Shopping with Husbands in tow.

I got this from a sent email. The sender friend of mine is either bored at work or just trying to lighten up the mid-week blahs.

BANNED FROM WAL-MART…

This is why women should not take men shopping against their will. After I retired, my wife insisted that I accompany her on her trips to Wal-Mart. Unfortunately, like most men, I found shopping boring and preferred to get in and get out. Equally unfortunately, my wife is like most women – she loves to browse. Yesterday my dear wife received the following letter from the local Wal-Mart:

Dear Mrs. Samsel,

Over the past six months, your husband has been causing quite a commotion

in our store. We cannot tolerate this behavior and have been forced to ban both

of you from the store. Our complaints against Mr. Samsel are listed below and

are documented by our video surveillance cameras.

1. June 15: Took 24 boxes of condoms and randomly put them in people’s

carts when they weren’t looking.

2. July 2: Set all the alarm clocks in house wares to go off at 5-minute

intervals.

3. July 7: Made a trail of tomato juice on the floor leading to the

women’s restroom.

4. July 19: Walked up to an employee and told her in an official voice,

‘Code 3 in housewares. Get on it right away.’

5. August 4: Went to the Service Desk and tried to put a bag of

M&M’s on layaway.

6. August 14: Moved a ‘CAUTION – WET FLOOR’ sign to a carpeted

area.

7. August 15: Set up a tent in the camping department and told other

shoppers he’d invite them in if they would bring pillows and blankets from

the bedding department.

8. August 23: When a clerk asked if they could help him he began crying

and screamed, ‘Why can’t you people just leave me alone?’

9. September 4: Looked right into the security camera and used it as a

mirror while he picked his nose.

10. September 10: While handling guns in the hunting department, he asked

the clerk where the antidepressants were.

11. October 3: Darted around the store suspiciously while loudly humming

the ‘ Mission Impossible’ theme.

12. October 6: In the auto department, he practiced his ‘ Madonna

look’ by using different sizes of funnels.

13. October 18: Hid in a clothing rack and when people browsed through,

yelled ‘PICK ME! PICK ME!’

14. October 21: When an announcement came over the loud speaker, he

assumed a fetal position and screamed ‘OH NO! IT’S THOSE VOICES

AGAIN!’

And last, but not least.

15. October 23: Went into a fitting room, shut the door, waited awhile,

then yelled very loudly, ‘Hey! There’s no toilet paper in here!’

We’re Ovulating!

My wife and I went to the OB-GYN 3 weeks ago for a checkup. If you must know, I was also included in the checkup.  Though I was only interviewed by the lady doctor, I didn’t have to be physically examined like my wife was.  Thank God.

The Asian Hospital and Medical Center in Alabang is the hospital we decided to have ourselves examined. Also, when we get pregnant, we want to give birth in a hospital where it feels as if you’re visiting a classy hotel.  I want our baby to feel the luxury the minute he or she comes out into this world….Oooowkaaay…who am I kidding… you’re right. I’m the one who wants to feel luxurious, my wife too.

Anyway, when it came our turn to see the doctor, I immediately felt calm, more like comforted. She was really nice to tell us that it’s alright to not get pregnant yet on the eighth month of marriage. Doktora CJ (her nickname) told us we need to relax.  You know, that sort of spiel they give to newly weds trying to conceive.  What disarmed us was when she asked us to pray with her. Yes, pray…as in talk to God.  It was at that instant I felt we were in good hands. So we prayed with her for a successful conception.  This may sound sappy but that was the first time a doctor made me feel touched and blessed. 

Doktora CJ asked us to proceed to the ultrasound room. I was given orders to go for a sperm analysis but was instructed to take it (or give it) next month for if and when my wife gets her monthly period.  Hmmm…my own “swimmers” in a cup…interesting blog that would be.

We were prepped  for a transvaginal ultrasound. Actually, just my wife. I held her hand (give me some credit) and tried to figure out what the images on the TV screen were. The ultrasound doktora said: “You’re ovulating!” I gave her a mildly excited “Yay!” and asked: “Ummm… What does that mean?” with a silly ignoramus grin on my face. My wife lovingly slapped my arm as if saying: “Idiot!” Then she gave us the summary of the diagnosis for us to relay to doktora CJ. 

My wife, upon reaching home, immediately texted doktora CJ the diagnosis of the ultrasound. The doctor replied: 

“Praise and thank God, u did ovulate. Pls hve sex 2nite and tmrw nite. And wl pray hard!”

Who said prayerful doctors are boring? I just verified it. God does have a sense of humor.

My wife and I had the best belly laugh that day. 

Pray with us.  We’d like to bring children to this world that will contribute to the betterment of humanity, however small.  We hope you would, too.

I dozed off watching Hatton vs Malignaggi

Sunday noon is usually fight day (or fight night in viva Las Vegas) in lazy Manila time.  While we usually wait for our bulalos, sinigangs, and adobos to get cooked, my brother and I tune in to undercard fights of up and coming boxers.  On a good fight day, we can discover new fighters who may face a bright future in the sport.  Unfortunately, our very own Boom Boom Bautista’s undercard fight did not impress the judges score card decisions in his fight yesterday against Heriberto Ruiz.  It’s actually the Boholano’s second loss in Sin City. Well, the guy  is young and he still has a lot going for him. 

On the other hand, the main event (Ricky Hatton vs Paulie Malignaggi) had big name celebrities witnessing the over-hyped event.  Italian stallion Sly Stallone and highest paid footballer David Beckham supported Malignaggi and Hatton respectively.  Yes, I did say over-hyped.  It was as if excitement got stuck in the Baccarat tables and decided to not attend the highly publicized fight.  Even if the MGM Grand Garden was packed and as noisy as a football stadium, the drowning chants of Englishmen sounded already celebratory as Hatton dominated the fight from the time the bell clanged for round 1. Paulie “The Magic Man” Malignaggi failed to show his magic. His lazy right hand seemed as if it took the whole day off. His double left jabs, though sharp and snappy, only slapped Hatton’s face for mere points. In the end, them points fell short as well. In the 11th round, the fight was stopped at the request of Malignaggi’s corner. His corner men waved their white towels to take him away from more punishment.  Besides, Malignaggi stopped throwing punches.  The Magic Man was dismayed.  So was I. He should’ve taken the fall. That would’ve made the fight less lousy.

While ’tis true that Hatton has the power, he does not have the lightning fast skills of Pacquiao.  Had it been Pacquiao that fought Malignaggi, The Magic Man would’ve kissed the canvas before the fifth round.  If this is the Ricky Hatton that is hungry for Manny Pacquiao, then the Hit Man needs a higher and faster caliber “gun”.  The Pinoy Pac Man will gobble him whole, with his ho-hum skills.  

In my opinion, Hatton can whoop Manny’s ass… in speaking proper English.

Nigella Bites: I’ve been bitten!

I enjoy watching cooking shows as much as I enjoy tasting new and exotic dishes.   There was a time when cooking shows were few and far between.  Philippine TV in the 70s and 80s even had shows placed only on Sunday morning time slots after televised Catholic mass and Christian TV evangelists. There was even one that had a Fookien-speaking chef.  As I expected, he was a fast and flashy chef that made utensils twirl like a majorette and pots make noise like it was New Year’s in Binondo.  The problem was, he spoke and demonstrated in Fookien, and I neither spoke nor grunted in that Chinese language.  

Then Stepen Yan came.  Great cook, amazing showman. Though halting and a tad broken, he spoke good English…and he was funny. He entertained while he cooked, blabbering his mouth like a market vendor, and jabbing his spatulas flamboyantly.  In spite of all the showbiz he flashed, his recipes looked as appetizing as can be. Manila simply raved for Stephey Yan and his Wok With Yan show.  Everyone wanted a Wok in their kitchen. That Yan was the Man! 

When cable TV was made accessible to almost any home, cooking shows became a dime a dozen. The Food Network made a killing with all these chefs that showed off what they can show off.  Various chefs who were funny, had panache, or was simply snooty, all vied for cable viewers’ attention. They exuded differing degrees of confidence and sometimes a bit of elitism.  

Then Nigella came. All the qualities of a TV chef I have seen, viewed, critiqued, lambasted, and even cherished have hit a hard and high yet invisible wall.  I was dumbfounded.  She’s neither funny nor flashy. Truth is, I see no need for her to be. She had a face suited for royalty, eyes that saw through the camera and direct-hit any viewer, a body like a Greek goddess (Oprah calls her a Domestic Goddess), and a smile that could melt butter in a walk-in freezer.  One episode I watched (and attempted to comprehend), she was mixing this and that, and preparing a bevy of ingredients. In the end, she showed a cake. I was staring too much! No wonder the TV show did a lot of close ups on the ingredients and the utensils.  It is sooo hard not to stare at her! After every show, I’d end up feeling torn. I don’t know whether I’m hungry or turned on.

On occassion, I’d have the initiative and energy to prepare the cuisine I recently watched. Not with Nigella’s show. I can only gawk.  My wife finds it amusing that I have a crush on her.  Besides, she blushes everytime I tell her she looks like an Ilongga version of Nigella…but prettier.

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Norah Jones and Elmo

In my previous post, I wrote about Sesame Street’s influence on my childhood.  I guess if I keep looking further back, I’m bound to rediscover something.

Well, I did rediscover something.  At the risk of sounding stupid and stating the friggin obvious, Sesame Street influenced my adolescent life stage, too.

What am I getting at? Let me explain. I downloaded this video clip a couple of years ago.  The first time I watched it, I was mesmerized like a Golden Retriever puppy to his first bouncing tennis ball.  Something clicked. My inner child (or whatever psychoanalysts prefer to call it) held hands with my inner adolescent dude (or whatever title sounds “in”) and hung out like they were long lost siblings. Elmo, who as far as I can remember was not yet “born” in the 70s, sat with jazz/blues siren Norah Jones while she played piano. 

How did I feel when I was watching it for the first time? Honestly, both sappy and turned on. That was the second time I felt excessively sentimental and testosteronal at the same time. Elmo was cute, Norah’s face and voice was sooo sexy.  Hence, my Inner Child meets my Inner Adolescent bloke. Sesame Street writers are evil geniuses!

If you must know, the first time I felt that way was during my first Karaoke group date with my then future wife. I was a tickled Elmo that night… but that is an entirely different sappy story.

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Achmed the Dead Terrorist: Finding humor in the stupidity of racism.

I was a Sesame Street baby, still am. I’ve been in awe of puppets ever since I got my first Rubber Duckie for my bathtub sessions.  I liked Ernie so much, I mimicked his silly laugh and declared my red and black striped shirt with matching suspenders my official uniform for any type of party.  My brothers have pictures to prove that.  A neighbor constantly ridiculed me and asked where Bert and his pigeons were. Anyway… when I understood the mechanics of the puppets, I had to get my own puppet.  I told my papa and he got me a Nog-Nog boxing puppet. If you were a kid who lived in the Metro Manila in the 70s, you know what I’m talking about. I enjoyed that for a while, and as expected the novelty quickly wore off. Then I got interested in ventriloquists and their puppets.  

Ventriloquists are hilarious people.  I’ve always thought their sense of humor bordered on the perverse and twisted since they represent themselves as individuals who could make a conversation work even if the conversation is between him and another inanimate puppet made animate by his talent.  You get what I mean, I’m sure.  You’ve seen ventriloquists since you were a kid. I you haven’t, then you must have lived under a rock.

The hilarity of ventriloquism took on a new meaning when I saw Jeff Dunham on YouTube.  I thought, this guy is in serious trouble for his racist jokes which he projects on his character Achmed the Dead Terrorist. True, the jokes are racist but I think it made fun of racism and attempted to transcend the stupidity of racial prejudice. Consequently, it also somehow diffuses apparent tensions across ethnicities.

I’ll shut up now…I might over analyze this and defend humor for humor’s sake.  Twisted? Maybe…maybe not. I think I’ve outgrown the naivete of Sesame Street.

Shortest Award-winning Essay

This is too good to pass up and not re-post. I received this email from my alumni yahoo group. My serotonin (feel good chemicals) levels went up.  Humor can indeed be a “cure all” if not a soothing remedy to a slow and lazy day.

This is a story of a 16 year old boy from New Hampshire who won the World’s Shortest Essay competition.

He was awarded a scholarship at the University of Harvard for his imagination and humour ….Here’s an example of absolute brilliance.. ..

An English university creative writing class was asked to write a concise essay containing the following elements:
1) Religion    2) Royalty      3) Sex       4) Mystery

The prize-winner wrote:

“My God,” said the Queen, “I’m pregnant. I wonder who the father is.”

Boodle Fight!

There are weekends when my family gets together for a barbecue, inihaw na panga, liempo, manok, pancit and Pinoy food with matching sawsawang kamatis, bagoong, sibuyas, toyo, suka or patis (Pinoy sauce considered disgusting to foreigners).

Sunday noons are usually set for family lunches. These lunches are made more special whenever somebody is celebrating a birthday, an anniversary, or simply a special get together with family and friends wanting to touch base…or test a new dish.

My nephews, growing boys that they are, normally suggest that the lunch turn into a “boodle fight”. “Boodle fight!”, my nephews Jeff and Justin would yell. My wife upon hearing the term from my nephews, expressed mild shock. “Ha? Ano yon?” (Eh? What’s that?) Being new to my family’s eating habits and sensing her unfamiliarity with the term, I explained that a boodle fight is not a violent method of scuffling or grappling. It’s a term used by the military and pertains to eating in a seemingly uncivilized manner due to the unavailability of plates and utensils. Kind of like eating primitive style in the jungle or outdoors.

Banana leaves do the trick. We collect dahon ng saging (banana leaves) from the neighbors’ backyards…and..voila!… we have “plates” to put the food. I heard somewhere that the banana leaves actually stimulate appetite. No wonder, we all pounce on the food, dig in, and not talk till the chow is obliterated by hungry adolescents and famished adults. Nobody gives a fiddler’s fart if it’s impolite not to converse on the dinner table. It seems so much more delicious primitively competing with everybody. The satisfaction is so primordial.

The house helps (yayas) are happy. There are few plates and utensils to wash and more food to consume for the next meal. They, too, dig in with us. In boodle fights elders, youngens and house helps are co-equals. Therein lies the beauty of this “fight” that somewhat promotes equanimity.

We rub our bellies, pick on our teeth, and praise God for a hearty meal. I usually pass on the ice cream till later…I’ll eat it after my siesta…with Barako coffee. What a life!

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Word Salad with Wordle

I came across this delightful site http://www.wordle.net. You can create random designs with any words you paste on the create section of the art site. I have to show this to my nephews and nieces. They might like the Word Clouds this site Wordle can create randomly.

Bloggers might find it interesting how playfully artsy their ‘word salads’ can play out. I had fun with this. Visit http://www.wordle.net to appreciate. Below are the designs I “created”.

I’m going to make me some more….

New York State of Mind

Visiting New York is always a surreal experience. The thought of going to (arguably) “The Greatest City in the World” is such a thrill I can never begin to describe. It was so otherworldly.

The first time I visited Manhattan was when I was 10 years old. My mom had to constantly remind me to close my mouth and walk faster. I didn’t care if I looked like an ignorant buffoon who in true to form klutz fashion bumped in to people and said ‘excuse me’ like a broken record. I didn’t even look. Quite rude that was. Being a small town boy from the Philippines, I was in awe of the tall buildings that hurt my neck every time I tried to look up to the peak of the gigantic structures. The people walked so fast I felt like a Lilliputian in Gulliver’s hometown. The folks on the street were so interesting I had to stare. Which of course was rude, too. My uncle who resides in New York was amused with me. He knew my eyes were taking in a lot of stimulus and paid no mind to the information overload that could potentially give me culture shock. I need to dig old pictures of that visit.

Two years ago, my brother Jun and I visited. When our plane approached Newark Airport, the buildings of Manhattan and the 5 boroughs of New York were very visible as it was a clear day. I nudged my brother to look at the small plane’s window. He smiled like a little boy. It was his first time to see NY. My smile was bigger…much bigger…I felt the same in 1982 but it’s a lot more exciting now. I felt such a rush, a tear rolled from the corner of my eye.

I had to tell my brother: “Kuya Jun, Sinatra is singing in my head. New York, New York!” He gave me a hearty laugh and said, “Sa akin din! (Mine, too!). We were laughing our heads off. The flight attendant looked at us as if she knew that Frank Sinatra was belting away inside our brains. She probably heard that hundreds of times.

“IT’S… UP… TO… YOU.., NEW YORK …., NEW YORK!…papapa dadam papapa dadam papapa dadam…!”

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