HEY, HEY THE GANG'S (VIRTUALLY) ALL HERE

End of January already? Then it must be time for the traditional batch picture-picture! Yep, that time of the year when we voluntarily capture indisputable visual proof of how progressively fat and old we are getting!

(and by “we”, I mean “me” dragging everyone else down into my wrinkled, double-chinned world)

This year had a very different feel to it, as practically everyone was already away at post or on scholarship. Through harassment of the batch's Facebook mafia, however, word quickly came down that everyone had to take a picture of themselves in front of a local landmark on a date and time certain, or else be social-network shunned.

Well. No one wants to be shut out of all those compelling “X is going downstairs” and “Y is now a fan of air” status updates now, do they? So comply most everyone did (those who didn’t are dead to us, at least until we wanna go to their city and need a place to crash). And I must say in all seriousness, people looked good. And happy. And safe. Which is great because, in the end, isn’t that all you can ever ask for your batchmates every year?

(unless that someone asked is me, in which case my question is “Oh, who is s/he kidding?! S/he had eyebags and arm flab in 2005!!!”)

So greetings from:

The Home Office

 

Where you're never too old to throw dorky gang signs. (BTW, the "landmark" was chosen "ironically") 

Tel Aviv

 

Didn't set the time stamp and posed behind a bush. For security reasons. Totally understand.

Singapore

Nice Oranges?

San Francisco and Dubai

 

No no no, dear, wrong way. You Escape FROM Alcatraz. . .

 

. . . oh I see, she's running away from our constipated-looking stalker DOM batchmate. Carry on, kids. 

Hong Kong

 

Kung Hei Fat Boy! (hey!) 

Agana 

"...that I will execute the office faithfully...er...faithfully execute...er...I will be faithful...er...Do over! Do over!"

Vancouver and Islamabad

waaaaiiit a minute...It's late January, and people are in short-sleeves and v-necks in Canada, while there's snow on the ground in Pakistan? Weather control has finally happened, hasn't it? Just like Superman III said it would.

Madrid

 

"Esta aqui prueba dela vida. Payer el ransom en cheques de regalo de Zara" 

See y'all next year! Hope we still fit into the picture frame!

SEOUL LONG, FAREWELL

Well, my new year is off to a good start, as CRANIAL AGAIN is now on his way to Korea!

I know, I know, I'm supposed to get all touchy-feely whenever a batchmate is headed off to post, 'specially now that there are only three of us left to represent at the Home Office. Cranial, however, is the epitome of "worthy foe", and I'd much rather he be in transit somewhere over Koreanovela-land than still facing off against this Tae Kwon-Dork. Consider:

• I introduce him to Fantasy basketball, and he ends up winning my league in his first year. (He also holds a commanding lead in this year's league, but I think I can still win because I heard internet in Korea isn't that good.)
  

• I often drew Cranial as my defensive assignment during the batch Thursday night basketball games, and he had this maddening, impossible-to-block, off-beat jump shot that would always burn me. It was like a cross between Jalen Rose, Mac-mac Cardona and a "Thriller" dance step.

• An office typographical error of his name is holding up the promotions of the rest and the batch, and he refuses to do the right thing: change his name.

• He was a teacher at an exclusive all-girls College.

That...that's just not fair.

So Seoul long, indeed, Cranial. If you ever find yourself gagging on your kimchi, that's just me thinking of you.

SO HOW ARE THOSE WEDDING PREPARATIONS GETTING ALONG? ASKED NO ONE

Not bad, not bad. Full credit should go, of course, to the LLDDL for being so sharp and cool at these things. I've said it before: if we were an Amazing Race team, she would be the one nailing all the flights and solving all the puzzles; I'd be the one who cries while eating balut and barfs in the taxicab.

No, if anything goes wrong during the wedding, it will probably be due to a screw-up by moi.

Make no mistake, I'm really trying. I've immersed myself in all things frilly. I've gone to the bridal fairs (best: Shangri-la; worst: Megamall). I've met with the suppliers (personalities: strong). Heck, I not only saw Bride Wars, I actually understood many of the industry inside jokes and found myself nodding in agreement and muttering "yes, yes, that is so true, Kate."

"Oh that LLDD. He just gets us!"

Ultimately, however, my failure to intuitively comprehend certain wedding details shines through. Thus, I repeatedly insisted to a church clerk that "banns" was a typo that she should correct. She got her revenge by misinforming me that our notification photo had to be large, close-up, and posted at eye-level.

"Awww, look at all the couples phot....Good Lord, that guy in glasses has a huge head!!!"

My shortcomings haven't resulted in any major meltdown...yet. I'm just so afraid I'm missing some possible warning signs along the way. Should I be concerned, for instance, that the office handling our venue reservation had in its lobby a live woman standing on a chair posing like the Virgin Mary for no apparent reason?

I'm sure it's nothing

Then there's the entourage. The LLDDL's nieces make up most of the flower girls, and they are some of the most heartachingly cute baby dolls around. On my end, I have a sweet, sweet niece who loves to wear girlie pink -- and nothing but girlie pink. So much so she goes around in a pink fairy princess outfit as pambahay. The problem: our wedding motif is nowhere near girlie pink.

I haven't the heart to tell her.

And last but not least, the ring, coin and bible bearers will (sigh) also come from my side of the family.

You see the concern.

Still, I'm keeping my fingers crossed and hoping for the best, confident that, if anything does go wrong, the LLDDL will readily address it.

Me, I'll be crying and barfing somewhere.

"BECAUSE I'VE NOTHING ELSE HERE FOR YOU, AND JUST BECAUSE IT'S EASIER THAN THE TRUTH, OH IF THERE'S NOTHING ELSE THAT I CAN DOOO, ANVAAYAAAA COOOVE.."

Oh, Spandau Ballet...is there any real estate development "I'll Fly for You" wouldn't make an ideal soundtrack to?

Anyway, through my sister's grace, the LLDDL and I get to take a day trip to beautiful Anvaya Cove. ("anvaya" is ancient Balinese for "your club membership is good, but we need you to buy a house and lot too"). I say grace, but basically the LLDDL and I just gatecrash my sister's vacation, lured by all those glossy Ayala brochures and scale models you see outside the moviehouses. I mean, just because we could never afford to live in a place that nice doesn't mean we couldn't go there, swim in their pool, take pictures and pretend like we belonged, dammit!

"I haven't got a clue,
I haven't got a thiiii-ing
Cell-cam and speedos
Is all that I could briiii-ing"

First thing's first: getting there. The trip could have been made in under two-and-a-half hours, but I always succumbed to the siren call of expressway rest stops. What is it about these places that makes the burgers seem juicier, the convenience store soft drinks colder, and the bathroom breaks more, um, satisfying?

The new Clark-Subic expressway was as good as advertised. Great countryside views, with nice smooth roads Silver Shadow, my 11-year old car, could easily handle. The only problem for the LLDDL was that I would always burst out into "Life is a hiiiighwaaaaayyyy, IIII'm gonnaaa riiiide it all niiiight loooooonggg..."

(well, it was a problem for her)

Anvaya itself. As you can see, it's drop dead gorgeous, with lush forests, clear waters, and a 2:1 staff-to-guest ratio. The gameplan was for the LLDDL and I to look so happy, my sister would ask us to honeymoon there.

So work it, sweetie, work it. We need sis to give us signing privileges too.

The Fil-Aussie pamangkins (Oi, Oi, Oi and Oi) were there in full force, continuing their New Year's jackassery. Their favorite game was to wait at the bottom opening of the pool slide (the "anus", they called it), and then try to punch/kick/jump on whoever came sliding through. Even the lifeguards gave up on them.

Later in the afternoon, we found out that a couple of prominent families were having a wedding on the beach.

Noooooooooo, no, no, no, sweetie. Don't get any ideas.

After day gives in to night, the whole place is romantically illuminated by what my sister says is "the biggest full moon ever recorded." I build on the mood by remarking "Isn't the moon always the same? How can this full moon be the biggest ever? What, it tried harder this year?"

As we enjoy the beach bonfire, laying on the sand and sipping pina coladas, fireworks go off over the wedding reception. The wedding DJ rattles off a playlist that is -- how shall I put this -- old. He starts off with "Billy Jean", then goes further back in time with "Do the Hustle", "Hound Dog" and "Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy". The LLDDL and I decide now's the best time to depart, before the DJ fires up his Charleston re-mix. We're very sad to leave such a beautiful place, but are consoled by the fact that we have our fill of "Friendster" pics, and there are at least three highway rest stops on the way home.

Spandau! Play us out!

"I'm just an average boy,
You're more than average girl,
and when you sing to me
the 'shoo be doos'
you sing so well.
Oh, don't you know that when I drive home
I get Chiiicken joooooooo-oy"

IN A STROKE OF HOLIDAY BRILLIANCE/STUPIDITY, MY BROTHERS-IN-LAW AND I SAVE THE ECONOMY

You've heard of eco-tourism, medical tourism and tourism tourism?

Well, behold! We give you: Philippine New Year's "Jackass" Tourism!

The idea is as simple and stupid as the MTV show that inspired it: dudes all over the world will pay to come here during the holidays for a chance to take part in all sorts of jackassery.

Absurd, you say? My Singapore-based, Aussie-bred kid nephews beg to differ. Every year, their extended school break runs from December to January, and every year -- despite opportunity to spend their vacation elsewhere -- they insist on going to the Philippines for New Year's.

Why? Because here, they get to blow s*** up.

And that's just for starters. Freed of school-time discipline and foreign government oversight, the kids run wild with their games. They develop, for instance, a form of backyard Swing-Dodgeball where the object is to hang from a swing, taunt their uncles, and have said uncles kick them with a football as hard as possible until one of them cries "I'm bleeding."

(we expect to here from either Manchester United or social services very soon)

Still not content, the nephews insist on being taken to the annual neighborhood holiday carnival. Mind you, these boys have been to the likes of Disneyland and Universal Studio theme parks, and have experienced some of the biggest, most expensive attractions known to mankind.

Those places, however, do not have....The Quezon Memorial Circle Wall of Death!!!!



Excuse me, the Quezon Memorial Circle International Wall of Death.

Be clear, the photo above flatters the International Wall of Death and actually makes it look safe. In person, however, the International Wall of Death will wuss you up real good. There is simply no visible safety measure in place. The wall's wood boards are so loosely held together the whole setup wobbles like a New Year's drunk even before the bikes get going. The riders enter through an mis-fitted wall hatch that has to be kicked back into place. The spectators stand on a ledge that's designed 30 feet high, three feet wide, any railing too short and 50 IQ points too few.

And once the show starts, kiss your machismo goodbye. The platform shakes violently every which way, so much so my brothers-in-law start calculating if they can jump and make it to a nearby tree with one kid under each arm once the inevitable wall collapse takes place. The riders don't go around in neat circles, they wildly zoom towards the top edge and literally take money from the spectators' hands. And because the audience platform is so narrow, there is no escape for anyone; you can only choose between falling backwards to a 30-foot drop or falling forwards towards that crazy-eyed motorcyclist riding no-hands and crossed-legged and HEADING RIGHT TOWARDS YOU.

Oh, and after all that, they run a car up the wall.

(excuse me while I air-dry the pants I just peed in)

Needless to state, the boys LOVED IT. Which got all their supervising adults thinking: we can make money out of this. Seriously, what kid (and his parent) from a bleak winter climate/overly restrictive government system wouldn't want to come here and experience explosions, balls to the face and possible death-by-carnival? We can even make the whole thing a package tour together with the season's other events. I mean, guess what's going to take place just a couple of days from now?

Whoa.

And there are food concession opportunities as well. As so articulately explained by Cracked.com, what kind of breakfast do you think thrill-seekers seek?

That's right. Our very own.

So there you have it. One in-laws' brilliant idea. Now we don't expect to be paid royalties or anything. But there will be accidents. There will be injuries/violations of the international rights of the child. And I will still be a lawyer. So.....

Let's just say, it's the "Jackass" way.