Banishing the bane of my existence

“Ah, details. They're kind of the bane of your existence, huh? Unfortunately, they are a necessary evil that everyone must deal with from time to time. And now it's your turn. But have no fear -- it'll all turn out well.”

That, Bloggie, is my horoscope for the day. Not that my existence depends solely on the alignment of the stars, but the astrologer’s prediction was right on the mark today.

Details here pertain to shoes. I plead no contest to the charge that shoes are kind of the bane of my existence, I mean, over and above clothes, bags, accessories and bath necessities (I think I am addicted to Lush and Body Shop but that’s another story). These are absolute essentials, arguably close to being luxuries for my middle-class sensibilities but they are definitely not staples of vanity…these are a lethal mix…we’re talking bane here so…so, in the event of my involuntary march south of middle class, these are the culprits, ok?…Anyway, where was I?

It must have been the high from knowing some good news from my US employer that suddenly pushed the buttons and set me into a fast and furious housekeeping frenzy.

My eyes automatically took aim at the first casualty of this – how should I call it? – streamlining. You see, Bloggie, Meng’s and my shoes – purchased from 2002 onwards - are neatly strewn (neat and strewn – go figure) all over the place: (a) along the staircase; (b) on the shelf beside the staircase; (c) in my bedroom; (d) on a makeshift four-tier shoestand; and (e) where else, oh where else?

I was a bit daunted but I persevered as I couldn’t contain my sudden obsessive-compulsive need to put some things in order. I stared at the neat pile along the staircase. The shoes in this corner were safe as they were obviously flavors of the month. Now, the shoes stacked in the rest of the areas were a totally different story. Herculean effort is in order, both in terms of deciding which among the horde would be discarded and which would be shipped off to, well, whoever would find use for the used but still fully serviceable pairs. Oh, and I almost forgot to mention that neat hereabouts pertains exclusively to the way the shoes were stored, meaning, a good number of them, being unused for quite some time now, would require a sturdy pair of cleaning hands. I was close to trading places with Hercules.

Here’s why.

It took me the whole day for each pair to be removed from the box/shelf, inventoried, cleaned/dusted, assessed for redundancy, and, for those which passed rigid quality control inspection, returned to the box/shelf. Did I say that by default the boxes and the shelves also needed serious wiping?

I am really driving home my reference to that Greek/Roman hero of extraordinary strength, so here is the register of shoes on which I labored:

(in pairs)

low-cut suede shoes – 3
office shoes (flat) – 5
office shoes (with heels; either closed, open-toed, or with slingback) - 14
boots - 4
flats for walking – 4
shoes for when attending weddings (in satin, silk, or lace) – 4
mary janes - 3
strappy sandals/wedges – 5
sneakers - 7
mojos - 4
slip-ons (flat) - 4
slip-ons (with heels) – 14
slippers (good enough for jeans, skirts, etc) - 12

I leave you the task of adding up the items, Bloggie. (Then I remember a dozen or so pairs which I discarded last year before I worked in Singapore and some other pairs I left behind when I left after ten months.) Okay, take out a quarter from the whole lot because they belong to Meng, and you’d arrive at my share. Which leads me to ask if there’s an anonymous group dealing with this sorry affliction (like Alcoholics Anonymous, Blog Addicts Anonymous….)?

Shoes are the necessary evil that must be dealt with from time to time. That much is true. Although my efforts turned out well, the stars did not grant me immortality, very much unlike what Hera rewarded Hercules for his 12 labors (7 or 12?). But, ordinary mortal that I am, I couldn’t be more proud of my feat.

So. Am I a strong candidate for obsessive-compulsive behavior? Hmm, maybe a few more posts and let's see if I need to hire a psychiatrist. Agree?

But it surely feels good. I feel several pounds lighter. What could be more rewarding than that? I mean, I haven’t heard of a more fight diet regimen where you feel the effect instantaneously.

Seeing is believing

As I was browsing through my photo blog (or log, whatever), I realized that I treated myself to some good music during the first half of the month. I like seeing and hearing musicians live on stage, basically to see what they're made of and to better appreciate their musicality.


1 October - The CompanY at the CCP Main Theater

I am not really head over heels in awe of this group. In fact, I don't recall ever being an avid follower. Besides, I can only manage a handful of their songs that I like. But, hands down, they are at their best doing a cappella. Then again, I haven't watched a single concert of this group, so...

So the timing could not have been more perfect when Meng told me that The CompanY was having a concert to mark their 20th anniversary (!). Not being a diehard fan herself, I wondered why she was quite eager to watch it. Turned out there was a line-up of formidable guest singers in the concert. Okay...

So off we went, buying tickets at the last minute, somewhat surprised upon finding out that they were almost sold out. I think we'd need binoculars?

Our balcony tickets notwithstanding, we saw and heard them clearly. Thank heavens the venue was an auditorium. The audience were expectedly gushing over old OPM faves - Now That I Have You, Muntik na Kitang Minahal, Pakisabi Na Lang, Baka Ikaw. They even gave Eraserheads' Ang Huling El Bimbo and Viva Hot Babes (?) Bulaklak a funky and jazzy twist. Neat! They were nothing if not versatile that night. Maybe that was their whole point. We got it.



6 October - Catherine Tuttle at the Podium

"..that was Alone by Catherine Tuttle. Catch her tonight at the Podium..." That was all I heard as I flipped the dial to 92.3. In the last few days, I was shifting between 105.1 and 92.3 in the hopes of catching her voice. Talk of miserably bad timing.

Dragging Meng along, we found ourselves mingling with predominantly foreign crowd. A few minutes after settling in our seats, Catherine came up on stage unobtrusively. Only 18 years old, she endeared herself to the crowd with her down to earth manner. She was so unpretentious. Why, in the middle of her performance, she borrowed a pen from the audience, flipped her hair with it, and, voila, an instant hairclip! I even noticed she removed her slip-ons, the wooden sandals presumably preventing her from feeling the rhythm of the piano more accurately. I like her! :)

I am not a critic, Bloggie, but I felt like I was listening to a younger version of Carole King, or Sarah Maclachlan, or Tori Amos even. I bought a copy of her cd (of course!). Turned out she composed all of the tracks except for Rescue Me. Neat!

'Twas good! She was good!



7 October - Mishka Adams at the Podium

I was ecstatic to learn that Mishka would be back by this time (from London) to cap the week-long Candid International Jazz Festival. I longed to see her perform live, longer please.

She's better heard live, her voice so smooth it practically rendered the crowd clamoring for more, more, more! Without a doubt, it helped that Mishka was backed up by equally gifted musicians whose improvisation must have stopped passersby on their tracks, pulled by the force of truly wonderful fusion of sound coming from the instruments.

I was with Meng. Again. Come to think of it, Bloggie, she is very much a sport when it comes to indulging my taste in food, clothes and, yes, music. The events of the preceding days could attest to that. Anyway. She'd heard Mishka before but she was not that, uhh, enthralled by her. I can tell you, Bloggie, that it all changed when she saw and heard her in person. She was positively gushing after a few awkward moment. I told her it was all right as I nudged her to look all around.

I can't wait for her next album.

Running around in circles

My patience is hanging by a very precarious thread.

I thought I should be in San Jose, California by now, working for the "biggest professional services organization in the world". But as Fate (?) would have it, I am still here in the Philippines, taking in more than my share of government bureaucracy. Well, I am p**ing from this diet I am having for close to three months now. Hello!!! It boggles the mind what's taking this government so long to approve the local agency tasked by my new employer to expedite POEA's issuance of the all-too-important Overseas Employent Card.

By the way Bloggie, I do not wish to chronicle the events leading to my clinching the Stars and Stripes job and eventually obtaining an H1B US visa for it...see? That statement was the long and short of it. And I could barely remember the nitty-gritties, anyway.

Lest you think, Bloggie, that I am heaping all the blame on this desperate government, my Big 4 firm also didn't quite get the alternative available to me - and effectively, to them also, right? - as prescribed by the POEA in case the waiting game drags on. Which is that I could just sign the POEA Waiver Form and therefore free Big 4 from any responsibility except those that bind them as per the employent contract. I kept on explaining this alternative to my Big 4 contact through email, then, just now and a couple of days ago, through phone. Her last response went something like their legal department adviced me to wait for the POEA's response and that I should advice them if I took this route because they were not aware of any waiver and its contents if ever I pursued in signing it. Somehow, I kinda expected this response if you know what I mean, Bloggie.

That's why it totally escapes me why they still had that bit about not being responsible for the waiver's contents. If you think about it, Bloggie, I'd end up with the shorter end of the stick. In the midst of its perpetual state of lethargy, I could appreciate POEA in protecting its overseas workers, thus the additional requirements which could confuse foreign employers. With the waiver, the employee (me!) has no choice but to stick with what's in the employent contract. It is THAT simple. It's sign-at-your-own-risk and I fully, fully understand it. The employent contract is super fine with me, anyway. The only thing lacking, as per the POEA, is that thing about repatriation of remains. My salary could afford it, thank you. And I have lots of relatives in California, whatever happens.

What's more exaspirating is that my San Jose contact is aware of my other colleague who resorted to the Waiver Move. Big 4's office in San Francisco, where he'd be posted, approved the idea. He is now waiting for his flight on 24 October. Grrr...

In the end, I know it is just a matter of time. But can I please be spared the runaround? It is never fun.

Falling into place

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If we take care of the moments, the years will take care of themselves.
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Whenever I am at home these days, my cousin Ria and I usually eat mid-morning snacks together. Other than bringing baby Twixie over to be my current playmate, I like having her around. Why?

She is two years my junior but she figured prominently in my childhood as we were constant playmates. We go a long way back. It’s return to Pooh Corner, Christopher Robin and, yes, ruffled undies. I can think of no more graphic interpretation.

True to our being 80’s kids, we’d engage in countless sports like our life depended on it. No kidding.

Biking, patintero, tumbang preso, climbing trees, jogging, piko, table tennis, Chinese garter, hide and seek, luksong tinik, football, swimming, volleyball, badminton, hulug-hulugang ginto, touch-the-handkerchief, monkey-monkey-Annabelle-how-many-monkeys-did-you-see, hula hoops or plain running in the rain.

Those games which ended up on stalemate were decided on by jack-en-poy. Hahaha. Ria had this uncanny ability to win it almost every time. I hated her for it as I was irredeemable on that score. Barring that waterloo, Barring that waterloo, I did very well in all those sports such that our playmates always wanted me to be part of their teams. Ria hated me for that.

Sit-down events would involve jackstones, pick-up sticks, trump cards, sungka, rubber bands, gameboys, jolens (so much better than saying marbles, yes?), and Ritchie Rich/ Popeye/ Bioman/ Shaider/ Pacman/ Transformers/ SuperFriends sessions with my Pop Cola or Ria’s Sarsi and Nanay’s champorado, puddings or pancakes, or powdered Milo mixed with loads of Birch Tree and sugar.

We were also in the business of plucking leaves, twigs, flowers and whatnots from our ill-fated garden. We’d chop, slice, mince, crush and cook them in clay pans and pots made in Antipolo, no less. We lovingly served them to stray cats and dogs which, unfortunately, never paid us another visit after their first try. We always wondered why.

When we were into our teens, believe it or not Bloggie, we joined the local church choir. Just for fun, as always. I was an alto and Ria was a soprano. The highlight of our short-lived career was singing Latin songs at the Asian Institute of Liturgy and Music. Our conductor had so much faith in our group he thought nothing of using us in his graduation recital. I don’t know if it was out of white fear or undeniable talent that carried our group through, but we sure made it.

As time went by, we sort of drifted apart. I basically lost track of what was happening to her and to the world, for that matter. I remember struggling with a lot of issues on my own. I was so myopic I couldn’t care less what happened to people other than my family. But now that I look back, I realize she must have faced up to life’s challenges harder, much harder than I could have had managed on my own. She lost her mother, then her father, then her home. She survived a tumultuous relationship with an inveterate freeloader. For the life of me, I couldn’t hold a candle with what she had to go through to get to where she is right now.

Right now? She is a picture of pregnant happiness, no pun intended. You see Bloggie, she is expecting her second child in February. She married a very good man. She went back to the house they lost, restored it and made it her growing family’s home. If I think about it, everything she lost was given back to her in different packages, apparently overloaded with blessings. Here, I remember what a friend told me. God helps those who helps themselves.

Now why, really, do I like her? She is one tough cookie, like Rosanna Roces’ brand of fearlessness minus the latter’s misdemeanors and triple X adventures. She also has this way of endearing herself to people, particularly elder townsfolk. That’s why I never need go out of the four corners of our house to know the latest tittle-tattle in the four corners of our town.

My goodness! I have to write it all down before I finally get it. I have met and will surely meet lots of other people but she is one of those people who will always remind me of my roots. I cannot drive home the point more clearly.