Kanlaon

This morning, self watching CNN: There’s a press conference, at which the ex-Burmese Prime Minister is appealing for more aid.

But this morning brought the news that the current leaders of (so-called) Myanmar have refused to allow in USAID workers, with resulting widespread confusion and dismay.

Yesterday, self’s friend Kyi sent her this poem. It is by Ko Ko Thett, who was born in Rangoon in 1972. His studies at Rangoon Institute of Technology were cut short following his involvement in the December 1996 student uprising. He left Burma after a spell of detention in July 1997. In Bangkok, he worked for Burma Programme at the Jesuit Refugee Service-Asia Pacific until his resettlement in Finland in December 2000. As an independent researcher, Ko Ko Thett has taught, written, and commented extensively on Burma since 1999. As of 2008, he is reading peace and conflict studies at the University of Helsinki, while keeping his dream of return alive.

Nargis Cyclone

The storm struck at dawn.
Blow, blew, blown!
I was thrown into a space unknown.
As I float, my body begins to bloat.
Am I swimming among a million corpses?
A million of my compatriots?
I hear women wailing on the shore.
Is it the muted weep of dying children
I’ve never heard before?

Ko Ko Thett
8.5.2008

(Gone: “Summer: Roli-Roti Chicken and Stanford CoHo”)

Self was in the parking lot of Trader Joe’s when she got a call from son. Since son never asks for anything, not one thing, the minute she heard his request, self said, “I’ll do it.”

The request is simple: son is participating in The American Cancer Society’s Relay for Life.

Who knows? Perhaps he has a friend who has cancer. Or perhaps he is doing this out of simple altruism (more likely). Self remembers that the last time she and son were in Bacolod, in 2006, he gave his Jollibee lunch to a kargador — a porter. A fellow traveler then turned to self and inquired, with raised eyebrow, “American?” — Ha ha ha ha ha!

Here’s more about the American Cancer Society’s Relay for Life:

Can you believe that more than 1.3 million new cancer cases are expected to be diagnosed in the United States this year? Those are staggering statistics, but there is hope. Each of us can do something to save lives and help those already fighting this disease. That’s why I’ve decided to take action against cancer by supporting the American Cancer Society Relay For Life® event right here in my community.

For state fundraising notices and the American Cancer Society’s Privacy Policy, please paste this link into your browser: http://www.cancer.org/docroot/SU/su_0.asp

Click here for the team page to Committed for a Cure.

So, it’s up to her friends to let the world know: her talent is huge! Self means HUGE!

Here’s a message about Stella from fab graphic designer Tina Besa (niece of beloved Doreen Fernandez, self’s first writing teacher)

Hello, Stella’s Family and Friends,

As you may or may not already know, Stella will be exhibiting her work in a solo show at the Silverlens Gallery in Manila next January. This is a major milestone for her, and she would love it if those of you who will be in or around Manila then can join her at the opening on Thursday, January 8!

In order to produce, finish, and transport the 25 photographs she expects to show, Stella has started an online savings account at SmartyPig.com. I have convinced her to share her savings goal with all of you, should you want to help show your support. She also has a birthday coming up on May 10th, and this would be an awesome collective gift! Click on this link to check it out.

See the work “Family Spaces” at kalaw.com and her (mostly) photo-related musings at stellakalaw.blogspot.com.

Thank you!

Tina

(Gone: How Beautiful . . . )

Country checking this blog today: France (”LG Chocolate in Blue Mint”)

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Strangest search terms today, 8 May 2008:

cagayan sex scandal
crabs grow big in the ocean
jackie chan ceas pick 3
nurses’ week sayings

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# of Names listed under category “Filipino Short Story Writers” in Wikipedia: 2 (Roy Aragon, Jr. and Jose Dalisay)

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Top Philippine First Names (according to website “Students of the World”):

For Girls: Michelle
For Boys: James

In addition, here are some other popular first names:

For girls: Mechie (# 8), Eulia (# 11), Jessa Mae (# 20), Meow (# 24), Roshmeir (# 32), Mitch (# 39), Sweet (# 41), Kezzia Joy (# 43), Johnelyn (# 48 )

For boys: Yhoves (# 9), Rogie John (# 12), Cazhmere (# 18), Naldie (# 24), Frank Jason (# 26), Ralphreil (# 30), Rafael Carlo (# 33), Melchizedek (# 34), Ritz (# 35), Allan Romagos (# 36), Lymhar (# 37), Shepherd (# 38), Vinjo (# 40), Stroustrup (# 41), Staj2 (# 42), Alvin Roy (# 43), Jerez (# 44), Orlan (# 47), Markgion (# 48 ), Ace (# 49)

My Burmese friend, Kyi May-Kaung, e-mailed this link today, with a warning:

“It is important not to deliver aid to the hands of the junta.”

The link above has a sidebar which lists reputable aid organizations working in Burma.

The latest death toll (as of 9 May 200 and reported on CNN, “tops 100,000.”

(Gone: “Quote of the Day: A Student’s Letter to Dear Flannery”)

You are so excited, because even though it has been rather an unpleasant day (face-to-face time with Dean, uh-oh!) and you happened to slip on some re-fried beans that happened to be on the sidewalk, right next to your car, thankfully you did not twist an ankle, though it was mighty embarrassing to have pitched face forward in full view of — of — But never mind, at least it wasn’t in full view of the Dean, who had just accused you of throwing a paper into a student’s face, which as all blog readers know is really impossible, for self has never thrown anything in a person’s face in her entire life, not even a Kleenex, and besides which self is so tiny, so teensy-weensy compared to this particular student — though, come to think of it, it might have been good if self had thrown a paper in this student’s face, because maybe he would have worked a little harder instead of running to the Dean, and — (Once again, self, you digress!)

Today, you heard from two of your favorite people: dear Chandler, who works for FF, and Bob Flor in Seattle.

Bob sent over the schedule of events for Pagdiriwang 2008 at the Seattle Center, and you really wish you had the wherewithal to post images on your blog, for the poster is a beaut. But now, all you can do is quote, and here are the particulars:

21st Annual Philippine Cultural Festival: Celebrating our Native American Connections

June 6, 7, 8
Seattle Center

Honoring Indipino (Native American/ Filipino) Exemplars, Art Exhibits, FourART Group from the Philippines, Indipino Artists of Seattle, and

and The Third Annual Filipino American Women Writers Workshop, with: Toni Bajado, Angela Martinez Dy, Tess Uriza-Holthe, Rebecca Mabanglo-Mayor, Donna Miscolta, Nancy Calos-Nakano, Melissa Nolledo, and yours truly
Noon to 5 p.m.
Seattle Center
Centerhouse Theatre
Saturday, 7 June 2008

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned!

Okey-dokey, dear blog readers, this evening self is reading. And what else is there to read after a day when self had to suck up (bleeaaah) to the two clowns who’ve been running rough-shod over the female students in her class, who had the genius idea to beat self to it and complain to the Dean, who, being the munificent leader that he is (or imagines himself to be), took their side without listening to self and advised self to get a union rep to represent her — to repeat: on such a depressing day, what else is there to read but the dear old San Francisco Chronicle? (Whew! That was indeed quite a mouthful! See, now that self’s back is to the wall, she thinks she might actually get to finish writing that play! While grading student papers, yet! If self is lucky, perhaps she’ll even get to finish writing it before Dearest Mum lands on these shores, in the first week of June! But, once again, self digresses)

This is the headline (on p. 2 of the SF Chronicle) that has caught self’s attention:

TRIAGE PLAN DETAILS WHOM TO LET DIE DURING A PANDEMIC: Treatment Blueprint Gives Severely Hurt, Elderly Lower Priority

Hmmm, self is now extremely curious to see which group she falls into: the “savable” or the “unsavable”? And so she reads on.

Doctors know some patients needing lifesaving care won’t get it in a flu pandemic or other disaster. The gut-wrenching dilemma will be deciding whom to let die.

The suggested list was compiled by a task force whose members come from prestigious universities, medical groups, the military and government agencies. They include the Department of Homeland Security, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, and the Department of Health and Human Services.

And here, dear blog readers, are the list of the “expendables”:

* People older than 85.

* Those with severe trauma, which could include critical injuries from car crashes and shootings.

* Severely burned patients older than 60.

* Those with severe mental impairment, which could include advanced Alzheimer’s disease.

* Those with a severe chronic disease, such as advanced heart failure, lung disease or poorly controlled diabetes.

Self sincerely hopes that the next pandemic comes before she turns 60.

But, even if she is 60, if she is not severely burned there is a chance — slim, but still a chance — that she will not be abandoned.

With self’s kind of luck, however, the pandemic will come the day after her 60th birthday, and she will indeed be severely burned.

Or, even if self is not severely burned, she might end up being evaluated by a novice physician who will mistake her not-so-severe burns for severe burns.

And so forth and so on.

The point self is trying to make, dear blog readers, is that self has the worst kind of luck, and if there is any way — no matter how far-fetched — for her to squeak into the “un-salvageable” group, she will no doubt find it.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

(Gone: “Poetry Contest, Eugene Gloria to Judge”)

Ah, so many things to blog about, so little time! After perusing blog stats for the weekend, have reluctantly decided to banish some of self’s more recent posts. Self thinks nothing is worth saving unless it is being read. She is similarly ruthless with her rejected manuscripts, taking them apart almost as soon as she gets to a certain number of rejections. See, it’s all a game. Nothing, and most particularly nothing self writes, is sacred, and — there you go again, self! Digressing, as usual!

Anyhoo, it is Monday morning. Most definitely, the weekend is over. You fell asleep at 2:30 and were awakened by pitiable whinings of Gracie (hungry). You stumbled blearily into the kitchen. You wondered if you would be up to discussing Lorrie Moore today. The latest issue of the Stanford Magazine is by your bed, you pick up where you left off reading last night: the “Alumni Showcase” section. And here is what you discover:

Kathleen Chalfant, ‘66, co-starred with Mary Louise Parker in “Dead Man’s Cell Phone” at New York’s Playwrights Horizons.

The Distant Land of My Father, a novel by Bo Caldwell, ‘77, is “the communitywide reading selection for Silicon Valley after having been the choice of Pasadena last year.”

“Celebrating Women,” an exhibit by Paola Gianturco, ‘61, is on display at the Field Museum in Chicago. Photojournalist Gianturco’s new book is Women Who Light the Dark (powerhouse, $45); sales from the book benefit the Global Fund for Women.

And, here is the list of books self is interested in reading after perusing the magazine’s “Shelf Life” section:

Tobias Wolff’s Our Story Begins: New and Selected Stories

Eric Alterman’s Why We’re Liberals: A Political Handbook for the Post-Bush America

History professor Wayne S. Vucinich’s post-humously published memoir, Memoirs of My Childhood in Yugoslavia

Doug Fine’s Farewell, My Subaru: An Epic Adventure in Local Living (Book description: “With a pair of goats he found on Craigslist and a resolve to use as little fossil fuel as possible, journalist Fine conducts a yearlong makeover of his 41-acre Funky Butte Ranch in southern New Mexico.”)

Jeanne Fleming and Leonard Schwarz’s Isn’t it Their Turn to Pick Up the Check? (Book description: “Partners who write an advice column in Money magazine, Fleming and Schwarz know that the intersection of personal finance and personal relationships has more hazards than Interstate 880 in an earthquake. Their book offers practical and ethical wisdom for dealing with all the trickiest money problems between family and friends — from serial borrowers to serious cheapskates.”)

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

(Gone: Watch Kularts Spring 2008 )

It’s been a fine, fine weekend, dear blog readers. Self can’t possibly describe all the things that she did and felt in the last two days (emotions, in particular, ran the whole gamut — from anxiety to boredom, from contentment to fatigue, etc etc etc. There’s a reason, after all, that she is a writer). But, here is a list of some of the things she did (told in the second person, pace Lorrie Moore!):

Saturday morning: You got hubby up bright and early and you drove with him to the Foothill College annual plant sale, and after searching carefully among all the plant tables you came away with a small gingko tree and a viburnum (in bloom) and the cost for both plants was a ridiculous $12.

Saturday night: You listened to a young violinist named Vadim Gluzman (born in the Ukraine, moved to Tel Aviv at 16, studied at Juilliard) wow the Davies Symphony Hall crowd with a ripping performance of Shostakovich’s Violin Concerto No. 1 in A minor. The man was phenomenal. And just as phenomenal was the fact that his instrument was a 1690 “ex-Leopold Auer Stradivarius.”

Before the concert, you and hubby had dinner at Shima Sushi in Opera Plaza, and you had the vegetarian bento box which was possibly the best bento box dinner you had ever eaten, and it was of great satisfaction for you to see how hubby looked longingly at your dinner (even though he, too, had ordered the bento box, but not vegetarian, and your servings were much more plentiful)

You came home after the concert and popped some popcorn in the microwave and you and hubby watched “Alien v. Predator”, which you had refused to watch when it came out in the movie theatres, but now you thought it was highly entertaining, and when the team of scientists was reduced to one feisty woman (a minority, at that, natch) you watched as she enlisted the trust of a Predator by off-ing an Alien with a spear that just happened to be lying around, and when Predator bent down to Alien corpse with huge knife unleashed and was preparing to do something, you knew not what, hubby explained that he was cutting off a trophy for feisty woman, and when you asked, “How do you know?” hubby smugly replied: “I think Predator.”

Sunday, noon, you and hubby watched an early show of “Ironman.” And you declared it the best movie you had seen all year. And the concession stand in the lobby of the downtown cinema had peanut butter ice cream, which is your favorite, but which they don’t have all the time. And you figured out finally what was so appealing about Gwyneth Paltrow, who played Ms. Pepper Potts with such wry and understated humor (and who could run so convincingly, even in tight tight skirts and fab four-inch-heels), although you couldn’t help wondering if they had to make Robert Downey, Jr. stand on a box because you know he is about a foot shorter than Ms. Gwyneth. And, anyway, you thought it was a really fab movie, and you even got to see the trailer for the new Indiana Jones movie (though you had to cover your eyes every time Shia LeBouef came on-screen — oh, the sacrilege!) and you saw Ed Norton turning into the “Hulk,” which you think is also going to be a fab movie, and there was a trailer of “The Dark Knight,” and you were sad to see Heath and be reminded that he was dead, but you thought he made a marvelous Joker. And then, after all the trailers were done, and you got to note the opening dates for all the various summer movies, you suddenly began to wish that you would be rejected by all the places you had applied to for summer residencies. Because all you really want to do, and it’s too bad you only realized it now, is stay home and watch movies.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

Self reclining on living room couch, listening to Gracie’s (abominable) snoring. Now and then a car will pass outside. It’s lonely at this time of night, but self is beset by insomnia, for the third night in a row.

So, hoping that The New York Times (of Wednesday, 30 April) will provide desired soporific effect, self starts flipping through the News section, and stops at the editorial page. Here there is a fascinating Maureen Dowd article about Obama, which self will now proceed to quote:

Barack Obama has spent his life, and campaign, trying not to be the Angry Black Man.

Early on, he wrote in “Dreams From My Father,” he discerned the benefits of playing against the 60s stereotype of black militancy.

“I learned to slip back and forth between my white and black worlds,” he said. “One of those tricks I had learned: People were satisfied so long as you were courteous and smiled and made no sudden moves. They were more than satisfied; they were relieved — such a pleasant surprise to find a well-mannered young black man who didn’t seem angry all the time.”

Obama and his aides often brag about his Zenlike serenity. “I’ve learned that I have what I believe is the right temperament for the presidency, which is I don’t get too high when I’m high and I don’t get too low when I’m low,” he told Chris Wallace on “Fox News Sunday.”

What self thinks Ms. Dowd means is that Obama has excelled at the art of the perfectly calibrated response. This is a skill which self believes takes an inordinate amount of patience and watchfulness. It must be exhausting to be Obama.

Obama, why don’t you cut loose, just once? Do a “Howard Dean” roar! (Self could never understand why Dean’s “Yeah!” following an oratory about winning state by state should have sunk him. Self admits to getting pretty excited when she saw the clip. She thought: Go, Howard, go! You kick ass! Then his fortunes rapidly skidded downhill. And self knew, once and for all, that she herself would never be in tune — in terms of response, that is — to America at large) Or, better still, why don’t you learn to play the saxophone? Self thinks it is a pretty sexy instrument, and playing it could win you many many (female) votes.

Instead, if one were to take Ms. Dowd’s word for it, you have turned into the “Sort of Angry Black Man” who is “reluctantly spurred into action by The Really Angry Black Man.”

Ha ha ha ha ha!

Self never thought she would find herself agreeing with Ms. Dowd. No, never, not in a million years.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.