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Maricon: Tattoo on the chest of punk tambay: ‘Blind Teror’.
Me: He did say blind.

* * * * *

We like to walk. It clears our heads. We have no place to walk outdoors (indoors we walk round and round the mall). Pedestrians have no rights and there are hardly any sidewalks. On Sundays, though, the Makati central business district is quiet. I suggested that we walk around all the parklets of the area—Legaspi “active” park, the park next to it which we call the “inactive” park, Salcedo park, and the Ayala Triangle park. Their combined area should be almost a tenth that of a real park.

During the walk we spotted a man sitting at a table outside a restaurant, smoking. “Did you see that man’s jawline?” my friend said.

“Yes, it’s stunning.” In profile he looked like the classic Superman illustrations.

Having been trained in scientific observation, we went to have a closer look at the subject. This entailed looping around the park and walking back to the restaurant from another direction. We were out for a walk anyway, and science is a harsh mistress. As we drew near the subject and his handsome jawline we casually turned in his direction.

Aaa! The central features did not live up to the profile. He must always be photographed from the side. When he is introduced he must always present his left profile. It’s the life of Two-Face.

“If layogenic means ‘attractive from a distance’, and likogenic (likod-genic) means ‘looks good seen from the rear’, what’s the term for someone who’s attractive only in profile?” I asked.

“Gilid-genic,” said my friend. “Giligenic.”

“Or tabigenic.”

Or pangagenic—one whose strong jawline raises expectations which are dashed upon full frontal viewing.

Ricky didn’t have a vase for the eucalyptus so he put them in a briefcase.

Ige appears to be auditioning for Hamlet. The following day he shaved.

I bought this tote bag for 100 pesos at Aldevinco in Davao.

Rene was looking for Theodore Rex, the biography of Teddy Roosevelt. It was no longer available, but these biographies were. We lined them up to find the answer to the question, Which of these historical figures is the cutest?

Jay is describing a nefarious stratagem used by cellphone thieves on the MRT. Strangely, he is smiling.

The five prosecco cocktails I had at Cibo this afternoon in aid of research. Prosecco is like an Italian version of champagne. From left to right: Mimosa (orange juice), Plum Bellini, Mango Bellini, Rossini (strawberry), and Tiziano (grape).

All Noel wanted was a glass of the house red, but the waiter said it wasn’t Cabernet, it was a mixture of Cabernet Vallformosa Tempranillo tienes tienes tienes. It was complicated. I ordered cider.

Peru, May 2010. Photo by JAZ.

At lunch today Boboy stunned us with this challenge.

“Aber, tingnan natin kung kaya ninyong mabuhay nang isang araw na walang opinyon.”

(Let’s see you survive one whole day without expressing an opinion.)

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

Corollary: There’s still no electricity in most neighborhoods and Cinemalaya is cancelled today. Would you rather have electricity but not be able to give your opinion, or no electricity but unlimited expression of opinion?

* * * * *

Noel and I have the biggest hair of all our friends, and I mean BIG. When people with hair issues see us they want to commit suicide. Stormy weather makes big hair huge, and today Noel’s hair can be seen from outer space.

“Wow,” I tell him. “Did you shower and shampoo, then run out of the house?”

“Yes,” he says.

“So did I.”

“But your hair is behaving. Did you use conditioner?”

“Yes, I’ve been using that Sunsilk Expert stuff.” (Not because of the concept but because Michael told us a funny story about Teddy Charles. This is how I form opinions.)

At that moment some guy walks into Wild Ginger and WHOA! THAT’s big hair. Hair like that hasn’t been seen since the 1970s.

“Is it possible his is bigger than ours?!” Noel says.

“How dare he invade our territory!”

We stare at his hair, he stares at ours, and for a moment we have a Mexican stand-off. Then he gets up and leaves.

“Couldn’t take the heat.”

“His hair was causing a disturbance in the Force.”

Thanks to Wild Ginger for giving me sanctuary and letting me use their electrical outlets.

Eat at Wild Ginger! My favorite items on the menu: Wild Ginger Spicy Chicken and Pork Adobo, and Deep-Fried Tawilis, which I always have with the Mongo with Malunggay.

Wild Ginger is in the basement of Power Plant Mall in Rockwell, Makati.

Satan Comes to the Gates of Hell, one of William Blake’s illustrations to Milton’s Paradise Lost

Yesterday I got this text message from Maria Consolata, aka Maricon.

“My taxi driver is sharing his experiences. . .as a Satanist. Converted back to Christianity. He is now reciting the reverse Ten Commandments. Sounds like a tape recorder.”

I asked Maricon to tape the driver’s recitation on his phone, which he did. We will have lunch today so he can give me the details and I can listen to the recording. The full report later.

This is why I resist the urge to chat up the cabbie. Too much information. Inevitably the conversation veers towards politics or religion and you really don’t want to say anything that will cause the cabbie to drive into a lamppost. Any trip is more comfortable if you remain unaware of the fact that at some point in his life the driver worshipped Satan and his favorite song was “Hotel California”.

* * * * *

Listened to the recording: It’s insane! The ex-Satanist does this rapid-fire stream of consciousness monologue for ten minutes. His nickname for Satan is “Taning”—apparently many local Christians don’t want to say the full name for fear of invoking the bad one. The cabbie recounts how his mother prayed for his conversion by walking on her knees in Quiapo Church for nine Fridays in a row. On the ninth Friday he claims that he spontaneously cried, “Gusto ko nang magbago!” (I want to change!) but it was a difficult process—he’d resolve not to go to the devil worship services, and then find himself there. Freaky stuff, will need time to transcribe it.

The best time to be in Manila is from Maundy Thursday to Black Saturday. Nearly everyone’s out of town, traffic is very light, the air noticeably cleaner. It’s even cooler—I’ve realized that one major cause of heat is all the exhaust from all the airconditioners working to beat the heat.

The malls are closed but a few restaurants are open for stragglers. We had lunch at our old reliable Old Swiss Inn, and dinner at Italiannis (bigger crowd, smaller portions). For dessert I suggested we drive around Bonifacio Global City to see what was open. Voila, many of the restaurants in High Street were open and packed; New Orleans even had a jazz singer on. There were so many people we couldn’t get a table, so we went back to Makati.

“We could go to the Pen,” Noel suggested.

“I’m wearing slippers,” Joey said.

“They really enforce the No Slippers in the Lobby rule?”

“Yes, there’s a note in the rooms telling the guests to wear shoes.”

“You mean I can only sit in the lobby of City Garden Hotel?”

“They don’t have a lobby,” Joey said.

We ended up in the Makati Avenue-Burgos-Koreatown area, where all the bars seemed to be doing good business. “If I wanted to do penance I’d go inside Pussycats,” Noel said. We skipped penance and went to Ferino’s Bibingka across the street, a tiny take-out station with two tables on the sidewalk. One order of the P95 Super Bibingka was enough for three of us, with hot chocolate.

“We could’ve gone to Cafe Adriatico in Malate,” Joey said.

“Naah, this is fine,” I said. We don’t often get to hang out on the sidewalks of Makati Avenue (Wouldn’t want to be mistaken for a transvestite, not that some of them aren’t fabulous). And we had a view of Pussycats, Andok’s, Hotel Inwangsan and Joey’s new car.

“What a beautiful car,” Joey sighed. Joey has reason to sigh—getting that car involved months of waiting and an epic correspondence with the dealers. We have renamed Joey “CX”.

Mat: What a stupid, pointless story. Good thing I am very handsome.

On Sunday I was walking around the mall with my friend Maria Consolata, Maricon for short, when we saw a nice big bag in the window of Onitsuka Tiger. “Look,” I said, “That bag is you. Very timely since your present bag is falling apart.”

Maricon agreed. We went into the store to check out the price tag. It cost more than twice what Maricon had paid for his bag; granted he bought that on sale several years ago.

“But aren’t you getting a big fat cheque?” I reminded Maricon.

“You are evil,” he declared. We walked some more. This time we saw a bag in the window of Tumi.

“It’s bulletproof, right?” Maricon said. “Made of kevlar.”

“Kevlar?” I cried. Tell me something is made of kevlar and I’ll want it. “You must get it then.”

“But will my Macbook fit in it?” Maricon said.

“Of course it will.”

The whole time we were examining the bag and discussing its uses the salesman stood watching us like a lump. We were clearly interested in the merchandise, he could hear us asking questions, but he made no move to assist us. It was as if his job description were not “salesperson” but “statue”. They couldn’t get a more attractive statue?

“It doesn’t have a compartment for a laptop,” Maricon pointed out.

“So? You can put your computer in a sleeve.” I picked up a laptop sleeve from the display and put it inside the bag. It fit.

“That’s not for computers,” the salesperson said, noticing us at last. “That’s only for documents.” Bad enough that he was dissuading the customer from buying the product, but he made no attempt to show us a bag specifically designed for a computer. Perhaps we were not the sort of people he imagined using Tumi products. It’s a good thing he works around kevlar.

“But I like it,” Maricon said. “You evil girl, now I’ll have to get money from the ATM.” I had to be home by 4 so I walked him to the ATM and said goodbye.

Ten minutes later, this text message. Overcome by virtue. Did not buy the bag. Yet.

Wow! I replied. Impressive self-control, aided by zombie salesperson.

Kerek!

If he had been Daniel Matsunaga that bag would’ve been sold.

Three bags at least, plus that huge bag in leather. And I could’ve gone back to Onitsuka Tiger but didn’t. Such virtue. I wonder what stupidity I’ll commit next.

Option paralysis. You have too many options so you pick none.

Good deterrent to impulse buying.

The following day:

Bill payment day. Money withdrawn for bag used to pay electric and phone bills. I feel doubly virtuous. But where’s the fun?

You horrible goody-goody.

I know, I will go to goody two shoes hell.

Where he descended not five minutes later.

The joys of PLDT. Cashier shortchanges me and says, “50 centavos lang naman.” So she gives me 25 centavos and uses calculator to subtract 44 centavos to find that the change is actually 56 centavos. A summa in math! After paying I need to talk to “Customer Care/Service” which are of course both oxymorons, and I have to fall in line again.

See how quickly you are punished for being good, I replied.

So soon. Too soon.

Two minutes later:

Wait! The customer service number queue skips from 98 to 104. I’m 108. God is in his heaven.

The cosmos is merely taunting you. You will be served by a total dimwit.

Rats! The system remembered what it skipped. And there is no visual distraction of any kind.
Insult to injury: The system conks out. Now we are reduced to random numbers being called out. I can see tomorrow’s tabloid headline. . .

Bakla nag-amok dahil di binili ang bag! (Gay man runs amok after not buying bag!)

Dahil walang guapo! (Gay man runs amok because there are no cute guys!)

FYI you can pay your bills at Banco de Oro branches.

But where else can I get this Kafkaesque sense of inutility and inhumanity?

Easy: while trying to hail a taxi.

I wash the dust off my feet and curse this office. And head for Greenbelt. Danger.

To ward off further bad luck, Maricon went to Onitsuka Tiger and bought a bag.