-The glucose sourced from carbohydrates (said to be a no-no food group when one is trying to lose weight) is important brain food. The brain needs this to function optimally. This tidbit gives an added dimension to the term “meat head.” The more protein you eat, the less intelligent you are.
-In the Ruffa-Yilmaz Bektas ruckus, Yilmaz said that Ruffa is a “Brutus” or a traitor for conniving with her mother never to return to Istanbul with their children (in Julius Caesar, Marcus Brutus, one of Caesar’s most trusted friends, collaborated in his assassination. When Caesar realized his treachery, he cried, “Et tu, Brute?”). Ruffa has been seen whining on television, “Brutus? Nagmumukha na nga akong Olive Oyl sa mga problema. Ang payat payat ko na.” She thought Yilmaz was referring to the beefy antagonist in Popeye (which, incidentally, is called “Bluto”).
-Jun has updated his blog. Hooray! He has an entertaining entry on cats. I’ve never raised cats, although I have been friendly to some. I remember, when I was younger, my friend, Paul, brought a box of kittens to my home. It was flooding season in Mandaluyong and someone just left a box full of kittens at their gate. My friends and I fussed and cooed over the kittens, but Lola made me return them to Paul. Paul’s family didn’t want them either, so I was forced to just leave them where Paul found them. I cried as I left them on the ledge of Paul’s gate and my heart broke as I heard their pitiful caterwauling (for food or their mother?). I knew that if the water rose higher (it has been known to rise to half the height of a two-storey apartment), they would probably drown.
Eventually, my family welcomed an old, fat cat in our home, but this one just came to take care of the mice and eventually left. It lived under the stairs and I would often try to coax it out to play, but it usually ignored me.
When we moved to the suburbs, most of the kittens that would get lost in our yard would be dispatched, posthaste, in a sack to some far and undisclosed location. Lola said that cats are dirty and bring fleas and diseases. Maybe Lola is just a dog person. J
-Btw, Laura Miller has an interesting essay in Salon.com titled, “Cat people vs. dog people.” Read it here.
Me, I guess I’m a dog person. Although I have also shown kindness to cats who looked like they needed sustenance, I don’t really care for cats. Once, I came across a pregnant cat, which I named Marimar (after the lead in a famous telenovela at that time), and started giving it scraps. My dog, Fifi, had died of old age by then so no one harassed her and she was given free rein of the yard. At meal times, I would call out to her and she’d come bouncing to the door and then sit and wait patiently, tail swishing, for me to lay down her dish of food. After doing this for quite some time, I made the mistake of thinking that we were already friends. Marimar was white and lovely and usually I’d run over my hand on her coat and pet her. One time, I did this while she was eating and she hissed and scratched my arm. I stopped caring for her then.
But cats are like that. They’re not famous for loyalty. This leads me to the topic of cat people. I must say that I’m wary of them. Once, I got into a convo with a girl and we started discussing our pets. When she learned that I mostly raised dogs, she lifted a brow and said condescendingly, “Oh, so you’re a dog person?” Then she proceeded to tell me why cats are better pets—they’re more intelligent, choosy of their owners, less stupid-looking, yada yada, in short how fabulous she is for being a cat person. I don’t get it. Not once have I come across other people who claimed they were superior for raising dogs, birds, or reptiles. Another time I had another cat person rattle a list of famous personalities who owned cats like Virginia Woolf, Abraham Lincoln, and others—like owning a cat automatically made one a better person. How obnoxious.
-P is rather naïve. He is so easy to trip. I can turn to him with a straight face and say the most preposterous things and he’d believe me. One time he had a bad cough and I said, “Alam mo ang kasabihan, ang buhok ng aso magaling sa ubo.” He turned to me, amazed, and said, “Talaga?”
-P can find me anywhere. Maybe it’s because we have a deep connection, maybe it’s because I’m just easy to read. When we were still in school, he managed to bump into me all the time—at the library, at the cafeteria, at the registrar’s office. When we were still bf-gf, I only needed to wish that he were with me and he’d magically appear at my gate. When I’m sad, he can tell; when I’m pissed and about to pull someone’s hair, he manages to stop me; when I’m craving cakes, he’ll arrive home with them. I would often ask, “Pa’no mo nalaman nandito ako?” He’d say, “Wala, I had a feeling.” Aww. He’s my lobster.
-My sister and I are tree huggers. Although we’re not outdoorsy people, we both love nature and our Laguna home is surrounded by trees and plants. Without spouting environmental slogans, we know the importance of growing trees. Once, when we were contemplating on building a second garage for a new car, we asked the contractor if he could manage to snake the construction around the trees so that we needn’t cut them. Recently, Mom hired someone to cut off one of our coconut trees. “Sepa (our househelp) said it’s dead,” said Mom. My sister and I both cried, “Patay na ba? Patay na ba talaga?” The drama, right?
-I asked P to buy me the new Regina Spektor album. I once scoffed that she was just another Tori Amos wannabe when I first saw her in a guest appearance in one of the late-night American cable shows, but I admit that I spoke too soon. I love the cuts in her newest album. The melodies and lyrics (esp. “Samson”) are nothing to scoff at. Her voice is unique and just plain lovely.
-I never wear makeup. To me it’s a waste of time and money. How women find the time and energy to fuss with their faces every morning and apply a variety of cosmetic products is beyond me. Plus makeup can clog pores and age the skin. But since turning thirty, I find myself opening up to things that I swear never to do before. You see, I’ve always been the do-it-yourself kind of girl. I do my own nails, my own facials, my own hot-oil treatments at home. They’re cheaper and safer that way. I simply don’t want other people poking around my cuticles. Now, after reading that makeup actually buffers the skin against pollution, UV light, and other free radicals in the environment, I find myself contemplating wearing makeup. The problem is I don’t know how to apply makeup. I may have to go to school to do this.
-Once when we were dining at Casa Armas, there was a guy (probably a cat person. He he) who was making the lives of the restaurant staff miserable. Although, I have been known to complain about bad service, I don’t agree with people who are disagreeable just for the sake of being disagreeable. The first thing also that any smart person learns when eating out is to BE NICE TO CHEFS/WAIT PERSONS. One never knows what takes place behind a restaurant’s kitchen doors. Chefs/waiters have the power to make sure that you get your orders on time and correctly or they can make you suffer needlessly (see “When Chefs Attack” for examples of the atrocities done by chefs to whiny customers). So this guy was complaining very loudly and making a spectacle of himself. First he complained that the orders came in late and then he complained about the lengua. He asked to see the cook and proceeded to shout the 101 ways the lengua was inferior. The cook said that they follow a particular recipe in the restaurant and that they prepare their lengua the same way, over and over, according to the recipe. The man started throwing invectives and thumping on the table. He said, “Put*ngina, I know my f*cking lengua! Wag n’yo ko gawing tanga. That is not lengua!” He went on and on about how this particular lengua was a poor facsimile. “Give me Mr. Armas’s telephone numbers! He has to know what incompetents you all are.” The store manager had no choice but to give him the telephone numbers. The last words I heard as the gorilla was walking out the door were, “Hello, Mr. Armas …” Later I saw him smirking as if congratulating himself for a job well done. The jerk. I don’t know which Mr. Armas he was talking to because I read that the owner had been dead since 2004. I pity the fool.
