Kitty Litter

(On the left: wish this would work in Manila!)


If you’ve ever driven, walked, or been ferried through the streets of Metro Manila, you aren’t a true Manilenyo if you haven’t seen:

1. Street vendors hawking everything imaginable and a few things out of the realms of logic; I have yet to see someone actually buy a cowboy hat or a fishing rod or “nipple pinker” cream (I leave that to your imagination, dirty or otherwise).
2. Beggars of all sorts, from the apathetic and truly pitiful to those with admirable chutzpah (“I’ll dance or sing if you give me five pesos!” My fantasy response? “Here’s the five bucks but only if you don’t do it!”) and outright gall (raise your hand if a beggar somewhere has thrown a peso back into your face and called you a cheapskate or worse).
3. Suicidal jumpers with weird priorities; the GMA 7 billboard on East Avenue corner EDSA attracts a LOT of them, including, allegedly, the man who threatened to jump because it was "too hot to live". (Please tell me I am making this up!) You either a) gawked or b) yelled invectives at the poor S or D of a B.
4. Strange, uh, characters, ranging from the ubiquitous flashers, men “choking the chicken” in public, and those who make you stop and ask yourself, “what the fuck?” (Take the woman I once saw arguing vigorously with a street lamp. From the looks of it, she was winning.)
5. A true blue honest-to-goodness road rage-inspired fight. And you cheered the participants on or gawked or even joined in!
   

I’ve seen and done all of the above, and I am dying to see another street fight (aside from the ones Wynn and I have been in) so that I can unleash the phrases I’ve saved up for the occasion. One is “Talon! Talon! Ay, hinde, patayan na lang kayo.” (Hard to translate but “Talon, talon!” is “encouragement” hurled at suicide jumpers by bystanders seeking a cheap thrill. Since it’s inappropriate for a street fight, the last clause invites the combatants to remove each other permanently from the gene pool. Amen.) Another is the delightful schoolyard challenge, “Hawakan mo sa tenga!” Apparently, tweaking a man’s ear is an affront to his manhood. Damned if I know why.

Last week, during my dad’s birthday party, my uncle Ed, my dad, my sister, and I got to talking about the road rage incidents we’ve witnessed (and participated in). Quite a few stories were trotted out, and I share one with you now. Don’t worry, more will follow soon.

Road Rage Episode 4 (the others are in my archives, and I’ll link to them once I find them)

My Uncle Ed was in Divisoria, along that tiny road off Recto which leads into a packed alley that gives on to the Tutuban parking area. He was crawling north in what was supposed to be a two-lane road, but the circus of street vendors reduced it to one and half a road. Traffic was, as is to be expected, lousy, and one impatient truck driving lout decided that going into the oncoming lane (despite the presence of oncoming traffic!) was the best solution. As most lower life forms do when given control of a machine smarter than him, this one blocked the passage of vehicles in the oncoming lane, where my Uncle Ed’s car was the lead vehicle.

My even-tempered uncle came out and tried to reason with the meat-brained driver, who spat a huge gob of phlegm out his window and said, “Nauna na ako e, di kayo lahat ang umatras!” (I got here first; you all back up now!) He then rolled up his window and proceeded to ignore my uncle's entreaties and the deafening barrage of honking from the aggrieved drivers; his equally shit-for-brains helpers waved at everyone in the oncoming lane to back up.

Uncle Ed shrugged and walked back to his car, figuring there was no reasoning with the dungbrained truck driver. He was mentally preparing to settle in and wait it out when a portly man quietlywent past him . Portly guy drew a .45 from behind his pants (will someone explain this location for firearms, please?) and without a word, flung open the dungbrained truck driver’s door and pistol-whipped him so hard, blood flew out the door and spattered a vendor along the side of the road.

Dungbrain Driver and his helpers immediately sprang into action as the man with the gun calmly folded his arms and watched them move. Dungbrain Driver threw the truck into reverse, and with his suddenly efficient team clearing the path behind him of other louts who had followed his example, he broke a speed record backing out of the oncoming lane.

Once Dungbrain was far enough, the man with the gun turned to my Uncle Ed, gave him a cheerless and silent thumbs-up sign, and walked back to his car.

Labels: funny fights, humor, road rage

They say the best part of traveling is going home, and I'm inclined to agree, except for the turbulence.

I would've kissed the ground as soon as the plane landed except 1) I'm not the late beloved Pope John Paul, who made a habit of kissing soil wherever he went; 2) PAL is smart enough to make sure passengers like me can never touch the tarmac; and 3) I'm not sure I want my lips to make contact with ground trodden on by god-knows-who. And what was the reason for such enthusiasm? Turbulence. Air pockets. Call it what you like; I say goddamnit, I hate them.

Wynn roused himself at the ungodly hour of 3 am just to get me from the airport some time later. The sad part is that the only time I ever got discriminated against was when I came home; an officious customs clerk yelled at me, then in the next breath was honey-sweet with a Caucasian foreigner who came after me. And to think I came from the South in the US!

Every time I go abroad (twice, and never again, I hope), I lose weight because I pine for the silliest things: tapsilog, stray cats, Tagalog curses, kare-kare (wait, I pine for that even at home...). You never think of yourself as a foreigner in another land; you think of everyone else as being a tourist, and you do things you would never do back home for fear of having what's left of your good name ruined.

But I think what matters most about journeys is when you discover things about yourself. I thought I was fairly open-minded; that is, until I was thrown into the lap of a male dancer on Castro Street in San Francisco and discovered the meaning of "want a taste?" It was not as pleasant as they make it out to be in the movies; I like handsome men as much as the next woman, but coming face to face with the "goods" made me miss Wynn even more.

We made up for lost time on our first drive out. Prior to leaving for the US, my car had been struck by the driver of a Hyundai van who reasoned that, between a new Innova and my old but faithful Mazda, it would be cheaper to hit me. (He has fled; any information leading to the owner or driver of a Hyundai with plate number REF 890 will be much appreciated.)

Driving down E Rodriguez, we were crossing with the green light on our side when we encountered an arrogant teen pedestrian, palm held out in the disdainful "HOLD IT!" gesture all drivers are familiar with (and would love to run over), crossing against the light in a "WALANG TAWIRAN NAKAMAMAMATAY" (don't you just love that?) zone. I honked to warn the ugly boy when he flashed us the finger.

In a flash, Wynn was out of the car. To say he was a frightening sight, with his long hair unbound, an arnis stick in one hand and a menacing expression on his face, is an understatement but it will suffice for now. On his way to chase the ugly teen down, Wynn zoomed past a pushcart team, the members of which clutched at their hearts and plastered themselves against the wall to avoid him.

I followed, and was just in time to hear the leader of the pushcart team say, "Uy, may away. Nood tayo!"

There's no place like home indeed.

Labels: funny fights, Wynn

With apologies to Pol Medina.

Last Sunday I was coerced into going to Baclaran to hunt for a Filipiniana outfit for the bridal fair I'm supposed to attend in San Francisco. (Whoopee; I don't have a visa yet and the flight's booked for August 8, 7 days from now. I have no idea how this will play out.)

People sneer at Divisoria because it's supposed to be the armpit of Metro Manila. Oh really? If so then Baclaran is the anus of Metro Manila. People are rude, everything is filthy, and even the McDonald's there is dirtier than the MMDA public toilets, I swear.

It was raining, and thanks to a miscommunication helped along by Stupid, er, Smart's stupid service, Wynn and I were lost. We were supposed to meet my mom at the church, and we slogged our way through the traffic and the pushy pedestrians, vendors, animals, and what have you.

In front of the Baclaran church is a small sidewalk with a steel awning. 90% of it was taken up by vendors, and so to get to the church, you had a choice of walking on the street, where a delightful array of flood water, urine, reckless pedicab drivers and feckless jeepney drivers awaited you...or you could try to balance yourself on the 10% of the sidewalk the vendors had left for pedestrian traffic. Wynn and I chose the latter.

It wasn't easy weaving our way through people going in all directions and trying not to get wet, but we managed. We walked single file (because we both detest morons who walk on crowded streets two, three, one million abreast), with Wynn taking point.

Halfway to the church a short, fat man shoved me almost to the pavement then stepped on my shoes--hard--for good measure. I cried out, and angrily remonstrated. Despite the fact that he was a good, what, ten inches shorter than me, he whirled around and yelled at me threateningly. I readied myself for combat, drawing my umbrella in and preparing to jab. I estimated that I was at least fifty pounds heavier, and though I wasn't wearing my preferred weapon of choice (high heels), I was ready to make do with my cat claws, er, nails. People drew back in alarm upon seeing my expression.

Not that it fazed the asshole. "Ano, papalag ka? Ang bagal mo kumilos, nakita mo na wala akong payong ano?" he shouted.

Wynn turned around to ascertain that I was all right. He saw the short fat bastard accosting me, and that's when Wynn grabbed his shoulder, spun him around, then shoved him in the chest. Wynn, incidentally, is four inches taller than me, and with his (messy) long hair unfurled, he is a rather intimidating sight. "What's your problem?" he yelled at the moron. "Ano, ha?" And trust me when I say his volume was infinitely louder.

The moron suddenly went limp, and nearly crawled on the pavement to apologize...to Wynn. He profusely said "Sorry, sorry talaga pare, sorry"...to Wynn.

Not to me.

He couldn't flee fast enough.

Later, Wynn sadly turned to me and remarked, "So if I hadn't been there he'd have made it your fault?"

I thought for a while, then said, "It's because I'm female. Even though he's wrong, he thinks that the tiny things swinging between his legs makes what he does right."

Wynn asked, "Do you want to leave this country?"

I said, "It's more like this country is throwing me out."

Labels: funny fights, Wynn

No, the title is not an error. But if you noticed it, then maybe you'd like to copyedit this mook I have to work with?

The kid (very young, only months of experience writing and newspapering) argued with me yesterday when I edited his article. It was creative; I'll give him that. But when I attempted to correct his work, he went ballistic. I tried to explain to him over the phone that a newspaper has a responsibility to its readers to provide well-written articles that they can easily understand. He invoked creativity, etc. as his defense, and refused to listen to my explanation that I both teach and write, that I am a creative writer, and that I have written AND edited for papers in the past. He didn't care about credentials; all he cared about was his wounded pride.

Then I was amazed to find that he'd taken a potshot at me, mocking my insistence that he use correct grammar and watch his word choice in a column he writes for our newspaper. Sneaky schmuck didn't send it to me for editing, but simply put it in the paper when no one was looking. (And don't think I didn't realize the significance of that!)

I picked up a copy today, and--lo and behold--there was a bunch of snide comments about people who insisted on good grammar--meaning me. Here is the column, without the kid's name and the name of the paper. Res ipsa loquitur--you tell me if this is, indeed, creative and well-written. Sneaky is a given, though.


RANT # 1
I’m alive and I can’t write a thing in a political Philippines where Philippine Cuisine wets in a blurring of identity; there’s the hype on everything cultural as how politically standardized culture should be, if fringed with our society’s standard talking points.
RANT#2
At this point, could I be regarded as a writer? Maybe yes, maybe no. Later, I’d be someone else. If I’d be cooking Sea Bass, dunking it in fresh milk for 5 minutes, seasoning it with salt and butter, and dredging it in flour before I high-sear-fry it in butter and olive oil, I’d be a cook, cooking French cuisine. And I’d be boasting of a good Sea Bass Meuniere, which simply means Pritong Isda.
Anyway, if I’d be someone eating Sea Bass Meunier, I’d simply be someone eating Sea Bass Meunier, and not a writer. If I’d be writing at this point, then I’m simply someone writing.
RANT#3
It’s so difficult to get the perfection of a Dill Beur Blanc sauce. When I was doing my version, I used minced white onions as an option for shallots. I simmered it with chopped dill and white wine, and when reduced, I added in whipped cream and chicken stock.
Reduce it to the right consistency, as how one need be reducing a supra-ego of actually teaching the module-based technicalities of pagsulat ng Ingles sa Tamang Pamamaraan, without actually writing a ballistic work, bigger than The Irish Bard, or Psychodeath Bubble-gum Love Suite of Ramil, or water songs of Nerisa Del Carmen-Guevarra. Just eat Gani’s TAO.
RANT#4
My God I’m having the writer’s block! Or maybe, the "someone-who’s-trying to-write-block."
Where is Eleonora Dimagiba when one needs advise on writing. Shish, I need to visit BS Medina.
Anyway, do not forget to season with salt and pepper. Whisk in butter to the sauce and a little bit of humility to it, but cook it as B. Savarin and write like A. Ginsberg. More so, smile like how Jollibee does...
...haay, I think I’d not be able to finish my rant. You want to know why?
Here is the answer:
See it?
Anyway, don’t forget to always put white wine when cooking seafood Pasta Italian style. Get the best of clams and anchovies.
Forget about Cabernet Sauvignon, it’s expensive. Try Merlot.
And, free lunch will always be served at home.
Where’s home, anyway?
Maybe, it is where my writing is.

Our boss tore him a new @$$hole for his arrogance. Seemed he'd already been warned about his attitude in the past. Our boss tried hard to be fair, and even introduced us and let me explain my side to him. I edit to improve articles, I try to help you, etc., was what I said. Our boss told him to put up or shut up, basically...and that worried me. People pushed against the wall can be dangerous, and if his column is any indication, then I better watch my back, yes? Pride chicken: he prefers to attack from behind.

When I brought the column to his attention, and told him that I knew what he'd written, there was dead silence. Though he promised to work professionally with me in the future, the fact that he was humiliated over this incident is not going to go away easily, and I'm waiting for another attack in some other form.

He's young, and I can't help but feel sorry for him in spite of his childish behavior. I know he's quite insecure about his position: he's on probation, he has no prior experience with writing or editing, he supervises the layout and article-gathering (basically doing the dirty work of the editor), and he doesn't have the credentials for writing and editing.

I've taught more Creative Writing classes than I can count, and I can pick out the type quite easily; in his youthful conceit, there is no room in his mind for the idea that someone might actually be better than him. I get that a lot in undergrad classes, so I was surprised that someone out of college could be like this. (Of course he was meek and polite when our boss was around, and this rang so many warning bells, I'm surprised our boss didn't hear them clanging. But then, he's a laid-back, cool and collected kinda guy, so he probably did but chose not to mention it.)

But his youth and insecurity does not give him the right to behave in this manner. No matter what he thinks, he still has to learn a few lessons, and this most of all: the media is not to be used as a tool for lashing out at people for your own purposes. If he wants to do that, I believe a certain publisher of another paper would like an assistant.

I'm willing to bet he'll go running to his writer-friends (whom I also know, incidentally) in an attempt to smear mud on my name. I wanted to be transferred to another section as I could see this wasn't going to work, but Cool Boss refused to let me resign. He told the boy straight out that I was editing the section, and the boy had better pick up a few lessons from me and control his attitude. My other boss told me that this was a strong message and a punishment in itself. Me, I think that Cool Boss has his reasons, but if I find a knife sticking in my back anytime soon, I will be sure to show it to him. The kid might need it back, after all (to steal a line from this funny email I got which featured "Rejected Hallmark Card Texts").

Seems the kid's been in hot water before (for rudeness to an advertiser, a huge no-no in an industry that relies on advertising), and when my boss told me, "He's an idiot. It's probably best that you ignore him. But he's young, and I think he deserves a second chance...although this is already his second chance," I figured the boy would just dig himself into his grave.

I just hope he has the sense not to try and pelt others with his own graveyard dirt.

Labels: crazy people, funny fights

A School Snippet. Sort Of.

This afternoon I was checking papers when I heard a pounding coming from outside my office. The walls in the Faculty Center are so laughably thin, you can just raise your voice a bit and be able to carry on a perfectly intelligible conversation with your neighbor, so you can imagine how noisy that was. Since I was in killer mode (I'm hoping for a 25% fatality rate in my class. Now if I only had the guts to carry my threat out), I was in no mood to tolerate the disturbance. The pounding continued for several seconds, so I went out and saw two boys using the door across the hall as a percussion instrument.

I never thought I would ever see Harry Potter characters come to life, but there in front of me were Dudley Dursley's "rat-faced friend, Piers Polkiss" and Goyle...well, at least Piers and Goyle, Filipino version.

The Polkiss look-alike was literally a human rat; his snout twitched in a mannerism which was cute on Lucy Liu in "Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle," but on him, it was reminiscent of the kind of sewer-rat refuse even normal house rats look down on. The Goyle look-alike looked too much like the "Fat Fairy" (even the desperate gay guys I know would never stoop so low as to go out with him) who liked to dance around in a small comic book store I like going to...much to the dismay of the owner, who fantasized about throwing him over the third floor railing. Let's call them Rat Turd Face and Goyle.

Goyle looked at me stupidly, but his brain had evolved enough for him to realize that he was in danger of being given a sermon, so he stopped tapping the door. Rat Turd Face continued to pound on the door. I got Rat-Boy's attention and told him to stop pounding on the door; it was obvious that no one was around. With that, I left.

Important digression: A few months ago, I saw a feature on Animal Planet on chimps. The lead chimp was being pestered by a younger male who insisted on whacking a coconut husk on the branch where the alpha male was (I hope I've got the terms right; if not, do let me know). The more pissed the alpha male, the more the younger one insisted on pounding on the branch with the coconut.

Sound familiar?

On with my story. I ran into Rat Face and Pig Snout in the corridor several minutes later. As I passed them, Rat Face started tapping on the wall.

It's kind of pathetic how these boys see their laughably immature actions as being "cool." I can only presume that Rat Face was humiliated when I singled him out for attention, so he had to get back at me in some way. Let's try to duplicate his tiny brain processes:

* Teacher bad to me!
* Must revenge to teacher!
* Teacher no can be pounded to floor. No can kill. She bigger me. May be she eat me! No!
* See teacher! She mad when me pound, so me tap wall! Me superior! This me version Tarzan pound chest!

Who's going to try and convince me that we are superior to animals? Come on! We ALL exhibit animalistic behavior at one time or another; sadly, in many cases, it's all the time. Erma Bombeck's book, "All I Need To Know About Animal Behavior I Learned In The Loehmann's Dressing Room" is more insightful than the average anthropological report. What we like to think of as human dignity is really defense mechanism. We have this innate need to feel superior; hence Rat Face tapping the wall, and me writing this post. Too bad for him I'm better at revenge.

I could go on and on and rant about this, but I have something else to write. And yes, to the fans of the funny, it is funny. ^_^

Labels: "joys" of teaching, funny fights

I pick up so many stories on a daily basis that it would be a shame not to retell them here. Maybe these will gain the status of urban legends...then come back to nip me on the butt as chain mail. Ha ha.

Kwentong Kutsero I: Fights I Have Seen

Some stories just have to be told. That being said, allow me to state now that I personally witnessed these scenes. Enjoy, and if you know the protagonists, do let me know.

1. Two Stupid Dogs and the Last Word (Greenhills parking lot, Christmas rush, around 2000)

Boy driving noisy car # 1 (you know the type: yung may umuutot na muffler) cuts off boy driving noisy car # 2. They both get out and proceed to hurl invectives at one another. (Transcript follows. If you can’t understand it, try reading it out loud. ‘Nuff said.)

Noisy 1: Puck yu!

Noisy 2: (after some thought) Yah? Wel pak yu tu!

Both boys raise their fists in what they think is a threatening manner. Some posturing, then…

Noisy 1: Puck yu lalo!

Noisy 2: Pak yu talaga! Pak yu pak yu!

Noisy 1: Puck you puck you puck you!

Noisy 2: O yah? Wel pak yu pak yu pak yu en pak yu!

By this time, the bystanders are doubled over in laughter, and people are echoing their words, stressing their inability to say "Fuck" properly. Somehow the fight is resolved, and both climb into their cars.

But Noisy 1 isn’t leaving without the last word, and as Noisy 2 drives off, he yells, "Wel puck yu to infinity!"

2. Honk Dog (Seen in front of Decades bar on Roces Avenue a few days ago)

Didn’t witness the first half of this one, but I caught the middle part. Apparently two guys (not the same as the ones above; they are in plentiful supply, it seems) got into a traffic altercation and decided to have it out.

Guy 1: Are you honking me?

Kwentong Kutsero II: Elaborate Revenges

Everyone’s heard about the person who, upon being robbed of a parking slot by some other jerk, was told to "suck it up." Whereupon the victim slams several times into the offender’s car with a tire iron/the car s/he is driving, and walks away with a casual "Suck it up too, asshole," tossed over the shoulder. (A variation that amuses me is, "Here’s my lawyer’s number. S/he’ll help you suck it up.")

These are the ones which I-or my friends-have personally witnessed.

Why You Should Never Hog Two Parking Spaces

This happened in the SM City parking lot. A Tamaraw hogged two parking spaces and, incredibly, managed to encroach on its neighbor’s space in such a way that the driver of the neighboring car would have to get in through the passenger side. When my friends came back, the Tamaraw was listing to the right. Three tires had been flattened; two appeared to have had the air let out of them while the tire on the side of the inconvenienced neighbor (who had disappeared by then) had been slashed with a knife.

Labels: funny fights, road rage