tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29384419657828433432024-02-20T16:31:18.918-08:00Manly Man in ManilaCelebrating the joys of Manhood in Urban ManilaCousin Vinnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06105612023318610313noreply@blogger.comBlogger32125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2938441965782843343.post-32097377206345873472009-05-26T23:09:00.001-07:002009-05-27T03:04:02.134-07:00BITON..(But not Louis)<center><br /><a href="http://s81.photobucket.com/albums/j206/jovener/?action=view¤t=Kiwiblack.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i81.photobucket.com/albums/j206/jovener/Kiwiblack.jpg" border="0" alt="Kiwi"></a><br /><br /><br /></center>*<br /><br />The only time I get to have new shoes is when school starts. I came from a middle class family and the only time we get new stuff is just before school. My folks would buy me a pair of leather shoes and a pair of rubber shoes for PE. The idea of buying shoes out if vanity is totally alien to my folks. Not even Christmas. We get our new shoes in May and it’s got to last to next year. <br /><br />Once my father bought me shoes and he did the “boston” thing. For those not in the know, “bostons” are small pieces of leatherine that you nail to the soles of your leather shoes. The idea is that the boston will preserve your shoes from wear. In practice it did none of that and instead made your shoes slippery and makes a sound similar to:<br /><br /> “ka-plok..ka-plok. Ka-plok”. <br /><br />So much for my plans of turning to assassination as an alternative career. If James Bond used bostons, his license to kill will be revoked by M. <br /> <br />All our shoes then were made in Marikina.( Can you still buy shoes in Marikina other than in SM Marikina? Sorry Off-topic.) If the shade wasn’t right we did the “jovos” thing. Jovos is leather dye that you apply to your shoes using an old toothbrush. It comes in many shades are is usually available in your local sari-sari stores. It is also very noxious so don’t touch the stuff---and don’t use the toothbrush for your teeth. How noxious is jovos? Let's just say that if it can stain the hide of a dead cow, immagine what it can do to your skin. Rumor has it that it will also kill rats. I haven’t killed any yet. <br /><br />When we polish our shoes, we had the old Broadway shoe polish aka “Biton”. No imported Kiwi wax yet. Broadway comes in small tins that you open using a small coin. It also has the tendency to cake and dry when left in the open. You apply Biton using an old t-shirt or better—an old underwear whose garter has turned bacon (the joys of recyling). Biton comes in all shades and even comes in white (for polishing that D.O.M –mish white shoes used by D.O.M.s, biyudos, members of the Knights of Columbus and old court prosecutors). <br /><br />To make your shoes shinny, you apply a nice coat of biton, and then you use a shoe brush. Then comes the nice part, you spit on your shoes. Yep you read that right, YOU SPIT ON YOUR SHOES (saliva only please...). Then you buff your spit into the wax using a soft cloth. Now you know the origin of the phrase “spit polish”. Spit polishing is one of the pure joys of a manly man. Apart from a convention of taxi drivers, it is the only time when it is socially acceptable to spit in public. <br /><br />I even remember this shoe shine guy who works the floor near the courthouse in Manila. He produces this flawless shine that is water repellant. Instead of Biton, he uses lard. Lard as in cooking-Cisco-lard. Imagine the surprise on my face when he started applying Cisco to my leather shoes. Then he applied the second part of this trade secret: non-stop spitting on my shoes (health certificate, manong?) I think he used a cup of his own saliva on my pair alone. I do spit polish my shoes, but my technique doen’t require a WHO health advisory, but this guy was really abusing his salivary glands. <br /><br />Fast forward to Kiwi and the insta-shine foam. Too bad for this generation. <br /><br /> (* picture from www.militarykit.com, citing fair use)Cousin Vinnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06105612023318610313noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2938441965782843343.post-27880606856797381572009-05-20T23:53:00.001-07:002009-05-21T18:50:00.217-07:00REAL MEN DON’T WEAR HAVAIANAS.<center><br /><a href="http://s81.photobucket.com/albums/j206/jovener/?action=view¤t=05212009.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i81.photobucket.com/albums/j206/jovener/05212009.jpg" border="0" alt="Photobucket"></a><br /><br /><br /></center><br /><br />I went on vacation last week to Boracay with my family. Part of the requirement in any Boracay vacation is the mandatory rubber sandals. Nobody goes to Bora without rubber sandals---a throw back to the time when one must wade through the water after your boat docks at the boat stations. Now there is a central jetty, but people still go there in rubber sandals—OK flip flops. <br /><br />It’s been years since I bought a pair of flip-flops and I bought mine the old fashioned way—at Mangahan Public Market for P100. I still could not believe that some numbskull has the nerve to sell flip flops under some lame brand and charge P800 pesos or more for a pair. No sir..not me. <br /><br />Rubber sandals that I remember came from public markets and when they are new, they smell like rubber tires. Rubber tire smell equals real rubber. This means that real men’s rubber sandals are made with the same material they use in SUV tires. They came in several brands that I remember, Dragon, Islander and of course Spartan. Mix that with the myriad of brands that you forget. The sandals I got from Mangahan market is colored army green and has a small label which says “Combat”. There is one in camouflage, but I did not get it, lest I be “over fatigued” (“get it…over fatigue..hahaha”). <br /><br />Going back to Spartan, I may have used several hundred pairs of Spartans growing up. They are unbelievably durable, except that they have a knack of losing that round thingy that connects them to the main sandals. And what could be a more appropriate name for a manly footwear than to name it after the most feared warrior state in the ancient world. King Leonidas will be proud. <br /><br />They not only protect your feet, but you can use if for a lot of stuff as well. I use it to knock down ripe fruits to the ground (ripe santol? Preferably stolen), use it for knock down the can in a friendly game of “tumbang preso”. Even use it to bulldozer sand to make a sand castle or a sand fort. For friends who play sipa, it is used as a racket. For those who skateboard in the eighties, it is used as an elbow pad. They always wear out fastest in the heel area. Once there is a hole larger than a coin, it is time to go back to the market. They also smell rubbery when exposed to moisture. <br /><br />It was just my luck that I could not find Spartan in Mangahan Market. Hell, I wouldn’t trade it for any lame Havaianas. What's my problem with the Havaianas? It's too colorful (unlike the plain-colored Spartan). My manly reputation will be in jeopardy if people see me wearing those floral design thingy's. It's also too glamorized and too expensive. A manly man seeks the simple things in life--ok, we're pretty cheap too.<br /><br />To sum up my arguements :A manly man would never be caught dead wearing a glamorized multi-colored “TSINELAS”.<br /><br />HAIL SPARTA REPUBLIC OF THE MANLY MAN!! HAIL KING LEONIDAS!!Cousin Vinnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06105612023318610313noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2938441965782843343.post-77654568278748531252009-04-21T19:55:00.000-07:002009-04-21T20:13:40.011-07:00White is the new sexy?<a href="http://s81.photobucket.com/albums/j206/jovener/?action=view¤t=04222009009.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i81.photobucket.com/albums/j206/jovener/04222009009.jpg" border="0" alt="Photobucket"></a><br /><br />Going to Cubao, I came across this billboard staring Sam Milby.<br /><br />Check out the message..(and I could not wipe the smile off my face) .<br /><br />You know what I think? I think that the copywriter should be castrated and the resulting stump poured with patis.Cousin Vinnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06105612023318610313noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2938441965782843343.post-2845059917903311362009-04-20T23:29:00.000-07:002009-04-21T00:48:33.002-07:00Fruits of SummerThanks to globalization, Filipinos have access to the fruits of the first world. Go to any large Philippine supermarket you will find apples, oranges, kiwi fruits, grapes sometimes even peaches and pears. Thanks to biodiversity, we have access to regional fruits such as lanzones, mangoes, bananas, melons and even durian and even to some unusual fruits that I believe are unique to the Philippines and some tropical countries. I could fire of a few right here: chesa, duhat, aratilles, camachile, makopa, santol, even caimito . The lowly fruits of summer I call them. <br /><br />They also have a dirty reputation among petty neighborhood thieves. When I was a kid, we used to joke that the best santol would be “parang pag-ibig---mas masarap kung nakaw” (rough translation: the best santol would be like bad love—best if stolen..har..har). <br /><br />Santol is also not glamorous as the only sweet part would be the flesh around the huge seed, and the fleshy part of the fruit would always be pungently sour---best eaten with salt or made into sinigang stock. I remember the fruit vendor outside of Angelicum school, he would have fresh santol that he would peel before your eyes which he would place in a plastic bag that would be dumped with rock salt. <br /><br />Duhat and aratilles is another neighborhood treat. Our neighbor used to have a huge duhat tree and an aratilles tree. We would hit the fruits with our slippers and when the fruit falls down we collect them in a tabo filled with water. After making sure that there is no dirt, we would pounce on our fruits. Some would eat their duhat with salt, which is a bad idea if you have singaw. The unripe aratiles fruits would be stone hard. We would use it as ammunition for our slingshot. It leaves a nasty welt if you get hit. I have seen the kind of welt that is left by those plastic bb guns it is nothing compared to the large welt left by a green aratiles fruit propelled by a slingshot. Did I also mention that it the shot is well placed in your eyes, it could probably blind you.<br /><br />Near my grandparents house in Tarlac, there is this huge camachile tree that gives camachile fruits during summer. A Holy Week visit to our grandparent’s house would not be complete till we climb the camachile tree and have some of the pungent-tasting fruit. My doctor friends tell me that camachile has de-worming properties. We probably needed it after wolfing down so much dirt-picked durian.<br /><br />Chesa. This is one fruit I hate. When it is ripe, the flesh turns golden brown. And when you mash it, it reminds you of something you pick up after your dog spins three times in place. <br /><br />Lastly, my favorite: Caimito. Of all the endemic fruits we have in the Philippines, this one has the potential to go mainstream. It is very fleshy, always sweet when ripe and best served split in half and ice cold. It also has medicinal properties and is a good substitute for anti-diarrhea properties. Too bad, they are not commercially grown and what little supply we have are also harvested as wild fruits. <br /><br />As we approach Earth day, perhaps we should be thankful for the immense diversity it has given us in our own backyard. There is no accident in nature, and all this diversity comes with the plan to provide us with rich and nutritious fruits and memories of kids using their rubber flip-flops to knock them down.Cousin Vinnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06105612023318610313noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2938441965782843343.post-43186428824240956292009-04-15T00:09:00.000-07:002009-04-21T00:49:06.831-07:00Men and their instrumentsNo doubt about it, we are in love with our tools and our machines. All men are essentially cavemen. They are descendants of hunters and gatherers. Thus understandably, they take so much pride and joy with the instruments of their prowess. No man would put off the opportunity to talk about their cars, their guns, their grill (see previous blogs), their stereo, their computers or even their power drills. All men are proud of some machine or tool that they have. Whether you are a fighter pilot bragging about your supersonic fighter plane or a jeepney driver bragging about your stainless steel street machine, being proud of them is not conceit nor is it false pride. <br /><br /> "Tatak Sarao yan..hehehe"<br /> <br />Some smart aleck feminist even remarked that tools are the subliminal projection of men’s penises. Tools are their way of feeling usefull and is their response to the fact that female is the one allowed by nature to have offspring. I think that is over simplification. Yes, I do collect a lot of tools, how would they be representations of my delusions that I am a Peter North? No wonder all of my screw drivers have 10 inch handles and my neighbor recently bought a pair of micro pliers. <br /><br /> When men talk of their machines there are no strangers. You can start a conversation with any man regarding their machines and you will feel right at home:<br /><br />“Ilang horsepower ba yang pump mo? <br /><br />“How many rounds will the magazine hold”. <br /><br />“Can it go 170 kph on the SCTEX?”<br /><br />Just last week, I was riding a taxi cab, when the driver all of a sudden felt the urge to ask for an advice. He was having these squeaky noise whenever he would make a turn and the engine would stall. I am no ace mechanic, but when a fellow manly man solicits advice, you have to dish out something. Consider it flattery of the highest kind when a complete manly stranger starts a conversation with you. That could only mean that he could feel your genuineness oozing out of your pores. Think about it, if this guy wanted something technical or scientific, he would have easily asked an expert mechanic. But why waste an opportunity to exchange notes with another manly man? Manly affirmation is the key here, getting it right would be secondary. This never happens to women. Women will never approach another woman and out of the blue start a conversation about their computer or stove or their lipstick. For men to strike up a conversation with another man is normal, especially if it involved tools or machines. It would be creepy for another woman to go even start a conversation with another woman.<br /><br />Now for the downside: no man would ever admit that he is helpless in the face of technical difficulty. Thus, the most logical thing to do is to tinker with it..trying to get it done. Most of the time we are simply armed with what little we know—or what little manly advice we got. There is even this delusion we have that given so much tools we can fix it. Thus we end up buying more tools every time something breaks down. Why just get an oil change when half the fun is buying a filter wrench and doing it yourself? Here’s a hot tip to the women out there, contrary to what may be written in the Orpah Magazine (or for that matter the Kris Aquino magazine), the best men are not in bars or in church functions, nor can they be found in a save-the-whale event, they are out there shopping for tools at the nearest Handyman.Cousin Vinnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06105612023318610313noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2938441965782843343.post-76329374847072653992009-04-02T01:26:00.000-07:002009-05-21T01:03:38.220-07:00Metrosexual ?Allow me to bash the increasingly funny phenomenon of the Metro sexual male. Supposedly, Metrosexual men are men (wipe that smile off your face) who are conscious of their appearance and grooming and are cultured and sensitive and most of all heterosexual. Mass media glorifies the Metrosexual purportedly because they are the market of choice for all sorts of consumer products. <br /><br />Reminds me of our definition of the “Man of the ‘90s” we used to kick around (Thank you Atty. Marvin Aceron and Atty. Punzi Punzalan). The man of the ‘90’s is supposed to be sensitive—but not gay. I guess the “Man of the ‘90s” is the prototype for our Metrosexual man. <br /><br />First a quick disclaimer, I don’t go to “unisex” saloons and loyally see my manly barber for my shaves and haircuts. I don’t highlight my hair or get a manicure or a pedicure for that matter. Whenever I feel the need for a massage, it would be the rough kind offered by my barber or by my ever-loyal Romy the Human Spa. <br /><br />The arch-type for a Manly man hygiene is the one that you see in Army barracks: simple, functional and sanitary. <br /><br />Simple because all you need are the basic stuff like soap and shampoo and deodorant. Functional because it gets the job done. Sanitary? Ever wonder why soldier’s haircut are short? It’s actually to control parasites. I am happy with my once a month haircut and my once or twice a week shave. <br /><br />Whitening products? I think that I am well-adjusted enough to see that nature intended my epidermis to be dark. Had it been otherwise, perhaps it would not have allowed me to be born a few hundred miles from the equator. Any fifth grader will tell you that nature’s selection of skin type is a function of climate and geography and not a function of vanity.<br /><br /> As I said before, if you need to whiten your skin to feel good, then perhaps you are better off talking to your shrink rather than Dr. Vicki Bello. And did I mention that there is no hard scientific link to whitening and gluthathione? And besides, I really can live without seeing my manly nipples turn pinkish-red. Whatever happened to tall, dark, and handsome? Reality check here, I think that if your problem is related to your dark skin, then you have a self-esteem problem. Simply stated: you have the self-esteem of a eunuch in a male stripper convention.<br /><br />Clothes? I subscribe to the Rodney Dangerfield school of dressing (No, thanks GQ). I get no respect. Color coordination is basic and I have no use for neon colored shirts. My office pants and barong are made in the finest tailoring shops in Kamuning Market. I really hate it when another man wear a tight and shinny black shirt—with their nipples popping out. Someone once remarked that I dress up like “an off-duty parish priest”. <br /><br />So what is my take on this Metrosexual thingy? I have no problem with encouraging men to be healthy, sanitary and to be well-groomed. But the Manly Man is never a vain man.Cousin Vinnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06105612023318610313noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2938441965782843343.post-82330004046724501682009-03-31T20:33:00.000-07:002009-04-15T00:14:04.543-07:00Tekkie, TekkieIn 1992, my computer was a 386 clone. It had two megabytes (yes ..megabytes) of memory, a forty megabyte hard disk and runs on the first generation of Windows (the one with the leafy wallpaper) and a colored monitor. By present standards, I could load that computer with approximately ten MP3 songs, or about twenty mid-resolution pics, or one bootleg video clip. Nothing else. <br /><br />I also own a dot matrix Epson that took three days to print one page of my term paper.<br /><br />Not satisfied with mediocrity, I decided to update my computer myself. I bought memory chips, a 120 megabyte hard disk and went about my merry way of installing it myself. When I booted up the computer, the screen just froze, nothing. At this point, all of my illusions of becoming the next Bill Gates vanished like cheese samples on a toothpick. I brought the unit to a friend who happily repaired it. I ended up having four megabytes of memory (sweet!!), and a slaved 120 megabyte hard drive (sweeet…). I could now do more stuff with my computer like play strip poker (cyber porn’s humble beginning) or play Flight Sim (first generation, grainy stuff).<br /><br />I remember during this time having a conversation with my law classmate Bobbet Bruce. He told me that his uncle was involved in a new technology that will change the way we store data in our computers. I told him then that with the way hard drives are being made (remember, I had 120 megabytes of bad-ass memory!!) and how they are improving, a new technology in storing data is pointless. He told me that the new technology would have no moving parts and could store data in small devices. It could also store data for missiles and a host of military application. It is called FLASH MEMORY. <br /><br />I’m glad I ignored him. <br /><br />At around this time also, another friend told me another stupid idea. His idea is simple, open a portal in the internet where people can look up their friends and post their pictures. <br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">“ANG TANGA NAMAN NG IDEA MO…SINO NAMAN ANG MAY GUSTONG MAKITA ANG PICTURE NILA SA INTERNET AT MAKIPAG-KAIBIGAN…</span>” <br /><br />I told him in all sincerity. <br /><br /> I’m glad he took my advice and he never followed through with this stupid idea. Otherwise, he would be today just another dotcom billionaire instead of a successful lowly- paid government lawyer. Did I mention that he wanted me killed? <br /><br />Fast forward to 2009. I own an upgraded Net book, a four-year desktop, a Garmin GPS, two 3-G phones. My USB thumb drive’s 4-gigabyte of memory is also 100 times more powerful than my 386’s hard drive. <br /><br />I also practice New Technology Law and I am also the company’s copyright master on the internet. <br /><br /> Does this make me officially a geek? Heaven forbids.<br /><br /> Now where is my latest edition of PC Buyer’s guide?Cousin Vinnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06105612023318610313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2938441965782843343.post-26332368019973077242009-03-27T19:57:00.000-07:002009-03-27T20:03:48.730-07:00Last Day of SchoolAteneo de Manila University Campus, Loyola Heights Q.C., March 28, 2009, 0945 AM.<br /><br />I always have the misfortune of having one of the last exam dates on campus. By design or by some cruel joke, my class is always the last to take the exams, and this year is no exception. This is the last day of the school year and the last day of the exam week and I have the last time slot in the finals. By now the campus is almost empty of students and teachers. The hallways which used to be teeming with the noise of close to 12,000 students and faculty are now gone. In their place is the clanging of hammers and cleaning equipment as the maintenance personnel start the grueling ritual of regenerating the school’s facility. <br /><br />There are now very few vehicles parked in what used to be crowded parking lots. The only distant noise comes from a group of youngsters playing baseball in Loyola’s fields. The JG SOM mall’s food kiosks are being boarded up in anticipation of new concessionaires. The benches are empty except for a young couple oblivious to the change of seasons. <br /><br />This is the time to remember the old campus—the one I fell in love with when I was a college Freshman 23 summers ago. How times have changed. <br /><br />In 1986, we only had the old College of Arts and Science and close to 3000 students or about 750 students per batch. Now there are 750 freshmen in the School of Management alone, and the Loyola Campus is now home to close to 12000 students. Back then, if you walk through the Loyola Campus on a Saturday afternoon, there would hardly be a soul there –except for those taking ROTC. That is one bonus of being here on the last day of the school year; it sends you back to simpler times.<br /><br />But there are still hints of Ateneo’s old charm. The big tree lining the main roads and the Bellarmine Field still unfurls its loose shades. In the last 23 years I’ve seen these trees felled several times by typhoons, but they are still standing today—a testament to their strong roots. Outside on Katipunan Avenue, their brothers have been mercilessly cut and balled by Bayani Fernando’s minions. The C5 road system now cuts across what used to be the sleepy Katipunan Avenue. At least Shakey’s and Tia Maria are still there.<br /><br />The Blue Eagles Gym and its huge logo have been dwarfed by the many high-rise buildings. At another corner of the campus now lies the Blue Eagle Gym’s grandson—the Moro Lorenzo Center, whose hardwood used to carry the markings of the Golden State Warriors of the NBA. <br /><br />The baseball and football fields now sport well manicured lawns---in contrast to the summer brown we were used to. These green fields are littered with the blood, guts and tears of so many defeated athletes. The place is also littered with broken hearts and broken promises of so many love that was found and love that was lost. I used to joke to my class that their generation has sex appeal, while my generation had “sex sa field”. Impossible to do now, since there are several condominium units facing the fields. <br /><br />Forty three minutes go then, then it’s officially summer for me.Cousin Vinnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06105612023318610313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2938441965782843343.post-14935901936548242132009-03-09T22:30:00.000-07:002009-03-09T22:45:32.997-07:00TONY FALCON, AGENT X44My memories of summer will not be complete without mentioning the old movies that we used to watch in the afternoons. When I was young two stations RPN-9 and GMA-7 showed old movies in the afternoons. When the sun is scorching hot and it’s too sunny to play, you spend the early afternoon hours watching tagalong movies. <br /><br />My favorite afternoon movies are the X-44 movies of Tony Ferrer. Ferrer played a James-bond like rip-off character named Tony Falcon, Agent X44. While Bond works for the British Secret Service, Falcon works for the NBI. Bond is assigned to the licensed-to-kill Double 0 section. Falcon works for the X-Division. <br /><br />While Bond prefers a tuxedo or a coat and tie, Falcon wears an all white outfit that always remain clean, even after a fight. His fighting style reminds you of Bruce Lee. The sound effect for the fight scene sounds like this:<br /><br /> <span style="font-style:italic;">Whozzzut !!! Whozzut!!! Whozzut!!!</span><br /><br /> While tons have been written about the gadgets of Bond as created by Royal Armorer Q, Falcon has his own fancy gadgets. I am fascinated by Tony Falcon’s leather shoes, at the end there is a knife blade that stick out during a fight. The heels are also conveniently an emergency breathing apparatus. During one movie, Falcon was trapped in a flooding tank (they ripped that too from James Bond) and just when the water was about to reach his head, he takes out the heel of his shoes and there it is an underwater breathing device. <br /><br />In another movie, (Don’t laugh yet) Falcon used his shoe as a gas mask to protect himself from poison gas. <br /><br />Who makes his shoes? Is it my imagination or is the NBI armament guy from Marikina?<br /><br />And, how can you forget Tony Falcon’s sports car? It has a black and white TV monitor there as part of the communicator. Sadly, the props department was a little bit rushed to create the hi-tech dashboard as they forgot to erase the brand “RADIOWEALTH”. <br /><br />As if ripping off Bond is not enough, at the opening of each Falcon movie, he gets a coded message from the NBI director giving him a new assignment (ala Mission Impossible). In one of the movies Falcon was standing in Luneta Park, waiting for his message. Then a lone balut vendor approaches him. Naturally the balut vendor is the courier, but off course, they would have to exchange in coded spy-flick nonsense before the message is passed on :<br /><br /> <blockquote>Vendor: Ang Pusa ay Umakyat sa bunganga ng bulkan..<br /> Falcon: Mukhang malamig ang hangin sa hilaga<br /> Vendor: Masaya ang mga huni ng lorong ligaw<br /> Falcon: Ang araw ay mas makinang kung sisilipin ng salamin<blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><br /> (ay, ambot...)<br /><br /><br />Only after this coded exchange will the message be passed on. In this case, the message was inside the salt packet given with the balut. Isn’t the NBI office just a few blocks away from Luneta? Would it have easier if Falcon reported to the office? <br /><br />The bad guys in the movies feature stereotypical local thugs whose lines are limited to “Mga Inutil”. “Mga Bata” and the famous last words “Eto na ang katapusan mo Falcon.”. However, there are also the James Bond inspired villains out for world domination. <br /><br />And the girls? What will a James Bond rip-off look like without the girls in skimpy outfits. Here’s the funny part, many of Falcon’s girls are actually caucacians!! Thus the most memorable scene in Pinoy action movie. Picture this, Tony Falcon, in a round mattress bed (yes..round…like the bed where they found the dead Barry White), bare chest, brandy glass in hand, suddenly a Caucasian girl in lingerie enters the bedroom, Falcon takes one long look at his prize, and mouths the immortal words..<br /><br />“WELCOME TO MY CHAMM- BER” . <br /><br /><br />So much for the art of seduction. <br /><br />Fast forward to the 21st Century. Two years ago, they produced another X44 movie that starred Vhong Navarro. Bad choice. The movie flopped and I am not surprised.Cousin Vinnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06105612023318610313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2938441965782843343.post-6310541127333732312009-03-03T04:08:00.000-08:002009-04-02T20:22:53.252-07:00Grill of My DreamsThere is a little caveman in every manly man and every once in a while we get this manly urge to cook things using an open fire. They say that what distinguishes Homo Sapiens from the rest of his predecessors is the use of tools and the application of fire. We are a specie that gained dominance over this planet not through brute force-- like the dinosaurs before us. We learned to use our head and extended our limitations through our tools and of course fire. <br /><br />Grilling is almost second nature to any man. Everytime he sees fire the first thing that comes to mind would be “Could I cook with that?”. Thus the necessity of having his own grill is probably one of the most essential part of a man’s house. Here’s a hot tip for all the women out there: don’t let the man design your kitchen. If you do, you’d end up not having a stove, but you will never run out of firewood. At least your kitchen would look like something used by George Washington. <br /><br />My first grills were the aluminum thingy that you buy from the grocery. Made from aluminum and tin scraps-- not very strong. A few weeks later, the thing is ruined –softened by the intense heat of the charcoal. <br /><br />My next attempt at fiery love took the shape of an old steel drum. I had it split length wise, had a hinge made on the cut mark and viola, a barrel grill similar to the ones you see in those roadside eateries. Having two barrel halves meant that I could use one of them as the cover for my grill. Came out quite nice. The shape of the bottom half created a nice shape to concentrate the heat on my meat (heat on my meat..I don’t quite like the sound of that). I was cooking steaks and barbecues like a pro. A one inch, 8 ounce steak would be medium done in ten minutes or so. But just like any hot and sordid affair, all things have to end. I was having so much fun with my barrel grill that I forgot about how heat changes the chemical composition of metal. High heat and exposure to moisture would result in rust. Thus, my barrel grill ended up like the rest of the metal barrel population, eaten by oxygen and turned to a rusty hulk.<br /><br />At this point, I should have given up and just simply bought one of those expensive high end porta-grills that you see at ACE Hardware. But there is something inside me that would not accept the idea of defeat and settling for one of those ready-to-have, nice to look at LPG/ electric combo grill. Ok..not to mention the fact that I am bone stingy (Ilokano here..).<br /><br />So I embarked on a new quest. This week my trusted handyman Peter made me a concrete pit grill. The grilling are is BIG, about 26 inches long and about 16 inches wide. When I saw it taking shape, I almost had a woody (maybe not..hahaha) . I know that I had to get the perfect grate for me to cook on. Never mind those stainless grates you buy in the grocery, I just had to get one from a foundry. So off to the phone books I went, looked for a foundry shop selling cast iron metal grates. Luckilly, I found one in Baesa. <br /><br />The place was a sweat shop! Run down factory, dilapited walls and furniture, scrap metal strewn all around. But, in the midst of what seems like ferrous hell, I knew what I came in for : METAL GRATE, CAST IRON, HEAT TEMPERED. I was imagining metal grates that I saw on a TV cooking program. <br /><br />What they had in the factory were ditch covers. But the covers were cast iron and had the perforations I needed to sear through meat. They were thick too, about ¾ inch thick and quite heavy at around 15 lbs each. I bought four of them so when placed together will cover my grill. <br /><br />When I got home, I was overwhelmed by the size of the grill and how manly it appeared after I placed my cast iron grates. Having a grill 26 x 16 inch meant that I could cook in one sitting eight large cut of steaks or about thirty sticks of barbecue. All cooked and seared by charcoal and the direct heat of cast iron. <br /><br />My next project will be a rotisserie like the ones they have in Kenny Rogers. Now all I need to do is tear down the living room.Cousin Vinnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06105612023318610313noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2938441965782843343.post-50350925959551902972009-03-03T03:52:00.000-08:002009-03-03T04:05:37.957-08:00I'm BackSix months later, here I am typing away. A lot of things have happened since the last time I wrote in this blog, and the feeling of starting again is never easy. There are millions and millions of blogs on the worldwide web, I disillusioned myself unnecessarily by thinking that I could get an immediate audience. The silence of not having to hear a feedback was indeed deafening to say the least. I started this blog as an experiment in creative writing—I needed to see if I can undo fifteen years of writing as a lawyer . Somewhere along the way, the original plan got sidetracked and I began deluding myself with having to establish myself as a well-followed writer. Thus, it became harder and harder to write and the keyboard strokes became more difficult as I plowed through the ritual of trying to please my phantom audience. <br /><br /> I needed to find out what I wanted to do with this blog. There are so many things I wanted to do with this blog but could not come around and do it.<br />Not to mention the many things that life threw my may in the last six months---a new baby, the health problem of my father, the seven unit teaching workload I was given in Ateneo.<br /> <br /> So just like millions of bloggers out there who lost it and are now aching to come back, here I am, back, I hope for good.Cousin Vinnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06105612023318610313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2938441965782843343.post-46072217736530181122008-09-07T23:24:00.001-07:002008-09-07T23:24:41.279-07:00The things we eat outside of schoolI went to Victoria School in Cubao for most of my grade school. Victoria School is in Ermin Garcia near Cubao and Judge Jimenez Avenue. It is one short jeepney ride to Cubao and the only Mall we knew then, i.e. Ali Mall. <br /><br />Outside our school, there would be all sorts of vendors selling all sorts of goodies you buy out of the myriad of coins that are actually remnants of my allowance. While we have a school cafeteria, we would find more interesting morsels and tummy fillers from the food vendors there.<br /><br />Fish balls were sold at five centavos per piece and one peso will buy you two sticks with ten pieces each. To wash it down, our favorite was ice scramble. Ice scramble is slushy ice blended with sugar, vanilla essence and a few bits of sago plus a healthy dose of red food coloring to make it sinfully pink. It is quite refreshing—just don’t mind the dirty hand and finger nails of the vendor who scoops the thingy with a dipper and with no protection for his hands. <br /><br />The ice cream vendor would be next to the ice scramble cart. When buying ice cream from a street vendor, you can opt to have it in a monay bun. Think of a hamburger sandwich, but instead of a beef patty, you have two or three scoops of ice cream—all for the princely sum of two pesos. Again watch those hands, or better yet don’t think about it too much. <br /><br />There will always be the cotton candy/ pop corn vendor. He uses pure lard to make his popcorn to save on money, so don’t expect to find that smooth buttery taste. The cotton candy is spun from ordinary sugar so it is a little bit rough and would stick to the back of your teeth. When I was in second grade, one kid lost a teeth to the sticky cotton candy. Manong, are your hands clean?<br /><br />There will also be the crisp pop vendor. Think of cheetos or cheese curls, but a lot more pale, with 500% more MSG and sold in bulk, in an old newspaper shaped like a cone. Not only do you get your five weeks’ RDA of salt and MSG in one sitting, you are also probably eating leaded newspaper ink. <br /><br />We also have fruits as there were a couple of vendors selling santol, sliced pineapples or even a cheek of unripe mango. The santol would be sliced before your eyes with what appears to be some very rusty knife (ummmm, manong, are those clean?) and scored four ways. The pineapple and the unripe mango would be marinated in some watery solution. Both would be skewered with a short bamboo stick and the pineapple is served with lots of salt. The unripe mango would be deliberately laced with shrimp paste bagoong. <br /><br />We would also have a binatog vendor there. For those not in the know, binatog is white corn boiled in salt water and served with shredded coconut. Very nutritious, but it looks like it came from a cow’s nose. <br /><br />At the end of the day, we got our fill of sugar, salt and a lot of germs. We were never seriously ill though and those days, there were no media stories of mass food poisoning. There were even no dysentery breakouts.Cousin Vinnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06105612023318610313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2938441965782843343.post-88140034357829960722008-07-24T21:27:00.000-07:002008-07-25T02:20:47.277-07:00My team, my Barangay“An atheist in the Philippines is someone who does not believe in basketball” so said my History teacher Father Bartholomew Lahiff S.J. Someone forgot to remind Filipinos that we do not have the height for basketball yet we persist and we continue to dream big. The three most precious topics for the manly man are sex (duhhh) and basketball. <br /><br />Philippine law requires all able bodied manly man to play for at least one organized basketball league in his lifetime. Likewise, it requires all manly man to root exclusively for one team per basketball league. <br /><br />I did the minimum my minimum time in Grade 4 and in 4th Year High School. In Grade 4 I warmed the bench as a member of our class Intramurals team. Not to be outdone, I participated in a summer league in my 4th year. I played, nay rode the bench, for the BOSTON COL-TICS. <br /><br />We were up against our main rivals, The SAN ANTONIO SPERMS and the LA LICKERS. It was a classic championship duel between the COLTICS and the LICKERS, the LICKERS eventually winning the Barangay crown, crushing my COLTICS and my future career riding the bench in the PBA. I was amazed at the popularity of the COL-TICS, SPERMS and the LICKERS franchise. I later learned that they also have these teams in many barangay leagues. There was even an attempt to introduce the LICKERS, SPERMS and the COL-TICS franchise during the IAC games in Ateneo—bad idea, and the S.J.s would have none of that so they had to change their names. <br /><br />After my playing days are gone, I went on to become a full time fan to the greatest basketball teams in my universe, the Ateneo Blue Eagles (College), Ginebra San Miguel (PBA) and the Detroit Pistons (NBA). <br /><br />I’ve seen a majority of the live games of the Ateneo Blue Eagles since 1986. I was there in the Championship years of 87, 88 and 2001. I was also there during the Dark Ages, of 1990-1997. There were years when we would win 5, 6 games in a year. There was even a year when National University defeated Ateneo by firing a three point shot from the backcourt at the last second and in the Blue Eagles gym. I thought I was going to die. <br /><br />When I was a young and fresh lawyer circa 1995-1998, I own season’s tickets to the PBA. I had my own courtside seat and I would be there when my Ginebra San Miguel team would play. <br /><br />And I also learned that I passed the bar examination during a Ginebra Game. I had the entire Ginebra Gallery cheering me on. <br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">"ATTOR-NI, ATTOR-NI"</span><br /><br />But this story needs its own blog.Cousin Vinnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06105612023318610313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2938441965782843343.post-51030408272420902852008-07-01T20:58:00.000-07:002008-07-02T20:35:21.002-07:00Ulo-uloFilipinos never waste any edible food. What would be first world waste, will turn up in our kitchen as something delectable and delicious. Meet one of my favorites: <span style="font-style:italic;">Sinigang na ulo-ulo</span>, aka “Fish head sinigang”. <br /><br />I first tasted sinigang na ulo-ulo when I was working at the Department of Environment and Natural Resources (DENR). We would ask our ever-faithful Ate Sonia to run off to Rodicks to buy sinigang na ulo-ulo. I never appreciated it then, probably because by the time it got to us, the soup has gone cold. <br /><br />Fast forward to a few years into the future. The head of the labor union where I worked invited me to lunch with him at an Ulo-ulo restaurant near Sikatuna. When we got there, the place was packed with men, but there was also quite a number of women. The place was called “Ulo-ulo sa Veterans 2” which is quite strange since the Veteran’s Hospital was quite a distance away. I later learned that the original eatery, i.e. “Ulo-ulo sa Veterans 1” is near Road 1 near the Veteran’s Hospital. Both are still standing and are owned by the same owner. Ulo-ulo Par 2 is also more popularly referred to as “Ulo-ulo sa Sikatuna”. <br /><br />The crowd is 25% off-duty policemen from nearby Camp Karingal, 25% from the Q.C. Hall complex (I saw quite a number of lawyers—including one RTC Judge), 25% Taxi drivers, with the final 25% probably a mixture of UP Students and office workers from the nearby offices (me included). <br /><br />The place is a shrine to plastic, i.e. plastic tables, plastic chairs and plastic plates. It is decent and clean for a roadside eatery. A creaky electric fan helplessly attempts to keep the heat from becoming unbearable as the place gives new meaning to the word al fresco dining. Inside “Ulo-ulo part 2”, you are most welcome to lift the lid off the huge caldron of steaming sinigang soup. On purpose, the fish head are kept separated from the boiling soup. On ordering the server would take out a huge bowl, pour in some scalding-hot sinigang soup, some vegetables (fresh mustard leaves, tomatoes, slices of radish) and finally the fish head. <br /><br />You can choose either Maya-maya (Snapper fish) or even Pink Norwegian Salmon Head. The Maya-maya would cost around P90 per serving but the Salmon head would set you back by P130 per serving. I went for the Salmon Head. The serving size is generous, as you get both sides of the fish head; it is enough to share for two. But for those manly appetites, you would want to have it all for yourself. <br /><br />Once the sinigang na ulo-ulo is served, you then go to the condiment counter and get your favorite condiment. There is patis (fish sauce), toyo (soy sauce) but I went for the bagoong isda (fermented anchovy sauce), which I liberally laced with calamansi (Philippine Lemon) and a piece of siling labuyo (Red cayenne pepper) which I crushed to release its spiciness. <br /><br />To eat the Salmon Head, you take either the orange colored salmon meat, or a piece of the fish blubber, dip it in your favorite sauce and eat the concoction with a spoonful of rice softened by the sinigang soup. Once in a while, you break the cycle by slowly sipping the lovely soup or partake the crunchiness of the mustard leaves or the tanginess of the radish slices. <br /><br />Contrary to what many would think, the fish head yields a pretty decent amount of delicious fish meat and the equally delicious fish fat. <br /><br />Two servings of rice and a bottle of coke later, I was poorer by P160. I must confess that I am hopelessly hooked to “Ulo-ulo” and I would occasionally sneak out of the office to lunch at this shrine to manly man’s appetite. <br /><br />As I said before, the place when the manly man can enjoy good food without the trimmings is not necessarily off limits to women. Yes, it is hot, covered with plastic stuff and a lot of guys with guns eat there (policemen, sir..), but it is one darn good place to have a filling meal. Bring your wife, girlfriend, or your date there sometime. Nothing impresses a woman more than a guy without any pretensions when it comes to good food. <br /><br />And you do not even have to worry about embarrassing yourself when you eat the garnish.Cousin Vinnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06105612023318610313noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2938441965782843343.post-72500378745826160542008-06-24T20:51:00.000-07:002008-06-24T20:55:46.572-07:00Noisy BoysI admit it, if there is a most wanted list for grade school, I would be in it. I always make it to the noisy list even if I could not understand why. It seems like some of my grade school teachers have this nasty habit of simply not going to class, and to cover up for their absence, we are to be punished. <br /><br />Now here is the unfairness in the system, if you are a teacher, it is an absence, but if you are a student, it is a cut?<br /><br />Anyway, every time the teacher decides to skip classes, she would appoint the most kiss-ass kid (KAK for brevity) to watch over the class. The KAK would stand in front of the classroom and starts making a list on the blackboard:<br /><br /> NOISY : <br /><br /> BACORRO<br /> MACASAET<br /> CALIMLIM<br /> IBARRA (4x)<br /><br />The funny thing is that, we are all sitting quietly there. Once in a while, a classmate would make a funny face to entice you to chuckle in laughter. This would usually get you in the list. Even a mere cough or a polite throat clearing will bring your name. <br /><br />The noisy list is my first experience in criminal justice. For starters we did not have an ordinary KAK, we had a girl named Carrie. Carrie is fit for the role as the Noisy Monitor. She was big for her age, had bushy eyebrows and very muscular for a girl (yes..muscular). She reminds me of what would happen if you cross the Sea Hag and the Goons in the Popeye cartoons. While other girls would charm you, we actually dread Carrie. She looks like she could really do some bodily damage to you if you let her sneak in an uppercut or two. <br /><br />Carrie is not just the police, she is also the prosecutor, as she would gleefully tell the teachers the sordid details of how we were noisy. <br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">“He said….Ummmmm….ummmm…and then he coughed three times…”</span> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;"><br />“He said, ‘excuse me’ after he burped”…</span><br /><br />The teacher will be the judge and executioner. It would be additional cleaning detail for us or we would be asked to stand in a corner for thirty minutes. No fair trial here, the mere appearance of your name in the “Noisy List” means you are doomed. No explanation will be necessary from you. I actually thought that they provide the noisy list to Camp Crame so that the Martial Law administrator would bodily pick us up and send us to some labor camp.<br /><br />In the end, I survived grade school notwithstanding the thousands of times I made it to the noisy list—and I was not sent to reform school or to some Philippine Martial Law detention center. <br /><br />What happened to Carrie? I think she went to Russia and became a Prison Director there.Cousin Vinnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06105612023318610313noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2938441965782843343.post-21947228563280028032008-06-06T01:52:00.000-07:002008-06-06T17:38:29.285-07:00Glutathione my PapayaEverywhere you look, there appears to be advertisements for whitening products. In the past the endorsers and users of whitening products appear to be entirely women. But what is this business of men using whitening products?<br /><br />Some are even endorsed by men. I cringe at the sight of driving along EDSA seeing the testimonials of some very white (and very smooth) actor or celebrity endorsing whitening products. <br /><br />Let it be made clear here. Remember the adage: TALL, DARK and HANDSOME? A manly man must be dark and dusky. If by the accident of genetics you are fair skinned, it is your Godly obligation to manliness to make yourself dark by spending time outdoors or by going to a tanning saloon. The rule does not apply to those with albinism. <br /><br />We should be thankful as a race, for we are blessed with the genes that make our skin lusciously brown. Male, or female our complexion makes us the envy of many. I’ve been to beaches outside of the Philippines and our perfect brown skin makes us the center of attention. No ugly freckles here, no sir!! No rough pinkish skin!! But most of all we do not need suntan lotion to get that gorgeous tan; we just need a little SPF protection here and there to save us from the horrors of sunburn. <br /><br />I remember this funny incident when I was part of the Rowing Team. During one practice, we were passing around this bottle we thought contained sun block. Three hours into the practice, and several pass of the bottle later we discovered it contained suntan lotion. The label said “SPF1 for a deep, rich and luscious Caribbean tan”. For several days the entire team was not brown, we were all bronze. Make that Supermodel bronze.<br /><br />Going back to men who want to be white, let me say this, vanity has its limits. A manly man is allowed only a few degrees of vanity, too much vanity and ..and..You’ve crossed over to the other side. What better sign than a manly man who suddenly becomes whiter and ..ahemmm…smoother. If you noticed your male office mate gradually looking whiter and whiter, talk to him, he might need your advice:<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">“You don’t have to hide it you know…we’ll be here for you. But please, whatever you do, please do not land in prison, you will be popular there..”</span><br /><br />Men are by the laws of nature allowed a certain roughness in their appearance. Our skin is scarred by old war wounds, cuts from power tools, burn marks from using fireworks and explosives, the nicks from playing physical sports, the dryness from being exposed to the sun and pollution and the general lack of use of moisturizers, sun block and lotion.<br /><br />Glutathione, Papaya soap, bleach and sulfur. None of which have been proven by science to give you permanent whitening. Read the labels, “NO APPROVED THERAPEUTIC CLAIMS”. Gene therapy may be the only hope, but why waste billions of dollars in cancer research to cater to the vanity of some (errrr) men who wants a creamy complexion—or even pinkish male nipples. There are even clinics who offer injectable glutathione. The caveat here is that you will have to regularly go back to get your glutathione shot, otherwise you loose your creaminess. So getting white is just like becoming a cocaine addict, once you start, there is no way you can stop from shooting up. What would happen if you overdose? Do you turn invisible?<br /><br />Take my advice and my advice is applicable to both men and women. The rest of the world is spending billions of dollars in suntan lotions and tanning saloons. Does it make sense to make yourself white when you are just perfect being brown? <br /><br />Here is my take here. If you need to whiten your skin to feel good, then your problem is self-esteem. Dr. Calayan or Dr. Bello cannot cure that. <br /><br />There is a cheaper way to be white. Use Boysen.Cousin Vinnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06105612023318610313noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2938441965782843343.post-33271884645826858992008-05-27T20:51:00.000-07:002008-05-27T20:55:54.917-07:00School LunchAs a representative of the middle class, I bring my lunch to school when I was in grade school and high school. My folks could not afford to give me lunch money and I was given only enough money to buy a decent snack and to pay public transportation fare to go home. <br /><br />I brought lunch to school in a plastic rectangular food container, neatly tucked inside a plastic bag. My eating utensils would be covered by a piece of paper napkin (sometimes none). The ketchup would be placed in a small sealed container. <br /><br />The standard fare includes the following mouth watering dishes (??), fried pork chop, chicken adobo, fried fish, tocino, longanisa or my (least) favorite-- a hotdog. Imagine a bed of white rice with the hotdog ingeniously pressed on. When you take out the hotdog it leaves a reddish mark on the rice.<br /><br />We used to raid our classmate’s lunch box for their viand. One minute you are engrossed in school work, the next minute someone has stolen your hotdog. The hotdog will now be mercilessly passed out to the guys seated at the back row. When it is time for lunch, all you will have is the impression of the hotdog. <br /><br />Sometimes we would swap their food. If you brought fried chicken for lunch and the guy next to you brought tocino, we would open their lunch boxes, exchange their ulam. Our lame attempt at humoring our baon is nothing compared to our class bully. <br /><br />Once he took the lunch box of the class nerd, opened it in front of the class and said…<br /><br /><em>“Wow longanisa, my favorite…mwaaaaah….tsuuup” (proceeds to kiss the hapless sausage). </em><br /><br />Once in a while, we would dig in our savings and eat at the cafeteria. Some of the weirdest things on earth I’ve seen , I saw through the cafeteria display.<br /><br />In my grade school, the cafeteria operator was so stingy that our free soup was a piece of ginger, some onion slices and used meat stock. They also serve a weird dish of hardboiled egg in tomato sauce. They only serve half an egg and if you are truly unlucky the egg would not have any yolk. Sorry no complaining here. Their barbecue consisted of two small piece of lean pork and a huge slice of pork fat. Fridays would be kare-kare day. Kare-kare being two slices of string beans, a slice of eggplant and a piece of beef fat covered by a very watery peanut sauce and a morsel of bagoong. <br /><br />The food portion was so small that there was one fat kid who used to eat FIVE order of cafeteria lunch a day. His mother would settle the bill every Friday.<br /><br /><br />Our High School cafeteria was always crowded, the food forgettable and the only thing I could remember was that it sold a lot of kikiam. <br /><br />So we found sustenance outside. We also discovered beer. But that will have to be another story.Cousin Vinnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06105612023318610313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2938441965782843343.post-33361981877219628532008-05-20T22:45:00.000-07:002008-07-02T20:36:20.114-07:00Our Beloved BarberOne of my favorite episodes of “Married with Children” is that episode where Al Bundy’s barber died and he had to go for weeks without a haircut. He tried going to a Hair Stylist (Read: Beauty Parlor) and it was a hilarious adventure he had. First the stylist was gay, second he had to contend with all sorts of beauty treatment and beauty products. <br /><br />Just like Al Bundy no Un-manly hands will touch my locks. Nor will I give them the pleasure of giving me a protein pack for my hair. <br /><br />A manly man’s barber is one of his life’s best pleasures. He is not just a guy who cuts his hair; he is his confidant, his source of entertainment and his window to the minds of other manly men. A manly man should stick to only one barber. Having more than one barber is just like having more than one girlfriend ---or wife. I have stuck to the same barber for close to three years. Before him, I stuck with my barber for more than nine years. I would have stuck longer had it not for his decision to relocate to Mindanao. <br /><br />My first barber was the barber shop called “Tres Amigos” Barber shop along Kamias Ave. It is near the present Seven-Eleven Store near the EDSA corner and just before Colonel Salgado St. I would be brought there by my father and my uncle. I remember the overpowering manly stench of shaving crème, hair tonic and even the manly equivalent of mudpack ---boncilla. <br /><br />When we moved to the Fairview area in 1980, my Barber shop was Joan’s barber shop. It was just next door to a butcher shop—Joan’s Meat Shop. It was air-conditioned— but very rarely do I remember the air conditioner being used. One of the greatest thrills in going to Joan’s is a barber named Cesar. Nothing wrong with Cesar the barber, except that he would be drunk 80% of the time—make that 90% of the time. His breath would be reeking the scent of Ginebra San Miguel as he tries to stay awake and focused with the razor as he shaves you just behind your ears. <br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">“Wag kang mag-alala, walang kaba ang pulso ko (hik..)”</span> <br /><br />I remember the terrified look in the face of the next customer when he realizes that the next barber up on bat would be Cesar. Surprisingly, Cesar never actually sliced anybody’s ears. But you will definitely hold your breath as he slides those razor blades near some vital artery on your neck or your throat. <br /><br />After Joan’s I went to Dario’s barber shop. They use air-conditioning most of the time and so unlike Joan’s they actually use disposable blades (In this day and age of HIV, you can never be sure). I had my first personal barber named Joel. Joel was rather quiet for a barber. I like him a lot because we would give me a free massage and he would always find the time to cut my nose hair. The sensation of the cold scissor going up your nostril as you hold your breath and the funny sensation when your nose hair is snipped..ahhh, refreshing. <br /><br />The real stereotypical barber was the head barber Dario. Dario would be full of stories, e.g. “Kwentong Barbero” and would never stop talking to his captive audience. Listening to him gave me the impression that he was some sort of Casanova when he was in Saudi Arabia. He had sex with this, with that, with a nurse, with his boss, with a white chick, with a black chick, with a camel, with a horse. Three years ago they decided to close Dario’s and Joel relocated back to Mindanao. <br /><br />Then I went to RC’s Barber shop near Mother Ignacio. My barber for the last three years is a guy named Arce. Just like Joel, he is the quiet one in the shop. But he has an impressive list of clients which includes, Chief Justice Narvasa, Aga Mulach, the late Pete Roa and then there’s me. I think I’m going to stick around this barber for a little while. <br /><br />Does your barber give you a pedicure?Cousin Vinnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06105612023318610313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2938441965782843343.post-6270707762197534142008-05-15T20:27:00.000-07:002008-05-19T23:16:04.174-07:00Swimming the TullahanIt’s gone. We used to swim in the Tullahan River—now the world's dirtiest river. But once upon a time it was just another river teeming with life. <br /><br />The Tullahan begins in the banks of the La Mesa reservoir where clean excess water makes it way down via gravity. La Mesa is where Metro Manila gets its potable water, so any excess or spillage is very clean. From East Fairview the Tullahan snakes its way to South Fairview and to West Fairview. Beyond West Fairview, it work its way to Novaliches, to Malabon and Caloocan before draining in Manila Bay. <br /><br />My elementary school sits on one of its banks. After a heavy downpour we would all go to the river to watch fresh water turtles, snakes and snails being washed with leaves and branches. The banks near my school was dotted with numerous banana trees—a virtual banana tree forest. Stories of <em>witches</em> and <em>tikbalang</em> lurking in the shadows of the banana forest filled our lazy afternoons. <br /><br />I was also fortunate because one of its banks is about three hundred meters from my house. My father even bought a fishing line hoping to reel in a few <em>“dalag”</em> (Mudfish) and <em>“hito”</em> (Catfish). He never actually caught anything, but the river still teemed with life. Everyone was free to partake of the free kangkong growing there. <br /><br />You can also collect snails and the occasional small crabs that populate the banks.<br /><br />The river is not wide, about three meters in some places, but during a heavy rainstorm some of its banks would swell to five or even eight meters. We would sneak out of the house during a rainstorm and swim there. Our game was to swim and fight the current. The rule is quite simple: swim against the current, before it carries you away and kills you. We would throw rocks on its surface just to see the wake it makes. We would collect frogs to pester our sisters or to blow up with our firecrackers. <br /><br />During the hot months we would venture into the tall grasses that line its banks for spiders for spider fighting. The best place to get spiders would be near Jaguar Street and Dahlia in West Fairview, about 100 meters from the present FEU Hospital. The present location of Starbuck’s Coffee-Fairview is also a good place to get spiders for fighting, but that is another story. <br /><br />When hormones finally inundated our brains, one of our older friend even used the river banks for sex with his girlfriend. He was also generous enough to invite us to the show. He would tell us that in so-and-so time, he would bring his girl to the kangkong area. We would be hiding in another area to see the show. He did it a couple of times too. The sight of human flesh pounding and moaning in the <em>“kangkungan”</em> is something you will never forget. I guess <em>“kangkong”</em> and <em>“kangkungan”</em> is the root word for the present street slang for sex, e.g. <em>“kang-kang”. </em><br /><br />Banana trees, snakes, spiders, turtles, snails, kangkong, crabs, dalag, hito, stories of witches and tikbalangs, a guy having sex, his horny voyeur friends, an unsuspecting girl. These are the best affirmation to the statement of archeologist that where there is a river, life flourishes.<br /><br />This was in 1983. <br /><br />Sadly, the Tullahan is dead and is now a wasteland, its water colored gunk gray. I pity today’s kids.Cousin Vinnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06105612023318610313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2938441965782843343.post-6197507202898378602008-05-07T06:43:00.000-07:002008-05-14T20:55:27.016-07:00Back to Public TransportNo thanks to the oil cartel, I’ve gone back to riding public transportation. I am not ashamed of it; I could not afford not to cut back my consumption of gasoline since gasoline appears to be headed to the P50/liter level. I’ve decided to take public transportation at least twice a week. <br /><br />In the short span of time that I’ve used public transportation, I’ve developed a healthy respect for the common commuter (reverberation intended). Metro Manila’s public transportation system is not only antiquated, it is also close to legalized masochism. <br /><br />Take the common air-conditioned bus; I could never understand how they could fit three persons in a bench built for two. And then there is the FX van, taxi, AUV, whatever name you’d call it. Why would they fit four in the middle bench when clearly it was built for three? And then there are the jump seats in the back of the FX. It is shear torture to ride there with three more persons, locking your elbows and knees in one position for the forty five minute ride. When you fit people in the cargo hold, funny things are bound to happen. Take this hapless guy I rode with, he conked his head no fewer than three times against the steel frame of the FX. Stupid driver did not know how to use the brakes when he encounters a hump. It reminds me of this army sergeant who drove our 6 x 6 trucks during my ROTC days. From Villamor Air base to Ateneo, he didn’t stop at nothing. So here we were getting tossed around with the cargo of rifles and bullets. Later we discovered that the poor guy just got back from Mindanao---and survived an ambush. Just our luck that he was suffering from post traumatic stress. <br /><br />“AMBUSH!!! AMBUSH!!! YAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!”<br /><br />Going back to public transportation, then there are taxicabs. You can always spot the wimps, they are the ones who flag down a taxi and negotiates with the driver even before he boards the taxi. Take my advice, get a taxi, open the door without saying a word, sit down, close the door after which politely tell the guy to bring you to your destination. By law, he cannot refuse to convey you. But have some pity too. The poor guy gets P5-P10 out of every trip, no thanks to our oil company friends. If the service is good, be generous with your tips. <br /><br />Jeepneys. Yep, no matter how the ultra-nationalist says so, the jeep is obsolete, dangerous and dirty. Their place is in a museum. I am amazed that many jeepneys today uses real glass windows in their passenger compartments. Not only will they hide a hold-up taking place, they will also shatter into thousands of lethal projectiles when the jeep meets an accident. I also pity the poor driver, his lungs is probably as dirty as the underpass in Manila. <br /><br />Tricycles. I have relearned that tricycles are fun to ride. For a week now, I ride the tricycle going out of the house to the FX station. My daughter rides with me, since she has swimming practice at the village pool. She likes it a lot. The wind in your hair, aaaah, refreshing (unless the driver has body odor).<br /><br />The MRT should be the future of Metro Manila's mass transport system, but what we get is too little. <br /><br />If you are a member of the riding public (meaning you do not have a car and use public transportation 100% of the time), give yourself a pat in the back. For if you could ride out Manila’s public transportation, you are smarter and tougher than you give yourself credit for.Cousin Vinnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06105612023318610313noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2938441965782843343.post-48890128269952655212008-04-08T12:56:00.000-07:002008-05-19T23:09:54.791-07:00Tuli-MeSummer, Fifth grade is waiting in the horizon, and a young man's fancy turns to errr..circumcision. There is probably no nation on the face of this earth more obsessed with male circumcision than the Philippines.<br /><br />For Filipino boys, nothing is more shameful than being called "supot" i.e. uncircumcised. In tagalog "supot" is also used to describe any manly man who does not measure up. Thus a weakling is called "supot", an airhead is also called "supot", so is a henpecked husband, etc. Supot this, supot that. <br /><br />A boy who is circumcised at birth is considered a cheater. The rule is you are circumcised between your second grade and your fifth grade. The more painful the better. Boys have two choices: the local circumciser (usually the village barber) or for many your local doctor. Now, don't get me wrong, it is OK to go to the doctor as long as its not one of those "painless-bloodless" promo they are now pimping. <br /><br />There was only one hospital giving the painless-bloodless circumcision during my days: Garma Hospital in Cubao. Garma Hospital is also Metro Manila's first STD Hospital. So if you went to Garma you either got the painless- bloodless circumcision or you had gonorrhea (this was pre-HIV Manila). <br /><br />I got mine from the neighborhood doctor. My dad got his from their local barber, the painful, anesthesia-less way. The barber who gave my dad his circumcision also circumcised the last three town mayor and probably half of the male councillors. Talk about bragging rights.<br /><br />Nowadays, it is common for politicians--and even church groups to sponsor "Operation Tuli" during the summer months. <br /><br />After you get your circumcision, it would always be a funny spectacle of young men wearing skirts. It was probably the only time that a Filipino boy realize his link to bloody Scotland. <br /><br /><em>Hah!! This is not a skirt, this is a kilt--don't laugh or I will cut your bloody head off.</em> <br /><br />After a few days it is time to remove the bandages--another source of entertainment. My cousin had to be chased by his mother for four hours before he removed his bandages. It was so bad that he actually almost renounced his manhood right there. What a wimp. <br /><br />If you have been circumcised, congratulations for you have bona fide complied with Abraham's covenant (yep, its in the Bible..). If you have not gotten one, please get one. You might be sent to limbo and run into your best friend there.Cousin Vinnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06105612023318610313noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2938441965782843343.post-75462570078933880042008-03-21T14:38:00.000-07:002008-03-21T15:25:21.751-07:00The Holy Weeks we knewGood Friday. Atlanta Georgia. And here I am nursing a cold while the rest of the family enjoys our first full day on vacation in the deep south. I miss Holy Week back home. It is the only time of the year that Manila's splendor comes out in full bloom. Imagine Manila with no crowds, no polluting vehicles, sky's all sunny and blue and the heat---oh, the lovely heat. People are quiet, the malls are closed. Without the pollution, the greenery comes alive. It may not be as colorful as a spring bloom in the temperate latitudes, but multiple shades of green does have its own beauty and wonder.<br /><br />I could imagine why the Spaniards and the Americans loved Manila---well, till the pollution took over. <br /><br />And no traffic too...my friend Wendell Ramos (yes..the actor)loves just to drive around the City during holy week. I too enjoy being able to zoom by without having to worry about traffic or not getting on time. The rest of the city goes on vacation mode. Here is a tip: Boracay or Baguio during Holy week? Forget it, everybody is there. The Manila traffic goes up North to Baguio and the Mall foot traffic goes to Bora. It could get pretty dirty there this time of the year. <br /><br />Churches are full. Crime rate is down. And Quiapo? Good Friday? Imagine yourself trying to grab a statue of the Black Nazarene with 10,000 other guys all jousting and shoving each other as the procession goes by. Last year only one guy was killed. One foreigner I talked to said that the Quiapo procession has the same reputation as the bull run in Pamplona, Spain. I am still trying to find the guts to do it..well probably next year. <br /><br />I also remember a lot of travelling to my Dad's province in Tarlac. One of our favorite family story is of how this chicken got stuck in our car's bumper on our way to Tarlac. This answered two important mysteries: How did the chicken cross the road? (answer: Got hit by a car and got stuck in the bumpers) and could you eat meat on Good Friday? (if it came free, why waste it). In Tarlac, We would climb trees, pester the carabao, swim at the river and do things that you would do before hormones took over.<br /><br />There is another welcome respite for me. Philippine television is on limited broadcast from Holy Thursday to Good Friday. I remember when we were young, we had no cable, the TV stations would show these bathrobe classics during Holy Week, The Ten Commandments,El Cid and my favorite The Robe. There was also Jesus of Nazareth and sometimes Jesus Christ Superstar. I never realized how much noise television makes till it is turned off. I work for a Philippine Television company now, and I now know the reason why we have to do limited broadcast during Holy Week. This is the time we clean the transmitter and the studio.<br /><br />Enjoy your vacation in lovely Manila.Cousin Vinnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06105612023318610313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2938441965782843343.post-75860970618559935502008-03-05T20:00:00.000-08:002008-05-20T22:48:28.245-07:00The Hair up thereApart from the ones they have on their head, women hate hair. They go to all sorts of rituals and chemicals to pluck, remove, and burn excess body hair. I could never imagine myself going through waxing. Or having to pluck my eyebrows.<br /><br />Men love hair. They will trim them a little, but they are generally resigned to nature’s carpeting. <br /><br />The Bedouins have a curse which says “May God pluck your beard”. Thus a manly man without bodily hair is bordering on gayhood (ok, “Metrosexual”). Just imagine a fair-skinned guy, with milky white flesh, without any body hair and pinkish nipples…Damn…he will be popular in prison.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">“Come to Papa….bwahahahaha”</span>. <br /><br />Men start growing body hair early in their teens. “Secondary bodily hair” according to my biology teacher. Here is a hint to parents: If you want to know what is the best time to have your son circumcised, the answer is simple. Do it before he starts growing pubic hair. For there is nothing more embarrassing than being uncircumcised and already hairy down there. It could get you into a lot of trouble. I remember this kid who was one year older than me in school. The story going around was that at grade five, he was already “Fidel Castro”. There was even a huge vandalism in the boy’s rest room:<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">“SI ___________, MAY BULBUL NA”. </span> <br /><br />After the awkward years of puberty, men’s hair (primary or secondary) becomes a status symbol. I grew up in the 1980s—yep the bad hair decade. I actually envied those in 70’s or even from the 2000s onward. They could wear afros or could have their hair really long like an Apache Indian. In the ‘80s we only have the “Gel Look”. In college, it was mandatory ROTC training for us so, every able bodied males had their “2 x 3s” for two years or in my case it was four years because I took the advanced ROTC course. We were not even allowed to have beards or moustache. I think that it would be late for me to wear an afro. A middle-aged lawyer, in an afro before a judge?<br /><br />Underarm hair. We do nothing with it, unlike women who have to contend with the how and why of underarm hair removal. But it doesn’t mean men should display them. Imagine yourself in the crowded MRT and the guy next to you is wearing a sleeveless shirt and decides to raise his arms on the grab bar? <br /><br />We do not shave our legs. We like then as they are thank you. A manly man without hair on his legs is definitely not one of ours and should be treated as a captured spy. <br /><br />Our facial hair is covered by a few rules. Rule No. 1: You may shave your beard or moustache, Rule No. 2: You must trim your nose hairs or your ear hair, Rule No. 3: You should not shave your eyebrows (Remember Commandant Mauser in the Police Academy Movies?). <br /><br />And lastly our chest hairs. Chest hairs are acceptable. Hair on the back of a manly man? Scary. I remember this guy I saw on a beach in Hawaii, he had carpeting on his back…and his eyebrows were pretty thick too. <br /><br />As for me, I am no Burt Reynolds, but I am proud to say that I have sufficient hair on my torso to turn off any un-manly advance by my cellblock mates.Cousin Vinnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06105612023318610313noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2938441965782843343.post-66520570684572550382008-03-04T01:51:00.000-08:002008-06-06T02:36:49.382-07:00One Night in Tijuana and the world’s meanest Tequila.I crossed the Mexican frontier for the first time in my life fifteen years ago. I was visiting my cousins in San Diego California and we decided to have fun by crossing into the Mexican border one evening. <br /><br />This was pre-9-11 and border crossing was relatively easy. I do not recall being stopped at all. We went inside this US Border Patrol outpost and the lazy border guard simply waved us through---he never even bothered to inspect our passports.<br /><br />Upon crossing the border, I was transported back to the Third world. There were a row of taxi cab drivers who were jousting to get our attention. There were several beggars begging for food, alms and presenting themselves to be our porters. <br /><br />We selected this taxi driver who reminded me of Cheech Martin. When we got him, he insisted on not using the meter (he will enjoy driving in Makati) but offered to show us around for a good price. He asked our names and when I introduced myself as an “Ibarra”, he said that he has cousins named “Ibarra” and we could probably be cousins. All sales talk I told myself as I could never imagine how my Asian genes could intermix with his Mexican genes. I wanted to explain to him the common history of Spanish conquest between Mexico and the Philippines so that he will understand why this Asian guy has a Spanish name. <br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">“SO PRIMO, WHERE YOU WANT TO GO? SOME PUSSY PERHAPS? ”.</span><br /><br />My cab driver cum –primo (cousin) asked us without even a hint of malice. I was just amazed as to how nonchalant they could get about prostitution. He went on to tell us the story of how this tourist he picked up the night before ended up having sex at the back seat of his taxi—before the police came.<br /><br />Since I was with two married cousin, a little Mexican hanky-panky was out of the question. <br /><span style="font-style:italic;"><br />“No Pussy today muchacho. Do you know of a good place to drink?”.</span><br /><br /> He was a little disappointed that we were going to get some clean fun.<br /><br />He took us to this Mexican bar and dance hall. The waiters and waitresses were Mexican teenagers. After they serve your food and drinks, they would go dancing on the dance floor. Their uniforms reminded me of the uniform in FRIDAYS or at SHAKEYS. The girls were very pretty but I realized that Mexican girls have this tendency to be fat on their waist and legs. <br /><br />Our waitress was this pretty girl who looks like an improved version of Donita Rose. I poked my cousin and asked him:<br /><span style="font-style:italic;"><br />“IMAGINE you are in Malate and she is your date?”</span><br /><br />He shook his head and blurted: <br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">“MAPAPAAWAY TAYO KUNG GANYAN KAGANDA AND DATE NATIN”</span><br /><br />We finished our beer and we went out of the bar. Outside a pimp was pleading to us to try his girls:<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">“COME ON MUCHACOS, NICE YOUNG PUSSIES…100 dollars only. Why go to Mexico without having some Pussies, no?”</span> <br /><br />We politely waved him off. (Mental note: never go to Mexico with married manly men) Our driver saw us and he said something in Spanish to the pimp who immediately left. <br /><br />We then walked the dirty streets and found a vendor selling real tequilas. The bottle look like the bottle you use for lambanog. The label looks cheap and contains only one word which I recognize: PELIGRO. The bottle was inside a net. It kind of reminds you of some tuba that you buy in Quezon.<br /><br />Inside the bottle was a real Mescaller caterpillar worm. I smiled, when I realized this was the real deal. No Jose Cuervo here. This is the real stuff, made by some Mexican home brewer. The vendor explained to us in Spanish and broken English that it was traditional in Mexico to offer the pickled worm to the guest of honor ---or the last person to take a shot from the bottle. He also told us that Jose Cuervo removes the worm in their finished products. <br /><br />I bought two bottles. We hurriedly returned to the border, paid our taxi-driver-cousin-wannabee thirty dollars and happily re-entered the United States. There were no border guards manning the crossing. <br /><br />A few weeks later, I brought home to the Philippine the wicked looking tequila I got from Tijuana. Several persons got drunk and our houseboy ended up eating the thumb-sized Mescaller worm.Cousin Vinnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06105612023318610313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2938441965782843343.post-144952413863515742008-02-21T19:09:00.000-08:002008-02-21T19:13:59.269-08:00No Perfumes PleaseWhen it comes to hygiene, the Manly Man needs very little. Don’t get me wrong, the Manly Man is not a stinky man, but our vanity is tempered compared to the vanity of the Girly Girl. <br /><br />Our needs are simple: Soap, shampoo, deodorant stick, shaving razor, toothbrush and toothpaste, comb. Optional items are mouthwash, dental floss, and conditioner. Seven mandatory items, three optional items. When I was in military training, the items are pared down to five: Laundry soap (aka “Bareta”), toothbrush and toothpaste, razor and a comb. Ahhh, the magic of the laundry soap, we use it to clean our clothes and for bathing. It will get any dirt, stain or gunk out. <br /><br />Which brings me to my next point, how does the manly man define hygiene? First, he has to bathe everyday and clean his hair. He needs soap, not that soft, creamy Ivory Soap thingy. Because a man’s body generates buckets of sweat and he is exposed to all sorts of gooey stuff, he needs something to remove gunk and oil and to suppress strong odors. Cleaning your hair, shampoo usually does the trick and no fruity scents please. Conditioners are optional. <br /><br />Second he needs a deodorant that does not smell like deodorant. Deodorants must control odor and perspiration; it should not be a substitute for perfume. Nothing is more offensive smelling than a Manly Man whose underarm protection you could smell. <br /><br />Hmmmm… .Is that Rexona?<br /><br />Thus a manly man must smell like soap and water. No deodorant scents and no perfumes or cologne please. Perhaps the only compromise here is that he is allowed to occasionally dab himself with after shave. The guy who is reeking with the scent of perfume is either gay or a Dirty Old Man—or both. <br /><br />Third, he must brush his teeth and shave. Notice that there is no shaving crème in my list? If you have soap and water, there is actually no need for shaving crème—unless you have sensitive skin like me. <br /><br />We do not need facial cleaners, pore cleaners, nose wax, nose pore openers, lotions, sun blocks, facial sun blocks, eye brow liners (guy brow liners?) or what have you. Best proof that a guy is gay? The big vanity kit is a give away. So when you have some guy in the men’s room bringing a huge bag full of vanity stuff and he actually starts using the oil removing film, he is definitely gay. <br /><br />As for me, I’ve given up the laundry soap for the more civilized bar of Safeguard. But I still keep some handy in the house to remove oil and other manly gunk.Cousin Vinnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06105612023318610313noreply@blogger.com3