blah blah blah

ok, maybe I shouldn’t be laughing. but hey, what do you do? get offended and start a signature campaign banning any hint of mockery towards filipinos?

you have probably seen, heard or read about that scene in mr. and mrs. smith, and i quote, "…when john tells eddie of his assailant’s possible weight being low, eddie matter-of-factly says maybe the person was filipino." (although there is nothing really bad about being skinny.)

or in joel schumacher’s 8mm, where when nicholas cage’s character asked where the "snuff" films, like the one being shown featuring an asian woman being raped by two white men, came from and the answer was "definitely from the philippines." ( i was watching this in a semi-posh cinema in manila so you could just imagine the reaction on the faces of those rich socialites). or the famous ‘Papatayin Kita!’ dialogue in ‘constantine’ spoken by the devil who has taken over the body of an asian girl. how about those filipino pirates in ‘the life aquatic’?

my thought, and i know some people are not going to agree with me on this ( the comment box is all yours), is that they’re fiction. if they were said in a different situation or medium, maybe i would care a little bit more (i.e claire danes circa 1998). i kicked an _____ (so as to avoid ethnic tension) out of my house for indirectly suggesting that there are only two kinds of filipinos, ‘fags’ and ‘prostitutes’. of course you could argue that fiction is always half fiction, but in these movies or shows, how bad really does our so called ‘image’ get hurt?

i know the americans make fun of the french a lot (and vice versa I would think, am i right Guillaume?) but people continue to live their lives the way they do. the americans still love visiting paris and the french still flock the streets of new york.

if i can put my two cents in, by overreacting, we only hurt ourselves.

673. the thin white line*

(*a family guy episode. thanks to the grimace for forwarding the transcript.)

Joe Swanson: Say hello to our newest narc. He’s a natural.

Quagmire: Yeah? How good are you?

Brian Griffin: You’re back from Manila. You had lumpia for dinner.

Brian Griffin: Then you made love to two Filipino women and a man.

Quagmire: You mean three Filipino women!

Quagmire: No!

to be continued… when i’m done laughing.

674. poop and the world poops with you.

i like being a graduate student. my job isn’t that bad. what is inhaling carbon tetrachloride, chloroform, trichloroethylene and other chlorinated hydrocarbons compared to other scarier things people do for living?

i remember reading this story once. this was from the abc news website back in january. they posted a question, "What is the Worst Job You Have Ever Had to Endure?". i don’t think this was the worst job ever but i think it’s quite funny. it reminds me of a precious advice a friend gave me back in high school. that is, whenever you see a hot babe and you know it is impossible for you to date her, just think of it this way, she poops like anybody else. (translated as ‘tumatae rin yan!’)

it is interesting that i can write this before i step out for lunch. Bon Appétit!

*****

"The worst job I’ve ever had was a one-week temp job for a hosiery company. They produced lingerie and underwear shows on the catwalks of Paris. Instead of discarding the unmentionables once the shows were over, they shipped them back to the U.S. as a part of their inventory, presumably for tax purposes. My job was to sort through each used pair of both men’s and women’s undergarments. I was put into a cubicle with a computer and Hefty sacks full of the ‘inventory.’ I was assured that the garments had been washed.

Scraps of paper were pinned onto each piece written with names like "Jean-Pierre" and "Bridgette." I soon found out both by sight and smell that the laundry had not been done. I became familiar with both Bridgette and Jean-Pierre and gained much unnecessary insight into French toileting habits. Because no one in the office could find me a pair of rubber gloves on day one, I continued my task by pinching them up by the least offensive margin I could find (which is hard to determine with a thong) and inhaled through the mouth, and wished myself Godspeed. I’m pleased to report I finished my stint at Sara Lee two days earlier than expected."

675. you just don’t know me yet.

i have a Ballack jersey and it never fails to get attention and a "Prost!".

i have a yellow, 1986 edsa revolution t-shirt with a big corazon aquino face and a print that says ‘cory power is people power’ which makes random people utter ‘Cool shirt!’

i have a ‘cult’ shirt that says CHOKE with a fork and spoon, a cross (or plus) and a woman figure on it that easily starts a conversation beginning with "Interesting, so..." and the available seat next to me is no longer empty.

i have a "lift your skinny fist like antennas to the heaven" shirt, no words but two hands reaching for the sky, and music enthusiasts say ‘nice’ and the uninformed "wow you’re pretty religious".

yet,  ich bin nicht deutsch nor do i watch or play soccer more often than before. neither was i a part of a human barricade in 86 nor was i a fan of the philippines’ first female president . i am not a sex addict and no, i was not cloned from a sacred foreskin. i do not choke myself for a living and heimlich maneuver are nothing but hollow words to me. i am not a full blooded ‘post-rock’-ist and in fact Godspeed You!Black Emperor is the only orchestral rock i listen to. i am not religious nor is GYBE related to religion. 

today, i wore a plain white shirt.

the 25th of july…

… an emperor was put into power, and so was a king who will later die in a jousting tournament: a sliver piercing his eye damaging his brain while celebrating the much awaited treaty with his lifelong enemies and the marriage of his daughter. another king was cheered when he decided to save his soul or better yet his throne by converting to catholicism from protestantism, while a musician was booed when he tried to convert to electric blues betraying his so called folkie roots. a lieutenant general was promoted the highest rank and will later become a nation’s 18^th president, while a fascist dictator was demoted as he steps down from power. another space shuttle rose up to the red planet, while an aircraft carrier plummeted to the blue water when hit by an atomic bomb (just for the kicks: aka practice target). on this day, the first test tube baby was born and so is a favorite seasoning that will cause thousands of deaths due to neurodegenerative diseases. Some boys shot to fame when they ‘opened’ Paul’s boutique (the greatest thing that happened this day), while some girl did the walk of shame when she grabbed her crotch and spat while performing the opening national anthem. Women cried for the 118 people who died in a plane crash, 51 in a ship collision and 1 in the first railway accident, while a woman laughed as she ‘walks’ past the sky  for the first time. 

on this day, a professor arranged his journal articles on a stack while a lazy graduate student sat down and slack.

677. "In the world according to Garp, we’re all terminal cases."

… john irving included.

had too much drinking for the past two days and i find myself spending most of the day, obviously, dazed. it is either that or this new book i am reading suck so bad. but it couldn’t be. it’s from one of my favorite authors, the man who made me into an orphan in "cider house rules", a writer in "the world according to garp", a dwarf in "a prayer for owen meany", an incestuous little brother in "hotel new hampshire", a womanizer who is  ‘as deceitful as a damaged condom’ in "widow for one year", a swinger in "the 158-pound marriage ", bogus in "the water method man", and a nobody  in "son of a circus", "fourth hand" and "setting free the bears".

john irving makes me feel at home. he was the first author i sort of followed and with that grew my interest in reading. his description of new england reminds me of how, when i was younger, i would picture a typical american community. and it still is even though my own eyes have told me it actually isn’t (i had christmas in new hampshire in 2003 and pissed on a parking meter). i still like to keep that picture in mind, only for nostalgic sake.

his new book "until i find you" tries to make me into a sexually abused kid whose ‘little guy’ had more action than normal. a little bit too much, if not too long, this novel seems a bit of a slog and yet i’m only in page 122 and still about 702 pages shy of finding the end cover. i think i will be looking at a personal record breaking caffein intake to get me through this one.

and before i forget (or fall asleep), i almost failed to mention my good friend august dated john irving’s publisher’s daughter and partied at his house once. true or bogus, that still sounded cool.

so there i was in a thrift shop looking at second hand books when i bump into this girl desperately looking for anne rice novels. she already had 3 in her arms and still the thought of not having (what is it now, 7 or 8? i’ve lost count) all of the vampire chronicles kept on haunting her.
looking back, i once had my share of vampire fascination. i don’t think it was inspired by anne rice but more by bram stoker. although the 1992 movie was good enough for a 13 year old kid to consider great, i was later on more intrigued in reading bram stoker’s book. with that interest came this piece, still part of the “cherry…”. i will leave you with this, for now, as i am about to eat my dinner. steak. rare.

alekos*

(ode to thy voice calling)

let me drink your lenitive lies

from the cup of river of immortality.

for soon, the sun will shed its blood

and I’ll be gone forever.

let my breath rest,

etched in this ivory plane

and deny death of what has still remained.

let my shut lids find everlasting.

vanish not away from me,

as you sink your lips upon my vein

heartbeat overtaken by sweet pain.

then no more fear shall ever truss me,

no more doubt shall cast its shadow upon me.

fake solitude will exist no more.

but only until unheard cries remain unheard.

so let me hear nothing now but echoes.

only echoes of sweet songs

of souls of sand slipping

finding freedom at last.

alas! hear nothing now but echoes. hear

all echoes.

all echoes.

all echoes.

*DISCLAIMER: the word alekos is borrowed from a name and did sound right with this which originally had no title. he is really not a vampire. he is in fact a vegetarian.

679 and yes,  countdown resumes…

like a prodigal son, i am back. eating and sleeping with the ‘pigs’ can only get as far.

the past weeks have been busy. last week i decided to change my address. i moved to a single bedroom apartment and have been busy arranging stuff. it will take me maybe two more weeks before i finally transfer everything from my old apartment. 2 weeks. moving that is. arranging, forever.

this week, I could have won the ‘outstanding grad student of the week award’ if there was such a thing. thanks to a semi-angry letter from my boss dated july 19, 10:53 am, 9 hours of work/day seemed like a pee break to me. if i do this every week i’ll be out of blacksburg in no time! if only i can convince my advisor to be pissed off every monday morning. 

yesterday,  i played more than 2 hours of tennis with labmate krista , abraham (half filipino, half iranian) and nitin verma, who is currently packing his bags to move to the OC tomorrow.  yes, i did sing to him the OC themesong.

this weekend, i don’t know. not really looking forward to anything fun. just plain, simple, sleep until noon kind of weekend. maybe some carpentry work and some more pork skin shedding.

this for now. promise to give more meat later.

"Economics. That’s all it was, is, or ever will be. Racism is only a smoke screen, a cynical diversionary tactic.  Once you understand that, the rest is easy. "

-Jim Goad, The Redneck Manifesto