Kitty Litter

Warning: Serious profanity ahead. Try bored.com if you are easily offended by name-calling.

Lynn Truss laments the breakdown in manners in this wonderful book, "Talk to the Hand: The Utter Bloody Rudeness of the World Today, or Six Good Reasons to Stay Home and Bolt the Door," and I find myself agreeing with her wholeheartedly. But when she says that we define manners, I find myself thinking, “But I try to at least think of the other person when in certain social situations.”

It doesn’t always work.

I came home yesterday, tired from a long day spent checking papers, proofing, copyediting, and writing articles as fast as I could. I was not in the mood for what I found when I came home.

A 1990s model white Toyota Corona was parked across the road from our gate. Unfortunately our road is so small, it’s just enough for two vehicles to pass each other. When you try to enter our narrow driveway, you need “buelo”—you have to hug the opposite side of the road so that you don’t wind up scraping the car against the gate that opens outwards or our metal fence. The way the Corona was parked (plate number available if you want it; ask me privately or text me) made it impossible to enter our garage from either direction, and did not leave space to make “buelo”.

There’s this badminton court across our house, and we often have trouble with their assholic players parking in driveways and blocking gates. Our neighbor on the right has gotten so angry, he’s peppered the area across of his driveway with nails and broken glass. On our left side, the lawyer there has had cars towed and I think he’s busy suing those who ran over the hedges in front of his house. Not to say that all badminton players are inconsiderate cretins (I play occasionally...wait a minute...), but I suspect that they converge at the court in front of our house.

I asked the bantay guy to fetch the owner. He tried to apologize, but I assured him he had nothing to apologize for; after all, he’s always been diligent in shooing away morons who try to block our gate. Off he went to page the owner.

So I waited…and waited. It took so long, even super-kulit cat Dexter gave up and went off to pick a fight with a cat who wandered across the road.

After the third time that the owner was paged, the fucker finally appeared. The cocksucker gave me a condescending look; it seems I had interrupted a good game. Worse, he took his time moving to his car; apparently, it was a good time for a nighttime stroll. Clearly, my comfort was of no concern to him, because as soon as I opened my mouth to chastise him, the shitface put up his hand, palm outwards, in a supremely indifferent, dismissive gesture.

Wynn later told me that some idiots actually think this is an apology. But it isn’t, and no one should accept it as such.

I only got out the words, “Sana man lang naisip mo na nakakaharang ka…walang daan papasok sa garahe naming dahil sa ‘yo…” before the lower life form cut me off with a “Yeah, yeah.” I bet there was a “Whatever” in there somewhere.

How many times have I, and many other like me, been in this situation? I am basically a reasonable person. Had he been apologetic, I would’ve let it go.

It could be said that when I tell my students off (i.e., comments like, “This paper is a collection of random thoughts and useless opinion. What is your point?”), I am thoughtless of their feelings too. WRONG. I tell them off so that they will learn. If all schools were run by people like American Idol judge Paula Abdul, who praises everything, even the mediocre or downright stupid, then what kind of students will we have? I don’t act out of malice; I tell students things as brutally as possible because in the real world, few care about your feelings. I do this to teach. There is nothing similar between what I do and what inconsiderate people do, because I am actually concerned about the students I tell off.

Let’s try thinking of the dumbass driving the Corona; what could his story be? An explanation could be that the dickweed was embarrassed, and acted that way to save face. Riiigght. I want to ask him, “Hey cornholio, since when have your feelings been more important than those of the people you have inconvenienced?” I could also say that I should think of his situation; after all, the jackass doesn’t know the area. But I say to that, how can you earn a license if you can’t be aware of where not to park? Wait…this is the Philippines. What am I saying? But that still doesn’t excuse the jerk.

Are you angry too as you read this? Are you thinking of similar (or worse) situations you’ve been in?

They say that when we are victims of other people’s inconsideration and thoughtlessness, we should be the bigger person and try to understand the other person’s reasons or motives. But where do we draw the line? I think this is the very philosophy that has allowed dictators and cheats to flourish as leaders of this country…because of the “live and let live” philosophy.

If more of us fought back and refused to be doormats, then maybe things will improve. And yes, I am a hypocrite, because I was too tired to chase the bastard down and give him a piece of my mind after he moved his car. Besides, Dexter wanted his dinner, and he wanted it NOW.

Or is that just an excuse on my part? The trap laid for those of us who try to fight any kind of oppression or injustice is this: if we fight, we lose time for the essentials in life. Witness numbercruncher; his sister fought back and apprehended a cell phone snatcher. Once the case got to court, the defense lawyer kept resetting and resetting the hearing until, tired and out of money to fight further, she gave up. Is she a coward? Certainly not! Even the bravest of people are worn down when things like these happen to them, because the cause you fight for ends up consuming your life.

And when the choice is between quality time with your loved one or wasted time waiting for your case to come up in court, only to have it reset again, or between fighting for what you believe is right versus protecting those who depend on you, the choice is never easily made, mainly because there are no right or wrong choices.

As for me, I’ve turned my anger into a blog entry. I’ve resorted to the old schoolyard standby for behind-the-back revenge: name-calling. I’ve done something productive. I should be proud, I guess.

But there’s a part of me that’s out there slashing the dickhead’s tires, breaking his side mirrors, and scratching his car’s finish. Worse, I’m not sorry for feeling this way.

So which one of us is the bigger gago? I hope it’s him.

==

Postscript: The heat has been keeping me from sleeping well lately. Today, I told Wynn I smelled rain coming. He thought it was wishful thinking, but told me to stay optimistic.

He texted me just now: Guess who wished for rain and just got their wish?

I replied: I’m happy now. Makes up for my lousy day.

I wish I never lose the ability to appreciate these small blessings.

If you're interested in the New York Times International Weekly (the editing of which is my primary job now) in the Manila Bulletin, it comes out every Saturday. It's part of the new thrust led by our boss, Emil Yap III, to bring the Bulletin closer to readers.

If you would like previews of each Saturday edition, check out http://mbnytiw.blogspot.com (mainly because I don't know how to make a website, heh heh). Feel free to spread the word and link to it; I promise that I will send millions of happy, good karma points to all who point people in that direction.

The site also serves as a resource archive, so if you're doing research on something and want some up-to-date news on it, then this is a good place to start. I intend to put in indexing soon; in the meantime, try the "Search This Blog" option instead.

Sorry, no funny photos there. ^_^

Naturally, the first thing you check out in Hong Kong is the shopping. If you know where to look, there are places where bargains are to be had. Other writers (who certainly have better sartorial tastes than I do) have written about high-end shopping in Hong Kong, so I won’t talk about what I don’t know. But there are a few surprises, still, that I discovered on my own.

For someone like me, who isn’t a brand name shopper, Hong Kong can be quite an experience…and it can put you off shopping in Manila for a long time; I know I haven’t been to a mall since I returned. That’s because of the good service from the salespeople in Westernized stores there.

First-time Pinoy visitors like me, accustomed to the “default setting: snobbish” salesclerks at Metro Manila malls will be surprised by the service at department stores in Hong Kong. Of course there are horror stories, but I was lucky enough never to have been mistreated there. Certainly the language barrier can be a problem, but since most Hong Kongers have learned enough English to sell stuff, it won’t be a problem for long.

It was refreshing for me to walk into Lane Crawford, their most prestigious department store, and not be eyed beadily for being dark-skinned, or because I wasn’t wearing expensive clothing—the kind of nasty treatment I’ve grown accustomed to in Manila. As far as Hong Kong salespersons are concerned, you are a potential customer, and they tend to be helpful, if somewhat…aggressive.

And how, indeed. Take perfume shopping. In Manila. If you want a sample strip of a fragrance at a mall, you practically have to beg the usually arrogant demonstrating salesperson to give you one. In Hong Kong, at a retail outlet Sasa (a rival of Watson’s), when the salesperson realized I was trying to choose a scent to buy, she enthusiastically prepared many sample strips for me. I was overwhelmed, and I learned a hard lesson that way: scent overload can numb your nose.

But even when I reeled out of the shop several minutes later, no one glared at me for purchasing only a tube of rich, berry-scented lotion; the salespeople had moved on to the next batch of customers and were eagerly pressing samples into their hands.

Bargaining is another quaint experience, especially if you have a sense of humor and are a cheapskate, like me. During a rainy evening at the night market in Mong Kok, I discovered that bargaining was in order; my companions chided me for accepting the first prices quoted at me by the shopkeepers of the first stalls I went to. I was mortally afraid of offending a shopkeeper by haggling; I am lousy at that.

I realized that Hong Kong shopkeepers expect you to haggle when I asked one woman how much a hard plastic case for my cell phone cost. “HK$30,” she quoted, and with some mental math, I decided it was too much. I thanked her and prepared to walk off when she came after me, hard case in hand, and a new phrase: “$20 only!”

It looks nice on my phone, by the way.

At one stall where I saw a cat-printed bag I’d wanted for a long time, I asked the price. The saleswoman there held up a calculator displaying the number 50, and I balked. Thinking there was no way to bring the price down, I thanked her, and was about to walk away when she yelled after me, “OK, thirty!”

Now that’s my kind of bargaining: across cultures and language barriers…and the shopkeepers do the haggling for you. It’s a bargain idiot’s heaven.

O~O

Some dorky photos below:


Giggling on a street in Tsim Tsa Tsui with Ome, Sense & Style ed at large (though I'm larger, hehe, if we talk about the physical sense) and brilliant Wedding Essentials/About Weddings editor Marbee Go, who kindly shepherded us around Hong Kong (even though we deserved to be left alone, honestly).

I think I like trenchcoats now. I look skinny in them, heh heh. Behind us are other Bulletin people, including our long-suffering boss.




At the IFRA seminar. Lots of people canceled out, so we had the speakers all to ourselves...well, sort of. We plied them with questions the whole time!

Here, with Pulitzer winner Louise Kiernan and Ome. She is a goddess of writing; I swear I learned an entire college course in three days with her ^_^ I have no idea why the photo is so yellow.



Taken outside the building of flats where Marbee put me up for several days. It's on Fashion Walk.











I tell people who look at this photo that this is my harem. But I think it's unfair to the guys involved. Left to right: RJ, our Picture Perfect editor, who gets stuck with all the special supplements (last time I saw him, he was reeling through the corridor with coffee in hand). Emil, our boss, who enjoyed the 15 degree temperature. Me! Far behind me is Anjo, who does the motoring section, then there's Moy. Next to me is Kuya, whose real name I have never figured out because nobody calls him by it...ever...and one of my boss' assistants, whose name escapes me for now (sorry!)

Mood: Still shaken. Remind me to pay more attention to feng shui manuals. Mine said I should watch out for accidents and violence this month, plus it cautioned me against going to funerals or cemeteries this year.

Yesterday I was driving down Scout Santiago on my way to UP. It's the main road, so I had right of way. As I approached the intersection I noticed one of those boxy armored vehicles bearing down on me from the side (no right of way) road. I was almost halfway across the intersection so I thought the driver would do the smart thing and slow down.

Yeah right. Remember all those Pugad Baboy jokes about armored car drivers? "Wanted: Armored car driver, criminal background preferred. Must be reckless, arrogant, and easily provoked into poking firearms at civilians." No one can tell me there's no truth behind jokes, because I learned that yesterday.

It was coming at such a speed that even when I increased mine, it just kept coming. I yanked the steering wheel hard to the left and narrowly avoided a collision. It had no plates, no number, nothing, nd it just kept going. I presume the driver was feeling truly macho because there were two of them traveling in convoy. (Have you noticed how many loutish men feel brave only when they're with companions?)

It's amazing how many people here don't care about things like that. I bet that if I report this incident, I'll be told something along the lines of "You knew he was an armored car driver; he's got something to protect so why didn't YOU give way?"

Rallyists in the street point at politicians, saying their corruption has leaked down to the masa. But I think corruption is in the person. It's the choices you make as a person that help make up the psyche of our country. (Read Isagani Cruz's PDI column on why he doesn't advocate overthrowing GMA violently, yet acknowledges that she is corrupt. The man speaks truth!)

And too many of us...yes, us, you and me and your neighbor and your family...we make the choices that are the easy way out. I'm not going to report the incident because I say I don't have time. Is that a good idea for me?

On the other hand, if I did report the incident, who's gonna pay attention to me?

We're trapped in purgatory, and we all helped make it.

Wandered over to Banzai Cat's blog and found this. It's a hilarious mock flame war between Warren Ellis (who made fun of weird costumes at a comic con he attended) and Joss Whedon (the god who created Buffy).

Ah, the joy of silly geeky humor. Moments like these make me proud to be a sorta-kinda geek (bordering on the "dork" side, so I prefer "geek").

Not for those who are unfamiliar with Joss Whedon and Warren Ellis. If you aren't into comics or Buffy, sorry about that. But the geek in me just had a laughgasm reading this "flame war" which turns into Brokeback Mountain. Eargh!

You need a background in gaming, Buffy, X-Men, comic cons, Star Wars, and other nerdy stuff to get the jokes. Share it with a friend who's been through RPGs and Buffythons with you

The link: http://www.warrenellis.com/?p=1848

Check out comments 4 downwards. Enjoy.

Got this off Bianca's journal. Bianca has a lot of funny stuff, and God knows I need a good laugh. Click on her link if you want MORE!!! ^_^

My boyfriend encourages another friend of ours to troll Friendster for nude photos, which they share. We think they should rename it "Pornster," honestly. Not that I mind; some of them are definitely not amateur material, hmm. The photo on the right is a definite expression of the right to democratic access and use of the Web. Aren't you proud to live in the era of instant self-promotion?










When you post your photo in a public domain, well, there will always be backlash and people who will spread it around. So I have no sympathy for girls who cry in their blogs, claiming their "private" nude Friendster photos have been "prostituted". Well, duh, then why post it there in the first place?

I'm sure this young lady on the right, though, will not cry over the spread of her photo.









Others use Friendster to accumulate capital for, ahem, future careers, and Wynn likes to joke that he's just collecting photos for "future reference."

I'm sure he'll skip this photo on the right and the one below, though, as they are too, er, provocative. Hmm.























But this photo on the right is worth joining Friendster for.


Laugh if you will, but there is a certain joy I take in these photos, and not just in the mirth I get from them, mind you. Perhaps the Internet truly is the last democratic place on earth. Hmm. Something to chew on the next time you're wondering how to express yourself.

(With apologies to White Wolf and Wizards of the Coast, which own the trademarks to the phrase and the VTES card with the name I used above)

Things have been frantic, and I have no idea how I've muddled through the past few months. I've given up editing two sections of the Bulletin, and my Enchanted Kingdom job. I've given up all hobbies except sleeping. I'm tired, I haven't written here in over a month, and I miss my friends. Funny how work gets in the way of living.

So when things get hairy, I visit my grandfather.

The Loyola cemetery where he rests is a very quiet, serene place. Call me a ghoul but when I'm alone, I go there to think things over. You remember how it is to live, because around you death is democratic, taking down old and young alike, reducing you to just one headstone.

The saddest thing I've ever seen is a headstone with the name rubbed out by the unforgiving sun, and overgrown with weeds. Today I saw headstones removed from their proper places, and in one case, a single plot had two headstones for a single person.

I understand how it was in the worlds of Neil Gaiman's gods in Sandman. Bast, for one, had been forgotten so completely, her world had turned into a graveyard of things past. And so it is with us; wasn't it Shakespeare who wrote that "So long as men can breathe and eyes can see/So long lives this, and this gives life to thee"? Maybe the Egyptians had it right; maybe you are immortal so long as you are remembered.

I'm sure the people under the faded headstones were once loved too. Sometimes I wander around reading birth and death dates and names. I once spotted one with my birthday; the person died several years ago, and finding that headstone scared me. I've never seen it again.

I've also seen headstones with photos of the people under them, and I think I prefer to be remembered as I was. Alive.

The only person who's ever shared this place with me is Wynn, who has the same kind of hands my grandfather used to have.

It's sad that I'm close to my Lolo only now that he's gone, but he's more of a presence now, like an ancestor you visit and talk to every now and then. I miss the stories he used to tell me...then I realized I couldn't remember them. So I sat in the cemetery wondering what to say to him.

The wonderful part was when I remembered that things like that didn't matter to him.

***

They say spirits reside in butterflies.

This butterfly came close enough for me to touch it some time ago. It settled on my shoulder, then flew off to this leaf, where I got the camera in close, then managed to touch it before it flew away.

Oddly, as I left the area, two small white butterflies danced around me for a few seconds before leaving.

I wonder what it's like to be so jaded that only exotic thrills can make your heart swell in your chest. It must suck.

***
Speaking of creatures, this cat was sitting atop the headstone it's leaving. It looked so eerie, this calico's markings, that I had to come closer and have a look at her.

There are a lot of cats in the graveyard. Feral, yes. But I think they feel safe there.

It's a shame when the place where animals feel safe is where we keep our dead.