“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.
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.
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.
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.
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).
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.
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.
And I also learned that I passed the bar examination during a Ginebra Game. I had the entire Ginebra Gallery cheering me on.
"ATTOR-NI, ATTOR-NI"
But this story needs its own blog.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Ulo-ulo
Filipinos 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: Sinigang na ulo-ulo, aka “Fish head sinigang”.
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.
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”.
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).
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.
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.
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.
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.
Contrary to what many would think, the fish head yields a pretty decent amount of delicious fish meat and the equally delicious fish fat.
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.
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.
And you do not even have to worry about embarrassing yourself when you eat the garnish.
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.
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”.
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).
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.
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.
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.
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.
Contrary to what many would think, the fish head yields a pretty decent amount of delicious fish meat and the equally delicious fish fat.
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.
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.
And you do not even have to worry about embarrassing yourself when you eat the garnish.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Noisy Boys
I 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.
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?
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:
NOISY :
BACORRO
MACASAET
CALIMLIM
IBARRA (4x)
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.
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.
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.
“He said….Ummmmm….ummmm…and then he coughed three times…”
“He said, ‘excuse me’ after he burped”…
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.
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.
What happened to Carrie? I think she went to Russia and became a Prison Director there.
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?
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:
NOISY :
BACORRO
MACASAET
CALIMLIM
IBARRA (4x)
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.
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.
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.
“He said….Ummmmm….ummmm…and then he coughed three times…”
“He said, ‘excuse me’ after he burped”…
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.
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.
What happened to Carrie? I think she went to Russia and became a Prison Director there.
Friday, June 6, 2008
Glutathione my Papaya
Everywhere 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?
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.
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.
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.
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.
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:
“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..”
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.
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?
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?
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.
There is a cheaper way to be white. Use Boysen.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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:
“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..”
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.
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?
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?
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.
There is a cheaper way to be white. Use Boysen.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
School Lunch
As 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Once he took the lunch box of the class nerd, opened it in front of the class and said…
“Wow longanisa, my favorite…mwaaaaah….tsuuup” (proceeds to kiss the hapless sausage).
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.
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.
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.
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.
So we found sustenance outside. We also discovered beer. But that will have to be another story.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Once he took the lunch box of the class nerd, opened it in front of the class and said…
“Wow longanisa, my favorite…mwaaaaah….tsuuup” (proceeds to kiss the hapless sausage).
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.
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.
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.
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.
So we found sustenance outside. We also discovered beer. But that will have to be another story.
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