please and thank you

I applauded the world last night. Despite the horrific situation in the Middle East, despite the bumbling government system, despite myself, there exists a hope for mankind.

Our car's spark plug is kaput. We took the jeep to SM and back. The ride home was unexpectedly pleasant. It was the only time in the world that I took public transport and didn't mind so much the assault to my nostrils. You would think you were in another planet. The people in the jeep were kind and polite to one another. Yes, really. In place of the common cuss-words I heard the words "Sorry," "Paki," "Excuse me," and "Salamat." Really.

I've never enjoyed a jeepney ride more.

Isabela has taken to watching telenovelas. And because of it she has developed a highly amusing habit of acting out. She would say of some unfortunate situation as a kitchen spill, "Dios ko, lagot ka." In the bathroom she would laugh like Sally as I pour water over her head. Sometimes she would even lie still and say things like, "Patay na ako. Lagyan mo ako ng flowers pati lights." My daughter is only two and a half years old and already she has vivid ideas of the dark side of life.

I cannot think straight. This French guy beside me smells like a rotting corpse. I know he's French because I took a glimpse at his monitor and I read words such as "Le coe'ure" or something that spells like it. Maybe he's a French terrorist. I could feel my brain cells popping with every breath I take. Even camote-powered fart doesn't smell this bad. This is a very bad time to talk about politeness and goodwill.

Maybe some other time. I have to get out. Goodbye.

pilipinas: asan pa nga ba?

"Welcome to Dumoy Baranggay," the sign said. Deplorable. Dilapidated. It's quite an infliction to the senses. You would wonder whether there were funds being forwarded here. Might have been a re-routing of some sort. Yeah. Directly to the pockets of the esteemed officials you voted for last election.

If I were someone powerful, and I REALLY wish I was, I would change the way things are in this country. I would declare martial law and eliminate the terrorists, the corruptors, the criminals, and yes, even the rallyists I see on tv everyday. Why do I bother with these unhealthy thoughts? Because, apart from an inexhaustible amount of dry wit, homicidal thoughts are all I have.

Have you seen the wedding of Ruffa the other day? I have. And I must say it was too extravagant for good taste. The flowers alone must have cost a fortune. Sixty varieties flown in from twelve countries. And the cake! Ten feet high embellished with Swarovski crystals and 23-carat gold! I heard it took a month to put together. Anyway, there was Ruffa, looking all pretty and I must say extremely relieved because her groom showed up despite the situation in Turkey, walking down the aisle while wisps of billowing smoke followed her to the altar. How tsk, romantic. It was almost biblical. After the cermonies the whole wedding party partook of the banquet as served by Le Souffle. Ubber chic. My guess is anywhere between three million bucks.

You could donate an entire school for that amount. But perhaps I am just sour-graping. Lord knows what I would do if I looked like Ruffa and had somebody like Ylmaz to suck my toes every morning.

This is what I am getting at. The Philippines is where you find the richest of the rich and the poorest of the poor in a single setting. You see the huge chasm that divides them. And you'd give anything to fill it. Like arrange for some people to get killed. And the poor shall inherit the earth.

Good day to you.

ruffa and other grim possibilities

I am so in touch with the showbiz world. Tomorrow, Ruffa ( of the infamous 'take it, take it' fiasco) is going to get married. Meanwhile, the Turkish airspace is abuzz with all sorts of American flying war-thingys. Ruffa's groom is stuck. The wedding is going to be held in the Philippines. Unless Ruffa's sweetcakes is an energetic swimmer, there isn't going to be a wedding.

Yesterday I had the most amusing time of my life watching Etta Rosales and Dr. Amanda Cruz bitch it out with each other on national television. While I am not one to question the motives of rallyists, I had my bets placed on Dr. Cruz. If words were physical blows, Etta Rosales would've ended up in one of the more expensive hospitals in Metro Manila. Clearly, she was no match for the powerful mouth of Dr. Cruz. Unless Etta's brain is a vacuum, and words just disappear in the black hole of her mind.

Considering Cruz's abandonment of tact, and Rosales' far-flung responses, I am truly suspicious of this theory.

Maybe you don't know what I am talking about.

Back to Ruffa. Why can't they just postpone the whole thing? If she really does love this Turkish millionaire, she wouldn't think twice about not risking his safety. Then again, if this Turkish millionaire really did love Ruffa, he'd be here, come hell or high water, to attend his own wedding tomorrow!

Or maybe they should just have the wedding in Turkey and exchange I do's while scuds are flying overhead! To profess your undying love for one another while the threat of danger is in the air, that would be history-making romance. Ooh, I'm such a romantic!

The moral of the story is this: If you're a very rich person living in a war zone, it really pays to have your own airspace.

free scud missiles for everyone!

Contrary to what you may be thinking, I am not about to give you my two-cents worth about the war in Iraq. I might mention, however, that there are some people I would like to SEND TO Iraq. But I am not going to ruin my morning so to hell with Satan's Spawn, et.al

As always, I was doing my laundry this morning when upon bending down to pick up something I dropped I noticed two mosquitoes clinging together in flight. It appeared to be such a difficult business as both were flying so low, and it occured to me after I have been watching them for several minutes that I was actually doing something perverted. I was intently watching two of God's creations having sex. And having just used the words God and sex in the same sentence, I conclude that I am in desperate need of a social life. I am definitely bored. And bordering on promiscuity, I might add.

In case you were wondering, yes. I killed those dengue-carriers mid-fornication. How did I know they were in fact aedes egyti? Easy. They were low-flying. And it was morning.

Last Thursday I went to the NBI to get a clearance. And as luck would have it, someone with the same name has a criminal offense. I think somewhere in those twenty minutes of disbelief I began to search my conscience if I in fact didn't kill anyone recently. I have to return next week. They have to check the files in Manila. Drat.

Oh, look! It's lunchtime! The kitchen is beckoning again. Cook or be cooked. Husband and daughter just might eat me alive if I don't come home soon.

Ciao.