32. Cooking Paella

The process is about cooking and enhancing the rice. The soffritto -- sauteed tomato, garlic, onion, peppers,  paprika, and pork in olive oil -- gets it going. The rice is mixed with the soffritto; and it pops and fries as it is enveloped in all that aroma and flavor. The broth is then introduced, and the mixture of soffritto and rice is engulfed while the heat from all that sauteing is diffused by the liquid. In a matter of minutes, everything boils. At this precise moment, the saffron is infused, dissolving and turning the meal into a splendor of orange and yellow. Then, as the liquid is about to dry, the seafood is arranged on top of the rice. It would be cooked at about the same time as the rice. The meal is then covered with foil and removed from the heat. Soon, it is ready to be served. 

In spite of faithful adherence to this age-old recipe, I still cannot claim that I have cooked paella, as some people say that paella can only be cooked the way it is cooked in Valencia, Spain, using Valencian rice and water and by a Valencian male on a Sunday at noon. It is therefore a mistake to call paella, paella outside of Valencia -- as if  people's bellies mind. Yet, for all this conservationist cuisine advocates woe for their lost  culinary heritage, surely they should recognize that paella as cooked in Valencia cannot be divorced from the paella cooked in various parts of the world. To paraphrase Rizal, genius, especially culinary, is everyone's patrimony. I call mine Arroz de los Indios Bravos, or simply paella mio, and enjoy the cooking and eating experience. Ole!

31. Happy to Be Around

Turning forty-five means I have been on this earth as it completes forty-five revolutions around the sun. If we count the nine months that I was in my mother's womb, that makes it forty five and three-fourths times. If, by the grace of God, I live up to the age of ninety, forty-five means I'm in the third quarter of my life. In basketball, the third quarter usually decides the outcome of the game. It is when the dominant team builds the twenty-point lead, or when the underdog, which has been lagging the first half, gets back in the game. It's when the coaches decide to adjust the game plan, or anticipate the adjustment of the opposing coaches for the win. So what will it be in the third quarter of life? Einstein debated with Neils Bohr on quantum mechanics at this time. Hemingway wrote the Old Man and the Sea. Rachmaninoff composed Rhapsody on a Theme by Paganini. Karol Josef Wojtyla became a Cardinal. Picasso painted the massive Guernica. And Churchill rose from Secretary of War to Prime Minister. It is indeed the time to be alive, the period when experience tames reckless passion,  when discipline meets energy, the time when we slay the dragons of our quest and find our treasures in the cave. This only means I'm far away from being done. To everyone who has greeted me today, thank you for your kindness. I'm happy to be around and even happier to finish this game.  

30. Journeys

I no longer have any doubts  about evolution. My kids are better evolved as compared to the kid that I once was, thanks to the benefit of my wife's genes. They are tall and broad-shouldered teeners and tweeners, adept in communications, and comfortable with themselves. They are all also better students than I was; technologically savvy, with advanced musical skills and veterans of music recitals. My then lanky frame as a fourteen year old, with no passion but basketball and Spandau Ballet, will be out of place with this brood. Yet, what is amazing is that as early as ten years of age, these kids already know what they want to do with their lives:  An engineer, a human resource manager, an anime artist, and a teacher. Me, I didn't know until I was already in college. Of course, these life plans can change, and what is even more amazing is that my kids know the value and importance of choosing their own life journeys, whereas I would have serious doubts about life's purpose until I read Joseph Campbell and re-read the life of Jesus Christ.

29. Trip to Davao

To catch a 4:00 am trip to Davao, we woke up at 1:00 am, and left the house at 1:30am. The court hearing is at 8:30am, and like most hearings, the admonition is your case is gone if you miss the hearing.  You can imagine the contingency planning required if things fall apart, i. e., the plane is late or is cancelled, which flight is the next and so on.  The toughest part of the trip is trying to catch some sleep while the plane is in flight. Airplane economy seats are not comfortable for sleeping. They are fine as seats, however, for one to two hour trips. But that's how far it goes. Food is something to look forward to in the place of destination. Davao tuna, anyone? And the get-up should be spotless. Davao lawyers can easily outdress the sartorialists of Manila, which I don't like, especially if the judge is thinking the lawyer who is better dressed is more prepared, because he had time to get suited up. Indeed, working trips can be troublesome for creatures of habit. Yet, these temporary displacements provide for an opportunity to be mindful again of little things, how we sleep, eat, and dress  up; matters that were once a source of pleasure and insight that soon became matters to be ignored in the daily routine. It is rather annoying to be worried again about such stuff, but being mindful is always a good thing. Mindfulness is the essence of our brain. So, here we go Davao. Engage me.

28. Senator Butz Aquino

Senator Butz Aquino, brother of Ninoy and uncle of the President, died yesterday. Seeing his face on the headlines somehow triggers a load of memories from childhood. The marches on Mendiola Bridge -- Senator Butz led the way with the August Twenty One Movement (ATOM); they were not that many to begin with. Once I monitored the ATOM run which covered many kilometers from Tarlac and ended in the tarmac where Ninoy was shot, and there were barely ten of them there. But Senator Butz, he marched on until that fateful early morning of February 22 when he gathered the people in EDSA that eventually ended in the departure of the Marcoses. I voted for him in his senatorial campaign, especially because he had this hip jingle sang by Freddie Aguilar that connected with the young voters then. Senator Butz is dead now; and the world is left poorer, because it lost the pair of eyes, which were among the first to see that a dictatorship could crumble with marches and runs alone. Rest in peace dear senator, you are not just the brother of Ninoy, you have been your own man all along.

27. Fr. Roque Ferriols, S. J.

I can think of at least ten people who have mentored me in many ways in the path of life. But today it's about Fr. Roque Ferriols. I've always called him mysterium tremendum. The old man, it is easy to piss him off. Speak to him in English without knowing what you're talking about -- "Ano ang kalansay? "Father it's part of the anatomy...," "Ano? *%!¥£€!!...kalansay it's your bones!" Tell him you can't attend your oral schedule because of a conflict with Fr. Green. "$:&;&! Father&;@;&:@) sabbathical£€|££}£\£!" Ask if there will be class in the afternoon, ";&/&akdj&;&:$/You are pressuring me not to hold classes with your question!" Yet, he is also mysterium fascinocium, especially when he picks a line from his book and speaks it in Greek, Latin, French, Ilocano and Bisaya. Then he reminds us that, if sometimes our love for knowledge is not enough motivation, then perhaps fear will settle it as he threatens to give a quiz that will cover everything we have discussed from the first day of classes. But what I  am eternally grateful for is his having taught me what a wonderful pre-occupation it is to engage in a life long adventure into discovering the mysteries of being. It's one thing to be taught a skill, but it is a great blessing to be shown your life's purpose. Thank you Father.  I'm still working on my quest. I have been happy so far.

26. Filipino humor

Three girls, with nothing to do one evening, decided they were going to act bitchy on video and uploaded it on youtube. The eleven year old

played the meanest bitch, called themselves "Pabebe girls"; she didn't have eyebrows and youtubers thought it was all part of the act. The twelve year old took the cue from the first and she had a mouthful to say as she stutterred, no one should mind what they want to do on their video and no one could stop them. While the two played their act, a third voice was heard, "Tama na yan" pleading to stop it as if what was happening was an oppression. The video went viral and was soon lampooned on national tv, earning a lot of laughs. The three appear as themselves, and said they made the video because they were just bored. They were not like some gang of girls with shaven eyebrows. And Filipino humor, which for once I thought was limited to slapstick and language puns, extended its bounds to the fascination of the weird and bitchy.

25. The 4Rs of Education

 Book Review ala Borges*:  The 4th R by Emiliano Cruz, Phd  (New Studies Publications 2014)
 

Reading, 'Riting, 'Rithmetic, and, what is that?A fourth R: Running. While the net savvy world is gradually embracing an international school curriculum that will include computer software coding, this book proposes half the time of Filipino children in school be spent on human kinetics. The thesis is simple: kids in elementary and high school should spend four hours a day in academics and another four in P.E.. Emiliano Cruz, Ph. D. in Education from St. Petersburg-State University, proposes that we follow the former Soviet model of education emphasizing the development of the body as much as the mind. He cites various studies that show healthy children learning better and quicker in academics after rigorous physical activities. He also goes through the educational histories of ancient Spartan society and communist Russia's as case studies to highlight the qualitative effects of such a system. He concludes his book with the argument that his proposal is also a counter-measure to the growing obesity epidemic among children and the increasing risk of sedentary life that may actually shorten the average Filipino lifespan in the future.


*Books that have not been written by authors who have not been born.

24. Questions

Are we born good and learn to be evil, or are we born evil and learn to be good? When we were babies, and  we began to sense our world, were our eyes looking to destroy or did we see to create? Do we learn about greed, or do we learn temperance? Are we wired for love, or are we programmed to hate? Are we disposed to helplessness or do we start with hope? When we face death, do we regret all the bad we have permitted ourselves to do, or are we grateful for all the good we have done? Is it relevant to know how we start or is all that really matters is how we end? Are we questions or are we answers?

23. The Good Man

A good man is always a beginner. He thinks his job is always new, half-expecting things to work out the same way they did, and half-expecting they won't. To him, it's always a surprise whatever happens,  like laying bricks on the wall. Even if he planned it well and lay everything with care, he knows the bricks may chip and the wall may collapse. But the good man, he looks at what he has done and what has been wasted. He smiles and he begins again from where he left off or from whatever is left, if any is left.  Although he may complain, it is all a part of the rhythm of his day. He starts. He stops. He starts again. The endless cycle of ending and beginning -- the good man knows there is more to this than meets his eye.  It's not about him. It's about what has to be done. And if he dies, he knows, somebody will take his place, another good man beginning from where he ended. And soon the wall is built, perhaps to protect humanity from the elements, the violence of ofher men or the turbulence of the sea. But the good man is not done as there are more walls to build, and he should be ready for the next one. It is the ethic of the good man that the universe is greater than himself, but he is undaunted in what he has to do however he can. Call it hope. Call it love. Call it the energy that keeps the good man from going down. He will rise and begin again so sure for himself that every morning the sun will rise from the east; yet, he knows he can't be too sure.   

22. The Return

What is it in the human psyche that makes you want to go back? It is the story of the prodigal son returning to his father,  Rizal returning to Manila after Europe, Ninoy returning to the airport where he would be shot, Ringo Starr going back to Liverpool, and Pacquiao, with his beautiful JLo home,  going back to Gensan. It is the phenomenon of the balikbayans, the fundamental urge to return to one's roots. It is as if our lives traject, not in a straight path, but in a circle, eventually reaching the end where it all started.  Indeed, one of the saddest things in life is to go on an adventure and to return to one's home only to discover that it is no longer there.

Happy Birthday Justin! One day, I hope you understand this 

21. The Mangyan Boy

There once was a Mangyan boy who was captured by a kaingenero and was brought to the lowlands. The boy was clothed and given a Christian name. The kainginero sent the boy to school where he excelled in his class. He studied at the University of the Philippines and soon he got a scholarship in Stanford University. Meanwhile, his Mangyan parents looked for him. They travelled around Mindoro to find him but they did not have any trace of his whereabouts. Soon, they gave up hope of ever finding him. One day, the boy, who was now a scholar researching on indigenous communities, turned up in the Mangyan resettlement in Bulalacao, Oriental Mindoro.  He didn't recognize his parents and neither did his parents recognize him. Just then a group of Mangyan teenagers started making sounds with their kalutang, the large bamboo sticks used to pound on the ground in rhythmic harmony. The scholar noticed them and soon he was crying. He grabbed some of the sticks and joined the group recalling the sounds and rhythms that he used to enjoy as a boy. Suddenly, he recognized the surroundings where he grew up. His Mangyan parents wept as they had found their lost boy. Perhaps other memories were shared but the boy had to leave and return to the lowlands. Writing about a similar story in Argentina, Jorge Luis Borges wrote, "I wonder what he felt in that vertiginous moment when the past and the present were confused; I would like to know if the lost son was reborn and died in that moment of rapture, or if he managed to recognize, like an infant  or a dog at least, his parents and his home."

20. Bulungan: Inside Malacanang

Book review ala Borges*: Edited by Gerald Toledo Ph. D. (Our Heritage Publications, 2015)

The three volume work contains an encyclopedic look into the whispered secrets behind the men and women in power who occupied Malacanang through the years. Written by generations of waiters, maids, janitors, barbers, and gardeners who served the presidents and their families, the book weaves anecdotes, history, and the myth of hero as president of the Philippines. From Manuel Roxas's Japanese friends,  Magsaysay's soup, the story behind Ferdinand Marcos's elevator shoes, to Gloria Arroyo's favorite brandy, the book shows how human and Filipino the presidents have been while governing a tumultuous country. The book also reveals the story behind the awarding of the shoe supply contract to Ang Tibay by the Philippine Army following the election of Manuel L. Quezon. It contains a description on what was happening in the Palace while Ninoy Aquino was about to be killed on that tragic Sunday afternoon in 1983, the work habits of Erap Estrada, and the phone calls of Gloria Arroyo. One of the most recent entries shows the details of the minute by minute discussion of Janet Napoles and President Noynoy Aquino as she negotiates the terms of her surrender together with her lawyer, Lorna Kapunan. A unique section of the book shows the newspaper headline and the annotations by the resource persons on what details were missed, slanted, twisted, and blocked before publication. Bulungan represents the subverted speech of generations of silent workers of the most powerful people in Philippine history. It's publication is an event that highlights that no secret is ever safe from the judgment of history. Carefully edited and verified by a noted scholar from Cornell University, it unmasks the truth behind the theater of state propaganda and shows that the men and women of the Philippines who were once clothed with power are only as weak as the myths they made to stay in power.

*This book review series features works that have not been written by authors who have not been born.

19. The Plant

Bootstrapping with hydroponics lately, I was fascinated with this miniature money tree growing on pumice with no direct need for sunlight and surviving on as little as a tablespoon of water a week. It's a low maintenance indoor plant. I decided to take on another plant, the name of which escapes me now, and asked my wife if I could put in the toilet. The plant has elongated leaves that sprout from stems making each branch look like a crown. Everyday, when visiting the toilet, I look at it to make sure it doesn't get too dry. It seemed fine for many weeks. But one day, I noticed the leaves were starting to rot. I kept on observing, sometimes putting the  plant near direct sunlight, or putting more water, to no avail. The thing with plants is they never talk back. I always have to guess if what I'm doing is right. Finally, I decided the plant should be taken away from the restroom. Maybe all that methane was bad for the thing. I put it beside the money tree, yet soon all the leaves were shed. The rescue operation was lost. Perhaps, I should have taken it out of the toilet when it showed signs of rotting? Perhaps, someone else was watering it not knowing it could drown?So much for this adventure with little indoor plants. I think it died. But last week,  a new crown sprouted. It's alive! It's probably the closest feeling I had gotten to be being a doctor -- when a thing dies, or looks like it died, and it is suddenly back to life. My plant and I fought and won over entropy. Well, it looks like it. So far. But, no, It's not going back to the toilet. I guess no plant could survive the conditions there. It must have been hell for the poor thing.

18. Ripped off by a doctor?

Friday night it was satay sauce. Saturday, patis with calamansi  Sunday -- mango and bagoong. Monday, it was the stress of losing the iPhone and the race to protect the data on the phone. Tuesday, satay sauce again. So Wednesday, my blood pressure shot up to 150/112. My head was turning as I tried to remember the things I needed to do to bring down the blood pressure. I rushed to the doctor to find out what to do. He greeted me, the familiar face from three years ago, and reminded me of what he told me then. Ditch the salt. Exercise everyday. Avoid stress.  I asked what would I do in case my blood pressure shoots up again. He said the same thing. Ditch the salt. Exercise everyday. Avoid stress. He apologized for doctors being importunate and smiled. I walked away from the clinic shaking my head and wondering if I was ripped off. I paid 600 bucks for something I already knew.

17. What is the value of beauty clinics?

Jobs. I don't mean nose jobs. I mean real jobs, the ones with employer-employee relations,  salaries, and withholding taxes.  Salaries that feed families. Taxes that build roads.  Beauty clinics provide jobs. More importantly, beauty clinics teach enterpreneurship. They show us how to make money on people whose self-esteem depend on the shape of their nose, the size of their bra, the whiteness of their armpits, and the fats on their butts. Beauty clinics have made this business of convincing people they are ugly, and their ugliness can be fixed, into an art.  Everyone should learn it. Finally and most importantly, beauty clinics are prophetic. Some of their products show how zombies would look like when the apocalypse happens. Imagine a skeleton with boobs. A nose without a face. Butts without legs. Beautiful. So, what is the value of beauty clinics? If you want to give people jobs, learn how to make money, and prepare for the apocalypse, go to beauty clinics.

 (For Vinnie who still can't find the answer)

16. The GINI Index under PNoy vs. The World

The GINI Index is the measure of income inequality in a country. If the index is 0, there is perfect equality. If the index is 100, there is perfect inequality. I have been waiting for this index to come up in political discussions, but sadly all we have, on one hand, is the leftist cliche of the inverted pyramid, which I've always thought to be mostly agitation propaganda.  And on the other hand, we have the GDP trumpeters, to whom the academics argue that GDP fails to measure the qualitative effects on the general population. So here it is the GINI index -- the measure of how income is divided among the population. The data show no country with a perfect 0, which means there is no absolute equality on earth. Neither is there any country with a 100 index, dictators and their cronies notwithstanding.  Perhaps, we can benchmark ourselves with other countries? South Africa's index is 65. Canada? 33.7. No wonder, most of my relatives are there. Mexico? 47.2 The US? 41. And the Philippines, 43. Not bad at all, considering that Brazil has 52.7.  Click here for the complete data from the World Bank.  I'm not an Aquino apologist. But the index is what it is. From 2010 to 2014, our GINI index shows more than half of the country shared its income. No inverted pyramid. Thus, even if PNoy has been the darling of big business, big business has not been the exclusive beneficiary of income in this country. Of course, we should aim for a lower index, but now we're better than Brazil and Mexico and just a little behind the US.  And look at that curious thing - Cambodia 31.8. I'm sure the GINI Index has limitations. In basketball, you can have thirty points and still lose the game. Thus, statistics like this should be analyzed with other tools. Yet, the GINI Index should not be left out in the debate, especially if you have a Vice President saying more people are getting poorer as a campaign premise, and you know he's lying.

15. To catch a thief

I'm playing James Bond today. A thief stole my iPhone yesterday. We caught his identity in the CCTV and alerted the authorities. The phone has a passcode. There are 9999 combinations to unlock the phone. Assuming he's been trying to unlock it, it will take him days and numb fingers to get pass through the screen lock. If he is successful, he will find out that the number is blocked. I already have new a sim with my old number from the phone company.  I've reconfigured all email accounts. So, the phone is useless. He can change the sim and reset the phone. But it is going to stick to my iCloud account. The fun part is if he tries to connect to the web, the phone will declare itself as stolen and send me an email. I can then erase all the contents remotely and catch this son of a gun. Have popcorn. Will catch a thief. 

14.The right to an uncluttered view of the Rizal monument

I haven't heard of the law that prohibits lot owners from building around a public monument. The general principle is that the right to use private property, including the right to build on it, is regulated only by the State's power to protect the public good. What is the public good in the case of preventing neighbors of a monument from building around it? An uncluttered view of the monument. The Civil Code has provisions on easements on light and view. Thus, for private disputes on having light and view, the mechanics of establishing one are all there, but for public monuments? It's a tricky proposition, considering there is no law. In the Torre de Manila case, where you have this massive building cluttering the view of the Rizal monument, the key issue is whether there is a law providing the basis for the removal of the building. In the absence of that law, it would be a stretch to expect the Supreme Court to craft one on the basis of equity or the motherhood statements of the Constitution on preservation of culture and heritage. Yet, only the Supreme Court can tell us if there is really no law. Sometimes, there are provisions lurking in the small corners of law books that the Court brilliantly finds to support a cause, especially one which has been the basis of public outcries. Until then, this issue of the right to an uncluttered view of the Rizal monument is more political than legal, Rizal fans notwithstanding.

13. The bottle

It's a bottle with a womb. The womb opens from outside. That's where the ice goes. So, it doesn't dilute the sake and ruin the taste. I pour the sake in a small shot glass, the choko. The ice melts but it doesn't disturb the sake. And the sake stays chilled. The science behind it is that ice takes the heat off the glass, and the glass takes the heat off the sake. Yet the water stays off the sake. Hence, the sake stays a little sweet, a little bitter, it's spirit staying consistent with every shot. What kind of artisan could think of such an imaginative contraption? Was he a glass maker or simply a lover of sake seeking to solve this age old problem -- how to chill the sake? Did the idea come to him in trickles as he pondered on the problem; perhaps, it came to him by accident or in a dream? Why shape it like a womb? I stare at the sake as it rests quietly chilling inside this bottle, It would work for wine or beer. Brilliant execution of an idea. Like the sake it's supposed to chill.

12. Does God play SIMS with people?

I'm sure Descartes will object. The SIMS cannot do the cogito. They don't have independent thinking that can assert that because they think, they exist. They cannot step out of the game and tell their gamer, we think you don't exist. Neither can they praise the gamer and start a religion. I would add that "play" is a tricky word. It's half serious than work, albeit I think God has a sense of humor. Yet if by play we mean spontaneous directionless interaction, I would definitely join Descartes in his objection. This cannot be all spontaneous combustion by a deity tapping on an iPad. So, no. God doesn't play SIMS with people. Wait a minute, did I hear you say there's a free will mode on?

11. Proposal

Let's start with the radical. Ban all motor vehicles in Metro Manila. Let people walk to work. It's good for the heart. We all need to make 10,000 steps a day to keep ourselves healthy. Detoxify the air and bring down our carbon footprints. Revive the horse and carriage industry for the seniors who cannot walk that much.  It will make them happy as it will revive their memories of days way gone by. What are we going to do with all these cars? Use them outside Metro Manila. What about medical emergencies? Exempt them. Fire? Exempt them, of course. Business? Let them Skype. Students? Give them extra credits for PE. Supply trucks? Limit them and try drones. It's not simple, but really all we need is political will, and it is that simple. We get rid of traffic and take the Big Three out of business. As Ariel Ureta used to say, "Sa ikauunlad ng bayan, bisikleta ang kailangan." (To develop the country, we need the bikie.) :D

10. Longhand

After a dismal showing in the midterms during my sophomore year in law school largely attributable to poor handwriting, I decided I was going to turn my life around. I studied calligraphy. Somebody lent me a book; and over the Christmas break of 1992, I practiced  writing the italic font. I learned that their was a way of holding a pen to ensure fluency and consistency. The grip should be not too loose nor too tight, but enough for somebody to grab the pen and take it from my hand. I studied the rhythm, slanted it a bit too the right, and made an effort for the little flourishes on the dots and crosses. I practiced and scribbled on any paper I could find. I searched for a calligraphy pen and found the flat-tipped Rotring Art Pen. The ink was pricey, especially so that my allowance was appropriated for photocopying case materials. But it paid off soon, and in one exam in public corporations, my professor gave me more than a hundred points. My classmates teased me about it as everyone had struggled with the subject. I kept my blue book for that exam as sort of trophy for my efforts. In reality, I never had to worry about flunking any exam due to poor handwriting --  bad analysis and shaky memory notwithstanding. It seemed, consciously or otherwise, teachers gave points for writing that was clear, fashionable, and Italian. Soon, I used the Art Pen one final time for the bar exams, which I passed in 1996. Then, after signing the attorney's roll,  I threw it away and started working on computer keyboards almost exclusively.   Today, the only thing I do with pen and paper is write checks. Sometimes there would be days that I didn't have to sign anything, because written communications are done by email or SMS. Once in a while, I find myself unable to sign at all. It's like my hand became senile and could not remember how to write -- a strange atrophy of the writing hand. On these occasions, I close my eyes and recall the days I had with the Art Pen and it all comes back to me -- the grip, the strokes slanting a bit to the right, and the short flourishes on the dots and crosses. Were it not for that day, the day I  decided I would learn calligraphy, I would be a clerk somewhere, still writing in longhand.

9. Mantequilla

 

I was eight years old when I had my first encounter with mantequilla. It was in a corner of my grandfather's gas-fueled fridge -- this red can with a plastic cap. My grandfather said I could spread it over bread and I did. It lit up my face after the first bite and henceforth it did wonders to my breakfasts, humble or otherwise. When I got married and I had the chance to do groceries with my wife, I was amused to see this product again, the red can with plastic cup, still in the same  trade dress after all these years.  When most butters are sold as blocks or sticks, this one the deviant red can, presents itself as butter in a container. I dip a knife into it and scrape off a portion, spread it on hot bread. It melts and that familiar creamy, salty, light-textured, semi-solid, semi-liquid indulgence caresses my tongue. I wash it off with coffee and the memory of the mantequilla of my youth -- and probably my grandfather's too -- brings all those feelings back, a legacy that can be passed on to the next generation of butter fans. Never mind the hypertension.

8. In the foxhole with you know who

The first thing I'd tell him is that I don't smoke. So, I don't expect him to smoke. Besides, it's going to give away our position if it billows from the hole. He better not have a nicotine itch during the ordeal.  Then, I'd tell him to stop playing with the Playstation Portable, because it makes him unmindful of what's going on. If somebody attacks from his side and he's nose is buried in that console, we're toast. If he starts drooling, then I'd tell him the former President is out to get us. He's going to fume and it might stop the drool; although, if I push it too much he might go bonkers.  So there, given the foregoing circumstances in the foxhole, I can trust him to watch my back, unless, of course, he has a new Saturday date and he takes out his IPhone to show me her picture, and I lose him in all his excitement.  

7. Note on PNoy's 2015 State of the Nation Address (SONA)

No. I don't expect to hear PNoy blaming his predecessor, Gloria Macapagal Arroyo, again for some dysfunctional institution in this country. The blame game is so low brow. It's the stuff of whiners and incompetents. In my office, the employee who has nothing but blame for  his co-workers is always the first to go. The employee has no solutions, just problems. Who needs him? If you are the President and you have the entire resources of the state to back you up, the limit to what you can do is only the limit of your imagination. Now, if you have limited imagination, the blame game is your default mode. If a thing is messed up and you say it's your predecessor who did it, it get's knocked off your to do list. At least, you lead people to believe that it's off your list. Yet, in the time continuum, the present is always the result of the past. If you are president now, then regardless of who created the problem, it is your problem now. There is no escape from your responsibility. It's been a ho-hum five years. The reference to the former President Arroyo for some problem we have now is going to sound contrived. So, I don't expect PNoy to blame her again for something in this year's SONA. Then again, he always managed to frustrate me every year. 

6. Why not Grace Poe?

How many times did this country elect a minor league senator to the presidency? Correction -- how many more times? Grace is the stuff of legend, the daughter of the fallen film hero, Fernando Poe, Jr.  poised to reclaim what her father lost to electoral fraud in 2004. Her press kit says she stirred the Senate to pass the Freedom of Information Bill. Yet, the effort isn't enough for the bill to become a law, because everyone else is dragging it to make sure it doesn't apply to the current administration.  That only shows the limits of her clout. Yet, for whatever good  she has done in her five-year stint in government,  the crucial question is: can she scale it? Will she be able to replicate it a thousandfold for the big league politics that is the presidency? She has no big league team, never mind a political machinery.  Chiz Escudero, once her father's boy wizard of politics, is her only big league teammate, so far. That's not yet a team; and it's late in the game. Rumors are circulating that she's flying around the country using Danding Cojuangco's helicopters. So, is he -- a Marcos crony -- her big league teammate or coach? It makes you think there's a catch somewhere. Further, the legal questions that are being raised on her residency and citizenship make it uncertain if she can hurdle a Supreme Court challenge to her candidacy. Some people spend a lifetime trying to scale up the good things they do for the world with no success. Some people are luckier than others. Maybe Grace is lucky? Maybe the legend will live on and the daughter can finish the late father's work of national redemption? Everyday, it's all becoming clear that a vote for her is like a Hail Mary shot. Yet, if we have only one shot to make things right and to elect the person who's got her heart in the right place, why not trust, put our names on the line, and take the shot? Bahala na Poe. 

5. Why not Miriam Defensor Santiago?

Who can remember how many times Miriam ran for the Presidency? In one of those times, she announced her candidacy wearing a Star Wars hat with light saber in hand while invoking the Force. No, I'm not exaggerating. It was this kind of bizarre approaches to political entertainment, which she employs every now and then, that lent credibility to Ramos dirty tricks department's thesis that she was a lunatic. Yet, she's the only intellectual in politics these days. Fits of rage, however, and the occasional blunders -- like voting not to open the second envelope in the Erap Impeachment and the promise to jump from a plane if Erap was arrested (he did) after which she quipped "I lied" followed by an imagined maniacal laughter -- make her suspect. Miriam is amiable. She should stay in the Senate forever. But president? Let's ask Jun, her husband, the most dedicated Miriam minion in the land.

4. Why not Jejomar Binay?

Robin Hood didn't get rich. He was a bandit not a plunderer. He didn't have wives and children. Binay isn't Robin Hood. Binay is the real deal. Binay's press people, left with no other way to spin a losing proposition -- that Binay was not a plunderer -- is now pulling on the myth of Robin Hood to win Binay votes. Binay built the cheapest building that 2.7 billion pesos of taxes could buy. Meanwhile, he gave his Makati voters free education, free healthcare, and free birthday cakes. Is that a bad deal if you don't really care who runs the government as long as your kids go to school for free, you don't worry about doctor's bills, and you get a birthday cake? Then, we all get a bonus because Ellen (the wife and once the Mayor), Jun-Jun (the son and Mayor), Nancy (the daughter and the senator) or Abby (the other daughter and the congresswoman), can replace him once his term is over. If that is not enough, they will throw in the Binay family dog and cat in the lineage. That is how dedicated they are. The Binay family has built the template for monopolizing local politics. Now, they're ready to bring the Binay franchise to the national level. We're all going to have free education for our kids, free healthcare  and free birthday cakes forever. Robin Hood is a myth. Binay is the real deal.

3. Why not Rodrigo Duterte?

There was a wedding in Davao City.  After the affair, the gun afficionados among them were brought to the range for target practice. The folks got all excited as they showed off their stuff, compared calibers and makes. Then, the targets were ushered in -- the dogs from the city pound.  These were the catch from Davao City's no stray dogs ordinance.  Dogs, left to fend for themselves, littering the queen city of the south, stinking, probably rabid-- they had no use, why not for gun training? So, the guests had their day shooting off the dogs one by one. You could hear the dogs yelping in pain as bullets pierced through their bodies. These were dogs not people.  But somehow you think the rumors of death squads roaming around Davao City to protect it from bad elements seem plausible. They shoot dogs if they're strayed or rabid. They shoot people if they're criminals. The lawyers keep it legal. If you want to live in a country where there are no stray dogs and criminals, Duterte is your man. The man has a vision. Iron will with an iron hand.  So why not Duterte?