Caustic Thoughts

Random funny thoughts with a taste of Pinoy and a hint of acid.

Caution: Watch Your Head

by


I was in the mall yesterday when a store sign caught my attention. It said, “Caution: watch your head.” Is it just me or do you find that funny too?

I remember a few years back when my husband was looking through clear glass at a store display. He did embarrassingly hit his head on the display window. I thought it was an isolated case. I didn’t know that a lot of people actually go through the same experience so frequently that it has pushed a store to put up a warning sign. That either says a lot about the cleaning abilities of store employees or the temporary lack of attentiveness that can sometimes afflict both geniuses and—er—the rest of us. At least geniuses have an excuse.

I wonder if window bumping is a worldwide phenomenon or happens only in the Philippines.

(Note: I do apologize for the picture which was taken with a cheap camera which partly explains the picture’s cheap quality. Well, to be honest, I was also scared of the roving mall guards who could’ve mistaken me for a loony and could’ve taken me into custody. So the picture was taken at a saaaaafe distance.)

Estrada Plunder Case– He’s Guilty!

by

I was on my usual mode of seat warming and writing vapid articles that don’t really matter when I received the message of the decade from my mobile phone service provider. Estrada is guilty of plunder.

Of course there was no doubt that he would be found guilty but writing about this one piece of news is like treading on thin glass. I suppose that if we had a totally blameless government right now I would have gone on in sparks of approbation over the verdict. Right now though, I don’t feel like saying that justice has prevailed. That would make me sound like Ignacio Bunye or all the other lying, cheating folks in the administration who are no better than Estrada. That would be like rejoicing over nabbing a robber when an equally big heist is being performed in front of us.

If justice always prevails then why is Arroyo not on the docks too? Even if she does ever find her neck on the noose, the future of our country will be grimmer than ever because we don’t have very palatable choices. The future candidates for president are divided into two groups. One group supports a former thief and the other supports the reigning thief. Now tell me, where is the lesser of two evils in that? Come on, they’re all of the same color but are just in different pirate boats. They’d as much feed us to the sharks as they would each other.

So right now I just feel like shutting up and getting depressed.

Pavarotti’s Last Bow

by

A friend’s request has brought to my attention that it has been awhile since I had written anything about the world of entertainment. I was probably too preoccupied with my righteous indignation over the ZTE deal and the reopened Garci scandal to even notice that there was anything entertaining at all.

It is therefore a little saddening that my first entertainment article in ages is about the death of the King of the High C’s, the great tenor, Luciano Pavarotti. He finally succumbed to pancreatic cancer last week and was buried last Saturday in Modeno, Italy after thousands of mourners, entertainers and international leaders came by to bid him farewell.

What the heck, I won’t even pretend to be civilized enough to like opera but I remember my reaction distinctly when I learned about Pavarotti’s death. I couldn’t believe it. At the back of my mind I had always envisioned that he would be alive forever, or at least long enough to entertain the world’s first alien tourists or something. His name has been linked to this era and it seems unimaginable that he is no longer in it.

His unmatched talent, genial nature and willingness to explore the unthinkable (a marriage between pop and classical opera) brought his art to the common people. In our third world country where the closest we could get to opera was Regine Velasquez’s histrionics, Pavarotti’s art was an opportunity to see the world in a different light.

Pavarotti is survived by his children, second wife and (sniff) his four year old daughter.

I hope you are now singing alongside God’s angels.

NBN Plot Thickens

by

I don’t like Dan Brown’s books very much but I give the guy credit for his ability to weave confusing technical details like he understood them himself. If he ever runs out of hodge podge crap to write about I suggest he visit the Philippines, the new seat of political crap with intrigue on the side.

The most recent addition to the government’s growing list of Guinness book worthy anomalies is the National Broadband Network (NBN) plan. What started out as a plan to connect all the government agencies and offices (despite the fact that a lot of seat polishing officials really don’t know the difference between a network port and their ass holes) is now a scheme to steal millions of dollars in tax payers’ money. Unless you’ve probably been living under a rock for the past month, you should have heard that the government made a grossly overpriced $329 million deal with Chinese telecommunications company ZTE without telling the Filipino people even though we will eventually be footing the bill.

This story simply has the ingredients of a good bestseller—corruption, intrigue, more corruption, duplicity, idiocy and even an ALLEGED sexual romp by a 73 year old government official with Chinese prostitutes. The best thing about it is that the details are muddled. Even the usually finger-in-your-soup media can no longer tell the difference between fact and fiction. Who could tell when Teves says she met with Abalos and ZTE people once to talk about NBN but Abalos says there were two meetings but no NBN discussion? Who could tell when Favila and Apostol claim that there was no contract but Mendoza and Formoso say that there was a contract that was stolen and reconstituted? What do they take us for, idiots? The monkeys who orchestrated this circus fracas obviously didn’t practice before they mounted the show or simply underestimated audience intelligence.

Just recently, the plot has thickened. Senate’s resident snoop dog Panfilo Lacson says an unfortunate soul is willing to testify against the monkeys. He is unfortunate because I suspect that his integrity will be questioned and ripped to shreds as to make his and his family members’ lives virtually unbearable. They would either have to hide in the mountains or in some other God forsaken continent like Antarctica.

Oh, and what about the victims in this story? They’re all too busy watching Marimar and Ysabella or scratching out a living in the streets to even give a damn that the administration has climbed over their backyards again and stolen what little they have.

For more on the NBN circus, do visit Jaspitz’s World.

The Hounds of Writing and Coffee

by


My favorite Filipino cartoonist Pol Medina, Jr. mentioned something in his tenth anniversary book issue of Pugad Baboy that struck a chord. He said it took him ten years to learn to really love what he was doing as a cartoonist. I can honestly say that I know how he felt.

I never wanted to be a writer. It just so happened that every single job I got gave me a boss who required me to moonlight as a writer on top of my major work load. It was as if the art of writing was hounding me and would not give me peace until I had dipped my pen in an inkwell and drank my daily gallon of coffee. It’s not that I hate writing. It’s just that I don’t like it as a job as much as talking volumes in a seminar, hiring and firing people and draining my brains dry in labor disputes. So what am I doing here in a new job where I have to sit for most of the day writing numerous articles that are so long that War and Peace is considered comparatively short? Gee, I don’t know. It’s either I want to punish myself in reparation for my sins or writing is growing on me like fungi.

I don’t think I’ll ever be as good as any of those Carlos Palanca awardees who write so well that anyone who reads their works ends up thinking he’s stupid. I think though that I have finally accepted my lot in life. I will always be a writer and people will always expect me to write.

This is probably why I have decided to use my skills while waiting for a better opportunity to once more strike terror in the hearts of job applicants and employees. Seriously, a group has kindly offered to take me in so I can feed them literary fodder of my own concoction that even my own mother probably wouldn’t like to read.

Yes, I have yet again broken a personal rule. I have shoved my arms deep in the bowels of Friendster and decided to call a truce. If you know me, you would also know that I loathe Friendster and have waged a war against it since the irreverent virtual web gave birth to it. I am however solely in it for the group bolpen@kape and my handful of other friends that I can literally count in one hand. The members of this group are thankfully not literary titans who could eat me whole like a fetus. I take comfort in the fact that I at least have some borderline normal people I share something in common with. Just like me, they are also prey to the hounds of writing and the allure of coffee. We will not have any peace until we take up a pen (or laptop) and scribble (while drinking coffee).

That’s our table over there (although it does look a little too peaceful to be a writer’s table). If you want to own that table too, check out bolpen@kape.

History of the Barong

by


Mythical accounts of anything or anyone popular have always been in existence to give more dramatic or more heroic versions of what would normally be seen as commonplace. These myths, half truths and embellished truths have begun to spread throughout the modern world like wildfire through the aid of the world wide web.

One interesting story circulating around the web which has doubtful origins revolves around the barong, the Philippine national formal dress for males. Online sources have varying accounts of the origin of the barong and certain authorities dispute the veracity of the popular version of the barong story. Like all popular disputed stories however, this one has the ability to gain a fanatic following. I must admit, I would have preferred the story to be true.

According to the popular barong story, the barong was once used as a sign that the wearer belonged to a lower social group. Filipinos were once required by Spanish colonizers to wear the early version of the barong. It was a nearly transparent garment so that the Spaniards could easily spot hidden weapons. It had no pockets so that no Filipino could pilfer Spanish valuables. It was also meant to be worn without being tucked as a sign of inferiority.

In time, middle class Filipinos who became successful in the fields of business and the academe emerged. Instead of looking for ways to discard the barong, they began to wear it with pride. This time, instead of settling for barongs made of inferior materials, the Filipinos began to make the garments out of exquisite cloths and hand wove delicate patterns on them.

This story could have been a source of great pride if it were completely proven to be true. The counter arguments however against the story include the fact that there is no record of the Spanish law that required the wearing of the barong. It is also possible that the barong may have been worn by our ancestors simply because the weather was too warm to wear anything else.

Whatever the truth of the matter is, I’d like to keep this story in my heart and tell it to my kids before they go to sleep at night.

Fiesta Allergy

by



I was born in Baguio City before the Flower Festival came into existence so while the rest of the country got into periodic bouts of overeating, I practically spent 10 years of my life not knowing that there was such a thing as a fiesta. When my family left for Cebu, the Sinulog fiesta became the very first fiesta I had ever experienced. I must say that as a kid, I liked the idea of not having classes and stuffing my face full of deliciously crispy roasted pork skin. These days though, I dread the coming of the city fiesta.

Filipino fiestas are still essentially celebrated for the same original reason for which they were instituted. The concept of the fiesta was brought to the Philippines by the Spaniards and each celebration was intended to commemorate the feast day of a patron saint. I wouldn’t know though if the saints themselves rejoice upon the idea of uncontrolled revelry, non-gender specific pageants and drunken fits held in their honor in modern fiestas.

Don’t get me wrong. I love fiestas. I just hate the fact that walking is the fastest mode of transportation that can get you anywhere, that your life and possessions are perpetually at risk from suspicious characters and that street company at night consists of inebriated zombies. This is probably why I almost always stay at home during fiestas unless I have the urge to punish my legs and risk my life. My current fiesta allergy is also the reason why I have my former student, MaryFGR a.k.a. artbabe to thank for the photos that will be my only source of memories for this year’s city fiesta.

Teacher Entrepreneurs

by

You know how they say that teaching is a noble profession. I’m not about to argue with that. In fact, I love teaching and I did teach for two years while working as an HR officer for a school. I admit that I liked teaching better than the emotional mayhem of employee office intrigue that struck my office on a daily basis. So why didn’t I choose to pursue teaching?

After two years of excruciating spider veins and hoarse vocal chords, all I had was the so called psychological fulfillment benefit of teaching (which is really debatable because I personally know teachers who confuse fulfillment with the satisfaction of knowing that they finally know better than a whole classroom full of people). I had mouths to feed; I wasn’t earning well and I wasn’t about to go through the beaten path of supplemental earning. It’s not because I have any real moral qualms about it. It’s really because I’ve never been good at selling.

I remember my husband’s stories about studying in a public school. They were expected to buy from their teacher’s hidden store of edible merchandise. My husband was at a better position than his classmates. He was the designated seller (and was therefore entitled to leftover freebies) while his teacher diverted the attention of the roving principal.

Unlike my husband, I studied in a private school and vending to students and parents is strictly prohibited in most private schools. Of course, I know better now. Private school teachers don’t sell food like some public school teachers do and they definitely don’t sell to students unless they’d like to get a one way ticket to unemployment. Some private school teachers however inconspicuously carry glossy Avon, Sara Lee and Natasha catalogs while principals, coordinators and HR officers (like me) discreetly look the other way or even secretly place orders themselves.

Okay so there’s nothing inherently wrong with a teacher selling during her free time but they didn’t have to if they were paid right.

Dendrophilian

by

My husband once told me that I was raised so freakishly different that letting me roam around the city alone would be similar to leaving a blind new born kitten in the middle of a national highway. I was more than over protected. I practically grew up in another planet and never even knew it until I got married and left the Andromeda galaxy for Earth. This is probably why my husband is always afraid that I might end up half dead in a canal because I took a lollipop from a stranger.

What my husband doesn’t know is that my new job has taken me to a far worse highway than anywhere I’ve ever been on. Everyday I commute through the information super highway and the things I see and hear make the news seem like a fairy tale.

Just recently, a writing assignment has brought me to Dendrophilian’s YouTube page. Dendrophilian is a self confessed atheist and a pedophilia supporter. I am not so immersed in my self delusion to think that Dendrophilian belongs to an entirely new breed. I know there are people like him and that society says their presence is a fact of life. What is discomforting is that one of his videos in support of pedophilia sounds like a dignified rational sociological thesis defense, not a violent rant against the conventions of society. What is even more surprising is that this man has more than two thousand subscribers and has been repeatedly praised for his logic and intelligence. His two videos in support of pedophilia have been viewed thousands of times, have each been rated with three stars and have combined favorite votes of more than a hundred… HUNDREDS and THOUSANDS…

… makes me want to pack my children’s things in time for the next interstellar bus ride to Andromeda.

Hard Work for Pennies

by

“Don’t waste life in doubts and fears; spend yourself on the work before you, well assured that the right performance of this hour’s duties will be the best preparation for the hours and ages that will follow it.”

— Ralph Waldo Emerson

I have no doubt that the great Emerson was partly referring to psychological rewards for the common diligent worker. I think though that he was also referring to financial preparation for retirement and old age.

I suppose if you are diligent enough, you will be able to harvest your just rewards. In the Philippines though, diligence is simply not sufficient. You would also have to be blessed with an entrepreneurial spirit to help you make old age comfortable. For those who don’t know the difference between the stock market and the wet market, the future can be dim.

Take for example a former colleague who retired two years ago at the age of 60. She had been a teacher for thirty years and worked five days a week for twelve hours a day or more. She received a staggering P100,000 ($2,139) for her three decades of service. She definitely was not a delinquent but even a lifetime of honest work earned her less than what most political thieves earn in a day.

She’s not the only one who has a bleak future ahead of her. Young professionals who have no aptitude for business and have no desire to wipe the asses of foreign patients abroad have to prepare for their future with measly incomes that can barely tide over the day’s needs. Cities outside of the capital offer young professionals at the staff level an average income of P7,000-P10,000 ($150-$214) a month for 24-26 days of work for eight hours a day. Upscale offices offer a little more at around P15,000 ($321) a month for the same amount of work. Of course, first time employees would be lucky if they receive the mandated basic salary. I know a nurse who earns a mere P150 ($3.21) for an 8 hour work day.

The only way to prepare for old age is to find your way to one of the multi national companies that offer high salaries and numerous benefits. In my province, there are only about four companies that fall under this category and only one of them is hiring 10-20 people every year until they stop hiring in 2010. That can hardly help the thousands of graduates every year and the approximately 100,000 or so unemployed in my province and the surrounding regions.

Now how exactly can mere hard work in the Philippines prepare for the hours and ages that will follow the twilight of a worker’s best years?