Friday, April 22, 2005


Web comic Penny Arcade gave me a good enough reason to say 'bless you' when people sneeze.

Clicky clicky kiddies

Thursday, April 21, 2005


Lugaw. A rice porridge popular in Asia. Usually as breakfast fare.

Lugaw. Depending on which dialect, the Chinese call it either zhōu or juk. The Japanese call it kayu. In English, congee is the word.

Lugaw. The gruel that has been my chief source of sustenance since I had a molar pulled out last week. The only thing I can ingest without any serious chewing requirements.

I’ve eaten lugaw at the street vendor’s. I’ve eaten lugaw cooked at home. I’ve even eaten lugaw bought from the street vendor at home.

When this ordeal is over, I’m having a slab of steak with buttered veggies on the side.

Saturday, April 16, 2005


The young dentist (well... a year or so younger than me, I think) inquired if I'd be needing a cleaning when I entered her office.

Judging by the pain that had been tormenting me for several days, I knew that she won't be able to return to her Yahoo Messenger cum web cam session as quickly as she hoped.

By the time I left her office, the day had started to fade. My dentist's computer had long gone to sleep.

And I was missing a wisdom tooth, and spitting blood every few seconds.


On the way home (not that far, really - the clinic is just next door), I marveled at how my petite dentist had managed to exert so much effort pulling my molar out with her pliers-thingie. I'm quite sure her biceps had grown significantly after our session. For a time, it had seemed that she'd end up pulling my skull out through my mouth. But if that had happened, I probably wouldn't have felt it thanks to the anesthesia.

Which had started to wear off.


I took the pain killers that had been my new, good friend for the past days. Sitting still on my bed as I waiting for it to kick in seemed like a good idea. Though every so often, I had to get a handy plastic bag and...


Ice cream suddenly was a very appealing idea and I headed for the fridge. Rocky road. But I didn't want to be picky.

As I sucked the ice cream from a spoon, careful not to get nuts or marshmallows into the new, toothless hole in my gums, I tried to remember what the dentist said I can't do for the next few days.

Can't lift heavy stuff. Can't smoke. Can't eat fishy food.

I vaguely wondered if sex (or those lines) was okay, since she didn't mention it. Calling a lady dentist to check if it was okay for me to whack off felt wrong on several levels.

Oh well.

Guess there's one way to find out.


Friday, April 08, 2005


Certain events occured when I watched the series Lost for the first time last night.

I promptly lost conciousness.

And when I woke up this morning, my poor old tv had lost the ability to switch on.

Tuesday, April 05, 2005


A chicken drumstick lay waiting on the table when I got home from overtime work. The Mongolian beef bowl dinner I had a few hours before was long gone. The chicken. Well. It seemed like such a good idea.

My rumbling gut agreed.

Now, anyone who has any idea how I eat would know I would use a fork even for chicken wings. Not because I'm punctilious about table manners and cleanliness. It's actually the opposite, really: I'm too fucking lazy to wash my hands.

But not this night.

Without bothering to sit down before the table, I grabbed the chicken with my paw. The first bite made me grin as fowl-flesh touched my tongue. As grease warmed my mouth and my hand.

When I took the second bite, from across the millennia my cave-dwelling ancestors squatting before their fire grunted and nodded in approval.

Oooga booga.

Monday, April 04, 2005


One evening in 1981, I stood along Shaw Boulevard with my father. We were among thousands who gathered under the moonlight, waving white and yellow flags and Amo Te banners, waiting for a glimpse of his motorcade heading for nearby Villa San Miguel, home to the Archbishop of Manila.

I was expecting him to be in a black limo. Instead, when the motorcade arrived, he was in a bus. From the well-lit interior, among seated cardinals, he stood waving and blessing the crowd outside.

One afternoon in 1995, I sat on the UST football field with some classmates, the other 'pagans' from the group (the devout Catholics from the gang weren't allowed to come because of the crowds). We were supposed to have a World Youth Day sign like the rest of the people. However, the guy who made the art paper and cartolina sign for us had written WE LOVE YOU, POPE JOHN II. And he was saddened when I told him that was the wrong pope (one that was dead for about 1,500 years).

It was hot. It was crowded. But when he appeared on the grandstand, by then with the aid of a cane, it was worth the wait.

Yesterday morning, as I had been watching the news of his passing, I tried to fight back tears.

And lost.

I never agreed with him all the time. At least, not on issues like contraception (I'd buy so much condoms that I'd earn dissaproving looks from drug store counter girls).

But I do respect him.

He will be missed.



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