My Desktop, Bow!

Today, I decided to put some semblance of order into my desktop. Make that desktop of the not-so-techie kind. I have been running out of horizontal space, and retrieving things are approaching production-number proportions. Heck, for all I know, I can probably make it to an episode of Hoarders.

Some of the stuff--useless and useful and in-between--that I found:

A letter holder from Cebu, which holds anything BUT letters
Paintbrush, with bristles falling off. The brush is not for painting, of course.
Notes from HR
A hastily-scribbled note to self. I don’t know what led me to write 28 minutes of patience. I guess my memory is not that patient, huh?
Staple wire, staple wire and more staple wire. Oh and stapler and staple wire remover.
Post Its, a memo pad, two steno notes and four logbooks
Highlighters -- there's one in hot pink, one in subtle yellow and another in blinding orange
Ballpen cap
Bent paperclips
A paper fastener that’s missing its better half
A jar of paperclips and tacks
1 x 1 pictures that got unglued from the boxful of resumes stashed somewhere
A packet of ORS, ranitidine ampules, ambroxol tabs
Delivery receipts
Coffee mugs and coasters. The big mug is for my regular dose. The bigger mug is for when I am in semi-murderous mode :p

And that’s only skimming the surface. Wait till I get started on the stuff that I have managed to kick under the table.

The Night is Gay

The ate worked on the daughter, and the daughter worked on me. Of course, I had heard semi-horrific stories about Miss Gays, but because it was a Friday, and the "pageant" was just a few blocks away, off we went to watch Miss Gay Sorsogon Earth 2011 (!!!) for what I hoped to be a brief, after-dinner walk.

By the time we got to the makeshift venue, people were still milling about. Nothing ever seems to start on time in these parts, after all.  The organizers were still up and about, waving imaginary fairy wands to turn everything decidedly gay.  The one or two early contestants were balancing on dangerously high heels, practicing their killer walks. 

And then--ta dah--they started coming in.  Four to a tricycle.  It was hilarious to see them alighting from their modern-day carruajes all exaggeratedly dolled up.  It was even more hilarious to imagine what a drive it must have been for Mr. Tricycle Man!

The night turned really gay when the princesses started strutting their stuff.  "Miss Venezuela" was first.  Gliding smoothly despite the tons of plumage and makeup, s/he unabashedly declared that Miss Sorsogon Gay is "not about fame, fortune or fofularity.  It's about loooovvvveeee." Crowd favorite "Miss Korea," who lived a few houses down the street, is a "tweynty-one year old student taking up with computer programmer."  "Miss Egypt" was reed--er papyrus--thin, making him/her come across as closer to a mummy than to his/her idol Cleopatra. Why Cleopatra?  you ask. The answer was forthright: "She fought not only for her country but for the entire Egypt as well."

For someone who doesn't quite like watching beauty pageants because Q&As are just inches short of being human-rights violations, I truly, truly sat through the Q&A without feeling the slightest hint of embarrassment for the candidate.  Diction and grammar and non sequiturs aside, it was one amusing, literally gay night.  (Literal, too.  When asked to elaborate on why s/he wanted to be a "good server of the people," "Miss Africa" took a deep breath, gracefully gave a Sushmita-Senish bow and pronounced "it has always been my dream to have a restaurant where I can serve good food to the people.")

The "swimsuit" portion was the highlight.  There were ample warnings, of course.  (A pageant of the same nature ages ago had wayward sensitive parts popping out from constriction, and will probably linger forever in the pop history of Sorsogon.)  But when the princesses started coming out from the garage that served as dressing room, the collective thought was "how did they do it?"  Save for one who opted for the conventional one-piece swimsuit that looked terribly outdated in the sea of skimpy swimwear, it was a show of skin, skin and more skin.  There were no popping privates.  There wasn't even a hint that these weren't exactly girls!  Which made me rethink anatomy 101.  

In the end, the brief after-dinner walk stretched into hours and hours of out-of-this-world entertainment.  It's now Kasanggayahan Festival in these parts, and the daughter wishes that the Search for Miss K would be "for gays na lang."  I couldn't agree more.  I am now a convert, hehehe. And I feel vindicated for voting Ang Ladlad!

Picture These

Somewhere in the pre-digicam days are ads and signs that are permanently etched in my otherwise selective memory.  I can picture them still: hastily scrawled, without regard for advertising 101 aesthetics. 

These signs, recently spotted from my neck of the woods, deserve a place in my mental collection.  They certainly belong to the ranks of  Uling for Sales,  Hauze for rint,  We accept littering,  Naghahasa ng cerrcular sow.

Presenting:

(From a church bulletin board.)  Yup.  Your baon has to be patented, registered and titled.  And it must come with a tax declaration.

(At a therapy clinic) They put the "W" into "illness"

(A few steps away from the old school. ) The wayward apostrophe strike's again

One Fine Day

These feet were made for walking, and walk they did one fine day!  The more or less ten kilometer walk (should have been 20, but I cheated :p ) took me through fields of green, roadsides waking up for the day and mist-cloaked rivers and ponds.

I have always enjoyed walking.  There is something about taking to the open road on foot that clears the head (and the sinuses) of its many clogs and cares. Back in the reckless days when skin cancer wasn't a concern, my officemates and I would brave the midday walk from Emerald to Edsa.  The less than a kilometer walk, of course, was made longer by the endless prattle of post-college kids.

There are other walks as well--walks measured not so much in terms of distance but in terms of building friendships.  Bivouacs, treks, climbs, strolls made even more memorable by a heady mix of chatter and  semi-serious getting-to-know-yous. Comfortable silence among friends, too.

My legs felt like lead by the time I made it past the finish line. The sun, too, was scorching. No matter.  The feet will always find yet more reasons to walk.

Thankful

Today, I am thankful because ...

Despite the sticky keys and the slower-than-slow connection, I am still connected,

Despite the driving rain, I am safe and warm, And the roof is not leaking,

Despite the power outage, I am not in the dark

Despite a memory that needs some serious upgrading, I still remember the things that matter.

Despite the different time zones, we are still friends who revel in the here and now. And the once-upon-a-times.

Despite postponements and cancellations, life goes on.

I am 44 today. The hair is no longer jet black, and the vision nowhere near 20/20.  The statistics are no longer vital. (They never were, anyway!) Still, I welcome yet another year of laughing (at myself, mostly), living, learning and loving.

This business of growing older isn't so bad at all.

We Are Family

I wasn't particularly excited about our grand "clan" reunion.  Of course, I have fond black-and-white memories of summer bonding with cousins.  Make that lots and lots of cousins.  But the way two recent reunions ended somehow soured me to the idea.  After civil warlike quarrels broke out over such a petty thing as a Christmas star, I kinda believed that there are reunions that are better on paper.  Or online.  Or anywhere that don't require the "reuniters" to be physically present.

Last month's clan reunion had me bridging the great divide.  It was great to have the cousins around.  We have all grown of course, and it was hilarious to see ourselves now taking on the roles of our parents.  After the remember-whens and the almost endless sream of the little girls and boys that reminded us of who we once were, we had fun picking up where we left off.  In most cases, the transit point was the night of Lolo's funeral, when we took up the entire balcony of the moviehouse to catch the final screening of a Nino Muhlach movie.

With 20 children from three marriages, Lolo certainly was no RH advocate.  (The second wife, in fact, died two days after giving birth to Baby Number Twelve, and can very well be a case in point for the pro RH bloc..) The Dados have then gone forth and multiplied, and the recent reunion was proof of the clan's exponential growth.  Yay! We actually had to wear name tags and come in color-coded shirts to keep up with the parade of great and great-great grandkids

In true clan fashion, the almost weeklong reunion was NOT uneventful.  Youngest Uncle's First Wife showed up, and for a while we thought there would be an action scene between her and Recent Wife.  An "undocumented" cousin also made a guest appearance: he--and the rest of us--knew of his paternal roots only recently, thus his non-inclusion in the directory.

In all, it was a happy affair.  Tita T led the immortal LA Walk, the kids had fun running around and getting to know their cousins, and there was juicy chismis all around.  (If you knew how to mine, of course. :p)  The catfights were left for another day, and the present warriors were kinda civil.  Mini reunions have since been staged and the warring factions are at each other's throats once more.


No matter. Families are families, huh?

Grounded

In December, I was given the Loyalty Award.  Before I hear canned applause, however, let me qualify that loyalty is relative.  In my case, it means that I have been on the job for ten years.  Nothing more, nothing less.

Come to think of it, the fact that I am able to hold the same job for ten years is a personal victory of sorts.  (Applause, applause) A well-meaning boss once said that I thrive on "impermanency."  That routine bores me and that cubicles have a way of weighing me down. 

Oh well.  People and perspectives do change.  The bureaucracy, which I thought to be one long, endless routine of chasing paper and prolonged coffee breaks, has actually tamed my wandering spirit.  Sure, biometrics can be exasperating and office policies can be a drag.  Uniforms could use a little touching up and some people could use some gray matter.  But there is nothing "routine" about the people that come to the office every day.  Or about their stories.  Or about the friendships that have since translated into standing in as godparents many times over.  I have also realized that the bureaucracy is what you make it.  That if you go to the office day in and day out thinking that work sucks, it will.

The ten years have been a breeze.  Having worked in high-rises and in corporate jungles, I now find myself totally grounded.  And totally loving it.