Red Constantino: Da Personals...

2011-04-11T09:12:00.009+08:00

EMIL's BIRTHDAY
The Family Files

Only Emil knows his real age. But yesterday we marked his third year with us, as Rio's loyal friend and as a happy member of the Kamuning Republic.

We had a picnic at UP, where Rio and Emil shared polvoron, which is one of Emil's great treats. (He also eats Weetabix, cookies, bread, cake and other pastries.)

We played football, and the kids played chess - Luna versus Kuya Miggy - and then Bambu Kamatis, with Maegan, Sophie and Icia, brought by the parents of Kala, who is currently in Surigao.

We brought our binoculars and sandwiches and mats and the usual bit of imagination.

Rio romped away with Emil, who is still as spry as when he first arrived in Capers.

Later that night, Luna proceeded to Tandang Sora for a sleepover with her cousins.

It became boys night, and I prepared a great feast of Oxtail Ungas - named after the kids' Tito Looney Tunes, also known as the crazy chef Jose Enrique Soriano, who gave me the recipe.

Oxtail was immersed in beer and cooked over a low fire for five hours, but I doubled the anise and the peppers and put in some cayenne.

We began around 6:00 pm, right after the picnic.

After browning things, Rio poured in the bottles of beer, and then we waited, and close to midnight, the liquid greatly reduced and the meat incredibly tender and fragrant, things were ready.

I prepared rice the way I've always liked it - malata - and after the first spoonful, my son exclaimed it was all worth the wait.

Indeed. The stew had the right heat, the right texture, and it worked fabulously with the soft rice and the meat was virtually falling off the bones, and interestingly the carrots were still whole, though really soft. The onions had melted and merged with the meat.

We finished the whole pot, including the rice, and immense slabs of leftover fat and huge bones, along with the sauce and the softened carrots and the tasty bits at the bottom of the Dutch oven - it was all for Emil, who actually couldn't finish everything.

What a day. We'll surely do this again, and we'll try goat next time, and short ribs.

Thanks for dropping by. #

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2007-11-30T13:31:00.000+08:00

GIRL TURNS 5…
The Family Files

Days before her birthday, Luna asks her brother “Kuya, what is your favorite body part?”

Rio: “Eh? Well, duh! The brain!”

Luna turns to her mum and Kala thinks the question is weird. She replies anyway: “Hmmm… That’s an interesting question. Brain!”

Luna, a bit disappointed with the answers, turns to me. “Ako rin, brain!” I answer.

But what about you, I ask Luna. “What’s your favorite body part?”

Luna: “My favorite body part is kuko! My nails!”

Rio, Kala and me: “Huh?!”

Luna: “So I can put cutix! I like nail polish. My favorite body part also are my eyes! And cheeks! And lips!” She's just like my youngest sister Yammy, who is beside Luna while the girl is holding a leaf...

Rio: “Duh. They’re just accessorizable body parts.”

Luna: “I don’t care.”

There’s about five seconds of silence -- then mad laughter, from everyone.

Yla Luna turned five in the middle of November, and what a blast it was. A small party was put together for her but since Kala and I have been either out of the house, out of town or out of the country too often, we just had to cross our fingers and hope enough people would come to Luna’s bash. We kinda flubbed the invitations part to our friends – Kala thought I was sending to so and so but I thought she was sending to the same people. And then we sent invites a little late…

The event was held at the original Max’s restaurant (the best!!!) and although we were expecting 20 kids and 30 adults, in the end, over 50 kids came (cousins and classmates and friends) and 75 adults showed up. Yeyey!

Lunalu was sooooo happy.

She wore the dress that her lola gave her and each time I tried to take a picture of her, she would do a curtsy if she were standing or if she were sitting she’d cross her legs. Amazing kikay to the max, just like Yammy.

Kala hired the outfit of Kuya Mao to entertain the party’s guests and what a grand show it was. Kuya Mao was formerly with Batibot, and whose repertoire was just magnificent. Kids and adults were all in stitches over Kuya Mao’s ventriloquist performance with Elmo, which was followed by an even more hilarious puppet show, then finally a magic show that was so interactive everyone was still laughing by the time the whole birthday party ended. Ibang klase! Look at Sophie and Julia! And Luna has doubled up. Tingnan ang tatlong anak ni Ateng -- halakhak ng halakhak!

If you have an event coming up, I tell you, get Kuya Mao’s show! It’s for kids and adults together, and for birthdays, Christmas events and office parties – he da man. Just write me if you’re interested and I’ll give you his coordinates. Sobrang sulit po, as you will see in the photos of laughing people in Lunalu’s birthday!

Kuya Mao a lot of characters with their own funny personalities – Superman was there and so were Spongebob, Barney, Lolo and Buboy, and Elmo/Elma.

He made sure everyone had fun -- the adults were laughing at the antics of the children and the kids got stomachaches laughing at the silly adults in front of them. Here you see Auntie Maki and Ninong Teddy wearing Kuya Mao’s costumes while singing nursery ditties. Nakakangilo! And right below that is top Tito Pogs – one of the country’s top telecom execs playing weird bunny… Creepy!

So many friends came and it was unbelievable. I saw long-time best buddy Jenny and Auntie; also Bituin (Filipino for star), whom Luna once said was her natural partner ”kasi ako , ‘moon’.” Bituin brought her mom -- birdie-girl and sandbox playmate Annabanana. With his three kids in tow was good buddy Peter Sing, former senior media man and now co-CEO (with Gilie) of the best-selling Pan de Pidro Bakeries. (If you’re thinking of special gifts to give to special people this Christmas, put Pan de Pidro on top of your list. Your friends and family will love you for it, though they’ll hate you for the calories; drop me a line too if you want to order, though Pan de Pidro branches are all over Metro Manila now even though they’ve only entered their second year)

Also present was Ninong Teddy and Ayen; the Pulido brood led by Miggy, Megan and Sophie, and the Constantino clan/Dada Ming’s troops led by Ia, Taro, Jedi (from Maoi) and Julia (Hochi) and newly wed CP and Ani.

I saw my university buddy Alphonse, who came with his kid and Teacher Fe and so many other COLF teachers.

On the pic here you'll see Luna giving a kiss to Dada Ming and also to Lola Dudi. She shouted to me that Dada had arrived with Lola and she was jumping up and down, her eyes gleaming.

Ninja with CJ and Aldo were also there along with Tito Pogi and Tita Winnie.

Leizl and her kids were there and Teban and Gigie also, with gorgeous Juliana – the pretty little girl hugging Luna in the pic.

Ang dami. My mind has lost track of who turned up. Sayang Kala and I again forgot to bring a guestbook...

The food was superb – Max kasi! – and the service was as crisp as the chicken and the ambience was appropriately rowdy (there was a big play area right behind Kuya Mao’s set). So many of the guests left saying they had a fabulous time. (And they were not just being polite; some were insisting they had humongous fun and were asking for Kuya Mao’s details...)

Luna can only agree. She was the most patient, giving away loot bags, holding the hands of her classmates, laughing with her cousins and sharing party food.

Soon as the family got back home, Luna went straight to her presents and nimbly opened them one by one. She said it felt like Christmas, since so many brought nice things for her, and indeed, it looked as if she received an advance barrage of gifts. Her immediate favorites were Annabanana and Bituin’s ceramic bird call (sobrang galling!), a dress from Peter’s youngest, Tiny’s Doggie Storybook and the doodling pad from Ninang Delia, the mum of Jenny.

Kuya Rio was a dutiful big brother throughout, helping entertain his young sister’s guests and having great fun in the process. You can see him here in his camouflage pants, laughing at one of Kuya Mao’s puppets.

What a fine day it was.

Luna has begun to read at will and she was delighted to receive so many books. Of course, the many art thingies that she got occupied her attention on the very day after her celebration. She was out in the garage, painting and drawing, as soon as she woke up. Right after she played with her most special gift, that is.

We gave the little girl a dresser. And oh boy o boy did she love it....

“I’m a big girl now,” Yla Luna told her parents as she batted her eyelashes and smiled at her image in the mirror.

Yes you are, Luna.

But you will always be our little girl.

Thanks for dropping by. #

Big thanks to Annabanana for some of the pictures here!

2007-11-29T15:16:00.000+08:00

BOY TURNS 9…
The Family Files

Middle of last August, the boy reached nine years. He’s now almost a decade old – time flies faster than the Green Lantern...

It took a while for the delinquent dad to post his pics and write about Rio’s big day, but finally here it is.

Months before his birthday, Rio was asked by his mum what he wanted to do on his special day. He said he really hadn’t thought about it, but he said "Please, no clowns or games or mascots or balloons. Especially not loot bags..."

Obviously he was saying he was no longer a boy. I wondered aloud and said maybe it was time to give him some whiskey. Rio said "I'm older but not old!"

Smart kid.

Rio’s a big boy now. His routines and pastimes are more defined, and his habits speak more and more about who he is and what his interests are.

I’m happy that he’s still so far the only boy I know who would turn down an uninterrupted afternoon of Sony Play Station time if he had a great book to read. In fact he has taken to reading with such gusto that he is now exchanging books with his uncle and his mum’s pops (his mum also gets to read Rio’s books every now and then.)

Rio loves fantasy novels and science fiction, which is of course just fabulous. It’s one of the most liberating and underrated genres ever and many of its writers are among the most visionary and stubborn people the planet has ever known. He'll get more smarts from such books, and tougher lessons too. (That's Rio with a Gen. Macario Leon Sakay shirt on, which was issued to commemorate the centennial of the Filipino revolutionary's death -- hanged in 1907 by American invaders and the native elite. Kala and I named Rio after Sakay.)

Rio somehow reads almost everything he sets his eyes on. Like me, he tends to read all the details and ingredients on the back labels of shampoos and cereal boxes.

A stray political manifesto in the house provokes questions over dinner. Old newspapers make him wonder aloud about who is stealing again in government. Comic strips delight him and make him go searching for his ever missing sketchpad, and brochures or flyers about a housing project or new product make him ask about humankind’s capacity for stupid inventions and real estate.

There was a day when all the kids, including Luna, were romping about our street, which was then under construction. Water gun play, hide and seek, climbing gravel mountains – the works. You will see Rio in one of the pics here -- in the middle of kids chasing kids -- in the midst of youthful tumult, Rio is standing by his lonesome on a cement block quietly reading Tolkien's Return of the King...

He finally decided just a week before his big day how he wanted to celebrate his ninth year.

Rio said he wanted to go out with his gang and treat them to humongous sandwiches, buffalo wings, fries and milk shakes, after which, he said, they should go to Station 168, his favored gaming place.

Great agenda.

And so on the designated date, I watched Rio and the boys goof around all day, boisterous and rowdy and ever hungry.

I wouldn’t have been surprised if they actually ate the table cover. (I think one of them wolfed down a whole sandwich including the wrapper...)

At the gaming station, they were in Seventh Heaven. Rio did the job of policing the games they played – he asked his chums to avoid the spectacularly nasty, stupid stuff such as Grand Theft Auto where you get points for beating up old women and running over pedestrians while stealing cars and so on.

The kids played for hours, laughing and squealing and throwing paper missiles at each other while I tried in vain to write notes on a chapter of a second book. I ended up walking around a lot to laugh with the boys, who kept swiveling around in their seats to taunt each other and to laugh some more.

What a day.

It was his best birthday celebration ever, Rio said. And his classmates agreed. One even whispered to me as I walked him to his guardian: "Tito Red, it was the best day of my life!”

I walked around later with a spring in my step.

“Can we do this again next year?” Rio asked when we got home.

But of course my son. Surely. But of course. #

2007-07-24T16:53:00.000+08:00

ABOUT A GIRL
The Family Files

Her name is Yla Luna. In Spanish it's like saying "And the moon" or, as her silly dad explains, it can be the singular form of the fragrant flower called ylang-ylang combined with the word moon.

The little girl does not need any prop to be heard or seen. She likes people and is immediately friendly (obviously taking after her mum) and she plays with abandon, laughs like a child, has the wisdom of an adult, is super sweet to friends and family, loves to dress, loves to draw and loves to talk about stories all day long.

Lately she's taken to inventing songs and singing and humming her own tunes for hours on end. She adores dolls and sleeps with a couple of them, which are attached to the bottom of her brother's bed (Luna has the lower bunk in their double-deck lodging) with the dolls arranged in a row and dangling from the neck, which makes her space look like a mass gibbet.

We call the little girl Lunalu at home; the little girl who will do whatever she wants to do and invent all sorts of loopy schemes to get what she wants.

Luna has her own way of taking on the world. Very different from her brother actually. More impish, more spontaneous. Reckless.

She gets into situations that have many times brought about unintended moments of pure mirth -- and different expressions of "Oh no! Lunalu!"

I remember one weekend at our patio. It was near lunch time and I was cleaning the swordtail pond and felt thirsty. Rio and Luna were crouched beside me washing shells and sand dollars. I decided I wanted a beer and Rio said he wanted to take a break too.

Luna didn't go along with the lazy boys. She said she wanted to stay with the pond and remarked that maybe there were other things to do besides swishing stuff around in the basin, which was already boring her to tears.

On the way to the fridge, I asked her half jokingly to count the fishies while I got hold of refreshments.

On my way back to the patio, cookies and juice and beer on a tray, the phone suddenly rang. A friend of mine wanted some background to climatic records two decades ago and our conversation sort of sauntered over ecosystem collapse, Aerosmith and kite-flying.

By the time I walked back to the pond, Luna was already shouting and close to stomping on the fishies. Apparently she was still trying to attend to the task I gave her, and of course the fishies refused to cooperate despite her pleas, which became demands, which became grave threats...

She ran to me teary-eyed as I approached the pond. Said the fishies wouldn't keep still and they were making fun of her and she still didn't know how many there were.

I had to bite my lip to keep myself from laughing.

Then there's the time I caught Luna in our room all quiet and standing still. Her eyes were shut tight and her fists were clenched and she had a silly smile.

She almost jumped out of her skin when I asked her softly what she was doing.

Without even opening her eyes Luna replied, "Shhhh! I'm trying to hear myself think..."

Oh.

Another time Luna approached me while I was reading on the bed. She looked distressed and nervous. I asked her what was wrong and she explained, "Kasi Tatay when I close my eyes to imagine, parang naka-off na ang imagination ko. Lahat black!"

Ah. Eh?

I said, "Try closing your eyes again."

Luna closes her eyes.

"Now think of kuya Rio."

Luna: "Ayun! There he is! May color na uli!"

We laughed together for a while. #

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2007-07-23T16:12:00.000+08:00

READING AND FREEDOM
The Family Files

Rio waited for months but finally J.K. Rowling's latest Potter book came out. Even fever couldn't prevent his parents from getting Rio the book, and then it was straight back to Kamuning to slow down again.

Rio soared as soon as opened its first pages and was quite a head-turner on the way back.

People would stare at him or poke one another.

Twice, two sets of teenaged girls giggled and pointed at him, whispering "Cute the boy! Look!" while he pored through his story sitting on a chair or on the floor of the MRT coach. By the time we got back to the house, he was in chapter eight and so thoroughly delighted.

The boy's a bookaholic like his mum. He consumes books the way he scarfs down rice, which is in great and regular quantities. He's the only eight year-old I know who passes up on whole day PlayStation sessions in order to read. And so far, thanks to the piggy bank habit, Kala and I have managed to keep our promise to the boy that he will always have books to read. Same with Luna actually.

It's an expensive promise, no doubt, but it is one that we intend to keep. It is our own space program for the kids and the two of them will travel far greater distances than NASA astronauts.

It doesn't matter that his new Harry Potter book is hardbound and 800 pages long. He actually welcomes the length and breadth of his reading material, which he relates to the story rather than the union of ink and trees.

He's quite free now -- so long as he maintains his reading interest, at least -- and he understands this.

In his world of books there are fewer and fewer boundaries. Whole galaxies open up to him and worlds collide and meld as says hello to all manner of beings, good and bad and strange and normal. Or, as he'd probably say, characters that are "nefarious" and "sinister" and "wicked" and "chivalrous".

The more words he learns, the hungrier he gets.

The other month Luna was insisting to him that in /the Tom and Jerry show, the cat was actually the good guy and the mouse the bad one, because Jerry, she said, was always trying to annoy Tom the cat.

Rio replied: "What?! You got it backwards. It's Tom who's bad. What he wants is to masticate and massacre mice."

Which of course annoyed Luna since, to her, her brother was again not making any sense.

She'll know soon enough about the wonders of words. In fact I think she already understands. She's been writing to different folks actually. Sending them by post and then jumping up and down when the mailman brings back a reply after a week or two.

I remember feeling the same way once. I still think postal mail is one of the best things that this world has to offer. Nothing like opening an envelope and reading letters sent by friends and family, with handwritten ones being tops and versions printed out coming at a distant second.

I used to send myself postcards regularly, just to get the pleasure of running my finger over the stamp or the ink of the postal register. Each time I think of letters sent by post it makes me feel sad.

Speed chats and instantaneous electronic mail -- it's all overrated.

I prefer scratch marks, erasures, drawings, scribbles on the margins, smudges, and stains and the still mesmerizing nature of the fact that a few pieces of paper traveled over vast tracts of land or vast seas carrying only the sunshine and pollen of ideas. From one mind to the hand of another. From the hand to the mind.

Letters that once made us laugh and pout and weep. But this is all about another story and I need to go.

Thanks for dropping by. #

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Beijing Drum and Bell Blues

2007-05-19T17:39:00.000+08:00

This is a post I wrote in mid-May which got stuck as a draft. This is what happens when one waits for other pieces of the post, such as pics, to be downloaded then uploaded... Thanks for dropping by.

On a rooftop in a Beijing bar right now, the imperial city's drum tower is on my left, the bell tower on my right. The sun's still up though it's almost sunset. It's the fourth day of blue skies, which should count as a minor miracle in this storied city. Four days with nothing but color leaping out, like the red lanterns on Ghost Street at night, only brighter and shimmering and with the constant hum of the wind.

Mid-noon, we vow not to touch any alcohol. We've been drinking for a couple of nights straight and waking up early for tough work sessions. We're a bit spent and feel our bodies deserve healthier substances. So Angus orders a capuccino, Sze Ping asks for a mojito and I order a margarita. He and Angus are having a meeting and I am concluding my notes to an article I am putting together for a chapter in the book I am trying to write, while listening to the soundtrack of The Legend of 1900, which came from Sze Ping's shelves. Any of you ever seen that movie? Once you watch it, it won't leave you ever, especially the music which you won't be able to hum to but which you will instantly remember once you hear it again, as if it's curled up under your skin. Any of you ever watch the movie?

Below our rooftop place, a shop away, is the bar where music from the Ningxia region is played live most days of the week. I was there in March, with Sze Ping, Keung and Kontau. I remember that it had snowed suddenly then, a heavy kind of rain which floated down hastily. I had rabbit and wind-dried donkey then along with Xinjiang figs. Sze Ping had given Luna a yellow tiger and we had a great drunken snowball fight while dancing around in freezing dirty sludge, laughing like children, and we were, no doubt we were. I managed to capture on my phone, a short clip which I showed to Rio and Luna and Kala and I'm still wondering how I can upload it -- I've never posted anything on YouTube.

I remember how the kids laughed at the video clip and how they asked why the camera seemed to move around so much (blame the forty beers we consumed that night). I miss as I try to write something on the computer, while the second margarita is steadily gaining sway over my senses, and I'm thinking this spot is such a nice place to post a blog about the kids, and the days and nights we spent on top of a hill in Puerto Galera, overlooking the sea, a cove, a cliff with crows and all manner of birds moving about, everything visible from the high terrace, the turqoise sea bottom in particular. Luna was playing an invisible guitar and Rio was reading book 2 and book 3 of the Quadehar Chronicles, and Kala was just going ffrom magazine page to magazine page, in between naps. We spent the afternoon at a small infinty pool wiht a bar which we'd light up at night, the kids quaffing chocolate drinks and Kala and I sipping beer and bottles of sake from the square wooden glass and pitcher that Patti Liang had given me sometime ago. And when it was all done Kala and I would open the bottles of red wine from Argentina, Chile and Australia that we had stowed away. The stuff had piled up during the long long April and May campaign push, and it's a good thing that vices come in nifty packages like bottles and stuff which can fit in one's bag.

Behind me, there is a short discussion in sing-song exchanges punctuated with raucous laughter. A gang of young tipsy Spaniards had just paid their bill and sounded as if they were trying to decide where to go next, and in front of our table a Chinese couple were writing down missives in their journals, slyly looking over their shoulder and at one another, as if they feared someone like me was watching and following the motion of their pens.

I wouldn't know what to call the scene. I wouldn't know what else to do right now, except to smile at the cool breeze and the leaves that litter my computer's keyboard and to order another margarita.

Maybe in the next post, I'll publish the pics. It's been a nice day. Slow and yet reckless.

Thanks for dropping by. #

NOTE: There was something wrong with the camera as it somehow made our bellies bulge. This of course does not conform to physics and is a mere post-modern fiction of some veiled future. And if it were real, the only one with a real big tummy is the guy in black. He's a good buddy o f mine, Sze Ping, but he has the larger stomach. This is a historic photo actually. A rather painful one. But only the trio in the last pic know why...

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2007-04-06T18:03:00.000+08:00

REGARDING CLAY
Pagbibilang ng dahon

On the left is a clipping of a newspaper published in Negros Occidental in 2003. The news item was about a gathering of colleagues from around the world. On the left-most is Arthur Jones, primo Ilonggo love doctor and ping pong grand prix champion. Next to him is Arturo from Mexico, followed by Valery from Belgium, JP from the US, and Laetitia from France. On the other end is the fine Louise Frasier from Australia standing next to Ateng who is standing next to Sven from Germany. In the middle is Mrs. Linda Untal who, along with Elay Jacildo, is among the most respected leaders in the great historic town of Pulupandan. Beside Mrs Untal is Dave of the Netherlands, then myself, and there is Sze Ping, who I first met in this meeting and who swiftly became a good friend before everything else.

Seven days after the photo was published, the US invaded Iraq. Time flies.

We walk through a world of information each day and we usually bring home just a clutch of soil in our pocket without realizing it. But there are times when we notice, sometimes right before we fall asleep but more often just before we wake up and we find the fingers of our mind kneading the clay of chance and contact.

The other week I was with Melai, currently working in Singapore. We had a great time and met in Little India near the place where I was staying. Had katong laksa -- superb stuff -- then visited Chijmes, a square of bars inside what used to be a church which we found too religiously tame. Melai and I proceeded to Clark Quay, which was noisier and more boisterous and built with a towering War of the Worlds, alien-like mesh of odd-shaped canopies propped up by humongous tripods. It was humid despite the cool air being blown by huge fans hidden inside the tall steel pillars and to cool ourselves off we decided to have a few pitchers of beer. At Hooters. We had such a great time Melai and I forgot to take pictures.... Susmaryosep. Naparami kasi inom namin. Buti na lang saksakan ng saya. Gaya ni Melai, matagal na rin akong hindi-naba-bangenge. Isang linggo na yata.

Before Singapore, I was with a great class of students headed by my good friend Prof. Bernard Karganilla of UP Manila, an experience which washed away a growing stain of cynicism. It is more and more unusual for young folks today to be aware of much less very interested in the roots of the underdeveloped condition of their country, or the sad truths penetrating increasingly desperate families and individual lives. Most of Bernard's students were studying the medical sciences, which normally leaves little time for leisure, much less education. But there they were, talking lucidly with refreshing calm and intensity. I had a great time with them, though I wasn't so sure the audience was as positive. I'm happy some of them found it ok too. Here's an account of the encounter from Monique, one of Bernard's students. It even mentions Wilson, a friend of mine who also moonlights as a cricket ball searching for Deborah (the name given by Amy Cui, a good friend from Hong Kong, to the lady ball that Wilson has yet to find).

The other night, I was watching a movie and having some rough hooch when I just burst out laughing. I realized I was humming with the drunken crowd on the screen singing I'm forever blowing bubbles, the anthem of the Upton Park faithful, better known as followers of the West Ham United Football Club of London. I haven't seen the Hammers play live yet, but a good friend of mine has and he's the one who taught me the song. I may see him again next month if I'm lucky and we can scream out the song after the appropriate mingling of pints.

I'm forever blowing bubbles, pretty bubbles in the air
They fly so high,
They reach the sky,
And like my dreams they fade and die
Fortune's always hiding,
I've looked everywhere
I'm forever blowing bubbles, pretty bubbles in the air
United! United!

Time flies back. Back to words. #

Top image: Arthur, Arturo, Valery, JP, Laetitia, Mrs. Untal, Dave, Red, Sze Ping, Sven, Ateng, Louise, from the Visayan Daily Star, 13 March 2003. Middle picture was taken by Red in a cave in Vietnam. The last pic obviously from the Hammers.

2007-04-04T11:16:00.000+08:00

WORD POWER
The Family Files

He was vaccinated years ago against the clucking pesky pox but this just goes to show there's no guarantee against such diseases. Me, my notes were ready along with the folders for the chapter I'm working on. Plus, I had my bike, Goran Apache, all cleaned up and oiled and raring. It was time to visit the family haunt of Kala and I was planning on doing the sloping Bani to Bolinao to Anda route twice or thrice during the Holy Week in between writing, but no dice. Not this time.

The kids are staying home and so are their parents. Instead of romping on an isolated, quiet island, we'll be re-potting plants and installing lilies and tidying up desks and papers while filling up the cooler with rum and soda and beer and planning nothing and everything and wondering aloud whether there's really a reason for everything while the kids dig in and make do.

Luna -- she wants Bamboo Kamatis games, pastel crayons, tubes of paint and a kiddie pool as compensation for her sand-less penance. And Rio -- he wants more Game Game of the Generals board play, more puzzles, books and drawing paper. Unlike Luna, however, the big boy is going to have a children's version of Satur Ocampo's ordeal and he'll have to dig scores of mental trenches to prepare for his temporary house arrest. Surely, however, like Satur -- and hopefully Crispin Beltran -- he should be free too in no time.

Meantime, at least, everyone will have words to play with during this amusing chicken episode, which is something to look forward to, actually. Luna's terribly funny when she's funny, which is most of the time, and Rio's a funny one when he's serious.

Luna likes experimenting with gravity the most by standing and balancing on a chair's arm rest, skiing on wet floors, knocking down a vase or bottle here and there and falling from whichever bed while testing her grip on the bed sheet. Right now, she finds her mum's stationary bike funny, looking like an imp cycling furiously and then all of a sudden doing an X-gamers flip by holding the bike's grip and pedaling over and over with just one foot (it's really impressive, believe me). All the while she's laughing at her great feat.

Her brother, on the other hand, his humor's a little different. He loves bottom-dwelling slapstick and high vocabulary. All the words of Rio's eight years in this world count, and sometimes he does make me feel as if he is twenty years older than his age.

The other day, for instance, after his grandparents finally refurbished their old bathroom, Rio the Critic walked into the room and looked around and delivered his verdict: "The bathroom looks excellent Lola," said the serious boy with raised brows. "If you add a bathtub, it would be superb."

Rio gets into silly word fights and word games with Luna and they laugh and laugh till someone gets really plastered by a great joke and they end up giggling and wondering who started the exchange. Usually.

Rio loves his sister's words. One day Luna ends up really sad because she wants Molly Desia and no one can give it to her and the whole house spends the whole morning figuring out which doll she's talking about. Turns out she was talking about Mall of Asia. We get to the place by the afternoon and she's already looking for rideos (videos) and combip (corned beef) and stomes (stones) and for some reason wonders aloud during the long ride to the humongous place, "Tatay, I think we should use our brains. If lose our brains people will eat us because they think we're tocino (sweet meat)."

Here's funny wisdom. One day at the market Luna sees on display the different parts of the dead animals that we eat. Head, ribs, legs, innards. She gives a pull on her mum's hand and tells her, "Mama, that's the head of a pig. Why are we eating piggy? Piggy is good. We should eat lamok [mosquito] because lamok is bad."

When you try to talk to Luna seriously, she usually returns the favor. Rio and I were chatting the other day about his exams after Luna and I picked him up from school. Luna, of course, would rather that her boys talk about her and so she walks straight into the conversation and proclaims that she loves exams herself along with homework. So I asked her what she's been doing in school lately and what they've been talking about in class. She shouts "Opposites! Kahapon it was opposite day!" Unwittingly going on Gullible's Travels, I replied, "Hey! How interesting!" I ask her, "Ok, let's play a game on our way back to the house." Luna shouts with delight, "Yey! Sige! Sige!"

Tatay says: "Ok! Luna, can you tell me what is the opposite of cold?"

Luna: "Squid!"

Rio and me: "Wha!?" Five seconds pass.

Then Rio asks: "Luna, what is the opposite of tall?"

Luna: "Giant squid!"

Obviously, we just walked into her world. Fool that I am, I try again.

"Luna, you have a little plant in the garden di ba? Besides water, what else does a plant need to grow?"

Luna: "Uhm... Chewbaca!"

At this point, Rio just loses it and only stops laughing at his dad after twelve years.

Rio's a funny one too. His sister keeps playing all these games on everyone and one time she tried to taunt her brother by saying his brain was like water. "Blue ang brain mo!" to which Rio replied, "Orange ang brain mo!" then Luna shouts back "Yellow ang brain mo!" then Rio says "Brown ang brain mo, like pupu!" which only delights Luna who replies, "Pink ang brain mo!" and Rio uses his powers and says, "That's right, Luna. A normal human being's brain is pink. But your brain is indigo." Luna says, "Huh?" and Rio rolls his eyes and walks away smirking.

Another time Luna is playing with Kala and Luna tells her mama, "Didn't I come from you before, Mama? I was super small when I was a baby and didn't I come from you?" Then Rio Spoilsport wades in and says in a monotone voice, "Yes, Luna. You were in your mother's placenta and you were once attached to her umbilical cord."

The Kamuning Republic was supposed to have headed to Pangasinan last Sunday morning, but Rio got sick and he's quite pissed at his germs and looking glum on his second feverish day I asked him how he was doing and I think he thought, boy what a question, so he answered "well, the last few days I've been talking to Leukocytes and giving them pep talks and so on." I nodded seriously and smiled the brave comprehending smile while thinking to myself "What in tarnation is this boy talking about?" Then his mum comes in to help dumb daddy and explains "Your son's just talking about his white blood cells."

Leukocytes.

Man, I shoulda answered "Giant squid!" #

BACK TO RED's MAIN PAGE

Photo of Kala and Red taken from the excellent Balai resort of Boy Siojo in Anilao, Batangas. It's a really great place, quiet and with a great cliffside view of the sea. Email Red if you're interested so he can patch you up with Boy's place.

2007-04-03T21:52:00.000+08:00

SCANNING THE MIND
Nagbibilang ng dahon

The image on the left is the cover of Personal Fortune, one of two magazines published by the Philippine broadsheet Business Mirror. I don't write for the mag but it's posted here because this edition carried an article titled No Vanity Project, which is a review of my book The Poverty of Memory: Essays on History and Empire penned by Robert JA Basilio, Jr. You can read the whole review from his blog, along with other good stuff by clicking on this. Right now Boojie's blog has an interesting quick take of Author's Choice, a collection of essays written by Kerima Polotan, the third edition of which is published by the University of the Philippines Press.

The Polotan collection is a fine book. It shows one face of the craft of writing, when style is as fluid as the writer's chosen subject matter. Basilio grabbed a snippet (an excellent choice) from the book and offered it to his blog's visitors, which is worth reposting below. Essential truths my friends:

"I THINK a man begins to lose himself when he forgets he once walked around with holes in his socks. It's that kind of remembering that keeps us all earthbound, vulnerably human, and vulnerably happy. Frayed socks, empty rice bins, leftovers on the table, second-class movie houses, coffee in cheap restaurants, and so on. Want, or the memory of it, not satiation, keeps our nerve ends sensitive."

What do you think?

See, one paragraph can be worth an entire book. Or sometimes a line or two can be equal to a whole encyclopedia: "Naglilinis ako ng aking kwarto / na punong-puno ng galit at damit," sings Ebe Dancel and Sugarfree in their previous work. They have a new album now, which has really made me think -- the trouble with genius is it keeps a frustratingly high standard. No problem though with Sugarfree's new album, Tala-arawan which simply measures up and even breaks new ground, but please don't wait to read my take on it (I'm still swamped and trying to hammer out a page or two of a new book and my schedule's so messed up). Just take my word for it, it's another classic Sugarfree story with this new album. Just go and get Tala-arawan for yourself and find out for yourself what it's all about.

There's a reason why artists like Ebe and Cookie Chua sing with their eyes closed. Listen to them perform live, and in Ebe's case with Jal Taguibao and Kaka Quisumbing, and discover why.

What's the point in all this? Am not sure myself. It's like ransacking the den of pending articles, which is a deep, dark and lonely place, where all the words speak in whispers and nods and blinking eyes. You reach a corner and the first thing you tell yourself is that it's time to leave. I've had a scanner for four months now and no thanks to an insanely packed schedule, this is the first time I've actually used it. It's crazy and interesting at the same time. I've already scanned some coffee bags today (I'm a hopeless pack rat) and old theater tickets and maybe tomorrow I can finally scan some recent paintings and post them. Nice. Let's see what the aquarelles look like after scanning and digitizing. Back to writing.

Thanks for dropping by. #

Sugarfree photo from EMI Music Philippines

HAPpy BIRTHDAY YAMMi!

2007-02-13T21:44:00.000+08:00

Photo: My sister Karmina does Ben Stiller's Blue Steel face... Pic taken either by Noel, or by herself... Her birthday falls on Valentine's day. Lucky her. She was a top ANC anchor till December 2005. Then she got married and went on an adventure with her husband Noel -- tall as an Ent but without any bark or leaves -- and their adventure has so far taken them to Pennsylvania and other solar systems. She's still a practicing broadcast journalist actually (now with The Filipino Channel in the US) and is also the youngest daughter and kid of Dudi and RC. However, if you ask two wise-cracking tykes, her best qualification is that she's a good silly buddy and giggle-mate. More of the two kids' view below, along with their present to Yammi...

IT's YAMMi's BIRTHDAY!
The Family Files

Karmina's turning 21! Not...

I asked the kids what they plan to put together for Yammi and lo and behold, they put together a nice present...

Their present for Yammi?

Rio and Luna spelled Yammi's name with giant leaves!

I always thought the last letter was a 'y' but then Rio said yes it was actually a 'y' but he wanted to make things different so they can use their leaves differently.

Oo nga naman.

So here it is for Yammi, a heart on a hot air balloon (like a fruitcake making the rounds during the Christmas holidays) and the special present, her name in leaves -- an organic gift to a good organic friend that the kids miss greatly.

Happy birthday Yammi!

And happy Valentine's Day.

We hope you and Noel are doing well.

More pictures later, promise. Abu! #

All photos by Red, except for the heart on a hot air balloon, taken by Reg Hernandez from the recently concluded hot air balloon fiesta at Clark air field. Regman said this was his Labentayms gift to Red, da pinuno, Haring Tikbalang ng mga Space Invaders. How isweet...

2006-12-15T22:39:00.000+08:00

REGARDING RC

Quite a few have asked me for more info, and actually there's a lot already spread out on the net regarding the issues at play for those interested to find out more, but still, maybe a sum-up's really in order. My apologies for taking a while. As the funny Jean-Claude van Damme likes to say, "I've beeen beeezzzeeee."

State bullying actually began months ago when news items seemed to come out in orchestrated fashion maligning people, including RC, with the implicit threat of more harassment, possibly graduating into open persecution. Malice was on display and to this quite a few things had to be said.

This was then followed by the threat of indefinite incarceration, a menace that remains very much in play to this day. Middle of November, rebellion charges were filed against RC and other figures openly contemptuous of the Arroyo administration such as former University of the Philippines president Dodong Nemenzo.

What does one do when one is charged with rebellion, which is non-bailable, by an illegitimate government? The last thing you do is to cower. You push back. Click here to read statements by RC related to the rebellion charge and threat of imprisonment as well as the machinations of the Arroyo cabal.

At the Dusit Hotel in Makati City last December 9, as drivers of the Charter Change train attempted to finagle the public once more with a repackaged project that intends to swindle the entire country, RC and Dudi showed up at the presscon of Joe de Venecia and spoke their minds. And then, of course, a wretched excuse for a gossip columnist, who has apparently wanted to play Cherrie Gil's Lavinia in the smash Sharon Cuneta movie hit Bituing Walang Ningning for some time, thought it was a nice opportunity to do so and promptly disgraced himself and the paper he wrote for in the process. Poor thing. If you want to see the original first-rate Cherrie Gil act, click here.

On live TV yesterday, ANC reported that Lavinia-wannabe's own paper initiated investigations regarding his unethical dealings, focusing on charges that the columnist has been on the payroll of politicians for some time. Lavinia-wannabe's response was interesting -- he virtually replied that his paper was infested with folks who were also on the take, coyly smiling and warning against the move saying "Well, baka maraming tatamaan." ["Well, maybe many will get it too... "]

In any case, first he was suspended for a day. And then a three-man panel of the paper was convened and he was suspended for a month. Lavinia's response? "A good soldier obeys his generals." Fair enough, except that one kinda has to ask the question as to who his generals are or rather who he is soldiering for....

Human rights icon and former senator Rene Saguisag, who maintains a column in the Manila Times, observed mischievously that "Now, Vic Agustin is seen as Joe’s man. Vic once told me that he received an envelope from Imelda Marcos during the dictatorship, containing P50,000. Contrite, he said he could not be on the take from Mike Arroyo given how he had lambasted the latter. When did Vic reform? This may be unfair to both. Suspected of being on the take from people he strokes, Vic suggests that he may not be the only crook in his paper. Oh, boy! Is he a blackmail artist? Vic, let it all hang out, para sa bayan."

Truly time to spill the beans...

On the news today is the announcement by De Venecia et al that they are backing off on their rape attempt, also known as Con-Ass, a move that Gloria Arroyo commended as "an act of statesmanship." Only in the Philippines is a decision temporarily backing off from intentions to rape called "statesmanship." Beautiful.

Efren Danao, a columnist from the Manila Times, called RC's decision to bring their opinion straight to De Venecia et al as "the height of boorishness." The choice of words is interesting. On the one hand, Lavinia's very own paper called the water-thtrowing, silly show of fealty to people in the Dusit Hotel presscon -- who may be his real employers -- as "rude" and "boorish".

To be fair, from a newsman's point of view, Danao's negative reaction at RC's presence is understandable. The National Union of Journalists of the Philippines (NUJP) in fact eloquently noted that it did not " begrudge the journalists concerned if they felt that Mr. Constantino was out of line by speaking at a press conference they believed only the media were entitled to attend." However, added the NUJP, "to berate Mr. Constantino and worse, physically attack him for expressing himself is tragic. How can we, who invoke press freedom and the right to free expression in the exercise of our calling, even deign to prevent others, especially citizens who actually own these freedoms, from exercising these rights?"

The NUJP called Lavinia's behavior "ill-judged" and "unconscionable." Danao, though, did not comment on Lavinia's behavior and in fact even appeared to approve of it, which made it even more interesting. Danao's sentiments were echoed days later in a bizarre way by the journalist Amando Doronila of the Inquirer, who channeled an intriguing stream of venom entirely at RC, whom he branded a "militant leftist activist," an "interloper" and a "usurper" who was "out to create trouble" -- a "raging bull" who was on a "rampage," a "hijacker" out to create a "mob-rousing platform that had nothing to do with expanding public knowledge of critical public issues." Regarding RC's expressed view of Con-Ass as one of the most brazen attempts by thieves to swindle the republic, Doronila said: "polemical drivel."

And there was more bile to spew. RC "excels in shouting matches that pass for reasoned arguments," wrote Doronila. "His harangue was a monologue of abuse ... No citizen has a right to slander people whose views they don’t agree with." Right. Marcos was not a tyrant, a murderer and a dictator. He was just a powerful, opinionated man. There were no official thieves or rapacious cronies during Marcos' time; only vigorous and energetic presidential business partners. And so on and so on. Doronila even lashed out at the NUJP for criticizing Lavinia, with the newsman even going so far as to say there were and there should be limits to freedom of self-expression. Coming from a senior journo like Doro, the response is just yikes... This is the line that the NUJP had taken and which Doronila was pissed at: "Under no circumstances will we abide by any attempt to stifle free expression from which the freedom of the press merely emanates, especially not through physical means and especially not by one of our own."

Of Lavinia's conduct, Doronila could not even bring himself to call it a provocative act. For Doronila, Lavinia's fluid freak-out can only be "deemed to be a provocative act." Deemed to be. Susmaryosep nga. Doronila likened Lavinia's act as akin to "baptismal water poured on the head of a child being christened," [Diyos ko po], and went on to say that "Constantino was even more provocative in launching his tirade at the press conference." Ano daw?

Popular broadcast journalist and now also print columnist Arnold Clavio has a few things to say about context. "If you think about it," mused Clavio, "it was Mr. Agustin who actually had the right to be there. But in an interview on our radio show yesterday, he admitted that his presence was not borne out of any interest in Speaker JdV’s Con-Ass. He was there because he wanted to ask Manay Gina de Venecia if their Dasmariñas property was up for sale. So it was ironically the gatecrasher, activist Renato Constantino, who went there to speak against the topic at hand. If the press conference was not the proper forum for the uninvited non-media Constantino to denounce and berate administration congressmen for pushing their political agenda, neither is it the right venue for a real-estate transaction, 'no?"

Another Manila Times journalist, the veteran Dan Mariano, observed on the other hand that "Speaker Jose de Venecia and his House underlings are fond of describing their charter-change campaign as a bid to unite the country. Well, they appear to have done just that." The solons have united the public against them.

Of the effect of Lavinia's water-throwing silliness, Mariano had this to say: "Constantino, better known as RC, has developed a reputation for resorting to dramatic gestures in protest. Countless times he has been at the receiving end of police baton, tear-gas and water cannon attacks. The dousing RC and his wife Dudi got from Inquirer columnist Victor Agustin -- what were you thinking, Vic? -- wasn’t even a comparative pinprick.

"The righteous indignation at the con-ass lawmakers that RC expressed was just a symptom of the greater ailment that afflicts Philippine politics. The noble-sounding idea of constitutional reform has been revealed to be no more than a fix for the addiction to power afflicting many politicians."

Mariano in a subsequent column described the effect of the RC and Dudi's attempt to speak their mind succinctly: "Notwithstanding -- or perhaps due to -- the hysterical reaction of two newspaper columnists at Saturday’s press conference, Renato "RC" Constantino Jr. helped dramatize public anger at the majority congressmen’s bid to railroad Charter change through con-ass. In many blogs on the Internet, for instance, readers have been hailing Constantino as a hero." Jay, a reader and visitor of this blog, for instance, sent an email and wrote ""Hello Red. In behalf of my family, I just want to ask you a favor to extend our gratitude to your Dad. I just don't know what to say but thanks to him, for standing his ground against those clowns. I am so proud of him, sir!!!" Meanwhile, said Mariano, "the two columnists who tried to silence him are scored for what is publicly perceived as coming to the defense of the con-ass congressmen" -- an accusation that Mariano, a veteran of the sector who knows a sizeable number of media folks (including Lavinia and the other media member who screamed at and tried to prevent RC from speaking, the Philippine Star's Carmen Pedrosa), believes is unfair. Perhaps, but it is difficult not to think of Cherrie Gil when it comes to Lavinia. "In any case," Mariano noted, "the two columnists have done Constantino a favor by turning him into a martyr of the Cha-cha train."

Another Inquirer columnist, Manolo Quezon, had this to say in his column: "[F]orgive me if I was left unmoved by the sight of Pedrosa shrieking “Respect your representatives!” while Victor Agustin tried to hose down RC Constantino with the contents of a water glass.

"What was--is--there to respect?" Quezon asked pointedly.

Mariano shared an important perspective that is worth thinking about: "In quite a number of these media forums, non-journalists have been allowed to speak out by members of the working press, who value -- or at least, ought to -- free speech. Besides, such sidelights often add "color" to otherwise boring media briefings. Why do ordinary citizens like Constantino -- who actually used to write a column for, among others, the now-defunct Isyu, an all-opinion tabloid -- feel they need to interject themselves in press conferences? Rather than score these 'interlopers' for being 'out of order,' journalists should view such incidents as warnings that the news media have probably not been doing their job according to the public’s expectations. Far too many publishers, editors, reporters and columnists rub elbows with the high and mighty that they often lose sight of their real constituents -- the ordinary citizens who spend good money to follow the news in newspapers, radio and TV. These are the ordinary citizens who hang on to every word journalists write or speak in order to get a handle on what is happening all around them."

International Herald Tribune correspondent and blogger Caloy Conde suggests that actually, "a lot of columnists do PR work. This is mainly because of the nature of their medium: they opinionate and their columns are not usually subjected to the same rigorous standards (fact-checking, balance, fairness, “objectivity,” etc.) that news reports have to go through. In this country, about the only qualification for one to become an opinion columnist is the ability to regurgitate views and, in many instances, crap. (Readable crap, but crap just the same.)

According to Conde, this may explain "why PR agents and those who have vested interests and agenda to pursue almost always go to columnists firsts (though I have to say here, as we who spoke Visayan would say, puwera sa maayo). You think corruption among reporters is bad? Corruption among columnists is even worse!"

"It is so bad," Conde wrote, "that, in many instances, the PR guys themselves have become columnists. And there are columnists who sit on the board of profitable government corporations. Compared to the hao-siaos who knock on the hotel doors of politicians to ask for fare money, that is a pretty neat racket, don’t you think? And I’m not just talking about some two-bit, fly-by-night tabloids here. You can find these people in the largest papers."

Lots of truth there, but of course Conde does not mean everyone. And it is also quite an important thing to point out -- often people have the mistaken idea that the bad eggs come largely from the ranks of reporters whenever the subject of corruption in media is being discussed.

There are many who are still more than able to call a spade a spade, and Luis Teodoro is one of them. A veteran media tribune who currently writes a column for the Business Mirror, Teodoro exercised familiar restraint recently in the words he employed in order to describe the Arroyo administration and De Venecia Con-Ass gang: “shameless, abhorrent, brazen, despicable, wicked, vile, loathsome, malicious, self-serving, appalling, odious, repulsive, disgusting, detestable, depraved, base, nasty, insufferable, repellent, putrid, sickening.”

What do other bloggers think about the issues on hand? There seems to be a gazillion views out there and rather than wade through each one, which is what many brave blogging souls do but which I don't, I've just chosen a few that may indicate quite a few things or nothing at all, depending on where one sits. Actually, depending on how one sits or what one is sitting on...

Click here to find out writer Stella Arnaldo's thoughts on Lavinia's response to RC and on Con-Ass.

"What a lively, colorful, passionate country this is," the blogger Delio tells us. Delio had little to write about Lavinia but had interesting things to say about Pedrosa. Click here to find out.

Miko Samson's take on the issues is also provocative. Here's what Samson says: "Justifying Constantino's verbal attack on the speaker is an exercise in futility. He's wrong. Period. [But Doronila] Justifying Agustin's physical attack of sorts on Constantino isn't an exercise in futility. It's an exercise of weird thinking and, in my opinion, an utter lack of fairness. Question is, can we blame Constantino for being so angry? I can't, and I won't. I share a lot of his sentiments. I'd fight for his right to say them. His expression of them, however, is an entirely different matter. I won't fight for how he did it." Get the full post of Miko Samson's take by clicking here.

The view of the blogger Strychnos is clear and strident: "It’s about damned time for any self-respecting person to show his outrage with the unilateral havoc that the demons in the Lower House are wreaking. Were it up to me, I’d give the verbal equivalent of a pie-face to each and every motherfxxxxx one of those administration legislators. The consequences be damned. And if I get thrown out of the press conference for speaking my mind? Let me just echo this particular line: Middle finger is the flag that I wave when I’m silenced!

The lbogger who maintains the site called pinaysoloops-portia.blogspot.com proposes alternatives to water temperatures. This time, I can't help but wish that I was at the press conference. I would have gladly thrown a glass of water, make that scalding hot water, in Mr. Humpty Dumpty's face.

Eric the Grey One tells his readers his thoughts regarding the show hosted by Ces Drilon, after the Dusit Nikko Hotel Con-Ass press-con of De Venecia et al, with RC and Pedrosa as guests: Find out why Eric wrote "I'm glad I got to see the newscast last night" on his blog here.

Jobert Navallo also weighed in and explained his take on the water-aspect of the issue. "Renato Constantino, the unfortunate receiver of an instant shower, must have been rude to the point of being annoying in that press conference." His complete post is here.

What do RC and Vina Morales have in common? Blogger Benito Vergara gave each of them a piece of his mind. Read all about it here.

Sheryl Ebon cringed and jumped and gagged and her blog will tell you why. So find out what she has to say by clicking on this.

And here ends my attempt to do a media wrap-up and blog sum-up -- can't do it often; actually haven't done it all till now. Media wrap-ups and blog sum-ups play important roles in the opinion-shaping, information-sharing and oftentimes awareness-raising process that is actually just beginning to unfold in the online world. Some excel in such efforts; unfortunately, as should be evident by now, I don't. Interest in doing particular things of course plays a large role in all too many things -- and my interests lie in doing other things, to be honest about it. The hats I continue to wear simultaenously also means that time will not be on my side for a while. I had in fact just arrived from Kenya, and then found myself in Bangkok in a matter of days, when the Big Con issue had begun to heat up -- and I had just come from Vientiane when the Dusit presscon of the Con exploded. But taking a blog-stab at the issues is just too important and too close -- I know it's a week late, but like I said, there's a lot of things on the plate at present, and I'm not very good at putting these online things together in quick, neat fashion.

But still, hey, thanks for dropping by.

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2006-11-30T18:12:00.000+08:00

NOW PLAYING: The TUSKERS
The Friendly Files

For fourteen days I stayed with most of them, some even longer. Kenya just wouldn't have been the same without these flexible folks, without this fine rubber band. The first pic on this post is our tour van, that great kidney-and-boob-transplanter called the White Gazelle, equipped with Triassic-era shock absorber technology, with our valued driver and conductor S & M beaming for the cam their great reggae smiles.

The Tuskers on Tour -- it means big policy, high politics and low, small-minded humor, which, combined, can only mean one thing -- a good time.

So, in no particular order, here's a rogue's gallery to honor friends who matter, with a little bit of love and slander...

Beaming between Scottish Mhairi and Argentine Natalia is transnational Steve Sawyer, man of many talents and temperaments. He's been the chief climate and energy policy wonk of Greenpeace for sometime and was of course the head of the Greenpeace delegation in Nairobi, which also means Band Leader for the Tuskers (Steve's plays lead guitar). He used to head the entire global Greenpeace gang and in its heyday Greenpeace US, but he's really just a campaigner at heart (best job in the world), which is thankfully what his current post largely requires of him.

Mhairi says he's a pretty smart guy, and sometimes saying that feels like an understatement. If you're nice to him, he will derive for you in ten seconds the total projected carbon emissions of Kazakhstan if Lenin had lived to see Kyoto come into force, then multiply that figure with the total kilowatt-hours of saved electricity by Kiribati if half of the West Antarctic Ice Sheet melts, then divide that sum with the square root of vodka -- while he does his Stevie Wonder shtick.

To the awed, he's "Steve Sawyer", veteran sailor and fierce campaigner with a storied, continuing history of fighting the good fight. To countless friends and colleagues, he's plain endearing "Steve", repository of encyclopedic details and great stories (the number of letter 'e's in the middle of his name swells based on the quality of jokes that he comes up with). Sometimes he is also referred to as "Sawyer" -- which likely means he was or is in a grumpy state (and I've heard of times when "Captain Curmudgeon" feels more appropriate).

So here's a parting shot of Gandalf the White without the wizard's hat (my daughter doesn't think he's the Steve of Blue's Clues...) and I pray to Allah the wise wizard will have mercy on my poor soul for revealing his identity...

Kaisa Kosonen is a young Finnish woman who walks the straight walk, talks the straight talk, wears pretty pumps and speaks different languages, specializing in the language called The Alabama Drawl. In the UN delegation roster, she's listed as "Kaisa Maisa Kosonen", which sounds like she's a character from Harry Potter, and maybe she is...

Red-haired and with a first rate intellect (I have no memory of Kaisa ever laughing at the jokes of Dr. Carlos but she did follow his Travolta dance steps for a few seconds), she is fond of vegetarian sushi and that one lucky person she hitched up with in a tent who'll get to hear her bed time story about the use of many many strings long enough to wrap around your waist and strung with lots of bright orange beads...

This is Gabriela von Goerne. For someone who is really, really smart, she is probably one of the most unassuming people I have ever met. But I don't think any member of the coal industry in any part of the world will agree with me, especially after she almost single-handedly manhandled dirty industry lobbyists and their representatives in government in Nairobi.

Gabriela's mission in Kenya was to repeat a mantra in all the lobbies and halls she could find, and more or less it worked. Gabriela says: "No CCS in the CDM!" which means she's fundamentally against mixing Carbonara-Chutney Sauce with Chicken-Duck Macaroni (it's also No Carbon Capture and Storage in the Clean Development Mechanism and if you knew that already you must be a geek).

With her head tilted beside Agnes (you'll get a chance to see Agnes use her ghostly powers below) is the ever sunny and sultry Mhairi Dunlop. She works in the background but those who know her know when particular pieces of work have carried her distinct touch. She plays the musical instrument called the electric teensy-weensy violin and keeps the notes of the band in place and in the appropriate pitch, and while only fools and evil ugly people (same same, right Mhairi?) will ever doubt her ability to sing her songs, I must also be honest and say that Ms Dunlop can't remember the titles to her songs all the time -- you know, which group sang which song and what's the title to that again? I mean, she actually thought House of the Rising Sun was called Windmills of your Mind and rendered by Abba.

Her first name's pronounced the Scottish way -- Vhaaa-reeee -- and that's also how you say it when you meet her for breakfast. Say it slowly, with that wee violin between your fingers, and she'll give you the sweetest buon giorno reply you've ever heard, and if you get her some coffee maybe she'll even show you her picture of a most handsome smiling insect we met one night in Nairobi, at the bar, fluttering from table to table. The insect really posed for her camera and smiled, and I swear I've never really seen anything smile that way. Except maybe the band's front-man...

The front-man and lead singer of The Tuskers is called Don Carlos. He moonlights as a Brazilian scientist and as the mild-mannered Dr. Rittl in Manaus. When the sun sets, however, he puts on his shades and silk threads and thumps the thick strings as the bellicose bossa nova bassist of the renowned Nairobi band. Suave, smooth, slick, sly and super-duper-hyper-ultra cool, Don Carlos has an answer to all your needs -- and if he doesn't have one heck he'll go and run and find one, even if he has no idea what the question is... If you were there during the Run-Carlos-Run episode, you'll know what I mean...

Move over has-been, never-been Bono. Don Carlos -- he da Man.

Planning a grand picnic but worried about rain? Ask Da Man; cool Don Carlos will look at his watch placidly and point to the sky and say, "Baby, just do it later 'coz when things are a little bit hotter it's time to get wet..."

Planning to take your nuptial vows in an outdoor garden wedding but worried over the meaning of overcast skies? Ask Carlos; he'll tell you when the sun will come out and how many rays will shine -- because when he smiles, the sun shines...

If you're nice to forests, Don Carlos will even schedule that 30-second drizzle to delight your wedding high priest. He gives love advice and love, not necessarily in that order.

Beside Don Carlos is Don Juan Moto of The Tuskers, also known as Don Juan the American and Don Juan the Dexterous, or just Big John Coequyt (pronounced "Cook it!" as in "cook my tempura pasta now please") to friends. He's a thoroughly non-persnickety person, except where his foremost expertise is concerned -- he was recently awarded the Nobel Prize for his work developing the regulatory infrastructure of beans-biased, rules-based anthropogenic flatulence called "The Paradigmatic Interface of Modalities and the Modalities of Interfacing Paradigms".

For years, John has raved about the merits of the most consumer-friendly product ever invented by mankind called the Motorola Mobile Phone, but despite his adroit skills in punching the keypad, no one just cares to listen to his Moto-raves. So sorry, John, dial again...

This man heads the band's strings section. He is Jean-Luc Picard, capable captain of the Kyoto Enterprise. To keep him safe from marauding Carbon Klingons, we are keeping the identity of His Hareness secret...

Beside Kaisa Maisa is Yu Jie, who was first considered to play Colin Farell's leading lady in Miami Vice (piercing looks and majesty in the pose... [that's worth a big Tsingtao]). But being a fan of refined things (and great big bargains), and Farell being such a boor and a bore, Jie turned down the offer and hitched up with Greenpeace instead, a group that is no bore, though it has its fair share of boors. Jie is one of two sopranos in The Tuskers and she keeps her voice smooth and supple because of her continued practice of the Oolong arts and her memories of her hometown Nanjing, which now beckons...

The other duo in the Sopranos is the true and feisty Argentine called Natalia Truly Truchi, who keeps her voice and sanity intact via the sublime yerba mate brew. Like me, she worked for a while with the Greenpeace China office but because our stints were based on different schedules, we never really got to meet each other.

Until Kenya that is -- and what a meeting it was (that's Nat dancing in between Elom of Togo and Catherine of Uganda). I spent time with dear Natalia the longest and I also think I laughed the most with her. I haven't laughed the way I laughed in Nairobi for years and I think whether in Spanish or French or Argentine Spanish (which is like Mag Lev-Train Speed Spanish) I just kept dying from laughter. Giggling is a universal language. So are baby elephants! And so is belting out Don't Cry for Me Argentina via a candelabra and plastic roses (God bless you, Fairview Piano Man)

Natalia -- for you we shall pilfer from Neftali Ricardo Reyes: Es la manana llena de tempestad en el corazon del verano. Inclinado en las tardes tiro mis tristes redes a tus ojos oceanicos. Te recuerdo como eras en el ultimo otono. Tu estas aqui. But of course I have only nice things to say about her -- ever since that day at the market, she has acquired this awesome voodoo power which no one will never want to cross... Never say no to Natalia now, especially when you get to the point when her brows meet and she looks you in the eye and a side of her lip curls and she so very softly and menacingly asks you: "Do you love me, baby? Do you mean it? Say it again, baby. Say it like you mean it... You better mean it baby..." And of course you should.

Ladies and gentlemen, distinguished delegates, it gives me great pleasure to present to you my distinguished buddy, Laetitia De Marez.

South of Asia she is known as the sari-wearing Asian blonde bombshell, and south of the Philippines she is known by the Filipino Mayors' League and a few Filipino environmentalists as Ms France. Although she didn't bring her winning contest sash to Nairobi, she did bring her heart and her smarts and her winning moments and that was all that mattered. There was never a dull moment in Kenya due to Ms France, mainly because we tanked on tons of cafe latte daily (she is a true Frenchwoman - her caffeine intake is triple what I consume... unbelievable) and wrote articles together, had yogurt together, became angry together and searched for wifi signals together -- and basically made fun of pretty much everyone almost all the time, including ourselves. During campaign crunch time, she's the buddy you would want to have on your side. You'll likely win your battles, and if you don't, at least you get to lose stylishly...

Laetitia's a committed vegetarian, which according to a popular legend, is the reason why when she got run over by a truck a few years ago, the truck's axle broke and one wheel fell off the bus and the driver smacked his head on the windshield while Ms France suffered a bruise.

Speaking of smacking one's head on something hard and inanimate, here's leading Tusker percussionist Agnes de Rooij. If you click on the picture, you'll see an ethereal Agnes laughing aloud...

She pounds a young cool beat and many a young soul has taken to following her music. Here's something known only previously by a few: the second time the band's tour bus, the White Gazelle, arrived late in the evening, Don Carlos rechristened it the Wait Gazelle. Agnes was actually so focused on the climate talks that when the White Gazelle turned up a few minutes late again the following morning, when she was supposed to cover the wild weather plenary, she head-butted the bus and then while still reeling from the collision repainted the name of the bus in order to project the issue-based character of the band. You're a tough one, Agnes.

Here's Daddy Steven Guilbeault when he still had his long long ponytail. In Nairobi, it was gone, but the beard remained. Steven played the family flute with the Nairobi band, dutifully Skyping from Nairobi with his kids and his partner almost everyday right before before the afternoon sessions in plenary or before contact groups, and he still found time to lock horns throughout the negotiations with the highest ranking representatives of Canada's government...

I actually can't find anything funny to hurl at this nice man, except maybe to recall the fact that he was one of two dots who scaled Canada's tallest structure as you can see in this photo of 2001 -- climbed and scaled the CN Tower to hang a banner which said it all... and then get arrested once he and his colleague got their feet back on firm ground. After their release from jail, Steven proceeded right away to join the international Greenpeace team in a landmark climate treaty negos leg not too long ago... Which is quite impressive actually but not very funny. I guess he Da Daddy.

To the good and calm goes a quiet entry, on George Watane, who took care of each of the Tuskers, once upon a time having hooked up with Greenpeace International in Amsterdam as a volunteer, as a staff of the finance section, as an action team member and crew. His demeanor is as quiet as the smile you see here projected, which is about confidence and a type of self-assurance that says hakuna matata to all the foibles and quirks of the rest of the Tusker gang. Maybe you'll see Ms France next year? Jambo!

And finally, Catherine Fitzpatrick. What slander can we hurl? Nothing much for this nice person actually, and also, nearing the end of this posting, unfortunately I'm just outta juice. But I do remember the fact that she may actually be the Australian's Australian: aside from the fact that she has nothing but loathing for her government (how can she hate her adorable prime miniature?) -- the first dinner we had with her one chilly Kenyan night, she was already missing her black stuff and asking Boniface the Waiter to bring the glowing embers a little nearer.

Over two weeks straight on a virtually daily 6am to midnight grind, was taxing, but working with the Tuskers -- and a legion of other staunch climate allies all over the world -- made everything worth the trouble. While there have been a few notable exceptions, when the negotiations for deeper cuts actually reflected the urgency of what the planet is facing, often the choice has really been between (a) the total collapse of the only game in town right now that can legally, not just morally, obligate the world to dramatically reduce greenhouse gas emissions, through time-bound periods and ever deeper emissions cuts, and (b) advances in negotiating inches till the arrival of the day/s when either humongous climate shocks or real, widespread outrage will largely determine the conduct and outcome of the negotiations. The forces of the uglies are still strong and powerful, led by the oil and coal barons and their client governments in the Western World and the Middle East. And so yes Nairobi could have been much much better -- but it also could have been much worse. Much worse. So maybe next time the small big band will be bigger.

The night I actually got to knock on the gate again of the Kamuning Republic, it was surreal. I arrived with my two kids fast asleep and Kala still awake, waiting for her absentee husband. Then two days later, it was a repeat of my daughter's birthday, which fell on the 16th and which of course I missed since it was the day before the Nairobi negotiations ended. This was the second birthday of hers that I missed, and I can only hope that she'll understand when she grows up and tallies her dad's missteps.

The Tuskers have disbanded. Long live The Tuskers.

Sorely missed at the bash of course were the fine climate musicians called Sergeant Srini aka Old Monk Rum, Masaaki Nakajima, another fine lead guitarist, and the Astonishing Atengteng, who is still on her sabbatical... (ang tagal naman nyan...)

Second photo of Steve from AFP. Gabriela's pic was googled... Bill's pic too. Also Steven's two pics... The rest were taken by Red.

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2006-11-06T04:22:00.000+08:00

NOTES FROM A LONG ABSENCE
The Friendly Files

I was in mainland China recently. The stay was short and sweet and heady as anticipated, composed largely of glad hours spent with good friend Sze Ping, a perpetually busy man with an expansive intellect, who is also a foodie and music connoisseur, talking about everything from puttering around, diapers and baby baths, Isaac Babel, Tariq Ali and imperialism.

I missed his company and our exchanges lasted from nighttime till the period when one nurses the headaches and tries to brush away the fog from the eyes.

I've bumped into SP twice or thrice since 2004 in other places and we've had nice exchanges during those few times, but I really haven't laughed the thousand laughs with him in Beijing for over two years. Understandably, we picked up where I think we last left off -- with gallons of Chinese beer and Beijing fare, the first round going to shrimp, frog, lamb and rabbit. A gazillion peppercorns, chilies, greens and tofu preparations later, consumed with heaps of indelible and inedible stories, we staggered back to his lofty apartment, swaying the dance of the happily inebriated, hiccups punctuating the silent early morning cold. Nine degrees centigrade is nothing with fiery food and hazy, lolling thoughts.

It's always a delight to spend free time with SP, especially when there's a stereo around. He always walks me through the most fascinating of genres, from minimalism to post-rock to Japanese chill, from Chinese bossa nova to agit-pop and to country music. One night we went to see the live performance of Dirty Three, one of the leading exponents of post-rock (critics gave the tag, not the musicians). The band had just arrived in Beijing after a one-night show in Shanghai, where they said the audience was wild, with a woman during one intense song climbing the curtains. The Beijing theater the band played at had a capacity of around 800, and it was almost packed with young Chinese new music aficionados and some expats. The instrumental music of Dirty Three can immediately blow you away but sometimes it can take about an hour to grow on you so that you reach a point of comprehension where a bell in your head goes "ding!" and you notice yourself exclaiming quietly to no one in particular, "whoa." Superb drums, electric guitar and electric violin mshed at times with the growl of feedback -- the music was indeed as Paul Pennay wrote in the October issue of the cultural mag That's Beijing: transcendent, chaotic, heart-wrenching and hysterical. It was mesmerizing.

We managed to go one late night to the Hou Hai Jazz Club but there was little time to browse bookstores or the nice Chinese music shops. In any case, I was just happy to have brought back with me iPod versions of SP's library, such as the Aguas de Amazonia (Uakti) album of Philip Glass, Cello Submarine by the Berlin Philharmonic (a good take on songs by the Beatles), new albums by Thievery Corporation and Cowboy Junkies, and a spellbinding tribute by a group of Egyptian musicians to Mozart. These will be great companions -- tomorrow I will be in Nairobi, Kenya where negotiations to the global climate treaty called the Kyoto Protocol will be held. As with many UN-led processes dictated upon by sustained displays of acute self-interest among negotiators and within the institutions facilitating such events, the negotiations will be tough and frequently frustrating. But there are great reasons for hope -- so far still greater than reasons for cynicism -- and I hope to write from Nairobi about these things in small doses in the coming days.

Everywhere, evidence of increasingly severe impacts brought about by climate change is surfacing. What were before small and potential sources of strife are now being amplified as a consequence of the impacts of rising global temperatures. The big conflicts still unfolding are bound to worsen due to global warming. Rapidly retreating glaciers, looming massive water shortages, rising seas, more extreme weather events -- these are other impacts. And the saddest, most painful irony of it all is that solutions that will help to stop the climate crisis from entering a more dangerous and, possibly, irreversible, phase -- solutions that are widely available and readily deployable -- are not being used because governments are largely hesitant and still looking out for Number One -- short-term economic gain -- rather make decisions for the long haul urgently required today.

Thankfully, everywhere also we can find displays of people or groups resisting business-as-usual outcomes. Citizens are taking action; more and more local governments are demonstrating resolve; almost everyday now -- unlike just a few years ago -- we can read, hear or watch news about the impacts of climate change, which means more and more people are likely becoming increasingly aware of the consequences of their indifference.

Imperfect it may be but the Kyoto climate treaty is still the only global environmental accord at present that legally obligates dramatic reductions of climate-harmful emissions, based on common but differentiated responsibilities. We are at present only at the first period of commitments. Based on the architecture of Kyoto, there will be subsequent commitment periods where deeper cuts in emissions will be required of the industrialized world and which will soon cover emissions reductions among developing nations as well. Governments, especially those roosting over the largest polluting countries -- they won't make voluntary moves. Neither, of course, will profiteering global energy and pulp and paper-related conglomerates take action. We will have to do things the old-fashioned way -- take the initiative with creative common action, using the thousands of new means available to us today, to make our voices heard, to press for solutions, to pressure decision makers to make the necessary far-reaching decisions on behalf of the many instead of the few.

No one can predict the future, but we -- each of us -- can certainly take control of the present.

From tomorrow till the end of November, I will be blogging at the Cool My Planet blog site, where I hope to join a small global community sharing thoughts and engaging in frank, happy, angry, funny, serious conversation about all the things that have to do with the climate -- which means everything under the sky, from music to beer to books to fashion to movies to sunsets to storms and hotnesses and coolnesses and sex and drinks and passion and politics and so on and on. You are most certainly invited to come and join the fray...

Thanks again for dropping by. #

Photos by Redster, Beijing 2006

2006-09-24T10:52:00.000+08:00

REGARDING ENVY
The Friendly Files

It's not always so bad, envy.

It can feed greed, of course, which leads to a bad side of desire then resentment and other darker things. But while it's true that even mild afflictions can keep weak minds up too many nights, many times envy's not so bad. It can even make you smile.

Kala and I were in Hanoi just a couple of months ago, yet with so many things happening in such a short period of time, it feels like it's been over a year since our nice lurch to Vietnam. Kala has been in the US for almost a month now and among the first photos she sent was this. I've hugged a few sequoias while trekking in the Muir Woods forest but I haven't climbed a redwood yet and I certainly haven't jumped off one. So I am envious -- Kala did both while she was in California. Three times. Ahem.

Since learning how to swim, I've always felt the pull of the sea. Among the many modes of transportation, I love boats the most (trains come in second). The swells and spray and smell of salt, the really breathtaking rolling waves (north of the Philippines, I've rode on tiny wooden fishing boats that bucked waves as high as church steeples), the wind, the white quiet, liquid shadows and turquoise waters -- the ocean is an enormous canvas. But I've never gone under it for periods longer than I could hold my breath.

I swim in the sea when I can and I like solitary swimming the most (swimming pools hold no attraction for me). And yet, although snorkeling continues to give me great pleasure, being a window that shows what's below, oftentimes I feel it only offers glimpses. So I am envious of the world known to the distinguished diver and videographer Boy Siojo and award-winning underwater photographer Danny Ocampo, who took this stunning photo of an eight-tentacled critter. These are two patient guys whose love for the sea is as big as the ocean itself.

Check out Sea-Cid, Boy's fine outfit,, and Danny's sparse but growing photo-blog (and thankfully there's no Madonna music playing there). Those who want serious, smart diving lessons, drop Boy a line. It's not just skills that you'll get from Boy. You'll bring back meaning as well as the lasting company of a good friend.

Envy is what I felt when I saw Anna Banana's photo of the blue, blue sky and the radiant moon hovering over Rotterdam in October 2005. I wanted to see that sky again and wished to drink its glow once more.

Anna's photo reminds me of the sky over Arles, France, which was so stunningly blue it was maddening. Walking along the city's old cobblestone streets and the open fields on its outskirts, I remember squinting and blinking at the unbelievable blueness of the Arles sky and how it occurred to me suddenly what role the cerulean canopy must have played in Vincent Van Gogh's dialogue with despair.

Here are two photos taken by the wandering mind of veteran photojournalist Pepito. The images are from his phlog -- a tiny collection of recent snapshots from his many and constant moments. Among his known attributes, Pepito's unhinged personality stands out the most, with its deep store of inanities and profanities, along with his preferred language. Pipi si Pepito is the tagline of his phlog -- Pepito is mute, save for the speech and conversation of his pictures.

Pepito's ironies are exquisite. He commands the respect of his peers, which is no mean feat considering the planetary egos orbiting his profession. He is a veteran in his field and his work is frequently crisp and yet spectral, a rare perspective which makes me envious. And yet his character remains as base, modest, droll and hackneyed as his jokes.

The Beirut-based Lebanese artist called Mazen Kerbaj is touring Oslo and Stockholm at present. This typically striking image Kerbaj calls "Vodka+olive+tabasco shot." But, no, he is not in Europe on a visual exhibit tour. He is playing the trumpet in Norway and Sweden and performing experimental and improvised music with colleagues. I envy and hold in high esteem those with such multiplicity of talent and generosity. Past visitors to this blog site will be familiar with the work of Kerbaj, who produced haunting and moving drawings of dignity, grief, fear and defiance during Israel's brutal bombing of Lebanon. Kindness untethered, a recent article I wrote on Lebanon, which used some of the Kerbaj drawings, can be read here.

I think I'm also envious of the work of Reg Hernandez. Here's a photo Reg took of a room at Pansukian Resort in Siargao Island, Surigao. What a boring looking place. Me, envious of Regman's work? Nah, I'm joking. I just look at the picture and think, eh, how unappealing. Sigh... When I saw his shots I think I actually I told him I would carry his bag and tripod for him if he took me along for free. And bought me beer. And another beer. And left me be. Never been to Siargao. Man o' man, perhaps one day, with the kindness of Regmanh Manmohanh Singh...

The Regman's also an accomplished diver and you can see a large part of the world he's been skimming and shooting and writing about from his topside down perspective. He also always gets a 99 percent score on karaoke machines when he sings the all-time hit called Rubber Ducky. Just make sure you get him to pay you 500 bucks before he belts out the classic. If Ungas is with him, demand an additional thousand bucks up front. You'll need it right after the song's done when you head for the nearest sanatorium.

Here's a source of envy, and everyone who was there that night should feel guilty (and they never do of course, not even Bar Bell Ben Razon). When the Irish girls all bade goodbye at the Oar House a couple of weeks ago, I was unable to make it (no, this is not the photo of that night; no one's posted the pics). All manner of reasons were texted to me so that I wouldn't feel too bad -- texted, actually, so that I wouldn't crowd them out... It was raining, said the Oar guys, and the roof was leaking and the floor was wet; the fridge had conked out and the beer was warm and the aircon was not working and it was hot inside the bar (and of course it was...). All night I could almost hear the ribbing and the shrieks and guffaws and the ogling -- because at the Oar, ogling is audible. I don't know why and Senyor Ben can't explain it, but it is...

What is envy if not a reminder of how alive we are, a veiled curious contest between desire and destination, contentment and hunger, and umbrage and enjoyment?

I envy a number of friends who were all able to join a political push in Vientiane some months ago. I wanted to be there not just for the work but also because of a bottle or two of red that I've long wanted to drink with a good friend, the writer Melody Kemp. This is an image from her -- lotus flowers wrapped on paper printed with an article about the Rights of the Child. I have kept the image close along with her writings and the thought that I will have that wine with Melody soon along with all manner of stories. And some more wine.

Envy makes me laugh at myself, because I really want that wine and the Laotian air and the stories -- the lush ground that fertilizes the lore and lure of our trespasses.

Envy's not all bad.

It makes me smile and grab a beer and put pen to paper.

Maybe I'll even go to the Oar in a while.

Thanks for dropping by. #

First two photos by Red. The rest of the photos in this post are used with the permission of the owners, except for the borrowed smiling mugshot of Boy Siojo, who is right now recovering from a bad leg injury. (Pagaling ka na Boy nang maka-inom na tayo uli at hindi lang puro donuts at iba pang bawal ang inaatupag mo).

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2006-09-17T18:37:00.000+08:00

LUNA GOES SWIMMING
AND OTHER LITTLE STORIES
Family files

So one day Luna goes swimming. At least that's what she calls it.

She was with her cousins and though it rained hard that day, nothing would deter her from taking the nice cool dip.

Kids being kids, and cousins being close cousins, I don't think they would've minded if we had arrived in a crowded place and the different pools looked more like swirling glasses of dirty martinis with yelping, giggling tiny children inside instead of olives, but the pool wasn't packed and the waters actually looked and stayed clear and blue and the fact warmed the hearts of the parents.

Luna didn't really like Tatay crowding her space and following her around with a camera. But it didn't take long before she settled down and switched to a familiar mode; just have fun and ignore dad, he'll get tired of bugging people.

It helped that we brought the two bathing suits that she picked out before the trip (it feels like she's been picking her own clothes from the time she managed to lift something between her thumb and forefinger...). Having boiled out of the car with her cousins, giddy at the thought of what the whole day would bring, the girls among them ran around the parking lot a bit and talked about the games they would play and the suits they would wear and how their hair looked like when wet.

Once Luna saw the waters shimmering, she clammed up and grew a silly smile on her face -- a quiet delight at all the fun she'd be having all morning and afternoon. She was with her cousins after all, and while she'd go on her own initially, she would later romp and paddle around and splash everyone silly.

Her parents were prepared for the long haul, thankfully. Two books each, the i-Pod and a couple of magazines. And beer. Dear cold beer... The whole time, it was mostly swimming for Kala and Maki, however, including big brother Budoy. All I did was wade with a cold beer in hand and mostly read the books we brought along with Papalolo (Nestor Pulido, a.k.a. Kala's dad and the kids' grandfather; the kids actually call their grandmum Mamalola -- and how they ended up with such names I can't recall right now; it deserves a little historical research later).

There were lazy white chairs to loll around in under the shade of huge umbrellas, which we discovered later when the torrent of rain came were not waterproofed. I was too lazy to do more than just walk Luna around the place and wade and watch the kids, but Kala did herself a favor by enjoying the waters and splashing with the young brood. Yayang's kids were there in full force; Miggy was there and so was Megan and Sophie. And with Luna there was kuya Rio. And of course Maki's adorable Icia.

Sophie and Luna are the closest in terms of age and playtime and they do play a lot together, but sometimes Luna just wants to play on her own. Maybe it's because she's just turning four in November and maybe because she has a different way of imagining play. I don't really know; she's just a joy to watch. The most curious things delight her.

Luna has her own way of creating fun or curling up on a pillow or blanket or her parent's lap. Or getting into one of those foul moods. Whatever her disposition is, it is her own. She has little time for gray stuff. It's always a choice between insane hilarity or pure sugar, iconic silliness or a tantrum that can cause an airport to shutdown.

Her normal stuff is just sweet. Like her kuya, Luna loves reading and loves drawing and painting even more.

Before she sleeps Kala and I often have to debate with her why bringing a pile of ten books to bed is a gross violation of both the spirit and letter of the law which states "Hey Lunalu, it's time to sleep na" followed by "Ok, ok, ok let's read to help you sleep." And then a little girl reaches down to the floor and comes up with a restrained smile and a pile of books.

Anything that makes her use her hands makes her happy. All of tatay's colored pencils, aquarelle sticks, pastel crayons and sign pens. Paint brushes and erasers and glue sticks. Kuya Rio's school pencils. Scissors that help her make envelopes and what she calls invitations, which are actually paintings or sketches she's made that she folds and places within the newly crafted envelope. It really feels at times as if Luna does get into conversations with Chagall.

Regarding stories of being different without trying to, Luna has lots to share.

Her all time favorite movies are movies she watches over and over on the DVD. These are Ice Age and Ice Age 2 -- in Cantonese.

She has a name for each of her toy animals -- lion is called "Lion," and the tiger is "Tiger" and a doggie is "doggie" and a dolphin is called "Dolphin." If a toy horse is brown, then it's "Brown Horse" and if a bear is green, she calls it "Green Bear."

Her dolls, she calls them Barbie and Winx Club and Robot and Baby. Everyone's tried to give a few names, Rio especially since he finds Luna's naming method funny, but it seems to violate some Generics Law and Luna just rechristens her doll or toy based on its naturally assigned phylum.

One time I was writing an article and was in the middle of an intense wrestling match with an idea when Luna peers into my computer and sees a news story about Mahmoud Ahmadinejad along with a photo showing the Iranian president beaming and waving both arms upward.

Luna wrinkles her brow and says "Ah?" then smiles back at Mr. Mahmoud and waves and says "Hi there" to the Iranian chief.

Another time, on the way to her Community of Learners School, a huge cement mixer passed by our vehicle.

Luna turns to me and asks, "Ano yon Tatay? What's that?" I reply, "Cement mixer ang tawag sa kanya." It's a cement mixer.

She follows up and asks "Ano mix nya?" What does it mix?

"Cement. Semento," I reply.

Luna says "Ah. What color is it?"

"Ha?"

"What's the color of semento?"

"Gray," I tell her.

Luna asks, "Anong lasa ng semento Tatay?" What does cement taste like?

"Do you want to taste it," I ask her.

"No!" Luna shrieks. "No way. Ewwww!"

Why, I ask.

"It's not cooked," replied the indignant little girl. #

All photos by Red. Aside from the individual Luna photos and the lone pic of Rio, the first group photo shows Rio with his Uncle Bodie (Kala's brother) in the middle and Miggy, Yayang's eldest, in the foreground. The group pic after that shows Rio naughtily pushing off the slide two of Yayang's kids -- Sophie and Megan -- and their caregiver Jing. The next pic is Kala's sister Maki on a water slide with her daughter Icia. Then of course there's Tatay with Luna and Mama holding a tired daughter, and Luna all dressed up and ready for another adventure.

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2006-09-16T23:32:00.000+08:00

HAYA! AND RIO's KICKS
Family Files

After two pieces on the rising waters of martial law (well, the other one hasn't come out yet), I guess it's time for a few words regarding martial arts. Rio's taken up taekwondo lessons recently and the boy seems to be having great fun. Every Tuesday and Thursday he goes back to school to take in new lessons and he hasn't missed a single class.

I've always been fond of martial arts. Fond of watching martial arts and reading about it, actually; all about the melange of philosophies that created and sustained its many forms, the grammar of force and counter-force that frames its expressions, the grace and the cerebral quality that different arts impose on devotees.

I took up martial arts only once in my life. I remember being enrolled a long time in what was supposed to be karate lessons. But although I think I got to wear the white uniform, somehow all I ever recall doing was to endlessly throw the same punches over and over again while standing still or taking that mechanical step back and then forward. Ya! Ya! Ya! Ya! and all that. Then no more.

I could never sit still for a few seconds and think straight. Somehow the same logic kicks in whenever I'm doing something over and over again. And so one day, I think errant thoughts began to worm their way into my head due to the routine of movements and my mind started to go astray and I vaguely remember wondering during the course of one of the lessons when exactly the fancy moves that I kept seeing on television would be taught.

Predictably, it wasn't long before the scimitars and broadswords and knights and Saracens in my head got the better of me, and then off my mind galloped, away from the chops and kicks and parries I coulda shoulda woulda learned.

Happiness of course that it's not the same case with Rio. He's all seriousness and he's been practicing his forms at home and dutifully stretching before class and so on. Luna and I went with Rio one day to watch one of his classes. We behaved ourselves and marveled at their practice session. Teacher Tyrone was patient but authoritative and aside from the few giggles that managed to slip from the faces of the kids he was teaching, he had the eyes and ears of his class.

Students passing by couldn't help but glance or stop to gawk at the taekwondo tykes. You have the tall teacher in front, initiating the bows and the forms to follow and quietly giving out instructions and tips and encouragement.

Not all the kids chose to train in uniform, understandably because of the heat (the textile's a bit thick), but the others who did and wore the full dress seemed to be in a different mood.

I suppose it's rather empowering to wear the neat, stiff white kimono and belt since it seems to lend a kind of aura of seriousness and intent, and it rustles during quick movements and so the high kicks, the roundhouses, the ax kicks, the multiple punches and, yes, the shouts, it was all quite impressive.

The only hurdle that Rio has to overcome is his tendency to practice his forms at home right when he's having a meal. It's uncanny.

Breakfast time, he just bolts out of his chair and lunges forward with a kick.

Lunchtime, he stands up to do some defensive-maneuvers.

Over dinner, till he gets told firmly to return to his chair to finish his meal, Rio pushes his seat back, does a quick twirl to throw one or two roundhouse kicks.

I really don't know why the urge hits him while he's eating, but it's been a little hard to stress the point that he should refrain from doing so given that his tatay continues to exhibit the equally reprehensible habit of getting up from his chair to jot down a passage or two when a bright idea pops out, or when an email or message he's waiting for goes ding-ding-ding.

I'd lie if I said Luna and I watched Rio the whole time. We ate a bit of ice cream too and strolled and played with dolls and a small unused bar of soap (why a piece of soap? who's to know; all I can say is it's Lunalu playing).

There was a twinkle in my daughter's eyes, which said she was up to something or was thinking of doing something naughty. Despite my ribbing she wouldn't let on; wouldn't even deny there was something she was cooking up. I never did find out though.

During a break in the class, Rio gulped down gallons of water and the three of us goofed around in a corner and Luna tried a couple of tactics to annoy her brother, who indeed got irritated but shortly after decided to just give his sister a tight hug and a tickle and she quickly shifted her attention to other things that didn't tickle back.

Was a nice day.

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2006-08-20T01:47:00.000+08:00

RIO TURNS EIGHT
STORIES AND PHOTOS OF BIRTHDAY BOY AND HIS FAMILY

Last August 15, the day after the anniversary of the India-Pakistan partition and on the same day as India's 59th year of independence, Rio Renato turned eight. His sister, Yla Luna, gave him a grand drawing; his parents, his grandparents, his cousins and aunts and his friends -- they all gave him a few choice gifts. To each gift-giver the birthday boy gave in return a bright big smile and a giggling pledge that he will continue to shine for everyone for as long as the sun shines on our radiant world.

He is two years shy of being a decade old and yet already he seems to carry himself the way a man of ripe age would, or should. He asks if he can be excused after he finishes a meal and others are still finishing theirs. Knowing too much of it is bad for his health, he imposes limits on himself regarding the amount of chocolate he can eat and has been known to refuse tempting offers from cousins or uncles or aunts (ice cream is a different matter). He reads voraciously and his vocabulary continues to impress many -- the bulbous end of the stick shift of some cars he refers to as "an orb." When everyone's in the bedroom winding down and a movie on television is showing "parental guidance" on the screen and his parents have stopped watching the TV and have moved to reading books with a nightcap of rum or beer, Rio moves out of the room without being asked -- and when asked "Hey, where're you going?" he embarrasses his parents by smiling and pointing to the screen and saying "Parental guidance -- not for me..."

Rio has been asking the interesting questions. Why is America in Iraq? Why are they occupying Iraq? "Well it seems like this country Israel is imitating America?" the boy says out of the blue. "Well that can't be the land of the free, Tatay," said the boy recently. "America seems to be in a hurry stealing other peoples homes and keeping others in prison," said the eight-year old man. Nice. In a way, if a strong sense of right and wrong is always instilled in the young, sometimes television can demonstrate contradictions without meaning to and thus provoke the right questions. Sometimes.

What about the time when he wondered aloud to his parents, "I don't understand why people can't just power up our homes from the sun. I think we can run cars with sunlight energy. I've been reading about the sun's power -- oh man, its really powerful. I think it's called solar power and if you use it there's no smoke and it's clean. Oh yeah, there's also plenty of it. It's kinda stupid we're not using the sun." Rio's dad being an energy campaigner, and being a dad who has thankfully made an effort to really limit conversations about his campaigns on his family -- he was speechless with joy and eventually stammered out some dumb explanation.

So what has Rio been up to lately? He's taken up taekwondo and has been practicing da moves at home after every session, with plenty of funny stories to share. The other day, he proudly announced that he'd be moving up to yellow belt status.

In recent school-wide intramurals at the Community of Learners, he competed in chess and won over players from his batch and those two grades higher than his. He topped his age group and for his effort was awarded his first-ever gold medal. Rio's happy parents even brought home for him from Hanoi a Vietnamese stone chess set, which of course weighed like a desktop computer...

He had a great birthday bash at school. He and his classmates went a bit wild when the chocolate cake was served, Kala said. Tatay was still in transit from India but arrived in the afternoon, in time for Rio's birthday dinner.

Among other things, which included a few books, Tatay brought home for Rio an intricately-carved wooden baton, which for now is named the Hammer of Truth and which has been said to possess great powers which amplify a hundredfold the kinetic energy of the noble knight wielding the mystical weapon and which allows the warrior to face whole armies, sort of like the great mace that the evil Sauron once wielded, only many, many times more powerful.

And, of course, it's funny when you notice that the great warrior bearing the mystical weapon is also wearing armor that looks like a t-shirt printed with the peace emblem.

Rio noted with some sadness the other day that Samurai Jack will be rolling out farewell episodes shortly on Cartoon Network. The news kind of cast a cloud over an otherwise joyous day. Samurai Jack's been such a longtime friend to Rio, Luna and Tatay that saying goodbye to the great philosopher-swordsman -- the great cross-generational art and story-telling that is the Samurai Jack experience -- just doesn't seem right.

All things have an ending, I suppose. It's a good thing all things have beginnings too. I suspect that this is just the ending of Samurai Jack's chapter 1 and that one day we will still get to see Samurai Jack chapter thirty-two. I think Rio knows this too. We shall say farewell to the series for now while we welcome new things.

What a joy to have so much to share with an eight-year old kid -- and a three-year old daughter whose wings continue to grow, who is becoming more precocious, ambitious and creative with each passing day and who will be four in November.

It's nice to inhabit -- at the same time -- the same dominion of the mind as one's children. Samurai Jack, Calvin and Hobbes, Mr. Bean, Uno Stacko!, the Bamboo Kamatis game from Sze Ping, gallons and gallons of buko juice, the Uncanny X-Men, The Adventures of Tintin, Ludy's peanut butter and Ludy's coco jam sandwiches, cold soya milk, the music of Sugarfree, LOTR over and over, the 1971 version of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory starring Gene Wilder, and the countless pitched battles waged with the named and nameless great women and men building and manning fortresses of imagination and defending the colors and peace of the realm against marauding brutes, hungry beasts, imperial overlords, liars and cheats and emperors of dull days and the doldrums.

When things get out of hand, Kala tells us to pipe down and that it's time to turn in, and then, despite a having room of their own, son and daughter and dad and mom compete for the tiny space of a bed big enough just for two people, each of the four griping that someone stole his or her pillow and who's pulling the blanket and move over and that's my space and stop sticking your knee in my ribs and someone starts tickling somebody who tickles someone else and Kala smiles and raises her voice and shushes everyone to sleep. #

Photos by the writer, taken at Omenakasi on Morato, August 15, 2006 -- also the 59th anniversary of India's independence. The second photo where Rio is seen giving his mum a goofy buss on the cheek demonstrates where exactly he got his dimples from.

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2006-07-29T23:09:00.000+08:00

HOUSES OF MEMORY
SIZZLING TOFU, MERRIMENTS AND TRIBUNES

In a paranormal saloon in Malate the other evening, the roving eye of Gentleman Ben Razon captured a fragment of a wild night of feral chortling and death by laughter. But ho-hum, as the raucous who know the place would say; it was just another Oarhouse evening.

Notable highlights of repetitive redundancies: the Great Elvis was there and provided everyone with his protracted Sponge Bob schtick; not a few thought Ben later that night would drop but he fooled everyone with his Extreme Tower of Piza impersonation -- without any visible prop (very impressive), the performance lasted thirty minutes before Ben suddenly bolted upright in two seconds to get this shot. Probably only with the exception of Atengteng, most everyone in the bar had agreed that the operatic "Titina ni Titina!" performance by Mon Aba-ibilotmo and Ben fully deserved the cries for encores, which of course the two delivered with verve; in fact, reports are that the honorable Regmanh Manhmohan Singh also wants to learn the song. And, finally, yet never ever last and neither the least, generous Arlie ordered sizzling tofu again and again and again for everyone (thanks Arlie... bukas uli...).

If you want a definitely better tasting serving of that night at the Oar, with choice coup-coup and animal narratives, you have to drop by the Oarhouse blog, curated by Senyor Razon. The denizens and stories are all there.

A GREAT MAN CROSSES THE DIVIDE

A few weeks ago, I was asked by the indefatigable Corazon Fabros to write a short message for a memorial event they had organized for the late scholar and activist, Daniel Boone Schirmer. The event was appropriately set for July 7, which was the 114th anniversary of the founding of the revolutionary movement led by the great Andres Bonifacio that had freed the Philippines from centuries of Spanish colonial rule, called the Kataastaasang Kagalang-galangang Katipunan ng Mga Anak ng Bayan (the Highest and Most Honorable Association of the Sons of the People; the shorter name being The Katipunan).

The Philippines has long had staunch friends overseas, and some have been more steadfast than others. Boone, as he is fondly called, was one of them.

Together with other Americans in 1973, Boone founded the Friends of the Filipino People group, which campaigned to end US support for the Marcos dictatorship, the release of political prisoners and the removal of U.S. military bases from the Philippines.

Boone died last April 21 of congestive heart failure. He was 91. The great historian, Howard Zinn, described Boone as a person who "was totally committed to a vision of a different kind of world.... He was an activist, but with all of that he was a very gentle, a very sweet person. He was very unshakable in his conviction that war and racial and economic injustice were wrong."

Of Boone and the days of the anti-Marcos struggle, Dr. Jorge Emmanuel, a US-based Filipino activist, wrote: "To see an old man working feverishly in the FFP office, folding pamphlets, licking hundreds of stamps, answering phone calls, and working late into the evenings with such intensity gave us so much hope in the face of overwhelming odds. He inspired both Filipinos and Americans alike… We cannot help but mourn his passing."

"[A]lmost 90 years old, frail and having survived a hip replacement operation and two recent bouts of pneumonia," remarked a letter nominating the scholar and activist the Lifetime Achievement Award of the Association of Asian American Studies, which he received in 2004, "Boone continues to speak out against and write about the US wars in Afghanistan and Iraq."

Walden Bello quips that perhaps "the greatest irony of Boone's life was provided by the contrast between his anti-imperialist politics and his name. He got it from his great-great-uncle, the famous frontiersman and 'Indian fighter' Daniel Boone, who played a key role in the westward expansion of the United States." In typical fashion, wrote Bello, the "contradiction" Boone just took "in stride and joked about it."

I was in Hanoi at the time of the memorial and I regret not being able to bear witness to the occasion. I did manage to send a message, however, one with a frame that makes it easy to slide right into after a short account of the Oar asylum, a treasured palace of remembrances.

"When a house of memory passes away, unlike other edifices, the memory house multiplies because its architecture is generosity and its wood is vigilance and the soil on which it was built is durable, renewable soil that other houses of memory have supplied with equal generosity. I never met Daniel Boone Schirmer but I have absolutely no doubt that the House of Boone lives. We struggle for the day when solidarity shall become the only debt that people shall owe one another, confident that with sacrifice this day is very possible if only because of the example of friendship that Boone has so selflessly shared to a hardy though all too often too forgetful community called the Filipino people.

Renato Redentor Constantino

Thanks again for dropping by.

Next up -- flamenco, an aquarium, topside-down the ocean, and a writer friend from the barracks days of the Polytechnic U. of Nemesio Prudente.

red

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All photos by Red except #2: (1) A blackboard in Jolo used for a workshop in preparation for a great play about a largely forgotten -- at least to most of the country -- battle and slaughter in Philippine history, at the hands of the so-called benevolent American occupation army in the Philippines. (2) Red and Kala at the Oar by Ben Razon. (3) A US cannon in Corregidor. (4) Inside the Bud Dahu crater in Jolo, Philippines.

2006-07-26T17:16:00.000+08:00

MALICE AND PERSECUTION
INTERVIEW WITH RENATO REDENTOR CONSTANTINO

The photo says it all I suppose. It's why involvement in our nation's affairs should be an imperative. It's what business as usual will mean until a different sort of gravity forces crappee and crapper to change places.

Oftentimes, the more a ruling party resorts to using coercive measures to wipe out dissent, the more rapid the dissolution of its legitimacy. But things never follow a linear course in increasingly paranormal Philippines. Too many have been cowed, too many are resigned, too many are indifferent. Too many have been murdered. The State is gambling on the powers of indifference, fear and resignation -- and the gamble seems to be paying off. For now.

The interview below is quite short, but perhaps it may be interesting to read. The photos I have posted show, of course, that RC was indeed at the EDSA uprising anniversary protests in February this year, the day of the supposed coup de tat, as was I, since, I was the one who took the shots in this post. We were two laughing folks proud to stand with the tens of thousands during that fateful commemorative activity on February 24, 2006, when an illegitimate leadership tried to ban people power on People Power Day through edicts, canons and bullets.

That was in February; the bullets and bullying threats have only increased since.

And still, flickering candles illumine the night. From the gutters and the streets, from homes and barracks and factories and hovels and fields. #

Son slams reports linking RC Constantino to coup
Meet with San Juan was on 'RP Blueprint'
By Nonoy Espina
INQ7.net
Last updated 02:48pm (Mla time) 07/23/2006

THE son of activist Renato "RC" Constantino has slammed news reports saying repentant mutineer Lieutenant Lawrence San Juan's had linked his father to an alleged coup plot in late February.

In a statement addressed to INQ7.net, Renato Redentor "Red" Constantino acknowledged that his father had met with San Juan and other young officers but said this was part of consultations conducted on a project called "A Blueprint for a Viable Philippines," which the elder Constantino engaged in with former University of the Philippine president Francisco "Dodong" Nemenzo and UP professor and Inquirer columnist Randy David.

San Juan was a member of the Magdalo group of military mutineers and, later, of the Makabayang Kawal Pilipino. He escaped from detention January this year and was recaptured a month later.
He recently renewed his allegiance to the government and renounced his ties to the mutineers, at the same time confirming government claims of a "left-right" conspiracy between rebel soldiers and communist rebels to topple the Arroyo government.

Red said he wanted to reply to the allegations against his father, who is "on vacation right now attending the wedding of the son of RC's best friend."

He said he had consulted his father, who gave him the go ahead to respond to the issue.

He added that his father was "contemplating filing a libel suit, but I will try to convince him to back off."

At the same time, in a phone interview, he said there remained an urgent need "for a citizens', a social, movement, to oust this illegitimate administration."

The younger Constantino referred to a July 21 Inquirer report by Dona Pazzibugan and Luige del Puerto, and posted on INQ7.net which said, in part: "The affidavit said among those San Juan plotted with aside from Honasan and Lim were detained Marine Colonel Ariel Querubin; a group of retired officers including Malajacan, Turingan, Colonel Rafael Galvez, Victor Batac and Mel Acosta; former University of the Philippines president Francisco Nemenzo and activist Renato Constantino Jr."

"This statement is preposterous," Red said.

"If it did not appear malicious, these news reports would be silly," he said. "The reports made it appear that RC was linked to the coup conspiracy frenzy through an open initiative he spearheaded with Dodong Nemenzo."

Red acknowledged that his father did meet with San Juan and other young officers but said this was either "in late 2004 or early 2005" but certainly "before August 2005," when the Blueprint was launched, and not, as "some news reports and commentaries have even maliciously dated or implied…in December 2005 obviously in an effort to link this with the February events, which is ridiculous."

He said that, aside from the officers, his father and his project partners also consulted involved hundreds of experts from government," including Cabinet members and undersecretaries of the Arroyo administration, "academe, business, labor and other sectors."

"Even experts from the field of sports were consulted," he added.

"If drawing up alternative visions for the country - openly and with the participation of scores, at that - can be made to appear like a sinister threat to the state, then unfortunately, we are truly in danger," the younger Constantino said.

"The crisis facing the country is grave," he said. "We cannot continue on a business-as-usual mode."

Copyright 2006 Inquirer, INQ7.net. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.

MORE ABOUT THE BLUEPRINT PROJECT
THE BLUEPRINT PROJECT PARTICIPANTS
AMANDO DORONILA's REVIEW OF THE BLUEPRINT PROJECT
THE STORY AS PUBLISHED BY INQUIRER ONLINE
MORE PERSONALS
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All photos by the author, except for the great first pic above, which was sent sometime ago by good friend Alan.

2006-07-20T03:26:00.000+08:00

MOON SONG BY NORAH JONES
A SONG FOR YLA LUNA

There are music lovers and there are song lovers. I think I am one of the latter, a neurotic sub-phylum of the general aficionado. I can play the same song for days, over and over, riding the emotion waves with singular delight or melancholy or distance. On more merciful days, it will be an album repeated again and again. In troubled times, that one song can be both bedding and, I suppose, blessing.

There is a similar compulsion when it comes to the written word, but I think letters draw from a different well of neurosis. What would take Kala a day or a few hours to finish -- the better a book is, the faster she finishes reading it -- I would take days, or weeks. I had passed on to her the haunting celebration of a novel by Nicole Krauss called The History of Love, which had taken me two weeks to finish. For hours, and some times days, I'd munch on its passages, and many pages I'd swirl on my tongue, wanting to prolong the flavors, the textures, the boulder that rolls onto the chest, and never wanting to leave the feast behind by turning the page. Kala brought The History of Love with her on her trip to Hanoi. She opened the book minutes before boarding her Manila plane and managed to finish it, with a healthy amount of sniffles, even before her plane landed. And of course, Kala and I were gushing about the book by the time we found time together at Tung Trang Hotel. I said I couldn't remember any love story so gracefully written and yet with such power and delicacy. Kala, she was just speechless.

A fear I often welcome with such books is that whatever I try to read afterwards may be for some time uniformly bland. Which is often the case. I was reading with the novel of Krauss The Gods of War, the last of Conn Iggulden's gripping Gates of Rome series, and the superb A Feast for Crows, the fourth part of George R.R. Martin's Song of Ice and Fire series, and I had to give both books a rest.

It takes a few books and great reluctance to rinse away the sticky clay of a great read, even though the experience of reading through such a book would likely never leave the reader. I think this is where one of the differences lie with songs, or an album or that perfect compilation we always want to put together but which perennially remains incomplete. With a new song, or an old song, sometimes we are hurled right away to different shores or states of mind.

Right now, it is Moon Song for me. It has been for a few days now, but I play it again and again in secret, with those modern listening devices that allow the the day dreaming set, the class leaf-counters, to putter around wherever with the soundtrack of their choosing. The brilliance of Norah Jones -- her phrasing, above all -- radiates throughout this song. Here are the lyrics, for my daughter, Yla Luna.

Thanks again for dropping by.

red

MOON SONG
by Norah Jones

I want to find out where the moon goes
When it leaves the western sky
And night dissolves again 'til morning
Azure turns to gold
I'm gonna sleep with one eye open
I'm gonna keep the shades half drawn
Nearly silent, dressed in shadows
Lines and colors fall
I'm gonna watch her through my window
Just as I watched you before
A smile knows, but just won't tell me
I just watch her go
I just watch her go
Now I learned just where the moon goes
When it leaves the western sky
And night dissolves again 'til morning
The moon is in your eyes
The moon is in your eyes
The moon is in your eyes
The moon is in your eyes

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2006-05-18T23:16:00.000+08:00

RESCIND PROCLAMATION 1017, END THE ASSAULT ON THE MEDIA
Pooled editorial of writers and journos in the Philippines

Media were among the first targets of Ferdinand Marcos when he declared Martial Law in 1972. The news blackout allowed him free rein to round up political opponents and strip the rest of the nation's citizens of their civil liberties.

Once again, the media were among the first casualties as President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo declared a state of emergency. Proclamation 1017 accused media of having "recklessly magnified" claims of anti-Arroyo forces.

In the early morning of February 25 - the anniversary of the 1986 People Power EDSA uprising - policemen raided the offices of the Daily Tribune and have since been stationed there. PNP Director General Arturo Lomibao recommended state control of the newspaper. He further warned that all of Philippine media face the same fate unless they obey government "standards," with police doing the evaluation of news coverage and commentaries.

Meanwhile, the National Telecommunications Commission warned broadcast media that it would shut down radio and TV stations inciting the people to sedition and/or rebellion.

Proclamation 1017 is thus a continuing threat to the Bill of Rights, the Constitution, and democracy, of which press freedom is a cornerstone. As responsible media professionals, we are aware of the crucial role of free media in providing a free people the information they want and need.

We therefore demand that Proclamation 1017 be immediately rescinded.

We demand the immediate halt to assaults on the media and press freedom.

We demand immediate withdrawal of troops from the Daily Tribune and other media offices.

2006-05-18T23:13:00.000+08:00

Remarks made by the author regarding the launching of
THE POVERTY OF MEMORY: ESSAYS ON HISTORY AND EMPIRE
Renato Redentor Constantino
March 24, 2006
Balay Kalinaw, University of the Philippines, Diliman

Bismillah hirahman nirahim. Asallamu alaikum. Warmatullahi ta'ala walbarakatu. Pagbati sa inyong lahat. I am not an Arab or a Muslim or a member of the Bagong Alyansang Makabayan but, in keeping with the tradition of Isaac Deutscher, I wish to say first that, for the purposes of the anti-Muslim and the anti-Arab today, and for the purposes of the malevolent anti-Left, I am a Muslim, an Arab and a member of Bayan.

It is necessary to begin this address with such a statement. History continuously provides us with too many graphic examples of the consequences of indifference. Few among you may know Julius Mariveles. I personally have not met him. I know of him only a couple of things: that he is the news director of Aksyon Radyo-Bacolod and the secretary general of the Correspondents, Reporters and Broadcasters Association of Negros. He is also listed as a target in the "order of battle" of the Armed Forces of the Philippines.

Mariveles is from Negros; he is a journalist; maybe he is a gentleman or maybe he is outspoken and abrasive; maybe he is even a sympathizer of the national democratic movement; and maybe he is also a member of Bayan, a leftwing organization with political perspectives that some of us may not entirely agree with. The illegitimate government would like each of us to delve on what makes Mariveles different from us so that we may not entertain thoughts of solidarity that have always served as an antidote to tyranny and despair. If we cannot focus beyond the things that make us different, if we cannot impart on our family and friends the lesson that the assault on others is an assault on ourselves -- if we do not stand together in these perilous times -- we will collectively perish.

In truth, we must not only stand together. If we wish to collectively construct our common future, we must also strive to remember together.

This month marks the centennial of the Bud Dajo battle, where 1,600 men, women and children of Jolo were slaughtered by American imperialist troops a hundred years ago. This March marks the 38th anniversary of the Jabidah massacre. Next month also marks the 20th anniversary of the nuclear nightmare of Chernobyl, which the big powers will commemorate by trying to build more nuclear power plants, which will create more nuclear weapons. Twenty years ago, on this month, Filipinos were still celebrating in the streets and offices and households, having broken the grip of a dictatorship and having accomplished what so many kept dismissing for years as an impossibility.

Archbishop Oscar Romero of El Salvador was assassinated on this day in 1980, a spiritual hero not just to Latin Americans but also to Filipinos. Romero it was who promised history that life, not death, would have the last word. "I do not believe in death without resurrection," said the Archbishop. "If they kill me, I will be resurrected in the Salvadoran people." Today, Romero's light burns brighter and beyond El Salvador, among people who march freely in remembrance and in honor of his memory.

March 24 is also a day that should remind us that some lessons have not been learned. The worst oil spill in US history called the Exxon Valdez disaster took place on this day in 1989, and ten years ago on this day, a massive spill of mine tailings from the mines of the company Marcopper took place in the Philippine island province of Marinduque.

Everyday can be a day of remembering. Everyday can be a reminder that we need to do more and to remember more so that resistance against wrongdoing can be sustained and so that we may become wiser with each passing year.

A book-launching event is always a joyous occasion because it marks the conclusion of a creative process, one defined often by generosity -- the generosity of the writer's sources of emotional and intellectual nourishment. I beg your indulgence if I've to thank some people a little profusely. These are small acts of remembering that are necessary...

I thank first of all the fire-starter and patient teacher for whatever it is that one calls the tiny space I currently occupy in writing. She is not responsible for any of my faults, but she is greatly responsible for the things that have caused the creation of this book and, I hope, the things that have made this book worth reading. She represents grace in person and grace in teaching. I thank her for helping impart to me the value of love of country -- a value increasingly debauched by those who claim to be our nation's leaders. I thank her for nourishing year after year my fascination with history -- in particular, the materialist conception of the past, and for imparting to me the centrality of the discipline and order required in the craft of writing. I am referring to Dada Ming -- Letizia R. Constantino, for those of you who do not know her by the name that her grandchildren and great grandchildren affectionately call her. I thank Letty, a keeper of memory and the chairperson of the Foundation for Nationalist Studies, an aristocrat, as defined by E. M. Foster, who wrote of his abiding belief "in the aristocracy of the sensitive, the considerate and the plucky. Its members are to be found in all nations and classes and all through the ages, and there is a secret understanding when they meet. They represent the true human tradition, the one permanent victory over cruelty and chaos." Thank you, Dada Ming.

I wish to also thank two creatures called RC and Dudi, also known as my parents, for their trust and patience and support. From the time I became politically active, they have been unwavering comrades and before that, they were already my loyal, loony and loving friends. My engagement with radical politics had to begin somewhere and that place was in 38-A Panay Ave. I have been told by Dada Ming how, before I was ten, I was already asking her to recount for me the story of Palestine and the dispossession of an entire people. Political inquisitiveness begins at home and credit for such story requests go to RC and Dudi, who both brought up their family by weaving love and affection together with the concepts of fairness, accountability, responsibility and an insane hunger to discover more of the outside world -- the world outside one's home, one's school, one's neighborhood, one's country, and one's region. To find out more about the world as it existed before and why the world can and should be better, much better, in the future. The milestones that I have reached I attribute mostly to my parents, including this one. Si RC at Dudi ay walang kasing tigas ng ulo at walang kasing kulit pag dating sa kanilang mga anak at sa usapin ng ating bansa bunga ng kanilang paniniwala at respeto sa kakayahan ng kanilang mga anak -- at sa kakayahan ng mamamayang Filipino -- na mabuhay ng malaya, mapayapa, masaya at may dignidad.

The crafting of each part of this book would have been impossible without the activist called Kalayaan Pulido -- Kala to family, comrads and friends, my constant comrade and critic, my dear wife and companion forever who I love so much. I cannot thank you enough, Kala.

Profound thanks go to Chuchay Molina-Fernandez, tribune of journalism and my boss for many years in the esteemed newspaper Today and currently the chief editor the Business Mirror, for finding time to write, in the midst of her insane schedule, the foreword to my book with her trademark candor, clarity and cadence.

I thank Dodong Nemenzo for finding time in the middle of his busy regime-ouster schedule to review the manuscript of the book. Thank you also to the esteemed writer, banker and intellectual, Admiral Dean de la Paz, for writing such a generous review of the book, which came out yesterday in his Business World column.

It's a closely knit family so you will have to forgive me for thanking the painter and UP College of Fine Arts teacher Ninel Constantino for temporarily putting her career on hold in order to provide the elegant design and lay-out of the book. The same goes to Marika Constantino, business manager and painter, for meticulous task of organizing and helping edit the book.

For the happy influence they had on my life, I thank Karina and Randy -- my Nanang and Nonong. For the companionship and criticism, I thank my sister Karmina. For their effort in ensuring the publication of The Poverty of Memory, I must cite our valued caregiver, Mimi Tanoja and also Rose, Aida, Malou and Nieves, and of course for helping organize this event I thank Emily, Merlinda and Jennylyn.

I thank Jenny -- a long time activist of Courage and my best friend since our days at the Polytechnic University of the Philippines helmed by Nemesio Prudente -- along with my kumpare and fellow activist Teddy Lopez for agreeing to be co-emcees of this event. Thank you to Lyn Resurreccion, currently the opinion and science editor of the Business Mirror for her patience and support of my writing endeavors. And lastly, the biggest hugs in the galaxy to my most deliriously wonderful, top-rank activist family for six years, the Greenpeace gang of campaigners and volunteers led here by Von Hernandez and Mareng Beau.

Rebecca Solnit reminds us of an all too often neglected fact -- that "the most powerful spokespeople for hope remain those most in need of it." These are the oppressed -- and our children.

"We talk about 'what we hope for'," wrote Solnit, "in terms of what we hope will come to pass but we could think of it another way, as WHY we hope. We hope on principle, we hope tactically and strategically, we hope because the future is inscrutable, we hope because it's a more powerful and more joyful way to live."

This book is thus for Rio and Luna, my two children and daily reminders both to Kala and to myself that hope always trumps despair. This book is also for the late Renato Constantino, nationalist and historian, who I deeply miss.

So ends this speech. It's now time to sign some books I think. After which we may return to the task of kicking out this unbelievably unbearable administration.

Thank you very much. #

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NOTES:

1. "Article 3 slams continued inclusion of Negros journalist in government "order of battle," Article 3 Alliance press statement, 22 March 2006. See the website of the National Union of Journalists of the Philippines.
2. Renato Redentor Constantino, The Poverty of Memory: Essays on History and Empire (Quezon City: Foundation for Nationalist Studies, 2006)
3. Marites Danguilan Vitug and Glenda Gloria, Under the Crescent Moon: Rebellion in Mindanao (Quezon City, Ateneo Center for Social Policy and Public Affairs and the Institute for Popular Democracy, 2000).
4. For more background on the commemorations this year, see the moving series of articles and photo essays by Greenpeace International, "Chernobyl certificate no. 000358," 27 February 2006.
5. Renny Golden, "Oscar Romero: Bishop of the Poor."
6. Greenpeace International, "Exxon Valdez disaster: 15 years of lies," www.greenpeace.org, 24 March 2004. Regarding the Marcopper disaster issue, see Vinia M. Datinguinoo, "Another disaster looms in Marinduque," Philippine Center for Investigative Journalism, 2 April 2002.
7. Rebecca Solnit, "Acts of hope: challenging empire on the world stage," TomDispatch.com, 19 May 2003.

2006-05-18T23:08:00.000+08:00

CONSTANTINO BOOK LAUNCHED
Event brings together writers, activists and political personalities

Quezon City, 24 March -- The Foundation for Nationalist Studies (FNS) today launched the book The Poverty of Memory: Essays on History and Empire by Renato Redentor Constantino in an event that brought together a hundred guests and attended by writers, activists and political personalities. The event was held at the Balay Kalinaw in the University of the Philippines Diliman Campus.

The launching of the book was celebratory and at the same time solemn as the book's author, a grandson of the late nationalist and historian Renato Constantino, reminded the audience of the need to "remember, rejoice and resist as we confront the twin threats of global and national tyranny." According to Constantino, "the book is, above all, about remembering. It is not only our duty to stand together against the ambitions of empire and small-minded despots; we must also strive to remember together if we wish to build a common peaceful and sustainable future," said the writer.

In his review of the book, the banker and writer Dean de la Paz remarked, "History is not just dates, places and people. For history to matter, it must transform. If that be the measure of history, then Constantino's book is perhaps one of history's most eloquent essays." Lourdes Molina-Fernandez, the editor of the Business Mirror newspaper, described Constantino's essays in the foreword she wrote for the book as "history and the breaking story in one seamless tapestry."

The event was graced by personalities such as former senator Wigberto Tanada, Cong. Del de Guzman, Cong. Rene Magtubo and Cong. Mayong Aguja, including the eminent scholar Bienvenido Lumbera and activists such as Carol Araullo of Bayan, Wilson Fortaleza of Sanlakas and the political economist and author Walden Bello of Akbayan.

"It is difficult to follow the footsteps of a famous grandfather because people are prone to compare him with the ancestor whose name he bears," said the former president of the University of the Philippines, Francisco Nemenzo. "But Red Constantino, in The Poverty of Memory, compels us to judge him on his own terms," said Nemenzo.

The book's author opened the event with a statement of solidarity against authoritarianism. "I am not an Arab or a Muslim or a member of the Bagong Alyansang Makabayan. But for the purposes of the malevolent anti-Left, the anti-Muslim and the anti-Arab, I am an Arab, a Muslim and a member of Bayan," said Constantino. The writer also slammed the Armed Forces of the Philippines for targeting journalists and called on its leadership to immediately drop from its "order of battle" Negros-based journalist Julius Mariveles, the news director of Aksyon Radyo-Bacolod.

The Foundation for Nationalist Studies has been publishing progressive literature for thirty years. The Poverty of Memory: Essays on History and Empire is available at leading bookstores. Direct orders from the FNS will receive hefty discounts. Call 3732505, 09173814172 or email lrc_fns(at)yahoo(dot)com. For press inquiries, contact the same details and look for Emily.

2006-05-18T22:53:00.000+08:00

INTRODUCING RED's FAMILY:

Tadaaaaa....

The first pic shows Luna with probably something sneaky on her mind; her mom thoughts are somewhere far away... (nice shirt Kala...)

Next to that is the one with Rio in front holding the yellow alien he won recently in a water shoot-out contest (Rio was also the chess champion in the elementary school intramurals and was given a gold medal today. Yeyey!). Kala is at the back, holding a seemingly bored Luna.

Then there's Kala in Capadoccia, Turkey. Behind her is what is called the 'Mother and Child' rock formation. Can you see it?

The nexy photo is Luna on her new bike, which was her birthday present when she turned three last November. The little girl is obviously pleased... She's been scooting around like a jeepney driver ever since. The picture was taken at Dada Ming's (Red's grandmother) place.

The fifth and last photo is at the grocery showing Rio reading one of the works of Bill Watterson (his tatay's greatest influence). Tatay is reading what he hopes would one day be among Rio's faves, a book - any book - by Asimov...

Comments, questions, replies -- email dem at redcosmo(at)gmail(dot)com.

Warm regards folks.