Feeling the Heat in Vegas

This was taken at the rooftop (8th floor) of the parking garage for the hotel. David rented a car.

It was close to midnight when we arrived at the Mirage. As we descended the escalator, coming from the parking building, to walk past the lobby, the deafening beat of dance music greeted us. We were astounded by the number of young men and women falling in line, waiting for their turn to get into the nightclub.

The spectacular waterfalls.

So, our curiosity notwithstanding David, my sponsor, and I stood in a corner and watched the people squeezed on a file. An elderly couple stood nearby. I heard the woman say, “I cannot believe there’s a long line to get in to this club at this hour.”

“What kind of dresses do these girls wear?” was the reply.

“There must be a convention going on,” the old lady cannot contain her curiosity.

“Yeah, a convention of whores,” the old man said.

Okay, there was no need for the old folks to feel sorry for the kids. Afterall, Vegas’s sweltering heat was inevitable. The temperature rose to 114 degrees Fahrenheit. It was just understandable that

This was actually taken early in the morning. By 9 a.m. the pool was packed you'll not find a spot.

the girls should wear dresses that will make Tim Gunn scream. But the fashion guru will understand that if you just had a boob-job and hair removal done there is a certain guide to style. If you paid for it, flaunt it (taking a cue from Dr. 90210).

One of the marvels of the Mirage pool.

It was a Saturday, the fourth day of our 8-day vacation in Vegas when we witnessed the scene. We just got back from watching “Mamma Mia,” a musical based on the ABBA’s song, at the Mandalay Bay; purchasing the ticket at a sale price at the Fashion Show mall. We’ve spent hours of “deliberation” that day on what to do. It proved to be worthy endeavor even if we swerved through the streets going to the hotel. David hates driving at nighttime.

The next day, we learned in the news that Leonardo DiCaprio was at the hotel’s BARE pool a day before while we were at the common pool. Leo was also at the same nightclub I mentioned earlier that night. No wonder the girls were wearing their “finest” clothes. Also, Helen Mirren was at a restaurant in Caesar’s Palace, just a walk away from our hotel. We were planning that day to visit Caesar’s but abandoned the idea, opting to spend time in the pool, to cool off as the Vegas’s desert heat was its highest. I am not crazy about these stars but it would have been nice to see how they look like in person. In Altanta, Georgia, while going to our terminal we saw Fantasia Barrino being guided into a private passage by an airport staff. We did not dare shout for her name as we were afraid of her bodyguard.

On Friday, we visited Hoover Dam and explored this engineering

Families and couples enjoy the cool water.

marvel without getting dizzy of its height (though I have to calm down David who is afraid of heights). As we were just between the boundary of Nevada and Arizona, I took the opportunity to step on the Arizona soil. You know, to brag to everyone that I’ve been to Arizona even just for 15 minutes. Later that night we went to see Lance Burton’s magic show at the MonteCarlo Hotel.

Knowing David is not someone who’d stay at one place, we drove to Ethel’s Chocolate Factory the day we arrived in Vegas. As usual we lost our way. We only realized it as we saw vast area of desert land and not a soul in sight. With my incompetence with the map, David used his common tactic - ask for directions from the first person he sees. It turned out that we were heading in the opposite direction. We breathed deeply after finding the factory, where M&M’s and other popular chocolates were being made. After downing a big bowl of chocolate ice cream at the visitor’s lounge and gift shop, we visited their marvelous cacti garden.

Although The Mirage is as busy as an anthill, its 24-hour casino in the lobby was none of our interest. I’ve never seen so busy a hotel in all my life. Well, except for the hotel and casino in Montreal, Canada. We busied ourselves watching shows and going to sites. At the Treasure Island we watched Mystere. It was probably the most spectacular show I’ve ever seen. The Cirque du Soliel performers were outstanding. Then there’s Madame Tusaud’s at The Venetian Hotel were I got to meet Hollywood stars; getting the chance to talk with Oprah and Larry King. We also took the time to visit old Vegas, where most of the old time movies were shot, and ate at the Four Queens Hotel. Food-hunt was an indulgence as we prefer buffets. Before heading for home we visited the Red Rock Mountain. It was the most marvelous stone formations in Vegas.

There’s no place like Vegas. The sweltering heat is only matched by the glitter and glamour of the casinos and hotels. But what I know is, as I heard a man say, “Vegas is no place to raise a family.” It maybe the place to retire or do business but never would it appeal as a family-oriented place.

(published in Sun.Star Bacolod, Sept. 25, 2007)

Bonjour, Montreal

The day David, Pam and I drove to Montreal, Canada last week, it was raining. It was raining buckets, the kind that plants prayed for after weeks of scorching heat. It is summer in the Americas. But we, eager travelers, persisted. David and Pam, formerly Mrs. Rodrigues (no relation), took turns driving the car.

It was one of David and Pam's spur-of-the-moment vacation decisions. It was the same as last time they decided to go to New York City on a Friday evening after discussing the possibility to visit the Big Apple while eating lunch at a local restaurant. The trip to New York City happened during early spring, just as the snows were melting and plants were waking up from a deep winter’s slumber. The trip to Montreal was not a first choice. Because it is summer and a 10-hour trip to Washington, DC, their first choice, proved to be to far away, they agreed to connect with Montreal instead. After all, my Canadian visa expires this August, so the trip was worth it. David and I had just been to Toronto where we greatly enjoyed the African Lion Safari, found fear and fun in the rides at Canada’s Wonderland and witnessed the Toronto Pride Parade. Two of the pictures I took of the safari - the elephants doing their tricks and the pink flamingos - were published earlier in this paper. The caption, however, indicated that the safari was in Australia. The safari is in Vaughn, Ontario, Canada. I didn’t make the caption nor was I aware that the pictures were to be published.

We left Rochester at about 7 in the morning. At about noon we arrived at Alexandria Bay, New York hoping to catch a boat ride to visit the Thousand Islands. However, the rain hindered our plans. Disappointed, we decided to traverse the boundary. We left America with a heavy heart, praying that the weather would be better on the Canadian side. It wasn't. It poured like a baby crying to be fed.

We stopped at a tourist information center to secure maps and ask for directions. We were thankful that the information officers were cordial enough to show us directions because Canada is a pretty big place. We also learned that you can make hotel reservations through the information center agents. They give you discounts too.

Before heading for Montreal we visited several lovely places, mainly Gananoque (where we tasted some fine Canadian pastries) and Kingston where a horrifying thing happened to David (I’ll tell you about it next time).

One thing you need to take note of before heading to Montreal, Canada – learn how to speak some elementary French. You’d never feel left out and disoriented when somebody greets you “Bonjour, Monsieur!” and talks to you in French. Good thing David, my sponsor, speaks French, while Pam speaks Italian. Me? I just happen to like French and Italian dressings. Most of the street names, directions, literatures are in French. Hello, if I’d known that we were to visit the place I would have enrolled in a class where KC Concepcion took her French language lessons. I’m just kidding guys.

Montreal is where David should leave his heart because of the old buildings and architecture, especially churches. While David likes old buildings, Pam likes aged wines. We also did hotel hopping. Later we ended up in a nice hotel at the heart of Montreal’s Chinatown. Yes, after being mistaken as Chinese, we settled at a Chinatown hotel complete with the Chinese architecture and ornaments. I made a little Kris Aquino investigation – you know, locating the ba gua mirror. The hotel has a Chinese-inspired pond in the lobby, aligned according to Feng Shui. Good thing, Pam wasn’t able to bring her fishing poles or she would have fished out the carps (you have to pay CND$40 for a fishing license in Canada). However, the place proved to be the place to enjoy as it is close to the convention center, city hall, Old Montreal, malls, port, museums, and train and bus terminal.

Aside from admiring the magnificence of Notre-Dame Basilica and Mary Queen of the World Cathedral-Basilica, we fell in love with the splendor of Old Montreal. Good thing the next three days while we were in Montreal the sun showed up. It wasn’t fun going from one basilica to another under the rain. The visit to Montreal Casino was a learning experience for me, too. The casino-hotel provides free shuttle to visitors and coffee to those who aren’t afraid to stay awake for three days pushing the buttons of the slot machines. There was an old man who stood beside a slot machine and pushed the slot machine’s button as if he is tired of life. I told Pam that the man might have been sitting for a week in front of the machine and he needed some exercise. Think of it guys, the casino is open 24 hours, the coffee is free, you just use your credit card… all you need is to use your index finger. You have to give credit to the old man. I wonder how much money he spent on those slot machines?

Sunday morning we took a boat cruise to see some of the areas in Montreal. It was, however, not as magnificent as the boat cruise we took when we where in Bangkok, Thailand two years ago. Even so, the brunch was good. We also witnessed Montreal’s Just for Laughs Festival. It has been going on for 25 years. We were lucky enough to witness the highlights which were performed in the evening. The parade was special in that it highlighted entertainers
who have made people laugh through the ages.

After Montreal we went on tour around the Thousand Islands in Alexandria bay. The tour guide was fabulous in narrating the stories about each island we passed, cracking jokes along the way. If you want to take the tour, never forget to visit the Boldt Castle. There is a wonderful but sad story behind the building of the castle.

Two weeks from now we are off to Las Vegas, Nevada to watch magician, Lance Burton, perform and see Mystere (Cirque de Soliel) performers. I am sure there will be other exciting things to reveal to you soon about our trip to Las Vegas.

[published in Sun.Star Bacolod, August 3, 2007]

The China Syndrome

The banquet was over. Everyone was leaving the room, except for several people who stayed for a little chit-chat, you know, that do-I-know-you-from-somewhere talk. I saw an elderly lady trying to unknot a balloon string from a vase. The balloon was a bright metallic blue with a nice print on it. I thought an old lady must think it nice enough to give to her grandchild.

Another lady approached one of the members of the catering staff and asked what were they going to do with the beautiful flowers in the vases.

“They must be of the hybrid kind. They stayed fresh even after the program ended,” she said. The wait staff replied, “Ma’am, they’re made of plastic.” They both laughed.

After several minutes I noticed the other lady was still trying to untie the string. I approached her and offered my help. It took me about two minutes to undo the knot. During that time her husband came over. He said, "It’s a noble thing for you to do that." I just smiled.

I gave the balloon to the little old lady.

She said, "Thank you. It was nice of you to come here all the way from China."

Oops! That made me pause for a while. I actually raised one of my eyebrows, but held on to my charming smile. I told her I am not from China, but from the Philippines. She laughed at herself, the kind one hears from someone who isn’t sure how to react. But her husband got excited. He revealed to me that they had been in the Philippines years ago. He was at a conference, teaching ministers. I didn't ask him if he's a pastor or not. He said they also visited Mindanao, but were advised to leave the place because of a threat to security. Well, yeah, I said, one way to promote tourism.

Later, when I came home I told David, my sponsor, about the incident. He laughed. But I cannot contain myself. I went to the bathroom and looked at my face in the mirror. I don't look like Chinese nor do I walk like one. David’s friends have been asking me if I could tell an Asian man is Chinese or Japanese by the way he walks. I said I can’t, but I told them that you can tell that it was me from afar by the way I walk.

I love eating at the Chinese buffet here because of the wide variety of dishes served, but that hasn't turned me into a Chinaman. Though I guess it has given me a few more pounds to carry around the campus.

Not that I don’t want to be associated with the Chinese community, I have lots of Chinese friends. However, China has dominated the world; you will see Chinese and China made products everywhere. They don’t need another chap like me. I am proud of my Filipino-Spanish lineage. Although I am the only descendant of the Rodriguez family I know who has a flat nose. As a teenager I kept on bugging my parents to tell me the truth – am I adopted? I would ask. They of course were disturbed by my question and would frown at me.

I use items here that are made in China. Well, most of the items here are made in China – you name it. It may be clothes, electronic and dry goods, China makes it. When an American finds an item that says on the bottom "Made in USA" they jump as if they found an antique object. At a recent guided tour David and I took in Buffalo, New York, the guide was telling the members of the tour about America’s economy doing well when some of the old ladies said, “Yeah, everything we see now in the US are made in China.” Recently, several items that are made in China like toothpaste and pet food were taken off the shelves in grocery stores. It was a big deal that an official in China has issued a statement defending China-made products. But that’s not my point here. I am trying to figure out why I am being linked as Chinese.

After several thoughts I figured out that I am the biggest fan of kung fu movies. My favorite movies are Kung Fu Hustle and Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. I like
Jet Li, who is Chinese, when he showcased his wushu, long fist, empty-hand techniques in his Wong Fei Hong movies.

I maybe the next Karate kid. What do you think?

[published in Sun.Star Bacolod, August 1, 2007under my column, The Mago Generation]

On the same date one of the pictures I submitted for consideration was published online. However, the caption was wrong (though I provided the correct captions for each pictures). The little castle is not Boldt Castle but its storage house for the castle's generator. It would have been nice if the SSB people submitted the picture I took of the Boldt Castle and not the powerhouse. Sigh (as in "a neverending sigh").

Life and Death

ROCHESTER, NEW YORK - It is remarkable listening to elderly people talking about life and death. Every time I have the opportunity to visit the nursing home where David volunteers or at an elderly housing apartment where some of his friends live, I take time to communicate with them. They are delightful to talk with. They listen to what you are saying, watch their manners and give insights on life. Everyone has a story to tell.

For a number of times David and I attended dinners hosted by a church in the city. The dinner is being held once a month and most of the attendees were elderly people. It is one of the events they look forward to attending as they meet other elderly folks. I am delighted that they never fail to include me in their conversation. Some of them, I am glad to know, have visited the Philippines or have Filipino in-laws. They would ask about a particular island or if Imelda Marcos is still alive. Others are curious about our weather, which is a typical element in American conversation.

These folks, whose ages range from their early 70s to 100s, would talk about death. One lady would open up about someone whose name she saw in the local daily’s obituaries, and that will spruce up the discussion. They treat death as a friend, not an enemy. One lady would tell the group as to where her ashes will be put into after her body is cremated, while another would say that she has her tombstone already placed at the cemetery where she will be buried. Sounds creepy, isn’t it? But these folks talk about death in a passionate and lively manner that you’d feel that dying is not a terrible thing.

One time, I heard one person say, “Don’t ever let her sing in my funeral. God, I would get out of my coffin if that happens,” referring to a lady who sings in church where he goes to.

* * *

One person whom I admire and have come to know is Frieda Neubert. At the age of 102 she still can do household chores on her own. Her mind is sharp and alert. She can tell the names the more than 10 stuffed toys her grandchildren and great-grandchildren have given her. She can also tell you what you talked about the last time you met.

Frieda was born in the Province of Prussia (not Persia as I have written earlier). As an immigrant she is a witness to America’s history. Whenever we get the chance to talk, I never fail to ask her about her insights on life.

One time she talked about being alone. She said she has been alone for more than 25 years after her husband died, but she doesn’t feel lonely. What is there to be lonely about when you have friends, she said. She has never whined about making it on her own after her husband passed away because nobody, she said, will help you.

She said, “You can be alone but not feel lonely. You have friends to turn to. Enjoy their company. You can be in a room full of people and still be alone.” Another time she told me that I can choose whoever I want to listen to. It is up to me how to do it. She said in order not to get into an argument with some people whose views are different from hers she turns off her hearing aid.

What a marvelous idea.

* * *

Last May 30th, I attended a mass of remembrance for Dr. Leo Yballe held at the Linehan Chapel in Nazareth College.

I don’t know Professor Yballe nor was I aware that a Filipino had taught at the college since 2000 until I saw the news and read the press release from the college’s Web site. Nazareth is just a walking distance from David’s house so we decided to attend the service in honor of the educator.

Yballe, according the college’s Web site, taught undergraduate and graduate courses in the school’s Management Department. He died of a motorcycle accident while visiting his family in Cebu, the press release said.

In his eulogy, Nazareth History Professor Tim Thibodeau said Yballe was an unassuming man who was passionate about his profession. Yballe had a broad welcoming smile, an infectious laughter and keen intellect, he said.

After the ceremony, friends, colleagues and former students shared cheers and tears while talking about their beloved professor. Yballe had taught in various colleges and universities in the Philippines and in the US.

To the family of Professor Yballe, my sincerest condolences.

* * *

At the reception after the Mass, I met two Filipinos who have been living in Rochester for many years. Mr. Genaro Felix, a native of Manila, was cordial enough to introduce me to the other Filipinos living in Rochester. After exchanging pleasantries, I came to know that Mr. Mar Doromal, president of the Filipino-American Association of Rochester, is from Bacolod City. Baw, grabe ba.

After learning that I am from Mansilingan, he opened up that their high school reunion (NOHS) in 2008 will be held somewhere in Mansilingan. Will it be at the Panaad site?

It will not be the last that we will be seeing each other. Both are active in the association and have invited me to attend one of their functions.

Surely, it is just a small world. You’ll never fail to find Filipinos in every nook and corner of the globe.

(Published in Sun.Star Bacolod June 02, 2007 under my column, The Mango Generation)

Porn in the library

ROCHESTER, NEW YORK - A forum among Monroe County residents was recently held for them to speak out their view on whether patrons of the Central Library of Rochester should be allowed to view inappropriate or pornographic Web sites.

The issue has been the buzz in Rochester after Monroe County Executive Maggie Brooks threatened to pull funding from the Central Library after a television report showed library patrons viewing pornography in the Central library. Patrons can request librarians to allow them access to Web sites that are being blocked by the library's filtering system. The filtering system sometimes blocks topics like breast cancer and sexual assault. Some patrons, on the other hand, are not browsing thru reference sites, but porn.

Brooks' warning prompted the library officials to temporarily prohibit patrons from unblocking inappropriate or pornographic Web sites until the issue is resolved. There is after all a US$6.6 million funding at stake and without sufficient funds there is the possibility of closing the library.

It would be a sorry loss to have the library closed; especially in that it is a nice place. The library is divided into two sections - the old and new building, separated by a road. However, an underground passageway links the two buildings. It is what I like most about the place, aside from the huge collection they have.

The debate however deals with the legality of viewing pornographic materials in a public place. From what I've heard from Americans discussing this issue they are citing the First Amendment rights, giving them the privilege to gain access to Web sites and to information. Others say, on the other hand, that it is okay to view explicit materials on the Net as long as children are not involved. However, other residents have also spoken out that it is inappropriate to view this kind of material, especially as it is in a public place and there is the risk of exposing children to these sites.

We had a debate on this issue in one of my classes. Some of my classmates argued that it is just okay and that there are many other issues that need to be addressed. Others wondered what kind of people have the guts to view such porn sites in a public area. They should view such materials in their homes. Oops, I haven't said that there is no Internet café in Rochester.

I asked my professor if viewing of porn sites in the library is not illegal then why aren't there any porn videos on the shelves. He said porn videos are more of personal materials rather than resources, though it is not illegal to distribute such materials in the US. That is why there are stores exclusive for their distribution. I again asked, if I am a collector of adult materials will I be allowed to donate these materials to the public library if it's not illegal? He said, this is a matter of Constitutional debate and needs further review by the court.

When I had the opportunity to watch several documentary videos on cable TV about human sexuality, a topic that is still controversial when discussed on Philippine TV, I understood the psychology of man's need to be exposed to materials and events that are considered "explicit". One of the videos featured a store that sells sex aids. The amazing thing is customers can try the equipments being sold, with the assistance of the store clerks! The clerks would ask the patrons if they were satisfied the products or if they would want to try another. Now, how good is that? Another feature showed men and women attending strip shows. Of course, those who are involved in the features were interviewed. They were no non-sense topics appropriate for adults! Imagination is the key element here. After all, sex is part of human life.

The libraries in the schools I go to, postings on computers remind students that browsing thru porn sites is inappropriate, read "inappropriate" not illegal. However, who has the backbone to view these explicit materials while other students are around? They'd rather have "fun" during Spring Break.

The issue got me into thinking - if this happened in the Philippines, how would people react? I was imagining those in the church issuing statements, condemning such acts. I never heard any church authorities in Rochester issuing remarks on this controversy. The issue is the state's problem not the churches. I haven't seen a more religious people than these Americans. The Church is a big thing here. However, they also believe in the separation of church and state. And they make it sure that it is imposed. That is why a forum was called (I heard another set of consultation are being planned) so that the people can decide on it.

One of my favorite shows is "Birthday" which is being aired on Discovery Health Channel. Women giving birth are featured. On how labor and delivery take place are shown. The women's parts are usually exposed, but I find it inoffensive. There is beauty and delight watching family members reduced to tears after the delivery of a new member of the family. However, it got me wondering how "moralists" in the Philippines would view this show. They'll probably troop to the Congress and demand that the show be cancelled or edited. It was as if they were ashamed of how they were born. I wonder if computers were installed in Bacolod City Public Library will patrons be allowed to view adult material? Will they be considered resource materials? After ll, sex is seldom discussed at home. Can we say that it is immoral to view adult materials? Are "sexy" materials inappropriate? What is the dimension of morality? Who should decide as to what materials we should view?

(Published in Sun.Star Bacolod April 04, 2007 under my column The Mango Generation. Cited in City Newspaper)

The Sad Art of Shoveling Snow

Rochester, New York – I thought winter season is over, I was wrong. Snow flurries dropped for the past few days and the winter chill has prompted me to wear four layers of clothes again. A week ago the climate was like summer. The snows have melted; red-breasted robins, red cardinals and blue jays were out. Even the squirrels have started to forage for the nuts they buried in the fall. Most people have staring wearing their spring clothes, only to be disappointed when meteorologists reported that the temperature would drop twenty to thirty degrees for two weeks. That means back to the closet and rummage for sweaters, mittens and scarves. I was lucky enough to purchase a few scarves and bonnets during the Masskara Festival two years ago, before my departure to the US.

It was in November last year when the first snow shower came. But it was only for a day. Winter didn’t arrive here until January. I was ecstatic on my first experience with snow. Now, it has just become a daily occurrence.

Most Filipinos think winter is cool. No, it is cold! I think of Christmastime in the Philippines where malls and malls are decorated with fake snow, snowflakes made of Styrofoam adorn Christmas trees. It wasn’t always fun being under an environment colder than the refrigerator. Filipinos think it’s sissy for men to put on lip balm. But it is a necessity here, least you want to end up with cracked, bleeding lips because of the cold weather.

Winter limits one’s mobility. Unless you are physically fit to walk around the city under piercing chill, layers of clothes and the possibility of nosebleed, then good luck. I would have sworn if I didn’t have the patience and perseverance, like waking up at 5:30 in the morning to shovel the snow in the driveway to prepare a way for the car. I take the bus to school and Mr. Smith was kind enough to drop me off the bus stop. It is sad as I travel four hours to and from school three times a week. I don’t mind that, but with the weight brought about by the clothes I wear and baggage I carry, I get backaches all the time. Especially that my textbooks are so thick and I have to carry with me a portable DVD player to watch the films that were required in one of my courses on the way to school. It has been a habit of David to wait for me to board the bus before going home. One day he has to depart early and left me standing in the snow. The bus driver, while I was dropping the bills in the machine for an all day pass, asked me with a surprised look, “Where’s your car?” And we both laughed. I am also glad that he’d let the bus kneel when I step on board. Drivers would let the right front side of the bus deflate to help passengers who have special needs or those who are weight-challenged get off safely.

Walking under the wintry spell isn’t a pleasant experience, especially for students at school. I basically hate walking from one building to another to get to another class when it snows. Cold weather restricts me from visiting the school library. It is so far away that you need to have a car to get to it. Unless if you are brave enough to walk across the field or walk thru the overpass leading to the library. The distance from the student union, where I stay most of the time because it is like a hotel, to the library is like from Bacolod cathedral to the city hall. I was thinking of starting a trisikad business at school, but thought of the predicament I’m facing. There is no way I could pedal away with passengers weighing 200 to 300 pounds.

Families are compelled to stay at home than step outside in the cold. David’s 102-year-old lady friend has once said she misses the time when children would come out in the yard and build snowmen or put on the sleigh to have some fun. Now children and youth, she said, are too busy with the home entertainment system. Though with the coldness, American couples to have only one or two kids, and probably a dog and a cat. One Sunday, even if it was cold, David and I visited a lady from church in her home. She invited us for lunch. Her daughter has a big Great Dane that kept on leaning on me and I had to hold on to my feet or I’d fall. I have never seen a huge dog such as that before. It could tower me if it stood on its feet. But it proved to be a great companion in the winter as its body can be used like a hot compress.

Winter, however, didn’t stop us from watching movies and meet interesting people. It was nice to know that the director of “The Painted Veil” lives somewhere in our village. We’ll scout for the location in the summer. It was also revealed to me that one of the persons I know at church is a former speech writer of the late President Gerald Ford. Another person earlier approached me and introduced himself as a former navy officer who saw action in Leyte during the World War II. “We were bombing the shore to clear the way for Gen. Douglas MacArthur,” he said. I was amazed!

To keep me busy while staying inside the house, I’ve been watching reruns of a documentary over Discovery Health about a Rochester woman who underwent six-organ transplant. She has not eaten for 14 years because of a rare intestinal disease. She weighed about 70 lbs at the time of her operation. Surgeons had to take out her stomach, large and small intestines, pancreas, liver and gall bladder and replace them with new ones. The surgeons had to leave her belly empty for about half hour while waiting for the organs to arrive as they were being shipped from the another state. Now, she’s able to eat real food and live normally. I am yet to watch the documentary I taped of Carl and Clarence Aguirre about their famous separation. It was a detailed explanation of how the operation was done and interviews with prominent people.

(Published in Sun.Star Bacolod April 09, 2007 under my column, The Mango Generation)

Dark Days for 'American Idol' (Fast Forward)

AJ Tabaldo need not prove his worth in American Idol. Despite being booted out of the competition, eventhough he gained good reviews from the Idol judges and several critics, Tabaldo is a sure winner in everybody's heart. AMERICAN IDOL WEBSITE PHOTO

NEW YORK - If there’s anything that has spurned debates in American entertainment news today it is the consistency of America’s selection as to who will be the next “American Idol.” What triggered the issue was the day Filipino-American AJ Tabaldo and Nicholas Pedro were booted out of the competition. The American tabloids and magazines kept the on-going issue on Anna Nicole Smith aside, even though Larry Birkhead has poured out another revelation in a one-on-one interview, to debate on the recent “American Idol” results. Even though the controversy hounding “Idol” contestant Antonella Barba, due to her well-publicized racy photos and retention to the competition two weeks ago despite her failure to deliver a good performance has not faded off, the “Idol” competition’s competence as a talent search is being questioned. I am left to discuss this point here mainly because “American Idol” has been a “standard talent search” that has spurned other talent contests in some countries, including the Philippines. But, of course, the Philippines has been rich in singing competitions before “Idol” surfaced. I am also proud of saying that we have better singers, not only because we had been winning various singing competitions abroad, but because Filipinos have a discriminating taste in music. We reject singers who are trying hard and cannot carry a tune no matter how they try. There are, of course, exceptions to this rule. However, “American Idol” has become a world-wide phenomenon that most teenagers and young adults would troop to audition grounds to achieve that “to-die-for” American dream.

Let us be assured that Bothell, Washington’s bet, 25-year-old Blake Lewis will stay until the end because he is multi-talented and 22-year-old Chris Richardson, of Chesapeake, Virginia, will hold on because of his Justin Timberlake appeal. On the other hand, when Tabaldo, was booted out and Americans have chosen to retain 17-year-old Sanjaya Malakar, of Federal Way, Washington, a question was left hanging, considering that Malakar has held on until the final 12 selection, if Americans still have talents in selecting their next “Idol” winner. The 22-year-old Tabaldo, of California, in fact has won the praises of judges, Randy Jackson, Paula Abdul and the ever controversial, Simon Cowell. But this did not earn America’s approval. Malakar was also shocked of the result, more shocked than the audience. But before that revelation, Pedro, who quit the “Idol” competition last year because of pressure, was voted off. This is not to say that Malakar has no talent but “American Idol” is a singing competition. This is what the judges have reiterated. Who is to blame for choosing the Top 12 finalists? Certainly not the judges as they only serve as critics. However, bloggers have posted an imposing question, “Who’s to blame for choosing the contestants?”


Almost everybody was sneering at Cowell for making “nasty” remarks on Jennifer Hudson in Season 3 but Cowell snapped back that it was America who voted off the future Oscar winner from the competition. Oops, the voting public got stung. My American friends were asking me if there were more Indians in America than Filipinos. I don’t know the answer, of course, but I told them that there were a lot of Indian nationals in Bacolod. But that it not the point, the color of the contestants’ skins are not the issue here.

After Jasmine Trias’s triumph in Season 3, though she ended up in third place, Tabaldo could have been on the top spot if he were only given the chance. However, Tabaldo is in the better spot of other “Idol” contestants, such as Camile Velasco in Season 3 and Jose ‘Sway’ Penala in Season 5, who have shown the world what real talent is. Aside from Lewis and Richardson, the two contestants whom I foresee who will make it to the end are 29-year-old Melinda Doolittle, of Brentwood, Tennessee and 19-year-old Savanna, Georgia bet Stephanie Edwards.

Earth's Greatest Boxers

For those who were born in the age of Pacquiao you will be surprised to know that the Philippine’s current toast of the town, that is, Manny, is not included in a new book “Boxing’s Greatest Fighters by Bert Randolph Sugar (Connecticut: Lyons Press 2006). No, dear Pacquiao fans, Manny’s bejeweled name didn’t make it to the top 100 boxers of all time (Manny by the way was mentioned by Mario Lopez, a boxing fan, when he guested in Ellen Degeneres’s show after Lopez’s stint from Dancing With The Stars. Lopez watched the Pacquiao-Morales fight).

So, how has the author, referred to as the “guru of boxing”, come up with a competent list? Sugar, who has served as editor of The King, Boxing Illustrated and Fight Game magazines, says to make it to the list it is not about the fighter’s won-lost record but the level of each boxer’s competition and the elements of “punching power, defensive skills… and durability.” Meaning it is not all about popularity, though it is a factor to consider for an athlete to be given significant attention.

Now, boxing aficionados will be caught in an unending debate as to Sugar’s choice to whom the top spot belongs. Who do you think ranked No. 1 in the elite 100? Sorry, not Muhammad Ali. It’s Sugar Ray Robinson. Born Walker Smith in 1921, Robinson went “unbeaten, untied, and unscored upon his first forty fights.” The turning point of his career, the book says, was in his forty-first fight when he lost to Jake Lamotta, another boxer who made it to the list at No. 27. His loss prompted him to reverse the decision five times in several rematch. Robinson’s record boasts of 202 bouts with 175 wins and 109 knockouts.

Ali, on the other hand, ranked No. 7. The book referred to him as “part showman, part promoter, and all champion… always heading up his own parade with a band of admirers…” Apart from his showmanship, Ali, born Cassius Marcellus Clay in 1942, brought “touches of theatrical in boxing, his doggerel making his opponents’ heads spin as much as his fast hands.” And who could forget “Thrilla in Manila” in 1976 where Ali stopped Joe Frazier in the fourteenth round. The book dubbed the fight as “one of boxing’s greatest bouts.” The original “People’s Champion”, Ali has a record of 61 bouts, 56 wins and 37 knockouts.

Don’t fret. The Philippines also has its share in the ranking. No, it’s not Gabriel “Flash” Elorde nor Onyok Velasco, although both fighters have shown excellence in the ring. Ilonggo Pancho Villa made the No. 64 spot. Though Villa’s boxing career is short-lived he was nevertheless hailed by the book as the “greatest Asian boxer in history.” Despite his typical Asian height, Villa, born Francisco Guilledo in 1901 in Iloilo (which the book spelled “Iliolo”), Sugar liken the boxer to the legendary Malakas – “hard and springy, growing straight and slender” whose agility and durability in the ring proved magnificent. Villa, the book says, came from a humble beginning where after leaving his hometown for Manila made money shining shoes and “sleeping on newspapers on the stone floors of office buildings, all the better to fulfill his fistic dreams.” After impressing the crowd with his prowess his manager, Frank Churchill, brought him to the United States where he later gained prominence. However, Villa’s triumph has gotten into him that he thought he was invincible. He went into battle even in a bad form. He died at the age of 23, 10 days after his last fight. The book says, Villa defied the order of his dentist to stay out of the ring after some of his teeth were pulled out. He succumbed to Ludwig’s angina. Villa fought 105 bouts and earned 73 wins with 22 knockouts.

Interestingly enough, earning the 100th spot is Mike Tyson (I can just imagine my father screaming in joy as he is a die-hard Tyson fan). Aptly nicknamed Iron Mike, Tyson made sports headlines with his impressive fistic recalescense that never failed to astonish the audience. Tyson has a record of 58 bouts with 50 wins and 44 knockouts.

Force and Posture: The American Soldier Beyond the Battlefield (Final Copy for Essay I)

On the afternoon of September 17th I witnessed an imposing event held at the Blue Cross Arena in downtown Rochester . The program was highlighted by performances of patriotic music, dance, and drill teams from across North America – the 2006 Rochester International Marine Tattoo. It was more than the musical extravaganza I expected it to be as marching bands and bagpipe teams from Europe and Canada also showcased their own brand of music. Nothing, however, had prepared me for another event which happened before the drums rolled, the bagpipes belted out their distinctive sounds and the batons were waved.
The master of ceremonies requested all soldiers, Marines, airmen, sailors and Coast Guardsmen who came to attend the event to stand up and be recognized. I thought it would only be an enumeration of the United States ’ armed forces. A marching band played in the background, subtle at first then progressed into a tremolo. The lights were set to a serene brightness, enough to fill the huge arena and to identify the soldiers of America . As the emcee called on to them by group the drums thundered. There they were - the soldiers of America , composed and regal, like eagles perched on top of a cliff. The audience, numbering several thousand, roared. My eyes feasted on the multitude of proud men and women, old and young, some were dressed in civilian clothes while others resplendent in their uniforms, being cheered by their compatriots, congratulated by comrades and hugged by their families.
I was but a speck in the multitude, clapping and cheering these hometown heroes. There is a compelling happiness to witness such honor given to these valiant men. It may not be as formal as the other forms of ceremonies, there may not have been any politicians present or even the President but it was honorable enough as the soldiers’ presence was inimitable. They are the men and women who had gone to war, suffered wounds and the wrenching pains of killing their enemies who were really their brothers, sisters, sons and daughters.
A man in front of me stood up. He was frail and his hair was thin. The back of his hands were wrinkled and he looked tired. He was wearing a suit. He must have been 80 years old. His legs trembled as he balanced himself. Standing two rows below were younger men in civilian clothes, sturdy as a brick wall. Standing five rows away from us was a young woman dressed in military clothes, commanding and proud. She did not clap but stood tall and proud. The old man’s wife cheered and looked at her husband. Her smile was as brilliant as an atomic bomb explosion. His legs wobbled as he clapped willfully. It was then that I spoke to myself, in that little district of my mind where I am most comfortable, to witness the difference of time and space. In that multitude, the older soldiers had to keep their balance while the younger ones stood solid. Who was more proud – that old man who has served his land in the Vietnam War or the young soldier who went to Iraq ? I looked at the old man and realized that men, despite their age, skin color and beliefs are still created equal. While the crowd continued to cheer, I tried to capture the hefty economy of that moment that I should keep in my memory.
When the Marines were requested to stand, an old man in his sixties sitting three seats away from me laughed and said, “Will anyone help me stand up?” Nobody offered any help but he managed to lift his weight of some 250 pounds on a 6’2” frame. He did not clap; instead he put his right hand on his chest. I watched him intently, beaming with glee. I was moved by such gesture. His will proved to be humongous. I am moved by such men. I wanted to shake his hand but I was afraid I would break the litany of the moment. What if he was my father, would I have been proud or be ashamed that he had participated in the war? I imagined myself seeing him with a gun, his uniform tainted with blood, would I have been proud of what he had done? I looked at my hands but I cannot imagine myself going to war. There I was, a man amongst other men, not even an American, in a country considered to be the most powerful in the world, watching a soldier digest the intensity of the moment, being celebrated by his countrymen.
The American Soldier, chosen as Man of the Year in 2003 by Time Magazine, is an enigma. He is a structure to reckon with. Other nations see him as an arsenal to restore peace. But in that moment, amid the roar of the multitude, he is a creature of meaning – his body might be a battle machine but his heart is that of a human being. Under the lights of the auditorium everyone had to dissect him, to probe whether his heart is still with his country or has he given up the fight for freedom. And I, a mortal, wondered if he will continue to serve his country even if his heart has been ripped by the war. With the enormous responsibility to carry out his master’s commands, will he still be able to live as proud as he was when he first entered the academy? I thought of other men who are presently at war against ambiguity, who need not carry guns, who only have their voices as armaments, who need not go to the battlefield but carry the same passion for the liberation of mankind, to leave atrocity in the past and not be haunted by it, to savor the peace that their forebears had longed for.
After the momentous standing ovation subsided we all sat, content with the rapture of the event. Nothing, since my arrival in America in July, has given me such a feeling of riotous satisfaction like honoring the American soldier in the International Marine Tattoo.

(Published in Sun.Star Bacolod Oct. 16, 2006 under my column, The Mango Generation)

Summer (Essay I)

MY FIRST summer in America is a tree that bore fruits. But like any other tree, its fruits have to undergo processes before it can be picked and served for eating. Before these fruits ripen the tree must first experience the harshness of the season -- the wrenching heat, the roughness of the wind. Thus, my first summer in America was filled with fruitful memories, memories that will not only linger in the little corner of my mind's district but will bear another fruit, or perhaps grow another tree that will feed my memory.
In the afternoon of September 17 I was invited by my sponsor to witness an imposing event -- the 2006 Rochester International Marine Tattoo, an event that features performances of patriotic music, dance, and drill in North America (think about the movie Drumline). Held inside the vast Blue Cross Arena in downtown Rochester, New York I was not only treated to a patriotic musical extravaganza -- as it was also participated in by marching bands and bagpipe teams from Europe and Canada -- but with a respect to the American soldier, a feeling which I have not experienced before. In my own naïve sensibility, as I am a passive witness to such gathering, I thought I would just see a program that will fill my ears with music but even before it started I was compelled to hold my breath as the master of ceremonies requested all soldiers, Marines, airmen, sailors and Coast Guardsmen who came to attend the event to stand up and be recognized. A marching band played in the background and the lights were set to a serene brightness, enough to fill the huge arena and to identify the persons who are going to rise. As the emcee called on the members of the armed forces to arise I cannot help but be mesmerized. There they are, the soldiers of America, composed and regal, like eagles stoic on top of a cliff, watching an audience of three thousand behold their majesty. My eyes feast on the multitude of proud men and women, old and young, some dressed in civilian clothes while others resplendent in their uniforms, being cheered to by their compatriots, congratulated by comrades and hugged by their families. I am but a speck in the multitude, clapping and cheering on, but my feelings regale with the audience. There is a compelling happiness, a sheer joy, to witness such men being given honor. It may not be as formal as the other form of ceremonies, there might not be any politician present, not even the President, but it was honorable enough as the soldiers' presence was inimitable, men and women who had gone to war, suffered wounds and wrenching pains of killing their enemies who are really their brothers, sisters, sons and daughters. A man in front of me stood up, the emcee had called on the soldiers. He was frail, his hair thin. He must be 80 years old. His legs trembled as he balanced himself. Standing two rows below were younger men in civilian clothes, sturdy as a brick wall. Standing five rows away from us was a young woman dressed in military clothes, commanding and proud. She did not clap nor turned around. The old man's wife cheered and looked at her husband with sincere eyes and a smile as brilliant as an atomic bomb explosion. His leg wobbled as he clapped willfully. My sponsor and I tried to catch him but he persisted and we cheered. His wife looked at us and beamed. It is then when I spoke to myself, in that little district where I am most comfortable of, to witness the difference of time and space: the older soldiers had to keep their balance while the younger ones stood stolid. Who is more proud -- that old man who has served his land in the Vietnam War or the young soldier who went to Iraq? Next, the Marines were requested to stand. An old man in his sixties sitting three seats away from me laughed and said, "Will anyone help me stand up?" Nobody offered any help but he managed to lift himself -- some 250 pounds and a 6'2" frame. He did not clap, instead he put his right hand on his chest. We watched him intently, beaming with glee. I am moved by such gesture. His will proved too humongous. I am moved by such men. There I was, a man amongst other men, not even an American, in a country considered to be the most powerful in the world, watching soldiers digest the plurality of the moment, being celebrated upon by their countrymen. The American Soldier, chosen as Man of the Year in 2003 by Time Magazine, is an enigma. He is a structure to reckon with. Other nations see him as an arsenal to restore peace. But in that moment, amid the roar of the multitude, he is a creature of meaning -- his body might be a battle machine but his heart is that of a human being. Under the lights of the auditorium everyone has to dissect him, to probe whether his heart is still with his country or has he given up the fight for freedom. And I, a mortal, wondering if he will continue to serve his country even if his heart has been ripped by the war. With the enormous responsibility to carry out his master's commands, will he still be able to live as proud as he was when he first entered the academy? Will he still live with sanity after witnessing his fellow soldiers die in combat? After the momentous standing ovation subsided we all sat, content with the rapture of the event. Truly, though I attended wonderful events this summer, like watching the Beach Boys at Canadaigua, the Walnut Hill International Driving Competition, visited another nation like Canada, spent glorious time at Six Flags in Darien Lake, nothing had given me a feeling of riotous satisfaction like honoring the American soldiers in the International Marine Tattoo.

(Published in Sun.Star Bacolod Oct. 03, 2006 under my column, The Mango Generation)

Maximo blossoms in New York

ROCHESTER, NEW YORK - After putting the Filipino craftsmanship in various film award giving bodies in the world, the Philippines’ own Ang Pagdadalaga ni Maximo Oliveros (The Blossoming of Maximo Oliveros) will be featured in ImageOut’s 14th Annual Gay and Lesbian Film Festival next month.

ImageOut is an annual project of The Rochester Lesbian and Gay Film and Video Festival that features world-class films. It will feature a total of 70 films from 11 countries. Featured under the 2006 Youth Project Film Series, The Blossoming of Maximo Oliveros is the story of Maximo, or Maxi, whom at 12 years old acts as the “lady of the house” in a motherless household of small time criminals in the slum area of Manila. His father sells stolen cell phones while his two older brothers are robbers. Maxi, played by Nathan Lopez, sashays the narrow paths in their area acting like a diva complete with girly hanging shirts and floral shorts, his hair is adorned with clips or alicebands. He walks as if the streets were his own catwalk. He is ultra femme and proud of his sexuality. This is highly regarded by his friends and neighbors who accept Maxi for whoever he is. His father and his brothers are proud of him, even treating him like a princess. Their lives, however, are about to change after Maxi met Victor, played by J.R. Valentin, a handsome new cop in assigned in their area. He rescued Maxi from two pranks one night and that incident opened to Maxi a new kind of feeling, a feeling he cannot control and hide. His family, on the other hand, was bothered by his being close to Victor as the rookie policeman stands by his principle; and that poses a threat to the Oliveros family’s daily living. This is were the whole story is exemplified - as Maxi gets closer to Victor, awry things get in the way, especially that his brother gets implicated in a murder case.

The social reality of Manila’s poor area is reflected here – gloomy slum areas, narrow paths lined with clothesline and thick with children and women. But it is human. Poverty is a social aspect that every nation cannot avoid. This aspect makes this movie powerful – it touches the heart, it is unpretentious, it makes one’s heart coil with anguish. Director Aureaus Solito made his characters breathe life on the screen. Writer Michiko Yamamoto achieves great depth by establishing a storyline that offers more than beating the odds of a taboo story – a boy falling in love with an older man.

Film reviewers Kent Bryant and Michael Gamilla put it in the ImageOut folio, “Ultmately, The Blossoming of Maximo Oliveros is a coming of age tale about spiritual and moral growth, rather than merely a story of sexual awakening. Watching Maxi’s complicated blossoming is simultaneously heartwrenching and joyful, a journey that rises beyonf its setting to touch us all with its universal truths.” The film has also won the Berlin International Film Festival, the Turin Gay and Lesbian Festival and the ImagineNative Film Festival in Toronto as well as various local awards in the Philippines. Last year, ImageOut featured two videos directed by Filipino filmmakers – Mark V. Reyes’s 19-minute video “Last Full Show” and Sigrid Andrea P. Bernardo’s 20-minute video “Woman”.

The Blossoming of Maximo Oliveros opened in New York City theaters last weekend.

(Published in part in Ricky Lo's column in The Philippine Star, and Sun.Star Bacolod)

Too True To Be Good

(With apologies to George Bernard Shaw)

NIAGARA FALLS, CANADA – It was only about an hour and a half since I was granted a visa from the Canadian Embassy in Buffalo, New York but here I am, enjoying the mist of the world-famous Niagara Falls. It was not in my immediate plan to visit Canada but was “sweetly” compelled by my sponsor, Mr. David William Smith, to secure the stamp for so many valid reasons. As school doesn’t starts until the 28th I might as well visit the country when I have the time. On the other hand, I could use the visa to attend some important events. But I did not expect that it wouldn’t be too soon. In fact, when Mr. Smith informed me a day before that we will be going to Buffalo to visit the Canadian Embassy, I was only thinking that we will be getting some papers, fill it out and head back home and wait for my visa approval. Such was the case I underwent in the Philippines for the processing for my US visa. It is, however, not with this case as on a clear day in August we traversed Route 104 on our way to Buffalo, called as the Queen City of New York. One should have the patience to endure a two-hour travel. And hear this – make your way to the bathroom before heading for the trip as there will be no stopovers along the highway. I’ve learned my lesson on that. It was only later, about four hours after that I get the chance to empty my bladder as we had to wait at the lobby of the HSBC Tower before we could be ushered to the 30th Floor of the building where the Canadian embassy is located. Yes, Ambo, for security reasons, no public toilet was installed at the lobby. No special treatment there even if you are connected with the President or any other Congressman. Worse, most buildings along the avenue are private offices and you cannot just make your way in. Well, to make the story short, after about two and a half hours (though my interview took only about three minutes as I have valid documents at hand) my passport bore a multiple entry visa stamp.
To my surprise, we did not head back home. Instead, Mr. Smith who has been gracious enough to drive me around Rochester (and whom I “blame” for the tan I have now for the nearly every day trips) drove towards “The Peace Bridge” which links the two countries. Yes, Ambo, I no longer looked like a new-age Filipino whose skin is pale for not getting enough exposure to sunlight. I have embraced the calling of our roots; I am now comparative to N!xau, the legendary star of “The Gods Must Be Crazy” (and when I look in the mirror I could note some resemblance). But summer days in America could be likewise trivial as it could be dry and the wind blows cold (that answers my query as to why most Americans prefer to bask under the sun even at lunch time).
In Canada, the wind is as cold as ice, especially if you take the road along the river. It is an alternative road that offers scenic spots and less tedious than the main highway. Mr. Smith and I took our time looking at magnificent houses built overlooking the river. Minutes after the survey (and a picnic along the river) we found ourselves at Niagara Parkway, the road that leads you to the scenic wonder of the Niagara Falls.
The falls is Canada’s main popular destination. The crescent-shaped rapids, also called the “Horseshoe”, is 54 meters or 177 feet high. It also said to carry nine times more water than its United States counterpart, the American Falls, and the main source of electricity for Ontario, Canada. The falls are divided by Goat Island.
The city of Niagara Falls is teeming with tourists, the area boasts of hotels and restaurants as well as scenic spots. For the lack of time, and parking space, we drove through the main road keeping an eye on some place of interest as we’d likely be coming back here for another visit. We visited Niagara-on-the-Lake, a beautiful community that is rich in history and agriculture (see http://www.niagaraonthelake.com/), for a moment of repose. The place is celebrating its Shaw Festival and Niagara Wine Festival. No wonder that we saw press people in one of its well-known winery. The Shaw Festival is a tribute to George Bernard Shaw, the Irish playwright and winner of the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1925 and the Academy Award in 1938 for Pygmalion. Among his plays that are being staged at the festival are “High Society”, “The Heiress”, and “Arms and the Man”. Well, we will be coming back for the festival next week to see one of his plays.
Though we only had about three hours to survey Niagara Falls, however, it was worth it.
To learn more about Niagara Falls, visit http://www.city.niagarafalls.on.ca/

Good scent from a strange mountain

BROKEBACK Mountain failed to capture the Best Picture award in the recently concluded Oscar Awards. But for the gay and lesbian community it is the best picture there is for the year. This as it was nominated in the "gayiest" Oscars ever. Films like Transamerica and Capote have homosexual themes. Most moviegoers and critics are signifying that movies with gay and lesbian themes are gaining ground in Hollywood. This is partially true. It is maybe because of the promotional distinction that kept the curiosity of the moviegoers burning. Ang Lee who won as Best Film Director for Brokeback Mountain is hero for Asians. However, the award should have been awarded to him when he did the direction for Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. Though Brokeback Mountain has the depth, Crouching Tiger has the breadth.
Also noteworthy in their performances were Philip Seymour Hoffman who won an Oscar Best Actor for his portrayal of the gay writer Truman Capote and Felicity Huffman who was nominated for her role as a pre-op transsexual in Transamerica. Annie Proulx, in an interview with an AP entertainment writer, said that she never thought her short story "Brokeback Mountain" will be turned into a movie, more likely to be an Oscar material. Her short story "The Trickle-Down Effect", which was published in The New Yorker in 2002, has this quality that makes you admire its construction - the kind that has a linear prosodic appeal. However, it does not really hold you down to your seat. Proulx's story was among those featured along with works of E. L Doctorow (who recently won a National Book Award for his book "The March"), Zadie Smith and Norman Mailer. Proulx has been awarded the Pulitzer Prize for her fiction "The Shipping News" in 1994. It was made into a movie. In last year's ImageOut Festival in Rochester, New York, some quality films and videos were featured. The Philippines had its share of exposure. Mark V. Reyes' 19-minute video "Last Full Show" was featured under the Flower City Flicks. It was awarded Best Short in the Turin International Gay and Lesbian Film Festival. It is the story of "a young high schooler and an older guy who dabble in a game of forbidden love. It highlights the socioeconomic realities in Manila." Also noteworthy was Sigrid Andrea P. Bernardo's 20-minute video entitled "Woman" which was featured after the showing of the award-winning video "Keep Not Silent" by Ilil Alexander. Certainly, films and videos in the gay and lesbian genre have been gaining ground in the past though only that promotion was lacking. Promotion is the biggest factor why certain films or movies break the Hollywood scene. A film that caught my attention was the multi-awarded "Based on a True Story" by Walter Stokman. A film based on the Academy Award winning film "Dog Day Afternoon" which stars Al Pacino. It is about the story of John Wojtowicz who on August 1972 "attempted to rob a Chase bank in south Brooklyn in order to finance a sex change operation for his suicidal boyfriend. Before he and his accomplice could flee the scene, the police had the block surrounded and a 14-hour standoff ensued, with all the bank staff held hostage." That prompted me to research on the incident thru the net. I encourage the readers to search on it in the web and you will be amazed by the story. Brokeback Mountain is an interesting film but it cannot be considered as groundbreaking. It's theme is not original, think of Carlitos Siguion-Reyna's "Ang Lalake sa Buhay ni Selya" (The Man in Her Life). The story is simple. But what makes it appealing is its quality and the psychological and emotional turmoil it imparts to the viewers, considering that it is a film about gay love. In the Philippines, Danton Remoto's short story "Green Rose" gained admiration from critics as it was published in the Philippines FREE PRESS years back. Surely, gay themes in various works have been existent for years. And it is wonderful!

(Published in Sun.Star Bacolod newspaper, March 08, 2006 under my column, The Mango Generation)

Doveglion, that angel in a Barong Tagalog

Tuesday last week was Jose Garcia Villa's ninth death anniversary. I was hoping that the national publications would give tribute to this remarkable figure who put the Philippines in the map of world literature. Sometime ago I was upset upon knowing that most students do not know who he is. What was more troubling was knowing that they don't even care to research who this figure is.
The late National Artist for Literature was an interesting entity. Who could have had a more interesting life, career and aura than this slave of art or maybe to make it more apt - Art's red-thighed lover. He was suspended from UP after the publication of his famous series of prose poems entitled "Man Songs" in the late 1920s when he was just a college student. The eminent poem that earned the ire of some conservative groups was "The Coconut Poem" (formerly called "Song of Ripeness) because of its "obvious" sensuality. He was suspended from the school upon the recommendation of then dean of the College of Law, Jorge Bocobo and fined P50. Villa, however, protested, saying that his poems were not at all explicit if looked into another level. This did not, however, toned down the "sentence" he met with the school. Villa did not stoop down into the conservative group's view of art. By then he won the prestigious literary competition of the Philippines FREE PRESS Magazine for his short story "Mir-i-Nisa". With the P1,000 prize money he went to the United States to secure "greener pastures" and to seek literary roots. In the US, Villa became the poet and critic immortal he had always wanted. Every year he rated the best stories published locally and established the standards of Philippine literature. Villa's annual selection became the item of the year in Philippine literary scene. It generated both positive and negative responses. But he was never undaunted of these counter-criticisms. He was a genius and his theories were amazing. In the US Villa became a celebrity. His first collection of poems "Have Come, Am Here" generated wonderful review from gargantuan critics and poets like Edith Sitwell, Marianne Moore, Babette Deutsch, among others. That book could have been the first poetry book by a Filipino to have won the prestigious Pulitzer prize in Poetry in 1943. It was unanimously voted for the top prize by the Pulitzer committee but vetoed by the chairman as he did not want the prize to be awarded to an experimental poet. That collection contains Villa's valid experiment - the reverse consonance. The award was instead given to Robert Frost who also has a poetry collection that year entitled "A Witness Tree", however, it was only the second choice. During his prime, the Villa stories were sprouting - in national magazines and in local dailies. He was always the talk of the town because of his "acts". He believed in "Art for art's sake" approach and he applied it to his life and works. The first article I have read about Villa was authored by Jonathan Chua for the Fookien Times years ago. It was beautifully written that it lead me to research on the wonderful persona. It lead to an article written by another National Artist Nick Joaquin, who, writing as Quijano de Manila, who wrote a comely description of the life of Villa in the article "Viva Villa". Chua by the way compiled Villa's literary criticisms in one book "The Critical Villa". If anyone who wishes to know more of Villa as an artist and critic he should secure this rare volume. It also contains Villa's annual selections and other valuable essays on criticisms. The footnotes were precious, too. UP's J. Neil Garcia wrote a comely essay on Villa years back, which was published in the Free Press. In it, he brought to light the stories that missed the press when Villa's first and only collection of stories came out. These stories were said to be daring because it tackles homosexual theme - that, in the 1930s when such themes were a big taboo. Poet and De La Salle professor Cirilo F. Bautista made a fitting tribute to his friend in his column in Panorama Magazine a month after Villa's death in 1997. He said despite the haphazard articles written about Villa, he was a "sweet angel" who "sprinkled intelligence and self-effacent on the obedient throng." Villa's friend e.e. cummings, who made a great influence in his poetry, gifted him a poem which was included in the former's last volume of poetry. The poem was presented to him by Mrs. Cummings herself when Villa spent Thanksgiving Day with her. Doveglion was Villa's penname, a fitting combination of Villa's life as dove, eagle and lion. Before he died he requested that he be dressed in a barong tagalog when he'll encased in his coffin so "his nipples would show." Now, we can't say it is explicit.

(Published in Sun.Star Bacolod Feb. 13, 2006 under my column, The Mango Generation)

On Sallie McFague's 'Metaphorical Theology: Models of God in Religious Language'

NEW YORK -- There are two major arguments being presented in Sallie McFague's book "Metaphorical Theology: Models of God in Religious Language" (1982). One is the problem of religious language and the other being the essentiality and insight to metaphorical theology. I find her assertion over this thesis as remarkable, considering that her approach to the analysis and prospects of these controversies achieve cyclic phenomena. Meaning, it does not only rest as another debate on the philosophical narrative of religion and religious experience.
What is religious language then? In my own understanding, to some extent, it is a language distinct from the language we use everyday. It is talking about God; the specialized terms that are attributed to several aspects: cultural or religious. But as we talk about God we drift into the "metaphysical" and "mysterious" language. There is, on the other hand, shortage of understanding this aspect. Is our understanding of God limited to the Biblical sense? If that is so, is the God-description in it sufficient to satisfy the sense or even justifiable? To delve into this topic we should know what the meaning of language is. Language, Webster describes, as "the expression and communication of emotions or ideas between human beings by means of speech, either written or spoken." But language can also be concrete or abstract. To speak about God is to speak beyond our common grounds. When we speak about God we tend to alienate ourselves in this world. What does that mean? We are attuned to just believe the attribution of God in Biblical descriptions far from our comprehension. Some sections in the Bible, perhaps, provide stories to better explain these essences. This is to, in a sense, remove inconsistencies and redundancies so as to shape religious framework. Ian Ramsey in his book "Religious Language: An Empirical Placing of Theological Phrases" (1963), illustrates a point: "We may (also) expect religious language centre on 'God' as a key word, an 'ultimate' of explanation, which becomes the subject of significant tautologies... We all know how the phrase 'God is Love' has been criticized as being a platitude, because it is alleged to say nothing... If so... the logical structure of the phrase 'God is Love' would be something as follows: We should have to tell a story of human devotion until a characteristically religious situation was evoked." McFague quotes Simone Weil who said that though she might be sure of her devotion, there is a "great uncertainty at the level of words adequate to express the reality of God." Being sure of God, that there is an entity, a supernatural Being guiding the universe is not a problem but how do we exactly describe the immanence of this of this Being and how to relate it to the multitude is a dilemma. One of the forerunners in their religious expression of God is the Christians who interpret the "Word of God" in several ways. But how do Christians dwell deep into the core of that religious experience and relate to the everyday interaction with other people is the great question. McFague says modern man is not in the "sacramental age" where every phenomenon is being connected to divine power or intervention. She also blames the traditional church, which has constricted the religious interest to idolatry and irrelevant: "It becomes idolatrous because without sense of awe, wonder, and mystery, we forget the inevitable distance between our words and the divine reality. It becomes irrelevant because without a sense of immanence of the divine in our lives, we find language about God empty and meaningless." We must, in this case, look into the plurality of the religious context. But what I am concerned is the relativity of McFague's intentions over religious language. If she says that though she considers the images and words about God in the Bible as authoritative and appropriate she deconstructs the sentiments over religious literalism. I do, however, agree that modern man should look into the religious context more significantly but also review its literary appropriateness. McFague also talks about "metaphorical theology?" Metaphors give color to one's literary work. In my experience in creative writing, a poet would bargain for anything just to find that fitting metaphor for his poetry. Filipino poet Jose Garcia Villa raved over his metaphor: "Imagine God a peacock-/Imagine Him crucified,-/Over Him the beauty/Of great peacock feathers//... O Lord of Peacocks,/Behold Thy tribe below./O Peacock God, Hear our peacock prayers.//" (Poem No. 79). Or even "I made myself to burn/Brightly to seek and learn/The unknowable temperature/Of God's calenture.//" (Poem No. 82). However, ordinary language is highly metaphorical, especially when we describe our everyday experiences. By incorporating metaphors in our everyday language we make our stories dense and rich. But metaphorical theology? How do we talk about God and His attributes? Logical, grammatical, ethical and spiritual aspects intertwine in this. How do we permeate God's supreme calenture? By speaking of God in the metaphorical sense will make a connection to the multitude, for only in metaphors can we present God who is mysterious and mystifying. How did Jesus describe the Kingdom of God to ordinary people? Thru the power of the parables. McFague points out that by using this metaphoric analogy, it achieves a grip on the understanding of man. By comparing situations or things that have uncommon makes religious expression more effective. One curl at direct statements, they're unpalatable but the power of parables make situation interesting and impersonal. Every person has its way of using the "religious language"; it is constantly being altered upon by influences. One's view of God differs from the other.

(Published in Sun.Star Bacolod Dec. 16, 2006 under my column, The Mango Generation)

Where are the people?

ROCHESTER, NEW YORK - It is a week since I arrived in Rochester but I still cannot contain my amazement. Good thing I didn't suffer from a jet lag unlike all the other travels I made. Although, the 13-hour flight from Manila to Los Angeles, California was an experience. Nevertheless, it was worth it. I was not expecting that flight to be that long as I was confident it would be just a five-hour plane ride considering the international date-line stuff but it turned out different. There are certain regulations that needed to be complied with at the Ninoy Aquino International Airport. It wasn't the same regulations we had to go through when I left for Bangkok, Thailand last year.
Like, going through severe inspection - standing along about a hundred or more passengers, removing your shoes and having your bags inspected thoroughly, among other security measures. Arggh! The 911 aftermath. I cannot complain as it was for our own safety. We left Manila at 8:30 p.m. Now, it was a relief that I brought my own food and other things that will keep me occupied while aboard the plane to LA. Yes, Ambo, you can bring foodstuff on board when you go to the US as long as it is not fresh fruits, meat products and other items stated in the State regulation. So, to think that I have several banana chips for David William Smith (my sponsor), which was given by Ms Tess, Sun.Star Bacolod's Business OIC, and several other chips, cookies and coffee with me. We arrived in LA at 7:15 p.m. (but it seemed 3 p.m. to me) in an airport much larger than Bacolod City. I was thankful enough that I went through the immigration smoothly unlike other passengers who have to stand by the corner waiting for their clearance. Next, I took a five-hour domestic flight from LA to Chicago. It was then on to another airline for another two-hour plane ride to get to my final destination. Yes, bring food with you or you will die of hunger as American airlines don't offer meals but pretzels and sodas, unless you have the big bucks to purchase food items at the airport. It was a clear day when I arrived at the Rochester International Airport. I am amazed by the expanse of the premise and the climate - it was as if I never left home. But it is awfully quiet. At the parking lot, which was half-filled with cars, I told Mr. Smith that if I scream everyone would probably hear me. Acting as a tour guide, Mr. Smith drove me downtown to get the feel of the city. I saw lots and lots of cars parked everywhere. But where are the people? With this, my sponsor laughed. They're at work, he said. It is quite unusual for me as Bacolod is teeming with people and now that I am in another place where you seldom see people walking around the street at daytime. I wonder what jobs they have. All the big buildings and beautiful stores, it should be teeming with people. As you know, the power of technology, it seems that the people in Rochester opt to purchase things thru the net by using their charge card and have the items delivered to their homes. Pittsford - that is the town where I will stay for about four years - is a quaint area. It is on French Road that Mr. Smith owns a house. You would likely say you are in a page of a magazine. Pittsford is the Beverly Hills of Rochester! It is a hallmark view, if you know what I mean. Houses that are totally picture perfect, with lawns that are always mowed, trees and flowers that are properly groomed. You will not, however, see the occupants parading in front of their houses. It is quiet in here! It is sad, however, to think that I missed the American Idol winners when they performed here just a day before I arrived. Rochester is a writer's paradise! One can finish a novel in a breeze (unless if one is off the road too often to admire other people's wonderful lawns and houses all the time). But no one really knows when inspiration will set in even if a writer is in a majestic place. Oh well. There are still a million things that will keep me amaze here. Oh, the deer, rabbits and woodchucks now come often in our backyard. I hope we'll become friends soon.

(Published in Sun.Star Bacolod July 31, 2006 under my column, The Mango Generation)

Even butterflies suck nectars

THEY fluttered. The butterflies of America! On a Saturday evening they came and hovered on the Little Theatre where the second day of the week-long 14th ImageOut Lesbian and Gay Film Festival was held. It was my first time to attend such event. I was greatly honored.
It was also the day where my stamina was tested. "A glorious day!" as my sponsor, David Smith, would put it. The leaves of the trees started to turn yellow. It is autumn. One tree in the backyard has already lost its leaves. Three weeks from now I would be able to see the houses from the kitchen window. The seminary in front of our house has started to pull down their blinds. They must be resisting temptation as I strut in the house in my birthday suit. The trees are getting naked. A glorious Saturday! And Mr. Smith just cannot help but flap his wings and take a tour at the countryside. What can you expect from a man who is a world traveler? He has gone to Switzerland, London, France, Germany, Asia, Latin America and most parts of America. If Mr. Smith says, "get ready in 10 minutes" it means "get ready for a day tour." Destination: Letchworth State Park. It is located on the western part of New York 's Finger Lakes Region at Livingston County. It is called the " Grand Canyon of the East." The only difference is the luscious trees adoring the 15,000 acres of land. It also has its own falls, rapids and creeks, too. It is a great weekend hideaway. After a good three hours of sightseeing we head back home. Mr. Smith had braved driving miles from Pittsford to the park, which he had not visited for some 20 years. At 6 p.m. the line outside the Little Theatre in downtown Rochester snaked until the curb. We came to watch "A Love to Hide". It is a film from France, which was released last year. I failed to watch a film directed by a Filipino-American the night before because of school. Q. Allan Brocka's "Boy Culture" gained a rapturous success. The director is the nephew of the late Lino Brocka, the Philippine's National Artist for Film. A Love to Hide, on the other hand, proved to be a powerful film. It accounts atrocities against the gay men during the Nazi occupation in Paris, France. I envied Mr. Smith as he speaks French, I had to scrutinize the subtitles. Jean (Jeremie Renier) is living in the dark. He has to hide his relationship with Philippe (Bruno Todeschini) from his family, especially his father and brother, Jacques, who adore him. The brothers' and lovers' lives started to turn around when Jean's childhood sweetheart, Sarah, showed up, after escaping the Nazis who massacred her Jewish family. Jean and Philippe took her under their care, providing her shelter and a job in Jean's family business as a laundress. She, however, had to take another name. Jacques, who just came out of prison, on the other hand, got madly in love with her. He stalked her until he found out his brother's secret affair. The brothers' relationship was torn but Jacques later on yielded so as to gain Sarah's love. Sarah, however, has her eyes only to Jean. She has come to accept his sexuality but did not give up in loving him. This got the ire of Jacques, who secretly collaborates with the Nazis, and planned to have his brother arrested and save him to win Sarah's heart. It turned out that his brother was spotted by the Nazi officers in a benefit dance getting intimate with a ranking officer. The officer committed suicide, making it impossible to bail Jean out. Jacques and Sarah have exhausted all means to get Jean put of prison to no avail. He was later transferred to a concentration camp where they were forced to hard labor and humiliation. Philippe was killed by the Nazi. Director Christian Faure did not fail to touch the audience. At the end of the film they were wiping their eyes. No wonder it won a multitude of awards. Gay bashing and discrimination is an age-old problem. We cannot help it. But the public has to be informed. One way is to hold an event such as this. However, in a conservative country such us ours such event is treated with constricted views. It's a shame.

(Published in Sun.Star Bacolod Nov. 01, 2006 under my column, The Mango Generation)

Autumn Music: Andrew von Oeyen on the piano

HEARING Andrew von Oeyen play a piano piece is like being invited to taste the most delicious roast turkey at a stranger's house. The first cut of the meat is as good as the last piece. On a balmy evening of October 14, while autumn manifests itself like an ice queen caressing evening nook and bored corners of one's bone, the leaves dropped like ice cubes, Oeyen also dropped his fingers on the piano keys.
However, he played with no cold treatment but a rapturous reverence to Franz Liszt's Concerto No. 1 in E-flat major. The George Eastman Theatre, home to the famous Rochester Philharmonic Orchestra (RPO), was filled with men and women who were mostly dressed in gowns and tuxedos, hungry to savor Oeyen's brand of playing skills. The congenial 26-year-old native of New York City did not frustrate them. As soon as the RPO under the baton of Professor Christopher Seaman and Oeyen delivered the first note, the atmosphere of the venue became a living space. It was great transition for Mr. Oeyen as he had under his repertoire other strings of memorable pieces like Tchaikovsky's Concerto No. 1 with the San Francisco Symphony and the New Mexico Symphony, Rachmaninov's Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini with the Philadelphia Orchestra and Beethoven's Concerto No. 1 with the Hartford Symphony before coming to Rochester for a concerto. The young man engaged in a short chat with the audience along with Prof. Seaman several minutes before the program started as part of the new system the RPO. The striking Oeyen, whose other attributes are his blond hair and deep sea blue eyes, said that it was an honor for him to play Liszt's piece as it is being considered as one of the most technically challenging pieces of the composer. And the young pianist did not fail to impress the audience as the demanding piece was delivered with great reverberation. Professor Seaman made it a full piece considering that Liszt meant it to be a "piano and orchestral piece". Oeyen's tremolos were precise and clear like crystals dropping on a piece of glass. He made it sure that every note becomes an element of the whole piece; even his grace notes are liquid, almost like an acciaccatura. Overall, his performance was spectacular. His years of training (he began taking lessons at the age of four) proved he had tempered his technique and his approach to showmanship. He had to go back to the stage twice as the audience made a resounding applause. Even conductor Seaman had to acknowledge the triangle player (as one of the significant instrument in the piece) for a superb delivery. One old lady sitting in front of us was so moved she can't help but cheer (we found out later that she's the daughter of the man who discovered xerography). But the evening did not end with Mr. Oeyen's performance. The RPO gave a bold and teasing rendition of Beethoven's Symphony No. 7 in A Major, Op. 92. The last time I heard the piece was in a movie Immortal Beloved, a story about the life of the composer. Professor Seaman did not only treat the piece as a masterpiece but showered it with tempered elegance. Outside the venue, the night was cold and cruel. The dead leaves drop, blown. They rattled on like tin. But the autumn music inside warmed the hearts of everyone.

(Published in Sun.Star Bacolod Oct. 28, 2006 under my column, The Mango Generation)

Memories of My Melancholy Chores

BROCKPORT, New York -- "Man, did you watch the game last night? It was something," a tall young man said to his friend who was sitting in the opposite side of the bus. He narrated the brawling scene in a football game last week. I can tell he enjoyed it, even describing it as a "carnival." I reclined on my seat and looked out to the window. I remember the days when I was still covering sports events. I made friends with coaches, players, referees, fans, sports magnates and officials. I remember the perks like free tickets, gifts, trips and other stuff without having to beg or act like it is the last thing in world you need, taking the best seat in the game, going in the venue without elbowing with the crowd, interviewing sports stars without having stopped by the security officers. Covering sports events is a glamorous job but it has a dark side that makes me wince. It has been a year since I stopped watching any game. I felt sad for the young men who found the brawling scene amazing, like it was the best part of the game. I have watched the incident in the news. I have witnessed more gruesome incidents. Right before your eyes you witness athletes scramble to the floor like they were uncivilized baboons fighting over a piece of twig. I am saddened by the fact that what is being taught at school does not apply in the real sports arena. An athlete is treated like a soldier. Crush the enemies. I hate to hear sports officials say in opening programs that such event will promote camaraderie and fitness. Solidarity among athletes had become a worn term that they leave underneath the benches. What I see in the arena are bulls hungry to topple down the matador. My heart is full of burden as I see coaches and fans encourage them to clobber each other. When pushed to the limit, it strains their ego and nothing is more appropriate than to carry such burden into a hard punch. A "good event" means seeing a bloody scene where the audience participates in the brawl. Fans become generous by throwing coins at the crowd when they're not satisfied with the game. Even age-group categories are not spared by this dilemma. But what you see are parents who get disoriented. It becomes a family-disoriented affair. Age-group events are supposed to be a learning experience. Yes, you learn lessons seeing parents, grandparents and nannies get so involved with the game that they become like "barbarians." It's embarrassing but they couldn't care less, they only wanted to get back what they paid for. Instead of promoting fair play and values, sports activities could become an avenue to discover potential lawbreakers and models for criminals.

(Published in Sun.Star Bacolod Oct. 21, 2006 under my column, The Mango Generation)