ADAMSONIAN

She woke me up with a question, “Do you want to see the Grand Canyon?” Startled I said yes just to keep her from asking any more questions. I wanted to go back to sleep and enjoy the start of my weeklong vacation. I was planning to do nothing since we came back just a week ago from a three-day camping trip. Suffice to say, I am just feeling lazy and want to bum around the house for a week. Or so I thought.

She called up her aunt in San Francisco to ask if they would like to join us for the trip. That way, we could stay at Aunt’s house in Vegas and go from there to Arizona. My wife’s grandmother who is bedridden because of a stroke could also go with us to Las Vegas and probably sit on a wheelchair and play in a casino. Gambling always made her strong and during the past few days she was grumpy being in bed all the time. It was supposed to be therapeutic for her, gambling. The downside is that when she loses, which is almost always, she would go back to her grumpy self. She would not take her medicines and not eat. Well, the plan is to take her with us and so my wife was planning it all in her head. 

We will not get a rental car and instead use our van. I just took it out for a thorough inspection last week before the camping at Lake McLure and so I guess it could survive the 1500-mile trip. A week of a rental van would eat away at our budget. We have to crimp. 

We got to the house in San Francisco to pick up Aunt and grandmother. Aunt was packed already. Not that heavy since she just got back from her house there. Grandmother’s stuff was prepared. I loaded the accessories for the wheelchair. She was on her bed, not aware of what was happening. She was not in a good mood and was smirking at her eldest daughter. Apparently she hated being brought from one house to another whenever nobody would be available to take care of her. I was asked to talk to her and convince her that it would be good for her to take the eight hour trip to Las Vegas and spend four hours in a casino playing slots. I was supposed to say that it would strengthen her arms and probably her spirirts if she wins. I was usually the guy they ask to say things like this to her. She loves me more than most of her siblings and granddaughters, she said that so to myself before when she was healthy. Anyway, I did what I was told, not wanting to thwart the carefully laid spontaneous plans.

“I do not feel well. I just want to stay here and wait to die.” With a forceful sincerity she looked at me while mouthing these words. My wife replied that she should not be thinking like so and that she would feel stronger in a different environment. The littany went on another ten minutes. Her grandmother insisting that she be left alone to die comfortably, my wife and her Aunt convincing her that it would do her good. Me, I was just reflecting on the absurdity of the moment. I went out to check on the kids who were making a raucous with their Healy’s. 

Shall we cancel the trip since she can’t make it anyway? Or do we just go there ourselves and let her rest as she insisted? Aunt could not leave her so she can’t go either. That would mean that expenses would have to be borne by us alone. It mattered but not much. The four of us are used to going out on vacations with much less on our pockets. Our principle is that money will ultimately be spent on something so might as well spend it on something we will all enjoy having. So the little we have, we mostly throw on the wants of the moment. “You will earn it tomorrow”, is what I say. “Just enjoy the now.”

So grandma is not coming, so is Aunt. Just the four of us off to Vegas and then Arizona. 

Six hours on the road. Two more to go. Had to stop twice for a restroom break. Kids are asleep after a two hour video game. My wife had to steal some sleep for five minutes every two hours to keep me company. We talked mostly about how we ended up being here. Nine years of marriage and counting..? Whenever we recall our past, the stories change. She would not admit she hounded me, I was too proud to admit I fell for her. If you are just on your way to getting in a relationship, you should write a blog. That way the facts are laid out and you could have it as evidence nine years in the future. 

We also talked about sex. Mostly that topic would keep me awake. Well after five hours of driving in the middle of the night I needed all the subjects that would keep my head awake. And that one almost always never fails. Nothing kinky though. Just stuff that we have been through when we were young. Like, did we sleep around, or what we thought after the first time we did it?… Serious, thoughtful conversation. I am just glad I could do it with her. I think that was what attracted me the most. The fact that I could talk to her and she to me, I guess there lies our secret to keeping the relationship. Maybe.

Finally I could see the lights of the Strip. It is five o’clock in the morning and I could use some sleep.

erwinilao has blogged 15 posts

Journeying through memory lane, I remembered what question Holden Caulfield (Catcher in the Rye) asked to the cab driver when he was about to go back to his New York home when he was (again) kicked-out of his school, “Where do the ducks move in the winter?”. He was referring to the ducks that he often looks at on the mini ponds at Central park. And they were debating and debating but they weren’t able to give the answer to each other. They still haven’t figured out if the ducks went into hibernation or have just moved south (or north). What greatly affected me during this time of reading and finishing J.D. Salinger’s novel, Catcher in the Rye, is that Holden and I shared something in common during that time in our lives; we were both at lost. We were both searching for that justification of where and what will happen to our lives. We were paddling our own boats into the world; we, sucking our baby teeth and whistling the lullabies that we had learned during the sleeping sessions both of us have had on the afternoons are being swamped into the realities of life. And regards to the street proverb “Being a teenager is hard”, which made me think to paddle hard. But I digress.

Then I just realized that I want to be a Catcher in the Rye, just like Holden Caulfield wanted himself to be, after several realizations, dates, and Tom Collinses. We will be two characters, one in the fiction, and one in reality, who will hang around the so-called edges of the cliffs of life where “children and teens” play around the rye fields. And then, if one of them tries and strays out to the edge, we will be the ones to catch them and lead them back to the harmonious life in the rye field, where they could scurry down and learn a thing or two about it. If this metaphor gets your neurons moving, yes my reader; I realized what my weltanschauung is. After closing down the book, along with its chapters of laughs and realizations, I realized that I am to fulfill Holden’s dream, in a way that it let me see and pursue my self-growth. Life for teenagers is like a rye field; it is full of golden sunlight if you would only look up and try not to hide under the shadows of the stalks. During my go as a teen, I was always on that rye field; freely moving, freely running and horsing around without a doubt that the world is hard, just like falling into the cliff (and into oblivion, if I may exaggerate). If not for that realization, that enlightening moment when I finished the book, I might be one of those who haven’t a single care in mind. The immature adults, as they say. The ones who have fallen into the cliff without [them] realizing it. My moment might be objective, because it happened only to me, but I would like to point out to you, my dear reader, that living in the most transient state of life (teenager life) without realizing what it is to be one, what we wanted to be, and without that eventful enlightenment will only make our maturing or fermenting to stop-short. Even a quintessence of what maturity is or even an idea will motivate us as to what it is to be human, to be living the life out of being that risky adolescent with a proboscis of a skunk.

I was lucky enough that Holden caught me; if not, I would be one of the fallen children in the cliff; forever swimming to the rocky shore, missing out the grandeur lessons of the rye field, missing out its shiny mornings and cool nights. Living a very unsatisfied adulthood, or if we go to the extremes, living like a zombie: without realizations, without an identity. In this path where we all search for ourselves, wouldn’t it be too good to just fly off somewhere where it would not be as stressful as being a teenager? I doubt it. Without passing the rye field of life, we will all go down to swim into the murky depths of the river where the cliff is silently sitting, bidding its time to lure us to jump down. I was lucky; Holden’s thoughts caught me when I was on the verge of falling and crashing down onto the rocky end of the cliff. Into the abyss of what we call “self-induced prophesies” of what we ought to be, dictated by others. I was lucky; Holden caught my arms when I was slithering away to the edge of the cliff.

Now, where do the ducks move in the winter again?

Tags: Cathcer, in, the, Rye

tikgirl has blogged 12 posts

Where I live is only two long blocks away from the university I work in and where my daughter goes to first year secondary. In very rare instances, such as when we see that she’d be late for the school’s 6:45 flag raising or when the skies threaten a downpour, we take the pedal-powered or motorized trike. Most days though, it’s a sole-powered 200-meter walk that we do, a ready-made form of physical exercise or a coin-saving scheme or both.

The stretch of San Marcelino St. that we negotiate from Padre Faura down to Adamson University may not be a postcard-pretty promenade but we have taught ourselves to appreciate what it has by making the most out of what we see along the way. If Joey Ayala in his light and playful song “Maglakad” encourages people to refresh their minds by taking a stroll, my daughter and I try to make the walk fruitful and enjoyable instead of just doing it as a passive performance of an almost requisite act.

Since we began, we decided to look at the benefits of walking, instead of complaining about the way it exacted a toll on our shoes and legs and dwelling on its negative side. Indeed we wouldn’t be able to experience or enjoy many things if we opt to ride.
One is safety. With walking, we are perfectly in control of where we’re headed and we have a full unobstructed view of the vehicles whizzing by in the opposite direction. By their rider-unfriendly design, trikes deny their passengers these simple but convenient privileges. With a sidecar that is nearly fully wrapped in tarp, including the part where a windshield is supposed to be, you’d feel like Jun Lozada being given a scary joyride to nowhere by someone whose identity you have no inkling of.

Another is the chance to engage in fruitful conversation while walking. We literally walk the talk, stride after stride, telling stories, learning some words or expressions or making observations of people and things that we see along the way. Once she asked what the expression “looking for greener pastures” means. In simple terms, I told her that it means moving from one situation to a better one, like the walk to school every day being actually a protracted effort at moving to a better quality of life in the future especially for her.
Still another is the serendipitous discovery of lessons that people would normally ignore or dismiss as insignificant. Every day, for instance, we pass by a regular huddle of homeless denizens along the perimeter wall of the Philippine Presidents’ Line (PPL) property engaged in various domestic chores in a house that has no hope of becoming. Some are cooking a simple meal heated by bits of burning wooden scraps salvaged from everywhere. Others are sorting out trash not to be thrown away but as a stateless currency that the money changer they know best accepts and converts into pesos: the nearest scrap buyer or junk shop. One middle-aged man I saw was squatting against the cement fence contentedly puffing a cheap cigar, fully enjoying an after-meal piece of heaven in what passes for a long veranda otherwise known as a sidewalk. What’s there for us in this quotidian sight? In the cul-de-sac that we live in, that has the euphemistic name of studio-type apartment, we can call ourselves lucky. It is our family’s comfort zone, a home where we are able to bond and hug each other and carve out our cherished dreams. I therefore cringe at the thought that if we were in their place, God forbid, it would really be a horrible life. My daughter has developed a deeper appreciation of the word blessing.

Sometimes we while away the time by looking for something inspiring or amusing. Two people we always see are a married couple on a bicycle who we assume are on their way to work. With the man driving and the woman sitting sideways and cosily up his front, we conclude that they must be a sweet loving pair. They are also a lesson in punctuality because we gauge our own by where we meet them. Seeing them halfway from our starting point means we are on time; to see them just a minute after we left off means we better hurry; and if we don’t see them at all, not even a taxi ride will bail us out of tardiness. Hate late? Beat the couple, we kid ourselves.

Just like any other place, San Marcelino has its own downside. These are givens and we refuse to be discouraged. After all how can you avoid pollution, discourteous drivers, smelly beggars, impassable sidewalks and even unsightly and dilapidated old houses and buildings anyway? You can’t. They are an inextricable part of the territory. Only one’s political will to see the brighter side of the street will do the trick.

My daughter agrees that if we extend that mindset to the bigger reality called life, then we are in I guess for a rewarding journey.

raul agner has blogged 2 posts

Warning: über-sensitive video

Not so long ago, Filipino professionals on the field of medicine batted their eyelashes and vented out resentful sentiments because of a discriminatory slur labeled upon them by an American TV series. The said show quoted how vulgarly tacky and unprofessional Filipino medical practitioners were. It was ensued by a massive protest of Filipinos who wanted to exterminate the indelible stigma laid on our Filipino doctors, nurses and the like. Now, the notion of some foreign countries seem incorrigible as we blatantly proved that they are right.

A sickening and nauseating video about a patient who had a black suede spray paint inserted on his rectum was proliferating fast on the net, garnering different views and opinions, here and abroad. The incognito patient was infuriated because of the breach of privacy and the inhumane treatment, and he badly recalls how these people mocked him and videoed the removal of the canister in his rectum (hey, does this man know the purpose of his butthole?) while giggling in ineffable joy, as if he’s an experimental guinea pig. The inviolable Hippocratic Oath will turn impertinent and of no use if this kind of ill-bred doctors were still on the loose, causing abhorrent professional defamation and social disgrace. I’m not totally being one-sided here, but the video narrates it all. and the impact will have its way to ricochet on all of us. The shame is inescapable.

Below is the full uncensored version:

Tags: vicentesotto, medicine, criticisms, blacksuede

qwertyuiop has blogged 1 posts

Tags: prettyboy,, magic,, hula

eCe_spy has blogged 1 posts

(Warning: Mature contents with complex “Science” below.)

ALVY
Unbelievably sexy. Yes, you are.
Because … you know what you are?
You’re-you’re polymorphously perverse.

ANNIE
Well, what does-what does that mean?
I don’t know what that is.

ALVY
Uh … uh, you’re-you’re exceptional
in bed because you got -you get pleasure
in every part of your body when I touch you.

-From Annie Hall, Woody Allen

Tonight, before sunrise, I write my dream about Memory Lane.

Tags: erotic,, mature, content

white garapata has blogged 12 posts

Thought I’d share this picture which was taken during the Bb. Liberal Arts 1991 beauty pageant. Iris Alfelor, one of the most sought after MASP speech instructor during that era, won the much coveted title.

The faces you see in the picture belongs to (from left to right): Alorna, the English Department’s SA from 1989-1992 (?); Kathy, daughter of Prof. Lucy Diano (former chairperson of the English Department); Weng Inocencio-Kim, now the proud owner of Kerrimo, that snack stand you see in SV; Yours truly, aka The Deity (I looked so innocent noh?); Iris, the alluring Cebuana who used to capture freshmen’s heart with her exotic beauty and husky voice; Christian, the English Department’s Ozanam Playhouse official make-up artist; Malen, the demure MASP who got the young engineering dudes tailing her all the time; Cynia, also an outstanding MASP, presently connected in one of America’s top airlines; Carlo, nowadays a businessman making a name in Cebu; and Arthur, the self-proclaimed MASP gigolo during our batch. The last I heard about Art is that he’s teaching in Lyceum.

With the exception of Rowena, Cynia and Carlo, who remained dear friends to this date, I have no idea where some of the former MASP’s are these days, especially those that I worked and played with from 1988-1990. All I know now is that they have a special place in my memory.

I still can’t believe it’s been that long ago…

Deity has blogged 2 posts