RISE OF THE PINOY

Every Philippine Embassy is mandated to push the best the country has to offer into the host nation's consciousness, if not onto the entire world stage. This task, in turn, is made easier when there's a good product to promote and proud people to work with. When that happens, a certain swagger just seeps into everything. Here in London, for instance, right before a high-level bilateral meeting earlier this month, the Philippine delegation and their power suits spontaneously gathered in a semi-huddle in front of the Embassy and under the waving flag to discuss their game plan, and then walked off towards the meeting venue with such an air and sense of purpose about them that not a few Pinoy onlookers told me later that they were bursting with pride at the mere sight of it all.

(If I may say so, it really did look kick ass [albeit the nerdy kind], and I was actually running the whole thing in my head as one of those goosebump scenes from a Michael Bay movie -- the part where the heroes walk out in slow-motion, shoulder-to-shoulder, to dramatic music, and enveloped in fog or steam or sweat or some other thing moist.)

And because I'm the only one doing the slow motion walk in his head, I get left behind by the delegation.

OK, the Embassy is embarrased by my ill-timed daydreaming sometimes, but trust me, there are a lot of instances here when Philippine pride and product just come together beautifully, with or without an official delegation. Or moisture. A few examples:

I Don't Know Much About Art, But I Know What I Like

In time for Independence Month, some young Philippine artists swung through London as part of their European tour. They were so well-received I decided to get on the bandwagon and purchase three different pieces (although the artists' faces seem to belie a fear I'll place the artworks next to my Star Wars memorabilia)

Oh, Westerners...One Taste of Our Chicharon Bulaklak and You Abandon Your Diets

Most Pinoy eating places I've seen abroad are casual, homey affairs (not unlike, say, a Little Quiapo.) Great food and friendly atmosphere to be sure, but probably overlooked by the Michelin Guide. I've always felt there's a market out there for more upscale Philippine fine dining, and Josephine's Restaurant in central London just proves me right: hip neighborhood location, posh interiors, authentically sinful Pinoy food. I took these pictures as an advance party before the peak time, but trust me, the place was packed with Londoners come dinner time (and I'm told, every night). Bravo!

(Now then, who'll explain to Michelin the signifcance of the Charice Pempengco photos all over the walls?)

M.O.A.B.F.

The Mother of All Barrio Fiestas was held in West London recently, and it had all the usual attractions and activities, but on a much larger scale (I'd just like to say to all those who patronized the halo-halo, ice cream and San Miguel beer stands...um...hope you didn't get stuck in traffic on the way home). One of the best moments came right at the end, just as everyone was headed for the exits: some band came on the nearly empty stage, and proceeded to absolutely shred Wham's "Careless Whisper". (I regret I was only able to video the tail-end of it, but then the whole thing may have been too awesome for my camera.)

Kultura Kids

I'd like to give a shout out to Philippine Generations, a group of second-generation Fil-Brits who do an incredible job of raising awareness of Philippine culture and concerns within the UK. I always enjoy working with them - not the least because, as the Embassy liaison to their group, it's my last chance to be associated with something young and hip! Their most recent project was called Kultura, and brought everything from sungka, to kulintang, to - hell yeah! - eskrima to the London youth. I joined the eskrima lessons and had a lot of fun, although I was constantly distracted by the guy on the left who bore an uncanny physical and personality resemblance to Ryan Agoncillo. I was also regularly reprimanded by the instructor for not concentrating hard enough (I was doing Darth Vader breathing noises and muttering "Your powers are weak, old man" and "I have you now")

BTW, set eskrima to some kulintang music inside a Barrio Fiesta, and you got yourself something pretty damn cool.

And finally . . . Jude Law in "Hamlet"? Pffff. Xavier and Magneto in "Waiting for Godot"? Please . . .

You want real high-culture, you go to the advance screening of. . ."The Scorpion King 2: Rise of a Warrior"! Starring Fil-foreign actor Michael Copon!! Of "One Tree Hill"!!! Wiki-fact: his high-school football nickname was "The Supreme Philippine"!!!!!!!

(Jude Law's was "Alfie")

It may not be nominated for any Oscars, but if you like your plots revenge-driven, your fight scenes dizzyingly edited, your monsters CGI'ed, your warriors oily, and your villain's plans convoluted, then this is the movie for you! Heck, Randy Couture trying to act as the evil Sargon is worth the price of the rental alone! (with emphasis on "trying" and "to act")

How do I know Scorpion King 2 will be a big hit? The same week I saw the "advance screening" . . .

The DVD was on a shelf in ComicCon!!!

We're gonna be all right.

HOME IS WHERE THE CON IS

You don't really have full control over your weekends working at the Embassy. Many a Saturday and Sunday is spent on consular outreach programs, Filcom activities and - ahem - doing laundry. When there is a free weekend, it usually doesn't present itself until the preceding Friday, and by then you find yourself pressured to find something to do -- because you didn't think to make plans ahead of time, and you'd feel like such a loser if you couldn't find anywhere to go to in a city as active as London. You scour the internet, look closely at all the city posters, even (gasp) buy print media in a desperate attempt to discover something interesting enough to take you away from another night of TV, microwave dinners and a washing machine humming in the background.

You don't always succeed.

There are some magical times, however, when the answer is laid right before you, inside a discarded free newspaper, on a Tube seat.

Daddy's home.



What to wear, what to wear?

My bro-in-law suggested I go as a Pinoy superhero, but I deferred since Cracked just called two of them out, and I don't think anyone would get it if I went as Babman, The Pork Knight. And, truth be told, I wasn't sure I was ready to go as far as dress-up; I'm a dork, not a fanboy. In fact, I was so insecure I went the opposite direction to compensate. Thus:

Badminton shirt, to indicate some athletic activity



No wristwatch, to display tan lines/prove I get out in the sun sometimes

And, above all, wedding ring to say HA! I ACTUALLY KNOW SOMEONE FROM THE OPPOSITE SEX!!!

Grand Entrance

Oh...oh, Good Lord. A Cylon Centurion standing guard at the entrance right next to a Clone Trooper; Darth Vader shoulder-to-shoulder with Jean Luc Picard. I'm not even gonna make it inside. I'm gonna faint right here.

Fortunately, this came along: right on the entrance driveway, a guy in Darth Maul make-up and some other dude with a light saber decided to go at it right there and start a supposedly bad-ass sword fight. They were stopped, subdued and led away. . . by a 50-year old lady parking attendant. I feel better already

Despite its "Film and ComicCon" title, it became immediately apparent inside that there was a lot more "film" than "comics"

Although it was also immediately apparent that there were a lot more guys who resembled "Comic Book Guy" than film stars.

If Superman had stubble, how'd he shave?

This guy was great. Not only was he in costume, he was in character. He'd go all over the place and check everything out with a consistently wide stance, a purposeful walk and a steely gaze for no apparent reason other than he was Superman, goddamit! Bakit ba?!

Meet the newest crossover franchise


Alien vs. Stormtrooper: The Bromance


The Autograph/Photograph heirarchy

I've never been to this sort of thing before, so I wasn't aware that there was a very structured order to proceedings. Best I could tell, it was composed of the following levels (in ascending order):


Level One: Not even "That Guy"

This was actually kind of depressing. As you enter, there's a long desk of people you wouldn't recognize without the poster screaming above their heads. (The guy from Harry Potter! The guy from Meet the Spartans!) Most visitors just glance sideways, maybe pause a second, then move on. Sad.

Level Two:"That Guy"

Definitely recognizable, but you know them more by their characters than by their real names. Still, some are more "That Guy" than others. Michael Ironside, for instance, had a steady stream of visitors while, right next to him, Danny Trejo just kept on quietly churning out the autographed posters.

And it's a sad, sad world we live in when some dudes from "Twilight" get more attention than the Haitian and Dr. Suresh from "Heroes". (I don't even know who Peter Facinelli is, or why we should be so concerned about his passport issues [and I work with passports!])

I might add that some "That Guys" are famous enough to be occassionally taken out of the assembly line and given their own private session time and place. Every celebrity's autograph - except one - cost £15. You may think that's steep, but the long lines outside the walled off area show there's more than adequate demand. (and, hey, someone did come as Babman!)

Level Three: The cult leaders

I have no clue who this guy is but, damn, he had a really devoted group of fans. Best I could tell, he's just the voice of some anime characters, but the love his groupies showed him went well beyond that. They lined up hours in advance just so they could listen to him from the front row (even though he could be seen and heard from everywhere else in the room); they hung on his every crowd-pleasing antic - from telling "The Donut Story" (personally, meh) to prompting a "Kamayamaya" (ok, that was pretty cool); and after the talk they all hugged him with affection reserved for someone who genuinely touched their lives. Fascinating.

Meanwhile, Stubble Superman stands guard and makes sure things don't get out of hand.



Level Four: Scott Bakula

Remember when I said everyone's autograph - except for one - cost £15? Well, meet "The One". His cost £25. 'Nuff said.

And above absolutely anything and everything -- it's not even a level, really. It's heaven.