; somebody who will run the city residence, the country houses, and the houses and apartments abroad — with all their contemporary and old master art, antique furniture and objets, contemporary artisanal furniture, and all the other useless requisites of the charmed life —  to showcase one’s wealth and highly-educated, flawless taste; somebody who will look beautiful on one’s arm and serve — through her exquisitely-maintained, expensively-dressed, and magnificently-bejeweled self — as proof positive of one’s superior professional accomplishments, at least somebody who will produce beautiful children ], is financially productive, of good moral character, good manners, intelligence, and similar qualities.  Often, such a partner comes from a family that has long nurtured those sterling qualities and sustained those moral values through the years.  But it is ironic that often, such a partner also comes from a family that is tainted with inbreeding, genetic abnormalities, various health issues, inheritance wars, corporate struggles, endless lawsuits, kidnapings, if not outright murders, and other interesting and amusing attributes.  Last but not least, it would also be nice if the partner has good looks.  However, marriages to partners who look like aliens from outer space, with equally freakish characters to match, are very much tolerated and even desired when there are EE or USD $$$ billions, or even just Php billions involved.

Actually, I don’t know what to make of it…  “Marrying well” seems to be the furthest thing from the minds of the eligible bachelors and ladies these days.  Outwardly, great sex seems to be the deciding factor, but then one never really knows.  On the other hand, “marrying well” will always be the concern of parents, be they conservative Opus Dei, ascendant career professionals, or flower children, hippies, or even drug addicts during their youth in the 1960s to the 70s.  Because one still needs considerable resources to smoke grass, snort coke, and live an “haute boheme” lifestyle.  “Boheme” sans “haute” is “La Boheme” as in the tragic Rodolfo and Mimi of Giacomo Puccini fame, and that’s definitely no fun at all.

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In India…

“…   Soon she will turn eighteen, and this is the age when she will be regarded as a legitimate marriage prospect.  It will happen like this — after her eighteenth birthday, she will be required to attend family weddings dressed in a sari, signaling her womanhood.  Some nice amma [ auntie ] will come and sit beside her, start asking questions and getting to know her:  “How old are you?  What’s your family background?  What does your father do?  What universities are you applying to?  What are your interests?  When is your birthday?”  Next thing you know, Tulsi’s dad will get a big envelope in the mail with a photo of this woman’s grandson who is studying computer sciences in Delhi, along with the boy’s astrology charts and his university grades and the inevitable question, “Would your daughter care to marry him?”   …

“But it means so much to the family, to see their children wedded off successfully.  Tulsi has an aunt who just shaved her head as a gesture of thanks to God because her oldest daughter — at the Jurassic age of twenty-eight — finally got married.  And this was a difficult girl to marry off, too, she had a lot of strikes against her.  I asked Tulsi what makes an Indian girl difficult to marry off, and she said there were any number of reasons.”

“If she has a bad horoscope.  If she’s too old.  If her skin is too dark.  If she’s too educated and you can’t find a man with a higher position than hers, and this is a widespread problem these days because a woman cannot be more educated than her husband.  Or if she’s had an affair with someone and the whole community knows about it, oh, it would be quite difficult to find a husband after that…”

from “Eat, Pray, Love” by Elizabeth Gilbert, p. 239, Penguin Books 2006.

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Most Filipinos, because of their nonconfrontational culture, refrain from openly discussing the prospective partner’s financial capabilities in the light of a forthcoming marriage.  But don’t fool yourselves, because they certainly bitch bigtime among themselves in private… and how!!!  Of course they’re very, very, very concerned about it [ specially if the bride is theirs and there's this impecunious, opportunistic, carpetbagging, "ne'er-do-well" coming! ], which is only normal for chrissakes, but they will go to great lengths to pretend they’re not.  You will hear such heartwarming hypocrisies and fallacies as “As long as you love one another.”  “Love is all you need.”  “As long as he provides for you.”  “As long as she will be supportive of your goals.”  “As long as he is honest and works hard for the family.”  “As long as she can raise the children well.”  “As long as he puts food on the table.”  Well, what happens when all he can put on the table are potato chips and sodas???!!!  And what happens when she decides she’s bored with him and the children, resolves to do an “Eat, Pray, Love” thing, and runs off to Bali… or to Baguio if she has less Php cash???!!!

However, some families are direct, and they’re usually the superrich ones.  As the young ones say:  “They don’t make any bones about it.”

The superrich youth are routinely sent to the Ivy League universities — Brown, Columbia, Cornell, Dartmouth, Harvard, Princeton, U-Penn, Yale [ also Stanford, UC Berkeley, Duke, et. al. ], to Oxford and Cambridge, to the Sorbonne, not only for their undergrads and postgrads, M.A.s and Ph.D.s,, but also for what is jokingly referred to as their M.R.S.s and M.R.s [ wives and husbands ]…

In fact, one wonders why there are few, if any, intermarriages between the last remaining Old Filipino, non-taipan fortunes [ although there certainly were/are/will be:  there is a forthcoming marriage of a Vicente Madrigal great-grandson and a Jacobo Zobel great-granddaughter early next year, January 2012;  Madrigal and Zobel were contemporaries --- Madrigal was a self-made shipping tycoon and Zobel was a military career man from the distinguished Roxas-de Ayala-Zobel-Soriano clan ] — the Zobel, the Madrigal, the Lopez, the Cojuangco, the Ortigas, and the Aboitiz families.  One doesn’t hear of them marrying into the big taipan families either, in which case one will wonder who is achieving “mejorar la raza”…

During the various heydays of the sugar industry in Iloilo and Negros [ periodically interrupted by decades-long, near-fatal hiccups ] which created many of the country’s great fortunes, the sons and daughters of grand families ricocheted from one to the other, from one “hacienda” to the next, giving rise to the popular, albeit somewhat flawed, perception of aristocratic Ilonggo intermarriages and even “inbreeding.”  The Lopez, the Ledesma, the Jalandoni, and the Soriano families in Iloilo and the Lacson, the Lizares, and the Montilla in Negros Occidental were well-known in their circles for contracting “successful” marriages.

A generation of rich Lopez bachelors were cheerily advised by their elders to marry “beautiful girls with lots of money.”

A generation of beautiful Soriano ladies, all with a considerable inheritance, were married off to rich and promising young men of “good” Iloilo families.

The legendary Lizares matriarch “Tana Dicang” Enrica Alunan de Lizares ensured that most of her children married their financial and social peers.

A generation of Madrigal granddaughters and grandsons were advised by their eldest aunt that “It is as easy to fall in love with a rich person as it is with a poor person.  So make the right choice.”

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Manila is cruel in the sense that everyone knows, among husbands and wives, which side of the bread is buttered, more buttered, or make that generously slathered…  and the subject does come up during conversations, sometimes without reservations…

“Yes, Spanish mestiza, very pretty, even striking, but not rich.  She took all sorts of good, decent jobs when she was young:  kindergarten teacher, bank teller, etc..  He came sailing along.  Happy marriage at the beginning.  Now there’s just too much success and too much money.  As long as she’s Mrs. there will be no problems.  Even with all the mistresses she has to sit with through dinner…”

“Both grand families were very happy when they married.  ‘How suitable!  A wedding of equals!’  Big real estate married big real estate.  But there’s a glitch:  he’s a first-rate philanderer.  Doesn’t spare anybody, even ‘las muchachas.’  Has children with various maids.  She is in complete denial, preferring to cook her problems away in a house in wonderland…”

“You would think he’s so proper, aloof, and all…  No.  Like so many of his peers, he likes fooling around with ‘las criadas y muchachas.’  Has children with them.  Que horror!!!  But she’s not leaving him anytime soon.  Why waste all those Php billion Manila properties???!!!  She’s just making sure that none of his bastards will be legally recognized, despite the new Family Code.”

“There are all those rumors…  But I think they’re just mistaking him for his father, who was notorious for picking up the caddies at Manila Golf… And as for his wife, she wouldn’t know one from the other, and if she does, she certainly will never say.”

“I don’t know why she married him.  He was introduced to our group at a resto one night and he was some sort of penniless backpacker…  He even smelled.  Then he’s repackaged as ‘the this of the that’ and she marries him!?  Hardly ‘mejorar la raza’…”

“How can she allow him to treat her like that???  He treats her like a maid.  Sometimes, he’s embarrassed by her and has to explain to peers why she’s not from the ‘hood, although she is certainly ‘de buena familia.’  The truth is that no sane girl in his immediate set would have married him, cautioned as they were by their parents of his family’s eccentricities and downright weirdness.  Well, she comes from a crazy family too — her siblings are all rare birds —  so one of these days she just might casually walk out on him and he won’t know what to do…”

“When they became engaged, she was trumpeted as ‘la heredera de muy buena familia’ and his oddly bedazzled family, also very rich, pulled all the stops to welcome her.  ‘Que guapa!  Que simpatica!’  they cooed.  That was before they found out how fractious and leveraged her family was and she found out how miserly, miserable, and weird they were.  Now, it’s simply ‘No comment.’ on both sides.”

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Marriage.  As Tina Turner sang in that long-ago song:  “What’s Love, got to do, got to do with it???”

The whole idea of marriage is a tad complicated for my limited comprehension.  It is one of the reasons why I have opted to stay single.  All that winding and unwinding:  too many wind-ups as it gets on its way and too many wind-downs as it gets out of the way.  In that light, I’m perfectly happy with the comfortable menage a trois of I, Me, and Myself.   :)    :)    :)

*unfinished*

Comedy relief: Signature bag

This true story was related to me last night and I just have to relay it to all of you because it’s just too funny…

To all the fashionistas and bagaholics and wannabes out there, this one’s for you…

In 2000s Manila, whether you like it or not, a woman is judged on first impression by her shoes and her handbag.  Pearls, even the vaunted 16 mm whites, have lost much of their stature in Manila because of the influx of hundreds of thousands of them in all imaginable sizes — with synthetic / plastic “seeds” — from mainland China through Muslim traders and widely available at the famous “Greenhills Tiangge.”  Owing to increased security dangers, Manila ladies have taken to the latest in sophisticated costume jewelry.  However, the really rich cognoscenti wear the exclusive and exceptional Fulco di Verdura jewelry, both the pre- and postwar originals and the contemporary reissues by Ward Landrigan’s company.  When one is very rich, or at least imagines she is very rich, “Hermes,” preferably a Birkin, is the required bag [ "Hermes" is now the preferred brand for handbags of Mommy Dionisia Pacquiao, prompting top fashion stylist Jude Lopez Mancuyas to quip:  "Well then, I don't want it anymore." ]  The senior ladies of established families have long preferred those of “Bottega Veneta” to go with their polo shirts, pants, and flats for casual lunches and afternoons.  Those from “Chanel,” “Prada,” “Valentino,” “Balenciaga,” “Alexander McQueen,” et. al. are the requisite bags of the “sosyal”…

A well-off, professional lady of Ilocano heritage in her early 40s, earning at least Php 400,000.00/xx a month at her firm, was spelunking one Saturday at the Greenhills “Tiangge” with a close gay friend, also earning a similar amount monthly at his firm.  The professional Ilocana lady could very well afford any of the expensive bags mentioned above but it just isn’t in her northern blood to do so, wisely preferring to invest her money in real estate and various financial instruments instead.  The close gay friend insisted that she finally buy a nice handbag, albeit fake, to replace the one and only bag she had been using for the longest time [ she is a thrifty Ilocana ].  She agreed excitedly and the two proceeded to search for the perfect handbag.  It was not long before they stumbled over a pretty, fake, brown “Louis Vuitton” with all those “L V” monograms.  However, the close gay friend roundly criticized the handles, the lock, the zipper, and everything else, and they were able to jew the Muslim vendor down to an unbelievably low price which pleased the professional Ilocana lady no end.  Afterwards, the close gay friend insisted that they proceed to a nearby posh mall where there was a repair shop known to bagaholics and fashionistas which could replace all the fake-looking parts of the bag to genuine-looking ones.

“Palitan niyo yung handles, yung lock. yung zipper, at ito, ito, at ito pa…”  [ "Change the handles, the lock, the zipper, and this, this, and this as well..." ] insisted the close gay friend, paying strict attention to the telling details.

“Opo.”  [ "Yes, Sir." ] replied the repairman.

“At yung pangalan, huwag kakalimutan!  L V!”  [ "And the name, don't forget!  L V!" ] emphasized the close gay friend.

“Opo.  Yung pangalan po?”  [ "Yes, Sir.  You want the name?" ]  asked the repairman.

“Yung pangalan!  Mismo!”  [ "The name!  Itself!" ]  emphasized the close gay friend.

The very next day, the professional Ilocana lady and her close gay friend excitedly picked up the fake “Louis Vuitton” bag at the repair shop…

Emblazoned across it in faux brass, plastic capital letters were “ELVIE”!!!   :P    :P    :P

Bwahahahahah!!!   :D    :D    :D

Wedding wackiness: a royal review

Yesterday, 29 April 2011, Friday, it seemed All of Manila was determined to be in front of their TVs, PCs, and laptops at precisely 6 o’ clock in the evening to watch the much – awaited and much – ballyhooed “royal wedding” of Prince William of the UK to Kate Middleton, Baroness of Bucklebury…

It really was so funny:  royal wedding fever 2011 afflicted contemporary Manilans who absolutely had no connection at all to royalty, much less British royalty.  The nearest we ever got to having our own self-proclaimed Napoleon & Josephine were Apo Lakay & Inday Waray, and like their French predecessors in 1813, they too were deposed, in 1986.  And like their French predecessors in 1815, they’re plotting a big comeback in 2016.

At an important high society funeral mass yesterday, the “mourners” were busy exchanging notes on when, where, and how they would watch the royal wedding later in the evening.  Most were watching at home with family and sometimes with friends, some were going to the 5-star hotels, still others were going to the tonier malls.

“My Gawd… the British are such suckers for this sort of thing… !!!”

“Yes, and so are some 2 billion people around the world…  and that includes me and you!!!”

“Camilla the ‘Rottweiler’ looks more than ever like a nanny.  It should be Princess Diana in her place!!!”

“My… Prince Philip at 90 looks ready for embalming…”

“Mrs. Middleton should have worn a sash that said “WINNER!!!” in big bold letters, hahahah…”

“Look at Mrs. Middleton:  she’s just about to break into a great big smile!!!  I’ll bet she’s singing to herself:  “If my friends could see me, if my friends could see me, if my friends could see me… NOW!!!”

“Well, you could certainly say that Mrs. Middleton won the biggest lottery of them all!!!”

“Harry’s hair isn’t even combed… it looks awful!!!  I’ll bet they had a really wild stag party last night!!!”

“My Gawd…  Prince William is the Duke of Bald More!!!”

“You think he’s also balding down there?”

“There’s the Sultan of Brunei, Hassanal Bolkiah…  But that’s not his first wife… probably the 2nd, 3rd, 4th, whatever.  She looks OK.  His first wife looks like our ‘lavandera’…”

“Ah, the Princess of Thailand…  You could switch her with Ai – Ai de las Alas and no one would ever know the difference.”

“Is that Nelson Mandela in the background?”

“No, just some cheap black suburban nobody.”

“The music is beautiful but oh-so-boring…”

“Oh… there’s a ‘blackamoor’ in the choir…”

“Princess Anne still looks like a horse after all these years…  She now looks like an old racehorse.”

“Look how Harry’s hitting on Pippa!!!  ‘Hey Pippa, Wills kissed Kate, maybe I can kiss you… ???’ “

“Quit knocking it, Harry!”

“Randy Andy’s 2 daughters look every inch as fat and unattractive as their mom Fergie…”

As Flora, the good fairy, sighed during the finale of Walt Disney’s “Sleeping Beauty”:  “Oh, I just love happy endings!!!”  [ Well, "happy endings" has an altogether different meaning these days, but let's not get into that... ]

All I can say is that everyone likes a fairy tale…  !!!

Even I.   :)    :)    :)

*unfinished*

Booger Wonderland

During this inexplicably difficult time [ my astrologer assures me it will last until mid-May 2011 ] when some dear relatives and even dearer friends are very ill or dying in the best hospitals, dying in vehicular accidents, committing suicide in various, even chic, ways, being murdered in their homes and outside, I have not had much to smile, much less laugh, about.  As always, I’ve turned to religion for some comfort, and I’ve been cherrypicking my way through Roman Catholic, fundamentalist Christian, Judaic, Hindu, and Buddhist metaphysics looking for reasons why I myself shouldn’t jump out the window [ albeit a street level one ].  Just joking, of course.

So it was indeed a welcome break when my lawyer brother, his wife, and his three young, charming and alarming children took me along to dinner at a well-known Chinese restaurant in Manila.  Aside from having a strong “Chinoy” Chinese-Filipino [ usually Fookienese ] clientele, it is also a gathering place for the city’s Cantonese community, and surprisingly enough, even the Singaporean community.   The food is consistently excellent and never fails to satisfy, even satiate.  My brother ordered up a storm which included Suckling Pig, Peking Duck, Scallops, etc. and I was amused and gratified at how much his three young children could eat.

From where I was sitting in our round table, I saw a big Chinese gentleman in his late 50s take his seat at a table for four.  He was the first to arrive among his company and he ordered a drink from a waiter.  A few seconds later, he started picking his nose with the index finger of his right hand.  I immediately looked away, lest I be accused of staring.  But it was not easy to look another way because he was in my direct line of vision.  A few seconds later, extending the scope of his excavations, his arm assumed the 9 o’ clock position.  Apparently, he still couldn’t get to his coveted “treasure” because, after a few more seconds, he raised his arm further to the 10 o’ clock position!  He only stopped when a second, big Chinese gentleman, also in his late 50s, apparently his friend, arrived.  The first gentleman stood up and shook hands vigorously with the newly-arrived one and then both sat down to an engaging conversation, most likely about business.  They sounded Cantonese.  The second gentleman ordered a drink from a waiter.  But what really took the cake was that in a few seconds, both gentlemen were picking through their noses!  Hahahah!!!

It wasn’t the first time I’ve witnessed such a spectacle, since it’s a common practice, certainly not considered offensive, in Chinese communities across Asia.

I find it quite amusing, and I’m sure you do too.

Booger Wonderland.  Or as they say in Pilipino:  “Pangungulangot” or simply, “Kulangot.”   :P    :P    :P

Comedy Relief: High-Flying Mistress

This true story happened in the late 1970s and I had forgotten about it until my aunts, visiting from the United States, recalled it yesterday.  I assure you that it is a classic for all time…

An aunt of mine [ a first cousin of my mother ], a highly successful professional in her late 40s, was flying home to Manila from San Francisco, where she kept a really beautiful house in Hillsborough [ "Hillsboring" to her children  :P ].  As always, she took Japan Airlines, First Class.

She took her seat and in a while was joined by another Filipina, pretty, in her early 40s.  My aunt introduced herself using her maiden name, for that was how she was known professionally and socially.  The younger lady was pleasant and they enjoyed their conversations throughout the long flight.

As always when ladies get together, they got to talking about their lives, their husbands / boyfriends, their children, their work, their health…

“I’m married, with five children.  We were married in 1952.”  my aunt volunteered.

“I’m still single, but I have a slightly older boyfriend;  he’s 49 and he’s a businessman.”  the younger lady responded.

“My husband is also a businessman… and he’s 49 too!”  my aunt exclaimed.

“Oh, that’s nice, men are so reliable at that age, don’t you think?”  remarked the younger lady.

“Yes, finally!  By the way, my husband is an architect… but his hobby is collecting guns.”  my aunt stated.

“Oh what a coincidence!  My boyfriend is also mad about guns… and he’s an architect too!”  exclaimed the younger lady.

Still suspecting nothing, my aunt asked:  “So what’s your boyfriend’s name?  Maybe I know him.  Manila is so small.”

“Manila is so small.”  You bet…   :P    :P    :P

“****** ******* [ my aunt's husband ].”  revealed the younger lady.

!!!~@#$%^&*()_++_)(*&^%$#@~!!!

My sweet, sweet, sweet aunt saw all the stars, constellations, and galaxies of the universe… !!!!!!!!

Needless to say, there was a godawful quarrel the minute my sweet, sweet, sweet aunt arrived at her house in Manila…

Bwahahahahah!!!!!!!!   :P    :P    :P

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