blueswoman’s blues

    Sometimes smaller is better. Specifically, smaller tastes better.  Before your green minds work double time, let me once again say this is literal.  More particularly, plainly gastronomical.

    I was eating those small native peanuts when I realized they tasted better and were sweeter than those big ones. No wonder the Iligan peanuts were a must for pasalubong.  But whether those nuts I just ate were from Iligan or not, I swear to buy only those smaller ones.  Same goes with kasuy.  I love the toasted ones from Antipolo. 

    When we were in the U.S. for over a month already I kept craving for native peanuts and cashew nuts, and all I could find were Planters. The big ones were boring. They were just nutty, not tasty.  Growers was enough for me, but I didn’t know how to get to the Filipino store then.  So I made sure that when I got back to the Philippines one of the first things I would buy was native peanuts (also balut). 

    I also love galunggong when it’s small and fried.  Yummy.  Our native garlic tastes much better, too, but they’re oh so hard to peel.  Oh well… I can live with the big ones especially when I’m the one cooking.

                                                  q ( ^  <   ^ ) p

    There are some benefits to losing one’s voice.  I remember a stationery which had this thought balloon, “It is better to be thought a fool than to speak up and remove all doubt.”  Well, luckily in my condition now I don’t need to go to any meeting and remove anyone’s doubts.

     I’m also not expected to react to oft-repeated comments (read: nakukulitan na ako) nor to give my opinions to things that I’ve already given my opinions to (read: di kayo natututo).  I have the license to be impolite.

    Nakakaloka lang though… my dad was watching TV and since he sometimes would be hard of hearing (ewan ko kung selective lang ito) he suddenly asked, “Sino daw?” And since I had a hard time talking I had to muster all my strength to tell him who the TV reporter was referring to.  What a combination.  Where was mom when you needed her? 

                                                        q ( ^  <   ^ ) p

    Listening to the bands that would be performing or who won in the past while the plug of Red Horse beer’s Muziklaban was on, I just wondered… why do bands whose names are food-related win?  Mayonnaise, Queso, Hard Boiled Eggs (or did they win in NU Rock Awards or Muziklaban?).  Kung sabagay tamang-tama, yan na ang ingredients ng devilled egg sandwich spread ni Dang (housemate ko).  I don’t do it with Cheese (another band).  I wonder if I can predict the next winner – will a band called Pickle Juice be in it? It’s one of my ingredients for devilled egg, along with Worcestershire Sauce although that would be so hard to pronounce.  Lea and Perrins kaya?  Ooops, IPR problem.  Maybe they could make a band called Mahirap Ipronawns. Tama na. Baduy.  May isa pa pala akong ingredient sa devilled egg — asin!  Ay, nga pala, nauna na ang Asin sa kanilang lahat. 

    I’m not making fun of them ha.  This is just an observation.  I love rock and roll, alternative and I have moods for heavy metal and hard core rock. Lately the CDs I buy are local… Given the limited budget I have, I prefer to spend them on local bands (also to repent for the times I spent so much on blues CDs).  But I better talk about my love for music, especially the blues, some other time. (sumasakit na ulo ko.)

                                                   q ( ^  <   ^ ) p

    This is not a feminist column about a woman’s inability to express herself because of society’s taboos, nor is it about arbitrary arrests and censorship (although I have a thing or two to write about that… sa livejournal ko ilalagay).  This isn’t metaphorical.  Literally, I lost my voice… temporarily.  As in vocal chords, tonsilitis, sore throat, and all.

    At first I sounded like Demi Moore. My friend allanandjane said, "ang sexy naman, ateng." I said, "hindi dahil husky, kundi dahil pumipiyok." (I don’t know if you saw Demi Moore’s earlier movies where she tended to do just that - pumiyok).  So allan said, "ay, nagbibinata ka na, ateng."   My other friend Vince called and when I answered, he commented, "Bakit Chuchi ka ngayon?"  Siyempre di ko masagot kung bakit.  Sometimes I sound like Marge Simpson but only when I grunt.  But these past days, I just have no sound.

    So I rediscovered the many inconveniences of losing one’s voice.  Some of the practical situations I found myself in were the following:

    1.  Losing one’s voice is hard when you’re a commuter in Manila.  Lalo na pag nasa jeep at maingay sa kalye.  Ang hirap pumara.  Kahit sa bus.  Nakalampas ako ng babaan.  Naglilihi kasi ako sa Max’s fried chicken the other day at natandaan kong meron sa may East Ave., katabi ng SSS,  BPIFB at KFC.  So para naman di ko maramdamang nagkakasakit na nga ako, I thought of treating myself. Kaso di ko masigaw ang "para!" kaya lumapit ako sa may pinto noong nakita ko ang KFC.  Di ko rin makatok ang ceiling ng bus kasi mataas.  At nakakahiya mang aminin, pero hindi ako marunong sumipol (pero para sa iba, mas nakakahiyang sumipol pag babae ka, pero kebs ko sa kanila).  So anyway, nakababa ako sa may SSS na.  Pero pag lakad ko pabalik, nagsara na pala ang Max’s.

    2.  Losing one’s voice is hard when you’re craving for something so much and you can’t make an order or call food delivery.  Kinabukasan, dahil nga naglilihi ako sa Max’s, naisip kong magpadeliver na lang ng fried chicken.  Tamang-tama nanghihina ako noon at di makapagluto.  I tried earlier, but all I had was spanish sardines which was spicy and which aggravated my cough.

    Pero nahihiya akong gisingin si Dang, ang housemate ko, para siya ang tumawag.  Noong di ko na makayanan ang craving ko, kinatok ko siya at nagbigay ng note.  Di pa naman niya kailangang gawin agad so natulog uli siya.  Buti na lang nagising siya sa takdang oras at natawagan niya ang Max’s in time for dinner. Thank God for housemates with internal alarm clocks that work at the right moment.  (Note: hindi po ito free ad para sa Max’s… kasi sa totoo lang, ang liit ng half chicken nila, at puro litid ang nilagang manok nila).

    3.  Losing one’s voice is hard when a friend gives you a call and rants about something and you can’t say anything.  Ni hindi mo magatungan, heheh.  So it was a chance for him to do a monologue.  Actually my more "comfortably cruel" friends would say tease me about my idiosyncracies and quirks when I’m at this state.  Then I can’t answer back.  Well that’s when the dirty finger comes in handy.

    But thank God (and Jerry Yang, creator of Yahoo) for YM, Chikka.com and texting!  I could still communicate with the outside world.

    4.  Losing one’s voice doesn’t contribute to catharsis.  Nakakita ako ng bubwit na tumatakbo sa may lababo.  Hindi ako makatili.  I tried, out of reflex. Bitin.  Walang tunog.  Na-silent movie ako.  Nag-aantay ako ng subtitles pero wala. Oh well… marami pang puwedeng ilistang cathartic moments na pinapabitin ng kawalan ng boses, pero huwag na nating i-publish dito.

    Yun lang muna.  Marami pa. Di ko masigawan ang maingay kong kapitbahay.  Di ko mabulyawan ang maingay na pusa ng kapitbahay.  But we’re creative.  Andyan ang toy water gun at ang volume control ng TV para diyan (you know which is used for what).

    Sige.  Nagiging madaldal na naman ako pag wala akong boses.

Eymard street na nga pala ang Peta Theater Center.  Dati kasi Sunnyside Drive. Mas gusto ko ata ang Sunnyside Drive. Naman o. Kung kelan ko naman na-memorize na ang Sunnyside Drive (dati kasi lagi kong naiisip na Sunnyside Up or Sunshine Drive or its derivatives, hehe), babaguhin nila.  Ang hirap kaya matandaan ang Eymard? Sabagay noong una ko siyang nakita sa street sign, inisip ko agad na innard… balun-balunan.  Kalye Balun-balunan.  Pero hindi Eymard ang naaalala ko kundi Eynard.  Hay ano ba yan?  Kung bakit kasi pabago-bago ng pangalan ng kalye?

Noong may nireresearch ako noon sa congress at Senate, tiningnan ko noon yung listahan nila ng laws that were passed.  Di ko na matandaan kung anong year yoon, pero sa kinapal-kapal ng librong yon (parang mas makapal pa sa PLDT directory) majority ng laws that were passed ay changing of street names.  Diyoskodhay!  Makaka-contribute kaya ito sa human rights, peace and order o economic development natin?  Kung sabagay… kung gusto mo lituhin ang kaaway mo, papuntahin mo siya sa Pablo Ocampo (formerly Vito Cruz) o Gil Puyat (hanggang ngayon I confuse this with Pedro Gil, pero Buendia lang po yan) at pag di sumipot, sasabihin mong andoon ka lang sa akala niyang isa pang pangalan ng kalye.

Pero bakkkeeeet! Sabi ng tatay ko, malamang may kinalaman sa contribution ng tao sa lugar na yoon.  Parang ito ang iiwanan niyang legacy.  Pero kalokohan, eka nga ni daddy.  Sabagay, kikita ang tagagawa ng street signs at makers of stationeries and calling cards (like it mattered).

Kaya nga ba di ko pa mabitawan itong iniisip kong play o script tungkol sa pagbabago ng pangalan ng kalye.  Pero kasi totoo ito - na may street na ipinangalan in honor of my Katipunero great-grandfathers (pinsan o kapatid ata ng maternal great-grandfather ko).  Up to now hindi ko pa ito nabibisita sa Sta. Ana, o Paco ba yun?

Pero sa iniisip kong kwento, aalsa ang buong angkan para i-preserve ang pangalan ng kalyeng yoon once inisip ng konggresong baguhin ang pangalan ng mga kalye doon (yun pala eskinita lang siya). Oh well… di ko pa siya nadedevelop nang husto.  Baka sabihin ng aking friend na si Nick na pang-one-line punchline lang siya.  Sana hindi. Pinag-iisipan ko pa.

ano ba ito… sinisipag akong magsulat ng blogs.  Di na ko nahiya!  (Di sa mahihiya ako sa mga babasa nito, kundi di na ko nahiya sa mga pinagkakautangan ko ng deadlines, hehehe. HALA TRABAHO!)

also in lizamagoo.livejournal.com

Stand-up comic Al Manalo once made a joke about our inexpensive way of fighting terrorism — by using the stick! He was referring to the guards who manned the entrances of malls, MRTs, LRTs and all other public places. Indeed, compared to Bush’s strategy of spending so many millions (or is it billions) of dollars, our weapon for counter-terrorism is so simple - a stick! Scary, no?

Even scarier is this other "weapon" I saw which a security guard at one LRT station held. It really spoke well of how "seriously" we take bomb threats and other forms of terrorist activities. It also spoke about our climate.

Lining up like dutiful commuters concerned about our safety (or actually just obligatory and mindless queuing), we opened our bags and submitted them to the fan-yielding guard for inspection. Yes, fan, as in pamaypay. He probably lost his stick (and I only mean it literally) so he used this fan which had a flower and lace design to sort through the contents of our bag.

It wasn’t like he really went through each of the contents. It was more like casually chatting with his co-worker (another guard) while "stirring" the fan in the bag, like how one does with ladle in soup.

Such an image makes me snicker.

Similarly, as I sat inside the FX while it journeyed through Sucat Road, I was so amused at the sight of another image that was contrapuntal to the macho look. There was this big dark guy whose sando was raised to expose his beer belly. At first sight, you’d place him as the batugan or the tambay-sa-kanto. He actually looked like he owned the road, judging by the way he took his time crossing the street. But you gotta respect this guy ‘coz he did sell stuff for a living. He leisurely crossed the street, unmindful of the jeepneys and FXs that plied that route, smoking his cigarette and holding his leis of sampaguita. He was a sampaguita vendor (or so I hope… it looked more like he grabbed the sampaguitas from some kid who was selling them earlier).

Snicker, snicker.

It is also seldom that I see a nun in a bus, much less a nun who is doing something else aside from sitting in a bus. She looked hungry and was eating something (fruit? sandwich? or biscuit? I forget now) and that was all that mattered to her. So I don’t know if it was I or she who felt some uneasiness as the man beside her leaned toward her. In fact, his head was half an inch away from her shoulder as he dozed off throughout the trip. She couldn’t transfer because there were no seats available. Sister was too kind, too polite, too shy or too hungry to wake him up. Anyway, I thought they looked cute.

Snicker, snicker.

also in http://lizamagoo.livejournal.com

This blog entry should have been written two or three years
ago. I don’t know why I remembered it
all of a sudden. Maybe because I was
toying with the word “donor” (why? I’ll write about it in my livejournal blog,
hehe) when I remembered the friends and friends of friends who came to

Asian

Hospital

to donate blood for my
dad, who was ill at the time.

I have lots of gay friends who love my parents dearly. So one of them responded to my call for blood
donors. He came all the way to Alabang (from
Mandaluyong) just to find out that he could not donate blood just because he
was truthful in his response to the questionnaire.

One of the questions there was if he engaged in homosexual
activities. Being gay and being proud of
it, he answered, yes. That alone was
enough to deny him his good deed. My mom
felt so bad for and was apologetic to my gay friend who went out of his way to help
us out. But he said mom shouldn’t
apologize because it was hospital policy. Of course, my gay friend and I had our issues to raise about it.

For one, what if he did not say he engaged in homosexual
activities (but then only the consciously blind and maybe the intolerant ones
will say he isn’t)? Why didn’t they include
the question “do you engage in unprotected sex?”

When my friend left, I went marching to the laboratory,
where blood donors went, and spoke with the person in charge.

At that time I still remembered some of the research I got for
some video I was doing about sexually transmitted infections, and I remembered
that a lot of those reported to be HIV positive engage in heterosexual
activities. So this was what I told the
lab person. But he said maybe my
research is different from his. My point
was, how do we know if anyone who comes here answers that question truthfully. Won’t they be tested for HIV or
something? Why not ask instead if they
did unprotected sex?

But then I also knew about the window period, and how you
can be a bit more sure about the accuracy of results of HIV tests six months
after having unprotected sex. Any guy
who claims he is a heterosexual male (or any woman who claims she doesn’t do
unprotected sex or hides her tatoo or whatever) can still pose as a risk. I don’t mean to cause any paranoia, hysteria
or suspicion, because I’m sure that’s why these hospitals are (seemingly)
strict about these things (and even some other gay friends understand the
hospital policy), but I don’t know if all these hospitals have a
fool-proof way of transfusing uninfected
blood.

Anyway, at that time, I was secretly wishing this laboratory
person would need blood donors for someone he loved, and the person who would need
blood donation would be his lover. Yeah,
the lab guy looked gay, my gay friend said.

But it was bad to wish ill on others. So I took that secret wish back, and wished instead
that the hospitals would develop a way of ensuring safe blood for these
transfusions. Maybe, after three years,
the questions have become clearer and less discriminatory in tone. Maybe the ways of testing blood have
improved. But think about it – even
those who actually have HIV tests find out they have HIV after another test and
after some time because of the window period (and they did not – or they claim
to not engage in unprotected sex and sharing of needles and all those other
ways of transmitting infected blood in between tests).

This incident was used in a play written by another gay
friend, and was also something their director felt strongly about. He, too, wanted to donate blood for his
mother, but was denied because he was gay.

see also:   http://lizamagoo.livejournal.com

"Send this to 30 friends
and nothing will happen…

Totoong effective ‘to,
natry ko na,

wala talagang nangyari.."

—————————–

at dahil natawa ako sa text message na ito, pinadala ko sa ilang friends ko na naiinis magforward ng messages (and who’d see the humor in the message).  hindi ko naman pinaabot sa 30 although i’m sure aabot sa 30 ang mga kaibigan kong ganun.

sabi ng kaibigan kong si Mira, hmmm… 30 pesos of nothing din yun.
sabi ko, sabagay, parang nothing na rin ang value ng 30.
pero hindi rin… kasi lumalagay na 15 sticks ng isaw yan kung bibili ka sa may tapat ng UP kalayaan dorm. 
o tama ba — tig-P2 ang bawat stick ng isaw?  o P2.50 na? 
so ibig sabihin, may halaga pa rin pala ang P30 mo.
so bibili ka ba ng isaw o magse-send ng 30 text messages?
opportunity cost nga ba ang tawag doon? (one of the few things i learned in high school, or i thought i learned)
sabagay… pinatawa mo naman sila (o pina-smirk). 
priceless yun (sabi na nga ba baduy ang ending nito e)
anyway nagsimula sa nothing ang usapan.
sayang, nakakaaliw ang totoong text exchanges namin ni mira noon… hindi ko na-document.  paraphrasing na lang ito.
o paraphrasing nga ba ito?
ewan… nabubulok ata utak ko pag ganitong oras ng gabi (umaga na pala)
zzzzzzzz

Hinahanap ko kanina ang aking old notes on scriptwriting nang biglang tumambad sa akin ang mga koleksyon ko ng slumbooks mula noong grade 4 ata ako or something… basta sobrang pangit pa ang handwriting ko noon e… siguro grade 4 ako noon, maybe 9 years old.  at ano daw ang definition ko of love?  "Love is abala sa isip."  huh?  Grade 4 nga ba ako noon?  AT best, grade 6.  Still, ang cynical ko na pala noon pa man! at ano daw ang ambition ko in life?  to be what I will be.  grabe… noon pa man, ine-embrace ko na ang uncertainties. nakakaaliw. 

Hinahanap ko kanina ang aking old notes on scriptwriting nang biglang tumambad sa akin ang aking mga koleksyon ng slumbooks mula noong 10 years old ata ako or something… basta sobrang pangit pa ang handwriting ko noon e… siguro grade 4 ako noon.  at ano daw ang definition ko of love?  "Love is abala sa isip."  huh?  Grade 4 nga ba ako noon?  AT best, grade 6.  Still, ang cynical ko na pala noon pa man! at ano daw ang ambition ko in life?  to be what I will be.  grabe… noon pa man, ine-embrace ko na ang uncertainties. nakakaaliw. 

    I have a spur. I wish
it were a spur of the moment, but no… it’s a spur. As my doctor said, “may pangil ka sa
paa.” And as that jologing (kumbaga sa
uhuging) FM station shrieks out, “It hurts, you know, it hurts.”

    There it was on my x-ray results – a protrusion on my left heel. A quick ”googling” yielded this
definition: “A heel spur is a
hook of bone that forms on the bone at the back of the foot.”

    My friend didn’t believe it was like a bone that grew. But there it is in that definition – “hook of
bone that FORMS.” He thinks it’s
probably a ligament or a growth or mass or something, but not a bone. Well, I am prone to developing mass in my
body – like the tumor in my uterus or some other mass in my ovary. My activist friends would be happy to know
I’m still mass-oriented. (Likewise, my
religious friends would do, too – although the mass grows in me.)

    Lately, the heel spur is causing me fatigue more than the
pollution or sudden heat or medication or… heaven forbid… perimenopause! And I can’t buy good shoes yet because of
lack of resources… whine, whine… and because I really need to earn, I’ve been
going out a lot for meetings and other work-related stuff. That causes me more
pain. A prospective regular job may
drastically change my lifestyle and wardrobe. I might enter a company with a corporate set-up (a first for me!). I wish I could afford good orthopedic
shoes. And yet, I dread buying
orthopedic shoes because they look so… orthopedic. The only ortho-friendly kinds are rubber
shoes, and that job seems to look down upon rubber shoes. My doctor advised me to wear rubber shoes
only, though.

    I’ve always lived the life of a freelancer and avoided the
corporate set-up probably because of the demands on wardrobe, footwear and
make-up. Fortunately (?) and
coincidentally, my herniated disc (and slight scoliosis and now, my heel spur)
cooperated and gave me the perfect excuse for not wearing heels and other
uncomfortable shoes. I am such a rebel
of fashion that I now dread the possibility of being reinvented for the job
(kung matuloy).

    But then, I also like good funky fashion… And I also believe
that reinvention is good. Make-over is
fine. But there has to be something
about me in it or else it would look so “pilit.” I wish they would repackage me
as a closet rocker (which I am). A funky
corporate girl who loves to watch rock bands. Anyway, they have to consider my left foot and my back… otherwise, if I
will be forced to wear heels, I might as well leave. Haha! This will be the first time people will hear
of a person who resigned from her job on account of her left foot. Daniel Day Lewis, move over…

    Oxford Wordfinder defines spur also as a stimulus or incentive. Right now, the incentive is the necessity for
a regular income. So I guess I have to earn a lot to find good orthopaedic
shoes that are funky and stylish, while trying the corporate life. Meanwhile, i have to tire my feet looking for
them!

*IMHO actually ito - in my humble opinion

1. Myth: When a person who seldom likes movies suddenly says s/he likes a certain movie, it means that it is a good movie.

 MyHO: Hindi (laging) totoo yan! Maybe s/he is just hard to please, or has an unusual taste, gustong maging pa-different o pa-intellectual, pasttime niya ang manlait at mandaot o lifelong dream niya ang maging critic at pinagpapraktisan ka niya. Form your own opinion and don't just rely on others to tell you what is beautiful and what isn't.

2. Myth: If you feel miserable, think of those far off worse than you and you'll feel better. (OR you're lucky you're not as miserable as others)

MyHO: It'll only make me feel worse! How can I emerge feeling better at the expense of someone else's misery? Okay… The person is just trying to make me feel better. But it doesn’t work. Besides, am I not supposed to do something to help ease the burden of another person instead of "feel better" just because someone else is. This kind of logic or chicken-soup-for-the-soul kind of thinking doesn't work for me at all. I'd rather think of the problem in all its uniqueness and compare it with everything I've been through.

Ito lang muna… madadagdagan ang listahang ito.