Mud Slide!

So Saturday at the *crack* of 11.30 AM ( real time 12.15 PM) Team Pegasus, who is featured above, and MJ from Quality and myself all loaded into a van and headed for a "resort", (the same place that the Coms team has scheduled for our team building later in the month, coincidentally). The ride was long, due to the fact that it's rainy season and the main road was flooded (!!) so we had to take the long way. The really long way.

Most people nodded off, and after about 2.5 hours (and just as the driver appeared to finally learn how to smoothly accelerate, only to skid to a stop about 500 feet from the resort in front of 3 feet of water) the boys rolled up their pants and portaged our stuff across the river that was the road and the girl were driven across in the van (there was no question about this, it was a given- girls in the van, boys fording the rapids.) and we were there! Para-mud! Flooded-ise!

The resort was the kind of place that is usually rented by 15 drunken college students during spring break: two bedrooms that came with trundle beds and "extra" mattresses and pillows for the people who stayed up too late to get a bed, a kitchen, a rattan couch that was too short for most of us, and a giant TV. There was a pool, but it was across the parking lot from the house and the main guest rooms (? eh?). The whole place was a little grim due to the grey light, flooded street, broken palms, stone-rock ocean roaring away like the Atlantic around Rhode Island in the background, everything looking like the establishing shots for an America's Most Wanted recreation vid.

The guys fired up the grill and started cooking, a few people disappeared into the bedrooms to crash, and I whipped out a deck of cards and coerced Erwin into playing cards with me. I taught him Spit, and he taught me a new card game that's like a rapid- fire, open- handed Poker "Pusoy" or "Big Two" (http://www.pagat.com/climbing/bigtwo.html). It's fun and easy, and I enjoyed myself to a degree. I was craving a gin and tonic, a sandwich and a lounge chair, but eh...

The guys set up a pick up game of basketball, a few people cracked some beers (me included) and the sun slowly set as people drifted in and out, and Arthur and his lovely wife Lyhric (not sure of the spelling!) made dinner.

The overwhelming vibe for me was the VERY clear memories of killing time at my Grandma Bates waiting for the adults to make dinner, playing cards or board games with my siblings (probably Kez while Caleb jumped off tree stumps in the backyard). I felt like I was with my favorite cousin (with some people the family vibe is very strong, and Erwin is one of those) gossiping, desultorily playing cards, and talking trash while the TV murmured in the background and the food started to smell better and better.

I wouldn't call it a laugh riot, but it was okay.

The food, which was delicious, was (as usual) but served around 8 PM when I was STARVING. It was barbecue pork (which was crispy, fatty, and FUCKING AWESOME) , salad, bread, soup, and plenty of beer. Oh, and a huge pot of rice. Most guys (there were only three women there and about 8 guys, including "Tiny Mark"- Mark's kid that looked to be about 8 or 9 who was silent as the tomb) sat and dug in with their hands, and then promptly passed out in a food coma.

After dinner, Erwin and I went night swimming and talked, freezing our butts off, and then went in to watch Chloe on HBO (a movie I saw in the States and liked), or more accurately, Erwin to fall asleep and me to watch Chloe and listen to the videoke which had been fired up on the deck and would. not. be. stopped. until. the world. was. theirs!!

The guys were at it until about 2 AM, when the last off- key note faded into the night and they toddled off to bed.

It's hard to get used to the fact that Filipinos just *don't* sit and "shoot the bull" like a similar group of Americans could be counted on to do. If there's nothing to do or look at most Filipinos will stare out into space patiently and silently, not saying anything, or fall asleep and catch 40 winks. Once again, not judging, just sayin'.

Anyway, I got the mattress on the floor, as the bedrooms were split up : boys in one and MJ and me and Arthur and his wife in one, but I fell asleep watching TV and some dude (the only dude I can't remember the name of) took my spot on the bed with (NOT with with, just "in proximity to") MJ.

The next day we pounded down some breakfast (once again, food was very good and took two hours to make--coffee, omelets, rice, sausages, and fish) and took some pix on the sand and then went home (much faster since we could take the main road).

Overall I had an okay time- I probably would have had a blast if I had gotten 'faced and taken over the Karaoke machine, but then again I'm not really a boss but a sort of teacher for these guys and I want to keep what small rep I may still have, not ruin it with ill advised "Only the Lonely" at 1 AM.

What's worse than the only "okay" time you're having? The imaginary SUPERAWESOME time "someone else" would be having in your stead.

This leads me to a phenomenon I call "the cocktail party in the sky"--it has two faces:

Meet and Greet is when you're struck with the feeling that what you're doing (be it your job, your dude, your clothes, or even the way you're walking and talking) is purely or mostly for the Big Competition that everyone seems to be involved in: who's the coolest person on Earth. But you do it anyway because you can't stop now, you're almost there.

What He Had is when you're struck with the feeling that you picked the wrong group and now you're stuck with the "uncool" or "B-grade" team despite the fact that they're fun, etc.

The Best Time Ever is when you mentally review other people's FB albums that chronicle similar events and everyone looks like they're on Ecstasy they're so high on life/ the awesome party they're at that's now over and you're on the outside looking at photos.

In case it isn't obvious, I have a terminal case of Cocktail Party in the Sky.

And I will forever, probably.

Later, lovers!

Horrible, sociopathic Tourist assults innocent local lady, film at 11!

So I debated back and forth about writing this entry, since it seems to be like "gosh I wish I had your problems, beey-otch!" but, there is the idea that I would share what's it's *really* like over here...so...

I went on a ill fated expedition to Manila this weekend, to try to get my passport renewed (something I should have really done before I left before I left the US, but whatevs, I'm here now), and it was in the words of one author "a total shit show".

First I made the ill considered decision to bring the guy I've been seeing, who is about a helpful as a limp carrot trying to pick a lock. I won't go into major details here, but basically, it was like bringing a four year old with me. It was totally draining. It wasn't just the language barrier, this guy has no ambition and almost nothing going on upstairs- he was content to lay in bed for 15 hours watching cartoons and/ or working out at the gym.

As much as I try, I am not a man. I need more than a pretty face and a willing body and eternal devotion to make a relationship.
Anyway, that relationship is toast, I just have to pull the plug, which will be soon, I just need to recover from my "orday-tion" (a vacation that was really an ordeal).

SO this is what really ruined my vacation for me (besides the fact it rained the ENTIRE TIME I was there, the place was PACKED with people (where they came from I don't know.).

Here's the facts: the movie theatre in the Mall is on the fourth floor. To reach the forth floor you have to ride four escalators. Another *extremely* pertinent fact is that here in Asia THOUSANDS of people have bumped into me without any apology what so ever. So that's what you need to know.

So right before I got on the second floor escalator, there was an old bag who looked like trouble to me. I thought to myself "I'm going to have to shove this old bag ahead of me out of the way."

I'm not sure how this works, but it's gotten a LOT stronger since I've gotten older and I've been here but some people just SCREAM "trouble" with their body.

It's partially the way they dress (there's a taxi driver I see here that wears combat boots and a variety of hats who gives me the willies and I refuse to ride with, even if he's "next" in line. I've actually said "I won't go with him" to the "taxi porter", prompting this creepy driver to yell at me: "What's WRONG with you???!!" Uh, that. What you just did, asshole. That's what's "wrong" with me. I have strong self protective instincts.

It's partially the way they carry themselves, it's the look on their face, I swear it's in the way some people "smell". Some people are MASSIVE TROUBLE and you should REALLY stay away. Anyhow, you can see where this is going.

Foolishly, because there was a big, jostling crowd, I got on the escalator right behind her. Because I'm socially aware and I give a shit about not creating trouble in public. There must be a delirious, delightful freedom in being a lumpy old troll who has lost all sense of perspective and mores. Anyway, back to the story....

And sure enough THIS OLD BAG of TROUBLE gets off and immediately stops at the head of the escalator, completely blocking the exit, and moving so slow that snails and turtles are blowing by her. Here's my defense, such as it: She was a legitimate safety risk. Now I know she's probably got health issues. But hon, there's HUGE signs all over the mall for "priority" elevators and escalators just for "challenged" old bags like yourself. Avail yourself of them and GIVE THE REST OF US A BREAK.

Anyway, I put my hand on her back VERY LIGHTLY to signal her "hey, OLD BAG there's people behind you, you may have noticed, the mall is FUCKING PACKED".

She flipped out, screaming "You don't push people! Don't push." I ignored her, which was also a mistake because this fucking wingnut followed me screaming at me up two more escalators and came up behind me and pushed me hard enough to dislodge my balance and kept on screaming insults.

At this point it's a major scene. I told her "This is a misunderstanding. You're mistaken, and I think you should drop it." Over my DEAD BODY was I going to apologize. She managed to produce some OLD BAG 2 from somewhere who was also yelling. "Who do you think you are? You come to this country, you think you can do whatever you want."

At this point, I made a conscious decision to hang her. I put on my most innocent face and I appealed to the guard who had very reluctantly strolled over "I really don't know what she's talking about sir. This is all a big misunderstanding. I'm not sure why she's so upset." It significantly helped that these women were going apeshit and I was calm and collected. That's right, old bags. Go nuts. Ha. Ha. Ha. All the times I watched people respond to baiting like this I promised myself "I will NEVER take the bait when it comes to my turn." Working with children also helped. Also there is an unpleasantly sadistic side (very small side!!) of my personality that sort of relishes watching people go ass over teakettle crazy while I act like I have "no idea" why they're so upset. Heh. I put it to go use here.

It worked, he waved them off disgustedly (while they were still screaming insults. Classy.) and I shrugged.

But I was very shaken up. This is the bottom line: I see white men acting like complete buffoons and assholes here every day, but I never see them getting yelled at. It's me. Because I'm a woman, I'm expected to by "the Angel in the House" or I will be "punished" socially for trying to assert myself. A TRUE Filipina (or so the ideal goes) (and this is really my experience) would have let herself just get sucked into the guts of the escalator without even making a peep for fear of "insulting" the old bag. Well FUCK THAT.

For some reason, the older women here (over 35, basically) REALLY seem to hate my guts. The least I get is hard, hateful stares as I walk by. The worst is the aforementioned bullshit. I don't know if maybe once women get married and have their kids they "let go" and instead of getting fat (although they do that too, just FYI those of you that dream of dating a perfect little china doll) they drop the sweet little pootums act and become the diabala we all knew was inside.

At any rate, because I'm a white woman, I have to act like a perfect representative of not only my race but women as well- deferentially apologizing to old bags who lose their shit after being gently nudged out of the way for SAFETY REASONS. It wasn't for nothing that I was born in the US. Ugly American, here we come! Actually, that lies at the heart of why I'm so upset, which I'll address later: I have tried really hard to NOT be a grabby, gross, loud, horrible tourist type.

I've been stared at, bumped, yelled at, cut in line, laughed at, you name it. I have never ONCE responded to any of it. I am also not a tourist exploiting the "natural resource" of 18 year old women, I'm here to HELP local people get better at their job and therefore gain more chances to better their lives. I live here. I have the same, if not more, concern about the environment and public policies as that old bag who gets her jollies feeling self righteous over "horrible tourists".

You're in Manila, old bag. It's crowded, and it's full of white people. Some of them may do things that you don't like. So you have to do WHAT I DO EVERY DAY OF MY LIFE and shrug it off instead of embarrassing yourself with a gigantic, nutso scene.

Ugh.

movie review: singular

Yes, Babies: something has made a dent in the Stainless Steel double door refrigerator that I call my heart. (Well, my chest cavity IS cold!)

I initially resisted "Super 8"due to two things: number one: associations with a terrible Nicholas Cage thriller about snuff films named similarly (8 millimeter, I think) and the last offering by JJ Abrams, which was a film I rented and never watched a few times, Cloverfield.

Well, this film, which I was drawn to and watched today, was a rare thing: (and I use this term lightly and at the same time with dead seriousness) magic.

There's something about this film that reaches into you and grabs you. It wasn't not as intense as Where the Wild Things Are (A film that reduced both me and my sister to emotional jelly-a film I still think about like an ex boyfriend. One of the few films I can unabashedly say was "genius").

This film was not exactly "genius"- it didn't change my world and bring me out of my world and drop me back to earth, but there was something about it that was sweet, delicate, lovable, likable, and interesting.

Of course the friends are well matched, and well played, and of course the thrills are legitimately startling and the reactions of the kids (who seem to be about10 or so) is for ONCE actually real. The dialogue is a bit Aaron Sorkin- ified, but that's okay. (Everyone is hyper literate, hyper aware of their own emotions, and hyper verbal, but that's movie making today). There's a few very funny lines. There are some amazingly well framed movie-within- a- movie moments that were so well constructed they somehow showed their seams and were seamless at the same time.

There is something missing from the US today, and that is the sense of leisurely hope that was slowly dying in the late 1970's and early 1980's to be replaced with irony, isolation, aenhedonia, and a sneer.

The main thing is...


There was a JOY about this movie that "leaked" out- it was scary, emotional, confused, violent, real, and somehow, unbelievable, joyful.

This is a love letter to something, so deep, so authentic, and so unafraid that in spite of some flaws in the film I must recognize it as a major milestone in film-making. It was unlike anything I've seen recently (the ONLY thing I can compare it to, and only fleetingly, is Wild Things, in it's construction of emotional honesty, if that makes any sense.)

There is something major here, something about how emotion is constructed and that makes it at once more believable and more removed from reality at the same time, a kind of eternity loop that is real in an existential sense, if that makes any sense: all emotions are constructed, everything is a kind of film played back in our memories, everything is "infected" by films and television (even the aliens are HR Geiger creations of horror and biological mechanics) that nothing is new, except the idea that is always new:

Here I am. This is what happened. Here is what I loved. Here is what I knew. It was so real I almost couldn't believe it.

There's the door.

Ladies and gentlemen, behold the wonder of the universe- no matter where I go, even if it's to 6000 miles away from my most recent port of call, there will be a strange phenomenon: "I hate you. Call me!"

For some reason that is beyond my limited powers of understanding (well, I'll try later, but I welcome you, fellow travelers', interpretations), I seem to attract a small subset (within the larger ring of friends) of people who REALLY don't like me, approve of me, or genuinely enjoy interacting with me, yet still want to hang out with me, in fact, insinuating themselves into my life with the longevity and tenacity of weatherproof caulking.

Now, the usual reasons would be sexual attraction, I've got something they want, or money (ie, I'm buying the "friendship" of toxic courtiers.

BUT NO!

Some of these have been gay men, straight women, or people who are clearly not attracted to me. Also, let's point out that while I am a hot number, I'm no movie star and my looks, while suitable, are not "dazzling." I am just not the type of person people become "obsessed" with. Really.
Also, these people tend to be fiercely proud, not even accepting a dutch treat, in fact, a few of them have adopted a kind of parental role, giving me gifts or loaning me the occasional 20 spot to last me until payday. So it's not that I'm so loaded....

The thing is, these people fundamentally don't like me, but are, for some reason, drawn to hang out with me anyway. What is UP with that?

My most recent addition to this galaxy is a coworker who, while I was uploading my photos on Facebook (we were killing time waiting to go to a movie), had something scathingly critical to say about every single one (they were all photos of locations or stuff, thank god.) "Oh, nice trash on the street. Oh, here's my useless shoes. Oh, here's another pointless photo."

I felt the same feeling I had when another of these types punched me hello one time after a long absence: "Something is off here. What is going on?"

To be honest, I would break it down thusly:

Some people (usually with SUPER shitty childhoods) feel that they had to scrape and bite for everything they have (and they indeed most likely did!) and they are both jealous of and desirous of people who seem "charmed" (HA! if only they knew). I precipitate (if that's the right word) this illusion with my fab bachelor pad, fun international friends, free and easy travels around the world, and my own blessed family. It's something I think Kez has experienced as well- people who seemingly really don't like her, yet hang around her anyway.

The thing is...I have my own vulnerabilities too, but these types are so caustic that to reveal any cracks in the facade of my life to them would be social suicide, thus they doom themselves to eternal Pan-hood, always looking in the window at a cheery fire and homey domestic scene they both want and fear equally.

But what do you think? And Reeni, yes I will tell you who I'm thinking of but I don't want to point fingers in a public blog, as you never know who's reading it!!

Higher

That's me on the left. Even sort of looks like me- heh. That's my mental state right now. Yes, babies, I've met someone.

He's beautiful. He's 24. He looks like an Asian Tip Payne: (really, strikingly so)

(slightly less menacing) to the point where when I met him at 7-11 to go on our first date, him in his civvies (yes, ladies, he wears a uniform, cue the screams now) I thought as I saw him from a slight distance, "Oh, my god, THAT'S who he looks like- no wonder I'm so attracted to him!".

He's a Pisces (never dated one, so we'll see).

His name is Leo, which is said "Leyh-oh".
He smells like brown sugar. He has a perfect narrow, long body and he dressed with style- Adidas All Days, HCO shirt just the right size to show off his body, running jacket and aviators that make the most of the gorgeous planes of his face, which is one of the most stunning I've ever seen.

He's golden skinned, light coffee with cream with caramel, and he's one of the Filipinos that's mostly hairless- completely smooth arms and legs (odd, I know, but hairy men are the exception over here, unlike us Caucasian wolves who need a fur coat to stay WARM up in the wilds of upstate Maine).
Oh, and perfect teeth, which is extremely rare over here.

The deal was, people were vociferously arguing I should try to date outside of work so one day after shift I was hanging out at Phillies and this exceptionally handsome boy with a beautiful, innocent spirit was the security guard (a slightly more serious position over here than back home- they carry MACHINE GUNS over here) for the place and he was *having it*.

Well, as we know, very few men can resist the "full monty" from me, so as I was leaving (after flirting my bawls off with this guy for an hour) I slipped him my number, to be rewarded with a smile that could light up Field Avenue.

Honestly, it sounds a little foolish, but I've slightly relaxed my annoyance at white men who are attracted to young women who can hardly speak English. There's a lovely innocence and sweetness to most Filipinos (probably the whole Third World thing) that's like a breath of fresh air to the most jaded souls (uh, that's me, for those of you keeping track). It's just easy to be with them- there's a blankness to Asians that can be extremely comforting, or (as I've found out the hard way) totally infuriating. It's hard to describe that feeling that comes from being around some Filipinos, it's like taking Valium, like soaking in a warm tub. The insecurities, the neuroses, theego, the whole bit, it's just not there like it is with Americans.

Now the English isn't super great, but once again let's stress that this isn't a "serious as life or death" situation and having a 24- year- old beautiful creature giving you the puppy eyes, text you several times a day just to say hi, and telling you how beautiful your "tall" nose is feels won-der-ful after the horror show that was the last two months.

And, best of all, he seems to have no aspirations to be the Sam Rothstein to my Ginger, (something that comes from dating a younger man, as many a cougar can attest), which is refreshing.

So, we'll see....