...And the Dish Ran Away with the Spoon

We are watching a documentary about the Space Race between the Soviets and the USA:

"Man never landed on the moon. That is such American bullcrap."

He maintains that Man never landed on the moon, never has, never will. He said that the film of the moon landing in 1969 was made in the studio in Texas!

"Have you watched the film of the moon landing? How would man lift off the moon? Not just with the earth's gravitational pull. They need engines! They need energy to get off the moon! No sand was blown away when they blasted off the moon!"

He never heard of Alan Shepard, only of Yuri Gagrin! He said that he saw some stupid TV program that proves man never landed on the moon.

Perhaps, with his ingrained dislike for the USA (he is, after all, East German), he is more willing to believe anything that makes America look bad.

Look, I am not a big fan of American foreign policy, their flawed racist society, or their imperiousness. I do not crave an argument about what I belive, especially who patriotically believe i America the Great. You are entitled to that opinion, good for you. But not to the extent that America never landed on the moon!

The Rules of This Beach

Sophie, Thomas' best girl friend and long-standing crush, recounted a very interesting experience she had last week at a nudist beach. East Germany has a fine tradition of nudist beaches, and Germans generally do not have any inhibitions with nudity.

Sophie is a very charming girl, dark hair, sparkling eyes, with a great body and a quiet beauty that grows on people. Her boyfriend, Tommy, has a very Teutonic, Aryan face. Blue eyes and blond hair, the idealized look of Germans often seen in Third Reich propaganda posters. In short, the golden couple.

Sophie was with her amigas at the FKK (Frei Korper whatever, or Free Body) beach, suntaning without the inhibitions of girls worried about strap marks. Her roving eye noticed that a guy was checking her out. Wary that he might be "that freak on the beach," she kept watch.

A few minutes later, the guy dresses up, comes up to her, and hands her a slip of paper. "You may decide to open it or not," he says.

Inside is his telephone number. This miffed Sophie. In recounting her tale, she fumed, "He should have had the courtesy to be nude as well when he gave me his number. It isn't fair that he was dressed and I was nude; it made me feel awkward."

Now, this isn't a problem that comes up in daily life. There is no etiquette book on appropriate behavior in nudist beaches. I can't imagine Emily Post dishing out advice on how to properly frolic out in the nude.

Coming out to ask a girl out is one of the most naked acts a man can perform. To do it in the buff is probably harder. A girl can adequately judge what she may have to deal with in the future, and dismiss a guy when he isn't up to snuff. Maybe the guy is a grower, and thus felt that he may be unfairly judged, under the circumstances.

If I can only come up with an answer to this one!

The Sun Eaters

When I lived in the Philippines, I considered good, hot, sultry weather to be a birthright. How I actually look forward to the rainy season, a brief respite from the sunshine of the tropics! How I looked forward to December, where the humid air was replaced by a balmy breeze in the Metro.

I could not fathom how foreigners actually did everything in their power to acquire stained skin, while the locals did everything to bleach themselves. Hiding from the sun as much as possible, sun umbrellas and whitening lotions. The heat can give people headaches, heatstroke, and a host of other unmentionable diseases. Oh how we dreaded it and took it for granted.

I have chased the summer across the world, leaving Manila at the tail-end season of perpetual sun, arriving here in Germany at the beginning of bathing suit season. Germany is facing an unusually warm summer, with cloudless blue skies and equally warm nights. Barbara complains that I took the Philippine summer with me to Germany. People I meet give me incredulous looks whenever I tell them I have never seen snow, and I could see that in the faraway look of their eyes they dream of a place where there is no winter.

With frantic cries, they urge me to go outside! Do something! The weather is so great, why are you wasting it by reading! Why are you indoors? Why aren't you interested in sports? The concept of wanting to stay indoors to read a book in during a sunny, humid day confounds them. As if the sun's rays are the last precious drops of water from a spigot in the middle of a desert town.

Here in Germany, people actually pay good money in tanning salons to bronze themselves, believing it to be a mark of relaxation, or of having enough money to travel to some sun-drenched island, sipping a pina colada.

In parks and meadows, people strip to their bathing suits, and, heedless of dermatologists' warnings of skin cancer among caucasians, bask themselves in sunlight, sometimes marinading themselves in baby oil for that crisp lechon effect.

I have also taken quite happily to the sun tanning phenomenon. I bought myself a ten-euro number at the bikini store, and talking my Bundeswehr-issued tube of sunblock, I bake myself on the grass in the local park, my bikini strings unfastened. It doesn't take long for the first furtive glances to go my way.

This Saturday in my meeting with Lars, my German-language tandem partner, I decided that I was bored and I wanted to play a little game. Little Big Lars, with his workman's hands and his naive blond haired-blue eyed looks, was perfectly rigid in his polite German way. I wanted to go to Paradis, the local park, anyway. I put on my bathing suit under my cami. An idle mind is the devil's workshop, indeed.

Trot-Trot. Off we go to put-put in Paradis, as we practice my German and his English. I lay my colorful sarong on the grass. Slowly, my clothes come off. First my top, then my jeans. His eyes nearly pop, and I am pleased with my little victory. He later becomes more relaxed and takes off his shirt, and the conversation flows more smoothly. We lie on the grass, and talk in hushed, languorous tones--a false intimacy, as if we were keeping a secret. In reality we talked about my country, Jena, and that a few miles away, a secluded spot by the Saale river (which was a few meters away from us), featured a sandy beach. He is careful not to touch me, he knows I have a boyfriend. He reluctantly says goodbye at quarter to seven in the evening, the sun still ablaze. It is amazing how a little nudity can engender coziness, albeit artificial.

Borrowed

Me at the Blickhan's home. Shirt, a hand-me-down from Thomas. Knapsack and flip-flops, a gift from Thomas. Bike, "borrowed" from Barbara's friend Carola.

That's how my life feels now. Borrowed. This is not my life. These are not my friends. This is not my apartment. Borrowed.

I don't normally go about in a bike. My alertness in the streets of Manila against pickpockets and an assortment of shady characters has been replaced by my alertness to the urban street traffic. Had some close shaves (straßenbahn, cars). Cobblestoned streets look really romantic, until you ride a bike over them. Now, they just look uneven and painful to me.

I almost died with envy when my friend Leslie told me that she was on her way to the Bench fashion show. Arrrgh. I know that I should not expect to mix with "high society" here in Jena. I don't think that concept even exists here in East Germany. But that was my life, you see, and the change feels really abrupt.

Language lessons every day. I am struggling with the language, but my teacher says I am doing better than expected. The more I learn German, the more I am in love with the simplicity of English.

The sun is just as deceitful, as well. In the Philippines, all I have to do is look at the heavens, seek out the sun or the moon, and I can pretty much approximate the time of day. Here in Germany, the sun is out until 10 pm, and my body is constantly tricked by the extended daylight. It is riled up as long as the sun is out, and I crash and burn into the bed as soon as the sun sinks.

There is a cool indie scene here, as I have said, but I have no one to really call a 'friend.' Mrs. Blickhan, an immigrant as well, told me that I just have to be patient. No Toastmaster's Club here in Jena. All the older people don't speak English, they speak Russian. All the young people know English, but most of them are students, and cannot afford to pay if I were to charter a Toastmasers Club here. I realy want to move to the West. Munich has something like 20 Toastmasters Clubs. Nuremberg, not far from Jena, has one. Mrs. Blickhan, an English teacher, has not even heard of the Toastmasters Club, and she lived in the US!

Jena is in Thuringen, the border state between the former East and West Germany. Thomas said that I should teach English to make some extra cash. I think I would do it not for the money, but so I would not die of boredom. The moment people hear the unmistakable sound of a native English speaker emanating from my mouth, they would seek me out like heat seeking missles, eager to practice their English with me.

The beauty of Germany is that everybody can wear those cool threads from the fancy magazines because of the cold weather. The bad news for attention whores is that nobody would really notice. I've seen it all: Punks bleeding on the streets, hungover and grumpy. People in traditional dress. Goth kids who wander the city in groups. I am seeking out the cosplay kids in the area. So far, no dice.

Fashioning a new identity is never easy. I have had to do it several times in the past, by necessity of a lost love, or a new situation. This is no different. I hope that I will like myself at the end of the tunnel.

Why God, Why?????!!!!!

From Jessica Zafra

David Sedaris, the author of Naked, Barrel Fever, Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim, and Me Talk Pretty One Day, is coming to Manila for a series of readings and book signings. The schedule:

July 27, 6 pm - Powerbooks Shangri-la
July 28, 5 pm - Powerbooks Alabang
July 29, 5 pm - Powerbooks Greenbelt

According to the poster, you can have one book signed for free. If you want more than one copy signed, you have to buy a David Sedaris book from Powerbooks and exchange the receipt for a signing pass.

Why??? Why would you allow my favorite author at the moment to visit Manila just when I left it? Why?

VIVA ITALIA!

I bet my dad's happy now.

Fuck you, Zidane. Was the head butt worth the World Cup championship?

Pasensya na, my money was on the French.

P.S. Germany took a cue from the Italian play and played great defensive. And to think that the best players passed on the game or were too injured to play! The fact that second stringers won the bronze was a message to the Portugese. 'Our best players don't deserve to break a sweat from you stuck up brats.'

Scheisse!

Tsk tsk. Talo.

I think the predictability of the Germans did it in. The play was too careful and technical. Plus, the Italians had a great defense strategy, and Juergen Klinsmann was not immediately able to counter it.

Nevertheless, it was a well played match. The Germans did well.

Exuberance

That is Germany today. Exuberant after winning yesterday's match against Argentina. I predicted that Germany would lose to Argentina.

I was with Lars, my Deutsche language tandem partner. "The only thing that could beat the Argentinians's skill," I told Lars, "is the determination of the German team to win."

And what a will it was! A squeaker of a game. Damned those Argentinians, they can squeeze more time out of a game than man can squeeze blood out of stone. I thought that I saw the best of Argentina in their 120 minute game against Mexico, but this game was a whopping 130 minutes.

In the end, an old-fashioned shootout between Germany and Argentina determined the fate of the World Cup. The substitute goalie of Argentina, who was called in after the main goalie was injured, sucked big time.

I honestly have to express my disappointment at Argentina. Their skill warrants enough respect that they don't have to play dirty. ?Por que, Argentina? And what poor sports you have in your team. Germany won the game fair and square. No need to brawl.

I watched the game in a cafe located inside Jena's Rathaus (town hall). In my white shirt and Deutschland flip-flops, I cheered for Germany. Behind us was a hilarious group of senior citizens who were so engrossed at the game. These young chaps thumped tables and sported viking hats, a funny sight indeed. In the streets of Jena, I was accosted by a group of drunken middle-aged men, who shook my hand as people sing-song screamed "Finale! Oooh! Cantare! Oooh!" People hollered and honked their car horns an hour after the game. In Germany, this is an arrestble offense, but the police gave the offenders a reprieve. A woman in her car gave me the thumbs-up sign as she honked at anything and anybody." A boy living next door shouted "Detschland!" at random people.

Don't cry for your team, Argentina. You did well.

In Memoriam

Most of us have heard of the brutality of Nazi Germany. The first real education I got about that time was when I acted in a play in my university. In it, I portrayed a German scientist who relished her work in finding a way to burn bodies more effectively in pyres. She was a dispassionate observer, who had no interest in the war or the reasons of it. She marveled in the science of fire.

But it never really hit home. Weimar, 20 kilometers out of Jena, hosts the Buchenwald concentration camp. Home of the SS, and site of the massive death, suffering, and starvation 250,000 political prisoners, Jews, homosexuals, and gypsies. Last Wednesday Julia took me to the camp, a depressing place that settled heavily in my heart.

I did not bring a camera with me, and I would have preferred not to, anyway. The beauty of Weimar was a chilling setting for the nastiness humans can inflct, and continue to inflict, on each other.

After watching a short film about life in the camp (yellow stars for Jews, red stars for political prisoners, and pink stars for homos), we went on a sobering tour of what still remains of the camp.

We went into a hall of 26 bunkers, where political prisoners were kept. They frequently committed suicide, choosing what they felt was a more dignified death than the slow hunger of the that killed the other prisoners around them. Prisoners strangled each other so they can get a bigger share of potato peels. Outside, the SS officers and their families frolicked in a zoo that they forced the prisoners to build.

Buchenwald is a place of memorials. Some of the cells contained photographs and a short biography of the tenants, placed by their families in memoriam. In another room, paper cranes, a symbol of peace, are placed on a bed.

The crematorium was truly disturbing. The entrance contained an autopsy table, where the SS conducted "experiments" on the Jewish population. Jews and homosexuals were fair game in the camp. They were the first picked out for torture, and were consistenly chosen by the SS for the most humiliating, degrading acts. Political prisoners were allowed to become "guards" within the camp.

The basement contained a wooden chute where bodies were slid for storage. An elevator with the width of a human lengthwise carried the bodies up to the crematoriums, which burned 24 hours a day. A storage facility for bodies is filled with marble plates, giving names, and hopefully, a rightful burial for those that perished.

One stood out. From Luxembourg: "To our mother who survived the hell of Buchenwald."

The German legacy is checkered, punctuated by wars, power plays, everchanging borders and anti-semitism. I think that Germany has learned its lesson. Unfortunately, I believe the human race has not.

I was so burdened by Buchenwald that I was very careful to not allow any part of my body to touch the walls. I did not want to take the place's oppresive memories home with me. I slept fitfully that night, haunted by the ghosts of Buchenwald.

*Alter Schwede!

Germany is in a tizzy over 'Worldcupitis,' a term coined by footie fan Rene Enriquez



We caught the game at an open-air pub in Deggendorf. 130 kilometers away in Munich, over 100 thousand spectators gathered in an arena with bated breath. In the rest of Germany, Germans bit their nails in front of giant TV screens, in pubs and restaurants, cheering for Germany.

Sweden verus Germany, Germany won 2-0. Germany caught two points early in the game, psychologically breaking the Swedes, who never recovered after that shock. Homecourt advantage? I don't think so. I think the Swedes were beaten before they even begun.

The people were so funny, they were not there at the game, but they cheered like crazy when Lukas Podolski scored both goals for Germany. They uttered a collective sigh of disappointment when Germany came thisclose to scoring another goal, and clapped for the great effort. They even made a 'human wave'!

In Leipzig, 100 kilometers from Jena, Argentina battled against Mexico. It was the most brutal match I have ever seen! Compared to the frenetic match of Sweden and Germany, The match between Agentina and Mexico was almost like watching ballet. The footwork of the Swedes and the Germans looked like that of a lumbering schoolboy compared to the grace of the Argentinians! The long shots and amazing passes of the two teams drew the match out to an amazing 120 minutes!

The players were almost superhuman, like cartoon characters even. Players would collide in mid-air, their heads knocking together like two coconuts, and they emerged unscathed. Gallant warriors with busted knees were escorted out with applause. It's the Latin in them, you see. In the end, the Argentinaians won, a very close 2-1. The match was so close that 90 minutes into the game, both teams were still stuck in a 1-1 tie.

So now, Germany and Argentina are both headed to the quarterfinals, leading up to the championships in Berlin. I fear for Germany. Germany vs. Argentina this Friday. Argentina is no pansy, literally toying with their past opponets.

In streets across Germany, people honked their cars and proclaimed "Berlin! Berlin!
Wir farhren nach Berlin!"

* A German expression of disbelief, like "OhMyGod!" or "What the F***!" Literally means 'Old Swedish dude'

The Germanization of Cathy

My progressive and steady immersion into German society has been fun, queer, and frustrating for me, a hard-core English speaker. My transformation from Arashi-Kishu, PR Writer, cartoon voice dubber and independent woman, to Arashi-Kishu, poor German student, has been a strange trip so far.

I arrived in Jena after a long drive down the Autobahn. I was welcomed by Thomas' mother, whose English was even poorer than my sorry German. However, I was told that my German is already good, even better than some of the Turkish and Russian immigrants here in Germany.



It is as warm right now in Germany as it is in Manila, but the wind is not as humid. Summer temperatures in Germany remind me of Sagada.

Jena is very beautiful, and really green, reminiscent of photos of the French countryside. Jena is a bit my kind of town. It is very laid back. One can walk the streets barefoot, with no make-up, or dress practically in rags, and nobody would care. In the office, every day is casual Friday. People in Jena are deeply into sports and the outdoors. This university town prides itself with its glass and lens industry, and its share of intellectuals who call it home. If I would compare Jena to an American city, it would be somewhere in Colorado.

Thomas, me, and his mother at their summer house.

Germany is in the midst of World Cup fever. People huddle in front of giant screens in town squares, or at homes, nursing beers and wearing the German colors, even when nobody could see them.

First part of my immersion. Thomas said that I needed a backpack, like him, with waist support systems and all that jazz. Then, he decided that I needed flip-flops. World Cup commemorative sandals were on sale. I wanted Brazilian flips, but he would not hear any of it. I decided to give in because I think he would have been offended if I did not buy the German team slippers.

Next up is our search for a bicycle. Everyone here goes around in a bicycle. Thomas asked me whether I knew how to ride a bike, I said, Of course! So I took his mother's bike for a spin. He almost had a heart attack because I didn't follow 'the rules.' Shit, in Germany, even children need to pass a test to be able to ride a bike through the streets! How anal is that?

"Thomas, you asked me if I could ride a bike. I said yes, meaning I could propel a bike forward. But you never said anything about rules!"

I got a thorough lecture about German road rules after that. I will get my own bike next week.



This is Julia Blickhan, my sponsor and a lovely, lovely woman. She is a Greek engineer and English language teacher, married to a German kinetic scientist, and the mother of Thomas's best friend, Marko. She is like a second mother to Thomas. She is grown-up in a way adults rarely are anymore. She is a very positive role model. The moment I met her, I knew that I met my idol. Everything for her is 'excellent' and 'ganz toll.' The next day, we went to a place called 'Erdbereenland' and picked and ate strawberries to our hearts' content. The guy who collected the fees reminded me of Dana Carvey circa "Wayne's World." Funny.

The next day, we were off to Deggendorf, deep in Bayern (Bavaria) and where Thomas goes to University. I was priviledged enough to join Thomas's class in a team-building exercise, in cooperation with the German Bundeswehr (Army). The class pretended to be inhabitants of a foreign land, with funny customs, and the Army guys were supposed to teach us how to build a raft. We were supposed to learn team building, and the Army guys learned how to deal with inhabitants of a funny country with funny customs. We did the task by the muddy banks of the historic Danube River. Toll!



German Army men tapping the keg, which officially launches the after-raft building party, which was scheduled deliberately before the German game against Ecuador. Portable TV and shitty antenna be damned, we had to watch the game. Germany won 3-0, and I never had so many estatic soccer fans around me ever since I dated a footballer in UST. "Sh-la-la-la, shalalalalalalaaaa...." However, unlike my ex's friends, they were mostly drunk. Alexa, Thomas' classmate, said that this is the first time Germans allowed themselves to feel patriotic about their country since the Second World War.

We got free German Bundeswehr-issued energy drinks, sunblock, and insect protection lotion! Cool souveniers, if you ask me!



The Bavarians speak with a funny accent, with a hard tongue that I have to train my ears to understand. Herr Ang was right; everything separating Austria and Germany is artificial.

My immersion into the language has been exhausting. My ease switching between English and Tagalog had me thinking that I could snap my brain into another language easily. Ooooh boy. After speaking to Julia for an hour in English, my return to German-speaking society gave me a headache. Sometimes, I feel like I'm drowning in a sea of German, and I could not help but feel myself innundated. The constant stream of German is a tap I can't turn off. I have consistently been told that I speak great accent-free German, and nobody could believe that i had just learned the language three months ago.

I have learned slang, a complete departure from the bookish, proper German I learned from my amazing teacher, Herr Ang. My "Ich weiss nicht" is now "Keine Ahnung," and anything unusual is "Kommisch, oder?" My partizip II (the German way of expressing the past tense) has been reinforced. Before I came to Germany, even if I was told that Germans rarely use the simple past tense in their conversation, I insisted and persevered in drilling myself on it. Oh well.

I will start re-learning German next week, in my new language school, and open a bank account for myself here.

As they say in Bavaria (and Austria), "Servus!"

Auf Wiedersehen!

Thuringen: Das grüne Herz von Deutschland!

I am leaving on June 13, and will arrive at Frankfurt am Main the next day. Then off I go to Jena. My life since February has been in a tizzy because of all the preparations! Moving out of my flat, things to buy, German lessons, packing. Leaving a life is not my idea of fun :(

Sa mga ka-berks, I have a thing on Friday, 9 pm, sa Kapitolyo, Pasig. Last chance na natin to, e-mail or text me if you wanna join.

Auf Wiedersehen Manila! Bis Zwei Jahre!

Culture Vulture

So sue me, I am the artsy-fartsy type. I like going to plays, watching movies, going to exhibits, that sort of thing. I think that being a Libra has got something to do with it. My grandmother was also a great influence. She traded antiques during the 80s, and from her I gleaned a great appreciation for old knick-knacks and paintings. Its just sad that I don't have the same regard for music, unlike my father, who dabbles in visual art and rock and roll.

Photos

Two of the photographers I greatly admire today are Rene Enriquez and Juan Caguicla. They are so talented, it makes me weep with envy.

Rene's knack for composition is so amazing, his images are so clear. he has a great eye for timing, catching people off-guard and knowing just when to take the shot. A man asleep, children playing, an ephemeral butterfly landing at the lip of a small birdbath. quiet, unexpected moments as life unfurls. It helps that he is a painter. Painters are reputedly better photographers because they are formally trained in proportions, colors, shadows, that sort of thing.

I first encountered Juan's work during an exhibit that Elber put together last year. I was so amazed by the works of this man, how he plays with shadow and sepia, how it seems dated yet timeless. One of his photos was especially striking: A lonely tree seemingly ablaze in a dry field of brush, its leaves shimmering, disappearing. into the air. His work reminds me of the trompe-l'oeil movement of the mid 19th century, except this time, his photographs looked more like paintings than the paintings trying to look like photographs.

I accosted him later to congratulate his work and ask how he did it. He told me that he was dabbling with infrared film at the time, but he didn't have time to talk shop because he had to leave.

Juan currently has an exhibit at the Greenbelt 3 Mall, which would end on June 1. His exhibit called Parispace/Paristreet was commissioned by the Alliance Française, who sent him to Paris to uncover ordinary life existing along these amazing landmarks romanticized worldwide. I had to see it because I was interested at what Juan had to offer this time, and because already missed the Christian Lacroix exhibit.

I was not so impressed by most of this current collection. Perhaps I was caught off-guard because was used to his style of staged photographs that look amazing, not photos of pedestrians caught up in daily life. Catching a bird mid-flight as it hovers over the Louvre for me is not impressive. I liked the street-scenes in black and white better. I loved the very strong shadows of those pictures. It made me do a double-take and examine whether the photograph was taken in 1906 or 2006. I am interested how well Rene could have interpreted the same project, since this is more his genre.

Actors

Let us now move on to my crush of the moment, Daniel Brühl



This is Daniel Brühl. He is a German-Spanish hottie of an actor from acclaimed German/ European films such as Der Liebe in Gedanken, Joyeux Noel, and Goodbye Lenin. I am telling the 100 percent truth and not flattering my boyfriend when I say Thomas is 10 times more good looking than Herr Brühl. However, he has an intensity on film that I have yet to see in American or Filipino actors. I think the only time I have seen somebody with the same intensity was Nikolaj Lie Kaas in Reconstruction, an indigestible piece of Danish filmmaking that left me piecing together the fucking movie for days. Maybe I am just dumb like that.

Anyway, Thomas said that actors are self-absorbed assholes who completely in love with themselves. I agree. However, that will not stop me from attacking Herr Brühl and mawing at his chipmunk cheeks if I ever see him in the streets of Berlin. Please stop me.

Unfortunately for me, is engaged to this.



German actress Jessica Schwarz was once crowned Miss Teen Germany or something. They have been together since 2001. She is perfection. *sigh* A girl can always dream.

Coupling



I am a fan of the BBC show Coupling. Thank you Star World! The Kumars at Number 42 may be gone, but replacing it with Coupling is genius! BBC shows rawk. Seriously, the writing is so sharp and intelligent. It's so addctive, almost like crack, or granulated Milo. How can people compare it to Friends? It's more like Sex in the City. Star World, please continue to bring British shows to Asia! Too bad Coupling has ended. Jeff is really whack!

Pop that Cherry!

* Warning: Adult Content

During a recent Toastmasters seminar on injecting humor into a speech, the facilitator asked us to form groups and share our fears. He said that these fears will be great source material for humor.

You all know the geeky guy, right? There is one in every school, in every clique, in every office. The thin, lanky, most probably bespectacled one who is so wrapped up in his work/interests that he doesn't have time for girls. The one whom everyone predicts will be an old bachelor. Well, this particularly geeky guy admitted to the group that his biggest fear is that he'll wind up as "a 40-year old virgin."

Another discussion late Monday night with my roomates, over another geeky guy, made me wonder about the premium men put over virginity. I know that doing something for the first time is monumental, but I feel that this worldwide obsession at becoming somebody's "first" in the sack has more to do with the male ego than with actual "purity."

I did not particularly enjoy my first time. I did it more as a rebellion toward society, toward my Catholic upbringing that mandated that I remain "chaste" until I marry. I didn't buy that for one bit because I was surrounded by unhappy people who did everything right, who had sex upon marriage and followed everything that was supposed to make them happy. Yet, they ended up separated from their spouses, bitter and vindictive. I stupidly decided that this had to end. I must not be a virgin by age 20. Then I got a boyfriend when I was 19. A varsity soccer player in my school who was born and raised in Ghana, of Filipino descent. He was, uh, okay. He did the thing in increments, so as not to shock my system. I don't really know if he--or if I was any good. I just remember that it triggered in me a whirlwind of confusion that added to my already unstable mental state at the time. And this lasted for about three to four years of absolute craziness. I consider it a mistake on my part, but in hindsight, I think that it did a lot to help me "grow up."

I don't know if guys really enjoy popping cherries in a non-ego related way, but I don't really enjoy popping guy's cherries. Really, guy virgins are...hmmm. Weird.

One of my exes said that I was his first. He later proved to be a cheat and a liar so I don't really believe what he said. However, I have been the "second" of two guys.

The first one. I was 23. He was 19. He was a varsity arnis player for the green school along Taft. (haha!)With his trained, buff chest and arms from hours and hours of martial-arts stick fighting, he was really strong. We were both anime freaks.

I was impressed by his size. It was huge for a Pinoy! However, his gifts in the equipment department was unfortunately overshadowed by his lack of skills. He tended to move his entire body, not just his pelvis. You remember the Sex in the City episode where Carrie had a guy who was a "jackrabbit?"* Yeah, that. And he liked to flop his dense, muscular body on top of me after exhausting himself. I would lie there. As I felt myself slowly suffocate, I would strain to say "get off me *pant* please"

I tried coaching him. Later, with a pillow, I guided his hips, like a good teacher should. "Yes. please. use your pelvis. Only your pelvis. Hop along, thrust. Yes!" Apparently, he didn't take instruction very well. He accused me of stealing his mother's watch as his weird "escape option" because he couldn't bring himself to say "break na tayo." In retaliation, I did not return his comic book collection. Bwahaha.

The second guy also had the weird jackrabbit thing going as well. As we were knocking boots, the headboard started banging the wall so heavily, one would think that a jackhammer was demolishing the wall behind us. I lay there, and I was like hey, okay, relax! Thankfully for him, he actually asked what he should be doing, and he was a very good student. He actually developed into one of the best lovers I have had.

So in conclusion, virgin guys are usually so happy to be actually doing a woman that they think a vagina has the same qualities as their right (or left) hand. Be gentle, my dear virgin men. relax. Breathe. Rough sex does not automatically mean good sex!

*a jackrabbit is a guy who basically masturbates using a vagina instead of his hand.

Against My Skin

I never noticed it until Thomas pointed it out--I, and my fellow Filipinos--are racist against our own skin.

It elicited an outraged "What?" from me, and it led to one of our great cultural debates, where I began to see things from his perspective, and hopefully, his to mine. In the next couple of months, I slowly realized the sad truth behind his observation.

Before Thomas, I had gone out on a couple of dates with white guys, one was pleasant, one was not so. In my limited contact with foreigners, mostly Americans and Canadians, I was shocked with the condescending behavior most of them regarded Fiipinos. I really got on the defensive whenever they would buy me presents and treat me to dinners, because I also had this pre-conception at the back of my head that they might think that they were "buying" me.

I could not blame them, nor myself. In the Philippines, people discriminate against the women branded as "mukhang katulongs," or literally "a girl who looks like a domestic helper." There is an immediate pre-conceived notion that an Asian woman+Caucasian male= Mail order bride, or prostitute. As I mentioned in my 'Yan and Pinay post, I do not begrudge them for this sad economic reality, but the truth is, I really do feel that the YAP will only lead to further discrimination of Filipinas because we bought in to the discrimination. It is a no-win situation--Filipinos against Filipinos. It really is a situation that, I believe, we brought upon ourselves.

Thomas is really frustrated at my seeming reluctance to move to Germany. Of course, I am reluctant , because I have an entire life here in the Philippines that is not undesirable. But he pointed out something else--my belief that German embassy officials will make things hard for me because I am Filipino is clearly a chip on my shoulder, my belief that I will be treated less favorably because I am Filipino. Perhaps, he is right.

I see this discrimination even in my own family. My aunt's behavior of expecting Thomas to finance my life is clearly borne from this perception.

In my month-long travel around the country, people would impolitely assume that I met Thomas through the internet or through some pen-pal community. From Ilocos to Bohol, people would ask if I met him through a chatroom. Where? Could I go to this website? No matter how I explained that we met in the Philippines through work, no body would believe me. A tricycle driver in Vigan directly asked me through what web service did I meet Thomas, immediately assuming that we met through the internet, without even asking me how we met. When I told him that we met through work, my office was two buildings away from his he replied, "Aah...ganun. Anong gamit niyo, Yahoo o Hotmail?" (Oh. So what webservice do you use? Yahoo! or Hotmail?)

In the Visayas, people would ask me what penpal service I used to snag my man. It was hilarious, but very telling of the mentality of our countrymen. To them, I was not a Filipina. I was desperate to get wealthy. (Ha! If they only knew!)

In Carmen, Bohol, after camping on top of a Chocolate Hill, Thomas and I bought a coke from the store at the foot of the hill. The store-keeper, apparently alerted of Thomas' presence from the locals the night before, was obviously disappointed that he had company. "Ay, may kasama pala!" She them proceeded to introduce us to her sister and niece, both emerging from the front door with wet hair fresh from the shower. One of the girls came out with just a bathing towel on. Thankfully, Thomas expressed disinterest. Inside, I felt fury and mirth. Mirth because the situation was indeed funny. Fury because the woman was practically pimping her relatives! A look around their community, however, made me understand why they felt that a union with a white man is their only way out.

Because of my travels, I no longer begrudge the pairings of the young Pinay with the old white geezer. Hopefully, my mind will expand a little more if I leave of the country (temporarily!). When you think about it, it really benefits the country. Old men who would not get a second look in their country team up with young women who would never get a second look in our country create a better, and hopefully, a more loving life together. The world could always use a little love. If not, at least they can help populate the country with Assunta de Rossis.

OMG Amazing Race Scandal!

You know guys that I am a mucho Amazing Race effing junkie!!! I would've joined the damned thing if Thomas were here!!!

I am a devout reader of Michael K's D Listed blog and saw these amazing photos of the Hippie guys! Shit, I think they're the bomb and I would totally date them! They're so bouyantly weird!

And it seems that they're gay! OMG, Then I would really totally do them? GAAAAAH my fag-hag tendencies are coming to surface again!



According to MK, they were in a party after the race but before the airing!!!! Da sheeet!!! What kind of party is that?????



I mean, the frat boys, I think they're obnoxious, and my gaydar was going totally bling bling with them boys...but they ain't my type

Flux

I have so many stories to tell, yet it seems that I never have enough time to commit to tell them!

Seasons change. Friends come and go. Fashion, haircuts, jobs, apartments, impending relocations.

So many things have happened to me since I moved out of my parents in 2003.

I lost my favorite aunt. I got a part-time job. I met whom I hope is the love of my life. We toured the country. We taught each other things that we know eill alter us forever.

I hope that following my heart will lead me to places where I need to be. Wish me luck.

Cheer If You're Winning!

ZsaZsah Zaturnah Ze Muzikal!
CCP Tanghalang Huseng Batute



Filipino Comic book heroes have another wonder-man/woman in their esteemed roster! Here comes Zsazsah Zaturnnah! Ada, a gay beautician/ beauty salon owner from Smalltown, Anywhere, Philippines, becomes the mysterious recipient of a glowing stone that falls from the sky while he showers in his batalan. His hilarious sidekick/assistant beautician/flaming queen house mate, Didi, convinced that the stone is mystical and imbues a person with superpowers, talks Ada into swallowing the fist-sized rock and he promptly becomes…Zsazsah Zaturnnah! A 6-foot titan haired woman, with double D breasts and the powers to leap from tall buildings unscathed! Dodge bullets! Do super Kung Fu!

At first, Ada is bowled over by the fact that she has become a woman. But then a group of alien lady warriors called “Amazonistas”—Dina B., Sharon C., Nora A., and Vilma S., and their Queen, Femina, try to invade the earth by targeting their small town. They send a giant frog rampaging through the barangay. Ada knows that only ZsaZsah can save her town, and the earth, in an ultimate battle between good and razor-clawed, Celia Rodriguez-inspired evil Femina.

Ada/Zsazsa also has to deal with her burgeoning romance with Dodong, his hunky next-door neighbor. Can love triumph over social conventions? Will Zsazsa defeat the frog and the Amazonistas? And will she get the guy?

This deliciously campy comic book, released in 2003 by Carlo Vergara, created a stir among gay and straight comic-book aficionados, even becoming something of a mainstream hit. Its tongue-in-cheek humor, its steady pulse on 70s and 80s pop culture camp won over many readers despite its heavy use of swardspeak, which left some heterosexuals scratching their heads in incomprehension. When time came to bring Zsazsah to life, her exploits were turned into—what else? A musical!

Tanghalang Pilipino’s exuberant staging of Zsazsah shows how much fun the cast had during the staging. Lyricist, composer, and musical director Vincent De Jesus’ use of gospel and soul music, and the uplifting vocals of the chorus, provide just the right light-hearted treatment of this highly entertaining and outrageously gay musical. The collective crescendo of their voices is infectious; one can’t help but dance and clap along with them. Kudos goes to the production for the excellent casting, even of the small roles.

The cast had a grand time delivering the zingers in the script. Ricci Chan (of Magandang Umaga Pilipinas, most popular for his portrayal of Angel in the local production of Rent) is a scene-stealer as Didi, with his commanding vocals and balahura lines such as “Ikaw talaga, parang hindi ka sanay sumubo ng malaki!” In the hands of skilled Chan, he made the material shine its brightest.

Eula Valdez as Zsazsa, the gay Ada’s alter-ego, was a revelation. With this play, Amor Powers has proven that she can not only play api on screen; she can kick, act, and sing her heart out! Hats off to her, she really gave the performance her all, especially during some of the dramatic scenes. She has emotionally connected to her character. However, her portrayal lacked an indefinable je ne sais quoi. Perhaps, like Julie Andrews in the movie Victor, Victoria, it’s hard work if you’re a woman pretending to be a gay man. While Ada is a soft-spoken barrio bading, Valdez was still acting a bit too feminine for the part.

Kalila Aguilos as Femina plays the villain to the hilt. Her rendition conjures images of all of the istariray kontrabida actresses local cinema could muster. Her snooty faux-British accent, her raised eyebrow, her commanding portrayal of Femina is the icing of this deliciously pink cake. The final showdown between Femina and Zsazsa in an abandoned kakanin factory is hilarious!

Hopefully, Tanghalang Pilipino will re-stage Zsazsa for the scores of people who were unable to buy tickets to the sold-out show. TP didn’t anticipate the popularity of Zsazsa, the comic book and the musical. Perhaps, they will be accommodated in a theatre bigger than the 100-seat Huseng Batute Theatre. While director Chris Millado’s innovative use of the small space is commendable (especially with the use of Barbie dolls in the giant frog scene), the play would have benefited from a larger venue. Such close intimacy of the actors with the audience is not a necessary requirement for the material at hand.

Overall, the musical never hit a false note. It remained faithful to the comic book without sacrificing time, and with minimal changes in the story.

While non-Filipinos and expats may have a hard time catching the gay lingo and the Filipino pop culture references, it does not diminish the power and energy of the play about Ada, a small town bakla who, because of a giant stone from the sky, discovered that he had he heart of a lion.

* to be published in Asian Journal

Sagada High

Warning: Adult Content

Before we set off on our trip, my brother leaned over into our car and asked us, "Hey when you get to Sagada, can you score some pot?"

First off, I feel like I have to explain why this is okay for me, as an older sister to a younger brother. My relationship with my siblings may be hard to understand by outsiders. We are a very-close-knit set; we cover each other's asses. We party together, we support each other. We are really good friends.

We discovered sex, drugs, and all that jazz independently. We confide and seek advice with each other. We know our limits, and I know my brother isn't a pothead.

The mountains up north are famous for producing quality weed, and of course, just like my brother, I was curious as to why this was considered the best in the country.

We really enjoyed our trip up north. Crisp mountain air, small, artsy, laid-back community, amazing food and great restaurants, this was right up my and Thomas' alley.

Thomas, like me, also enjoys the occasional joint. When we got there, he was also eager to sample the goods. I was reluctant to ask around for a score, so Thomas did the asking. We didn't have to go very far.

As we suspected, where there was smoke, there was a joint. On our second night there, we returned to *Bonfire Inn, where we had dinner the first night. We were greeted at the entrance by two teenaged kids making merry with liquor, who offered us a swig of their Tanduay. We refuse, as we raise the bottle of tapuy (rice wine) we brought with us. Instead, Thomas asked if they knew where to get something "to smoke."

"Oh, just go inside and ask for *Janice. She works for the restaurant inside."

So off we go and hunt for Janice. A few moments later, she materializes and she immediately understands what we want from her.

She took us to a dark corner, and produced a wad of tissue from her bosom. Gingerly unfolding the fabric, she says that her hash is P 500 for 10 grams. "I have good stuff, good stuff," she assures us, when we question the price.

After the purchase, we go back to the boys. They ask us if we were able to purchase something. We nod. Alwin and Mark. Alwin studies in the local high school, while Mark is a university student in Baguio. The examine our block, sniff it. Yes, this is a fresh harvest. We invite them to sample it with us.

We didn't have any paper with us, but they had cigarettes. Mark demonstrated a technique that I could not perfect. With his lighter, he burned off a corner of the stone, which later crumbled after pinching it off. Then he heated the cigarette stick, loosening the tobacco inside. After emptying the cylinder into his palm, he mixed the hash and the tobacco leaves, then scooped the mixture back into the paper vial. He is very adept at the skill.

I inhale during my turn. Heavy smoke fills my lungs, and the sweet aftertaste of the hash ring my lips. With each puff, my eyelids grow heavy, and words begin to fail me when I try to form sentences.

A man approaches us from the opposite side of the fence by the entrance. He offers us weed, saying that he has a fresh harvest. We negotiate--P 200 for 10 grams. He says he has to go home to get the merchandise.

Alwin creates another stick. After sharing the second joint, Mark begins to utter gibberish. Alwin apologizes for his friend; he's been drinking since 8 pm. Thomas, Alwin, and I take alternately take a swig of either tanduay or tapuy.

In the middle of the conversation, Mark suddenly falls silent. We leave him, thinking that he was trying to collect his wits. He suddenly falls on his side, on the grassy earth. Clutching his stomach, he vomits. Thomas says that he is puking in the right position; no need to worry about choking.

The man returns, and produces dried stuff that fills half of a small plastic bag. He also gives us a fresher batch "for free," wrapped tightly in paper like a giant ball of candy. We thank him for the stuff, and leave Alwin. "Take care of your friend, make sure he gets home," says Thomas as we wave goodbye.

The next day, we buy rolling papers from an artsy cafe in the mountain town. We ask for advice how to take it back home, fearing random inspections from police. You'll have to try your luck, says the storekeeper, there is no surefire way to prevent it.

Back to earth, during my brother-in-law's last night in the city, Thomas and I, My sister and her husband, and my brother sit in a circle and enjoy a joint--three joints, as perhaps our parents had, enjoying the smoke, the cameraderie of friendship and relations. The pot mixture turns out to be too strong for Thomas, and I help him back to bed.



NikkiAlfar

Tobie Abad

Gabby Lee

Andre Mischa Cleofe

*Name has been changed

Infamy

To understand what this post is about, first you have to read this

Done? Good.

Now I am amazed at the ripples that some of my actions cause. Last Thursday, My friends from the younger set of the Executive Toastmasters Club decided to go out for some drinks after the meeting. I was coaching Lyra, one of our newest members, on how to pick a topic for her Speech number two for her basic manual (hehe, TM geek-speak).

The discussion drifted to places where we can go hang out outside of TM, and she mentioned that she goes to the annual Cosmo Bachelor's bash as a panata (personal vow). Leslie and I were not able to go because we weren't able to score tickets, plus, Thomas and I went to Marinduque for the weekend.

"But I did attend the 2004 bash. In fact, I went up the stage for one of their contests," I noted.

"Oh yeah? I was there too! Who were you there?"

"I don't know if you'd remember, but I joined the lick-the-chocolate-syrup off the model contest."

"Oh my God! Who were you there?"

"I was the girl who made the model lie down..."

And she lets off this shriek, "OH MY GOD! YOU WERE THAT GIRL!!! YOU'RE INFAMOUS!" and she starts laughing her head off.

In an excited voice, she tells me that the 2005 party was boring, and I spiced up the 2004 party, asked me what the hell I was thinking, blah blah.

And here is the kicker! "Ohmygod, my girlfriends and I were debating whether or you were a tranny!

And I had the biggest laugh of the month! I get it all the time, and all because of the same reason she gave. "Because we weren't sure if there was really a girl who would have the guts to go do what you did!"

"Actually I went backstage after that and spoke to the other male models. They were all shocked at what you did and they all felt sorry for the model. They felt that he was exploited!"

A kick in the head, eh? Should I say go girl power?

I retort, "Hello, the felt exploited? This was a party where they had male models gyrate in cages!"

"Oh my God, I can't wait to tell my friends that I met that infamous girl from the Bachelor's Bash.

Dammit, and I still have leftover mouthwash to prove it!

---------

On another note, Michael (aka Basang Panaginip )has compiled a list of the sexiest bloggers in the blogosphere. And yes, I am on that list! I even ran into an old college classmate. Read his selection, he has led me to some blogs that I now read avidly. Thanks for picking my blog, I am so flattered! I guess my name does indeed live in infamy!