Braising my Beef

ive always been amazed when i get compliments with the way i speak in english. usually i get asked if i was born here or how long ive been living here in new york. my answer usually is - "english is the medium of instruction in the philippines and i  write better in english than tagalog."

back in college, i remember that some of my professors have this 5 additional points incentive for students who turned in their papers written in filipino. i dont think i ever bothered to write anything in tagalog for 5 additional points - mostly because i cannot write in a formal manner, and that it would sound very mediocre. (not that my writing isnt mediocre, but you know what i mean - if you are bilingual too.)

the funnier part of living in america is the fact that i speak more and better english back in the philippines than here. in the office, i speak an indian version of english "should i put this in a one-one bag?" (instead of should i put this in individual bags?) i guess this is because i have indian coworkers and it makes sense for me to program my brain into conversing in the way that they do so i am able to understand what they are saying. its not only in this present office, i remember returning back to manila after half a year of staying in sri lanka - i came back speaking with some sri lankan accent on my english and vigorously shaking my head from side to side.

since i constantly speak bilingually (one of my coworkers is filipino and my present roommates are filipinos too) i have this particular tendency to think in tagalog and translate in english. maybe i get confused sometimes when i have constantly keep switching from english and tagalog — and it happens sometimes that id talk to my indian coworkers in tagalog.

the bad thing about being bilingual is saying something you mean differently, but totally comes out offensive. one time, i went to the lapidary to get something done and i asked the cutter to do something for me. usually these things take a couple of hours to a couple of days but i needed it right away. he told me i could wait for it and then somebody else comes and he starts getting into an animated conversation with that person. i was growing impatient, only because i feel like staying there was a total waste of my time, so i blurted out -

are you making me wait?

as soon as i said it, i got shocked myself and corrected me. i explained and apologized and said it again. what i really meant was "should i stay here and wait for it?"

few days after, i dropped off a package at fedex and was talking to agent john (yeah, i go there all the time that we know each other on a first name basis). i was stammering, so i excused myself because i was an ESL girl. he was telling me how i spoke better english than some of the folks he works with and had this stranger experience with a coworker. the coworker wanted to pee badly in the middle of his shift and was asking him to temporarily man his station while he’s in the bathroom. he tells him, "hey john, im going to pee, do you wanna watch?"

he stares at him with a pregnant pause and says, UH. NO. poor fellow realizes his mistake, bows head down and scurries to the bathroom.

aaaah. the joys of english as a second language.

so off i went to the armory show and chinatown and back to the armory show.

after that and checking out some shoesies, i headed off to sunnyside in queens to watch pi and pulp fiction. of course, the 7 train isnt running (it wont be running on the weekends for the next four weeks, so be aware. be very aware!) so figured taking a cab home.

as we waited on queens blvd for a cab to whisk me off 20 blocks away, the 7 shuttle bus (which replaces the 7 train temporarily due to track repairs) appears and i decide to hop on it and go home. the woodside bus stop didnt have people waiting on it, so i didnt get off that one and decided to get off at 69th and fisk and wait for the bus or walk home.

when i got to the bus stop, there was this very nice girl sitting on the bus stop. i asked how long she was waiting for the bus - she told me she wasnt waiting for it. she was waiting for her friend to pick her up. bus stop conversations for me are pretty normal - and if i think about it, i have better conversations with strangers at a bus stop compared to strangers at a bar.

oh hold on. she said she was waiting for A friend. there she was, clad in her stiletto heels, capri LACE LEGGINGS and all dolled up. yeah. you guessed it. she was a hooker, waiting at a bus stop. not just your average hooker, she was a trannie too. (but i adore her, she’s really really nice.)

soon enough i call jerry to ask if hes home to check the bus schedule. luckily, he was on his way home from a party and that he can pass at the bus stop for me and pick me up. he saves me the walk. on i went talking to tranniegirl.

she asks me if i was chinese, and then second guesses herself and asks if i was filipino. i said yes, and asked her where she was from. she’s from peru. then i told her that my roommate’s gonna pick me up and that they are guardians of my well being (if this keeps up, my saucy life will soon loose sauce). she asks if my roommates were guys - i said yes, and she says with delight… oooh chinito!

then a guy drives up, rolls his window down and calls her with his forefinger. she negotiates and gets in. still no jerry in sight, another spanish woman comes to the stop and starts laughing. she is obviously drunk and asks me if i worked at the bar.

i could have said yes, but i wasnt in "fuck-me" clothes, and i had luggage with me and a box of leftover beef panfried noodles. come on, im not gonna be hookering with my lunchbreak in tow, right?

her drunkenness informed me that she was a factory worker and on saturday nights she likes to get drunk. not a bad idea at all! as i stood there waiting for jerry, she kept the conversation - while making fun of all the guys who were trying to pick us up which she claims to be as old as her son. thing was, the conversation was one sided since i barely understood what she said in slurred spanish.

jerry finally drives up, i hopped in the car, laughing.

thanks to sara, i heard about the david byrne (singer of the 80’s band Talking Heads) song cycle show at the carnegie hall.

first of all, it was worth the 26 bucks i paid for.

this particular show was entitled "here lies love," a satiric tribute to imelda marcos. considering that david byrne is not of my generation - i only heard of him through stefan sagmeister’s book because he designed the cover of his solo album "feelings," i was amazed at the presence of the fiftysomething and above filipinos.

david byrne is from the 80’s so i was expecting more of the thirtysomething crowd - but he’s not particularly as mainstream as the cure or spandau ballet (because believe me if he is, i would have known about his songs way back when. so true.. funny how it seems….)

and i wouldnt have known about them until my brother took notice of the talking heads album covers done by M&Co. like, okay, an inverted A, so what? i knew about them in 2002. 20 years after. how sad is that?

Anyway, so it puzzled me so much that there was a noticeable number of almost senior citizens. i mean, yeah, the show was a bit highly publicized - as there were articles about david byrne on time out and nymag the week it was gonna happen. also, the main attraction of the 4 shows he curated is the one that i saw. but still, i think david byrne is not that known to the fortysomethings and the fiftysomethings — as attested by my generous roommate who went to carnegie hall and bought the tickets for me on his day off. he wasnt a tad bit excited about it. it was a ticket to be bought.

when mike, jeff and i were seated, jeff went perusing through the programme and pointed out to me that one of the singers is indeed filipina. joan almedilla sang as imelda marcos. she used to sing for les miserables (but i seriously never heard of her, no offense) so i guess that was the other reason why there was a lot of older generation in the crowd. of course, imelda was the number one reason and david byrne, a possible third.

nothing wrong with filipinos watching other filipinos. its a cultural trait!

i must mention though that his show was very thorough and he explained a lot about the marcoses in between songs. so much so that i even learned that there was a lot of heinz sandwich spread in the malacanang palace when the us marines airlifted the marcoses out.

it would have been better if they projected that clip of imelda and her sign theories right before the show (from the documentary "imelda") - they only played the audio, i guess they didnt have permission.

but otherwise, the show was great. and david byrne is WAY HOTTER than bono. even with his gray hair. 

Forever takes viewers on a mesmerizing tour of artists’ graves in
Paris’ famous Pere-Lachaise cemetery, to show that art is eternal and
plays a powerful role in our lives. The tombs of departed greats prompt
curious stories from dedicated visitors. Best Documentary at the
Netherlands Film Festival.

Jim Morrison is buried there, but she never showed it. haha.

i saw this movie yesterday at the MoMA (yes, they have film screenings, and free screenings with my membership makes it very very worth it!) and it was good.

it got me thinking about reading Marcel Proust and Sadegh Hedayat - and looking up Jim Morrison (yes, i dont know his music, but i know he exists.) there’s already a mental note to read these two writers - and im pretty excited about "the blind owl," but what really got me thinking is the kind of afterlife ceremonies that i would like for myself.

i know its morbid, but ive seen death happen in front of my eyes at the age of 14 and the events that eventually led up to the burial of my father. no small feat, but ive been through it.

i think that just made me accept death easier. i would even go the extra mile that ive gotten callous in dealing with it. it happens and you move on.

after seeing this movie, i realize that scattering my ashes is a better option than having a tombstone to remember me by. my family still goes to my dad’s grave, but god knows how many times a year they visit him now (its been 14 years since).

its nice to have that nice tomb complete with a great majestic statue — but i think its greatly sadder to think that in time that stone would weather and over time would crumble. we used to feel sad about the headstones that didnt get visited over random weekends, but i wont be surprised if this is already happening to my father.

i guess i’ll do my grand exit a la JFK jr. id like my cremains scattered somewhere. maybe i’ll do it in parts so my bereaved will have an excuse to travel with me for the last time.

(oh this is creepy.)