To the Ferry Building, After the Play

Self had such a good time on Sunday. First of all, the actors and actresses and the scripts were high-octane. And it was so good to see Stella, Tina, Jay, Kerry, and Penny. Penny flew in all the way from New York! Afterwards, we went to the Ferry Building. The day was gorgeous, just gorgeous! We walked around the wharf, and a Dutch woman was kind enough to take our picture. We chatted with her and her boyfriend for a bit. They came from the city of Utrecht. The man had a thick guidebook that said USA on the cover. They were at the start of a three-week vacation. Self told them they must not leave California without driving south on the Coast Highway.

Inside the Ferry Building, there was a gala fundraiser so, disappointingly, all the shops (except for Book Passage) were closed. We tried to get into The Slanted Door and were told it would be impossible to get in without a reservation. We ended up at the building next door, Pier 1, where there was a new Peruvian restaurant, La Mer.

The decor was chrome and blue glass. People were huddled around coffee tables in the lobby, sampling drinks and appetizers. Penny and self tried the cebiche sampler, and Peruvian beer (mellower than San Miguel), and a beef dish that the young Asian couple at the next table assured us was a very authentically Peruvian dish, and afterwards we tried the creme brulee sampler (four different kinds: vanilla, chocolate, mocha, hazelnut).

Self was going to drop Penny off at her hotel on Nob Hill, but at the sight of a series of ascending hills, her courage quite failed her. No worries, Penny said, and hopped out. Last self saw of her, she was energetically hailing a cab, which pulled over immediately. There’s no one who can hail a cab like a real New Yorker. Even when self is in New York and there are gazillions of cabs zooming by on the street, none of them stop for self.

Then, self turned right and found herself in Chinatown. It’s a different place from the Chinatown she’s used to seeing: the daytown Chinatown of crowds and smells and produce spilling over onto the sidewalk. Now, everything was tucked neatly inside the storefronts, the streets were empty of traffic, and self was so tempted to park and just nose around a bit. But the thought of her classes prevailed, and she found Fourth Street and headed home.

Last Night at Lobster Shack

Cousin Jay and his wife Heather joined self, hubby, Dearest Mum, aunt and uncle for dinner at Lobster Shack. Heather, who is a beautiful blonde girl and the savior of not only her husband but of aunt’s entire family, is hugely pregnant. Her baby shower is next week at Il Fornaio in Burlingame, and self has already ordered a stroller shield from Babies R Us.

Jay is aunt’s middle child. He’s working for a start-up. As usual when dining with Dearest Mum, there is no such thing as a simple dinner where people sit down in one place and eat whatever is in front of them. Instead, meals are exceedingly complicated affairs where all kinds of power plays are enacted.

For example:

Dearest Mum must take a bite from everyone’s plate. This is absolutely imperative. Exhibit A: Jay and Heather arrived after the rest of us had finished eating, and ordered for themselves individual cups of clam chowder. When the chowder arrived, Dearest Mum’s eyes lit up: “Can I try?” she asks. And Jay (What a good boy! So expert at reading signals!) surrenders his cup without a murmur, saying only, “You can have it. I’ll share with Heather.”

Dearest Mum must be allowed to order anyone around. For instance, even if self is bending over to take a big bite out of a fried scallop, when Dearest Mum says it is time for her to get up and get water for her cousins, she’d better drop that scallop and hot-foot it to the water table. And so the table is constantly alive with movement, and the waitress’ eyes are spinning, and extra plates must be requested (Dearest Mum: “So we can share”), over and over, until the very end of the meal. And self must not look up, not ever, because she did so once, last night, and saw the entire restaurant staring at the table where sat self, Dearest Mum, hubby (amiably smashed from, oh, four servings of beer: way to go, hubby!), aunt (who protested she could not eat a thing), uncle (who is deaf and who cannot hear a thing, naturally, but persists in engaging in conversation), Jay (wondering why waitress refused to come to our table when he called), and blonde Heather (sweetly smiling, with rather glazed look on her young face).

Anyhoo, the dramatics got self pretty excited, so that she found herself talking and talking and talking. And Jay concurred with self that his mother and self’s mother have the energy of _____ (rampaging elephants?) Even though they are at least two decades older than either of us. And even though self knows full well that aunt and Dearest Mum are truly exhausted, it is imperative that one act as if one is constantly in awe of their tremendous funds of energy. And say such things as: “I don’t know how you do it!” or “I just can’t keep up with you!” And unfortunately, self only realized this recently (or after she was married, at any rate), for when she was growing up in the Philippines, she was buffered from Dearest Mum by the presence of Dad/brothers/sister/maids/drivers and diverse cousins, uncles and aunts, and never had to actually spend more than a few minutes of each day in Dearest Mum’s presence, and so was not subjected to this exhausting one-upmanship which seems to be a trait of Dearest Mum’s family (while Dear Departed Dad’s Bacolod family was completely “laid back” — oh, those lazy Negrenses!)

After dinners like that, self’s nerves go on over-drive and she has to stay up half the night, trying to block out cross-currents of emotion. In the meantime, self surmises that son has left his hotel in Madrid and must now be in Valladolid. Chances are good that she won’t hear from him again until he heads for Paris, a month from now. Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

Oh, What a Lovely World

Self spent almost the entire day with son. Mid-morning, as she was tidying up the living room, her cell rang. It was her friendly State Farm agent, saying that if son did not come in immediately and watch a 10-minute safety video, he would no longer be eligible for his “Good Driver” discount.

“Why? He hasn’t been in any accidents since he got his license,” self said. “Is this a new policy? And, we’re really very busy; he’s leaving in two days for Europe. Can’t this wait until he gets back?”

What do you suppose happened, dear blog readers? You can probably guess.

An hour later, self and son were in downtown Palo Alto. State Farm agent’s office on University Avenue turned out to be next to a rather lively bar named Rudy’s. As self and son walked down University, son seemed to be in rather a reflective mood.

“It’s funny,” he said. “The smells. It reminds me of Manila.”

Downtown Palo Alto reminds son of Manila??? Self was quiet.

“Maybe it’s just that it’s so hot. And why is the sky such a funny color?”

And it was a funny color: grayish, hazy.

Self told son there had been a fire in San Bruno. Maybe it was ash, blowing around?

After son had watched the video (Really stupid: In a series of short scenes, different teen-agers were shown chatting to passengers while driving, and each scene ended in exactly the same way, with an “Oh no!” and then a grinding sound and then a KA-BOOM!), self asked son what he felt like eating, and he asked to eat at Kirk‘s.

Oh, Kirk’s, we had not eaten there in what seemed like years and years. In fact, self had not been to the Town & Country shopping center (at Embarcadero and El Camino) in years and years. And today self noticed that it had been spruced up with stone planter boxes and flowers. But Kirk’s was exactly the same. And self had a Steakburger with Jack, and son had an All-Beef Frankfurter with large garlic fries and a drink. And my, those fries were sooo yummy!

After lunch, self decided that, since son was in her company, an event that has only happened two other times this year, they would go to the bank and self would get him Traveler’s Checks for his trip. And for that she withdrew $500.

Then, upon hearing that son was intending to travel with only the pair of flip-flops he had on his feet at that moment, self persuaded him to have a look at Marshall’s. As they were walking in the store, self, preening with over-confidence (as she had been there with Dearest Mum at least three different times in the past week), said: “Over here they have the women’s stuff, and the men’s stuff is all the way on the other side, at the back of the store –”

And son said, without so much as missing a beat, “Or maybe the men’s stuff is right here?  Under this big sign saying MEN’S SHOES?”

And self was so abashed that she fell completeley silent.

And would you believe, dear blog reader, that Marshall’s had only flip-flops and sneakers? What is this world coming to?

But we then wended our way to Target’s, and there we found Mossimo’s (racks and racks of men’s sandals, all in the same shade of tan). There was only one style of sandal, and it was going for $19.99, and self was so relieved when son found the one and only remaining pair in his size.

And then son and self went home, and self proceeded to water some more. And then Dearest Mum called and inquired if self wanted to meet somewhere. And self said, “Why don’t you just come over for dinner?” And Dearest Mum, who was with aunt and uncle, said she thought that would be a good idea. And now self has decided to cook, courtesy of justoneplate.com, a dish with the stunning name of

Strozzapreti Ai Gamberi

Which translates, self thinks, to “shrimp with pasta.” Because it just so happens that she has, in the fridge: a) shrimp and b) linguini. What a stroke of luck!

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

Walking: Downtown Burlingame

It was a beautiful day — Well, OK, just a tad warm.

Self had gone shopping in Marina Market (Is it just her imagination or are there really more non-Asians — read: “whites” — shopping there now? One blonde woman took a call on her cell phone and chattered excitedly to someone, self guessed her husband: “Yes, I’m having a lot of fun just wandering around and looking at everything!”). Afterwards, on impulse, self decided to drop by Daly City, to uncle’s house, where Dearest Mum is currently ensconced. And there she found uncle in the process of preparing a very hearty breakfast for his two grandsons, who he seemed to be babysitting. And this is what he prepared for the two 10-year-olds (who were so rapt with their laptops that they never even looked up once, not even to thank him):

• 10 strips of bacon
• “coddled” eggs
• slices of apricots and peaches
• toasted English muffins

What a breakfast! Self wanted to sit right down and join them. But she was not invited, so she held her tongue.

Then, self inquired if Dearest Mum wanted to go anywhere. And Dearest Mum said that she had in fact the urgent need to go to a bank. So self offered to drop her there. And, since it was nearly lunchtime, Dearest Mum decided we should eat somewhere in downtown Burlingame. And she revealed that yesterday, she had treated out uncle, aunt, and a number of other relatives to breakfast at Copenhagen. So today she wanted to try something different. And she settled on Crepevine. And self and Dearest Mum shared something that turned out to be Eggs Benedict, only fancied up with Canadian ham and spinach. Also, a dessert of cherry blintzes with vanilla ice cream. (Self all the while wondering if the prawns she had bought from Marina Market would survive two hours in her car, under hot sun, or whether they would start to smell, and if so, would Dearest Mum say something, etc etc)

Anyhoo, there were several interesting things self noticed while on this walk:

• Dearest Mum insists on crossing the street anywhere she feels like it. Self tried to steer her to the pedestrian crosswalks, but Dearest Mum insisted that self’s aunts and uncles cross wherever they like, it is the “usual practice.” So, because self already has the reputation of being a real “stick,” among Dearest Mum’s side of the family especially, who are so flamboyant and free-spirited, she kept quiet.
• Dearest Mum started out walking on self’s right, but as soon as she realized she was in full sun, she crossed over to self’s left. And then, whenever we encountered slower-moving pedestrians, she would consider it a matter of pride to maneuver around them as quickly as possible, even if this meant crossing from the shady part to the sunny part of the sidewalk. And, as we encountered many many slow-moving pedestrians today, Dearest Mum was constantly cris-crossing in front of self, which put self in mind of her beagles, who always end up tangling their leashes.
• Dearest Mum had a list of books she needed to get for Dear Tel Aviv Bro. Self forebore to look at the list. But, after entering a Books Inc., Dearest Mum suddenly lost interest in the whole proceeding and pushed the list into self’s bag, telling her to go and get the books and she’d reimburse self later.

Such were the fascinating observations self made today about Dearest Mum, who is an ever-changing kaleidoscope of interesting behavior.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

The Jollibee at 4th and Howard

Yes, it is just like being in Manila. And who cares that it is friggin’ cold outside, and the flags in front of the Moscone Center (hosting, today, an Endocrinologist Convention) are whipping around in a stiff breeze, and everyone else is in a parka (while self, you hopeless suburbanite, are dressed in only a thin T-shirt and a lightweight cardigan).

From the moment self walked in the door, and gazed on the displayed menu items that included (Be still, self’s beating heart) palabok, spaghetti with chopped sausage, and fried chicken in addition to the regular hamburgers —

From the moment she walked in and saw the pinays behind the cash registers. Pinays with Filipino accents —

From the moment she tasted one bite of that (sweet) spaghetti. And the fried chicken (each serving accompanied with little plastic cups of gravy) that tasted as if it had been marinated in something —

From the minute she partook of the palabok, and had that frozen ube drink with the sago balls —

She was there. In Manila. She was so there.

Tapas & Tel Aviv Memories

This time last night, self was sitting in Picaro Tapas Restaurant on 16th Street in the Mission, and Lucy Burns was talking about that morning’s Bay to Breakers, and Zack was imitating some famous singer, and Alan Isaac was talking about his upcoming trip to Tel Aviv, and self was telling them all about how much she loved that city — the bookstores, the Neve Tzedek district, Allenby Street, Bialik Street, the Rubik Museum, the beach, Jaffa, her favorite café on Gordon Street — and while all this was going on, self’s Nissan Altima was being towed.

The waiters were so friendly (and good-looking, too, which always helps), and we by no means were the loudest or most boisterous table in the restaurant, and there was even a very authentic-sounding mariachi band providing musical entertainment.

Self had parked in the middle of Dolores Street. Which is kinda crazy, when you stop to think about it. But there were 20 other cars parked ahead of her (in the middle of the street), and Zack asked one of the other people parking there, a man with a red SUV, and the man said that the City allowed cars to park in the middle of the street, just on that stretch of Dolores, and only on Sundays because there were masses at the nearby mission.

So, after dinner, we headed back to Dolores, and self had no idea, no idea that she had a problem, but Zack knew right away and said, “Shit. I think your car got towed.” And all self could do was stare at him with her mouth open. “What?” self finally managed to say. “Maybe this isn’t the same street.”

But, of course it was the same street, and while self and Lucy were still standing around in semi-shock, Zack was on the phone to someone, and every now and then he would stop to ask self a question: First, “What’s your license plate #?” and then, a little later, “What’s the make of your car?” and finally, “What’s the color?” And then he rang off and told self: “Your car’s at 450 7th Street, between Bryant and Harrison. We’ve got to get a cab.” And self was absolutely overcome with admiration at his total get-up-and-go.

Anyhoo, in the taxi, self sat between Lucy and Zack, who seemed *quite* concerned. But self was not at all concerned because, in the scheme of things, having your car towed is not as bad as having acute leukemia. Or having emphysema. Or having Bell’s Palsy. And this quarter teaching has been a nightmare. So what’s a few hundred dollars to retrieve a towed car (ha ha ha ha ha ha) ???

Anyhoo, car was retrieved in short order, and then Lucy and Zack took off for further carousing, this time with the “young ones” — Christine Balance and Anthem Salgado and a few others whose names self did not recognize. Self drove home. And, would you believe, dear blog readers, that when self walked in the door, and saw hubby just finishing his dinner, self was able to remain completely mum about the whole car-being-towed business? Really, self exhibited such aplomb that she amazed even herself.

Today, self decided to pay all her bills. So, she picked up her American Express statement, and running her eyes over the charges, this is what she found:

A charge from Roladin Coffee Shop on Allenby Street

A charge from Keren Muzion Art Dealer and Gallery

A charge from Landsberger Books on Ben Yehuda

A charge from Mazzarin Coffee Shop on Gordon Street

A charge from Ben Harim Travel Agency

A charge from Thailand House on Ben Yehuda

There was also a charge from the Frankfurt airport, where self had a stopover. For the life of her, self has no memory — zip, nada — of what she bought.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

Mother’s Day 2008: Wishes for Self

Last year, self wrote a post called “Belated Mother’s Day Wishes for Dearest Mum” (still very much viewed, even a year later!)

This year, having just put down the phone to Dearest Mum (and having just learned that self’s share from the family corporation, uncollected all these years, is more than double what she earned the past five years at Foothill Community College — ha ha ha ha!), self will draw up a list of Mother’s Day wishes, for herself.

But, first, self wants to talk about yesterday’s reading at the Redwood City Main Library. And then maybe she’ll talk a little about Dearest Mum’s visit to one of self’s favorite hang-outs in Tel Aviv (second favorite next to Bialik Street, that is), The Brunch on Gordon Street.

Yesterday’s reading was so fab. In the audience: smattering of Vangie Buell’s husband’s relatives. Also, a Redwood City mystery writer. Also, a co-teacher of Edwin Lozada’s at Woodside High School. Also, Roz Kutler, who works for the library and is the best-est, sweetest, most tireless event organizer self knows, who provided cookies and coffee and a display table for all of the assembled writers’ books.

And let’s not forget the presence of hubby, who was listening to self read for the first time in — well, maybe almost a decade. And who took lots of pictures of self while she was reading, which was one of the reasons self refused to look up.

And so, here’s who read, and in what order:

Oscar Peñaranda read his hilarious short story, “Prelude to a Gig.” Every time self hears this short story, she just wants to double over laughing, she can’t help it.

Penelope Flores, fab teacher at San Francisco State, read a hilarious story about her mother, called “Far Above Cayuga’s Waters.” There is a prelude to this story, and it has to do with one of Penelope’s sons being in Cornell, and singing that school’s “theme song” on one of his visits home, only to find that his Lola knew it as well, but with different words — words inserted by her American teacher, who was one of the first wave of American teachers to arrive on Philippine shores, shortly after the end of the Filipino-American War.

Next, Vangie Buell, who read “The Parol: A Bamboo Star of Hope,” which was just heartbreaking. Every time self listens to Vangie read, she wants to tear up, she can’t help it. Vangie had a horrendous childhood, but is alive and flourishing today, and self credits her remarkable fortitude and generosity of spirit for this feat.

Next, Jennifer Almiron, self’s amazing student at UCLA Extension, who read her (funny and acerbic) story about her Catholic school education, “I Am She.” Self had not known that Jen studied at Amherst. And, after listening to Jen read a poem called “Hartford,” self learned that those Amherst students with significant others usually went to Hartford on dates. Which is where Jen set the poem which was, ironically, about her break-up with her first boyfriend — ha ha ha!

Then, self read. A very short piece. Only five pages. Over in 10 minutes.

Then, last, Edwin Lozada, editor of Field of Mirrors, who has such a mellifluous reading voice, and whose poetry is so lush and lyrical.

Anyhoo, it was a very good afternoon. And now this post is getting too long, so perhaps self will reserve the Tel Aviv story for another time.

Early this morning, self called Dearest Mum and woke her up (Self, after all these years, why are you unable to remember that Manila is 15 hours ahead of California ???). When self inquired how Dearest Mum had spent her Mother’s Day, Dearest Mum was quite happy to tell self that one of her closest friends had thrown her a dinner, complete with huge, fat lobsters “flown in from Maine.”

Whereupon self shared with Dearest Mum the news that hubby was taking her to Redwood City’s Lobster Shack for dinner.

And then self

End of (1st May) Weekend: Foothill Annual Plant Sale, Concert at Davies, “Ironman”

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.

On Beginning GEEK LOVE, Beijing Buffet, Draeger’s Blueberry Pie, and Other Delights (Including NYTBR of 30 March 2008)

Jury still out on novel self began reading two days ago: Katherine Dunn’s Geek Love.

Self had not heard of this writer before, but her novel is considered something of a “classic” — among novels with a circus theme, that is. Self read a NYTBR piece in which the reviewer showed off by naming all the circus-themed novels she knew of, and these made up quite a list (Self was suitably impressed).

The book began with quirky voice and unusual syntax. OK. In the first couple of pages, we learn that Mum came from a well-off family, but ran away with Dad because of a yearning for adventure. Then, Mom and Dad colluded by ingesting all kinds of drugs with sole purpose of producing freaky babies, which resulted in Aquaboy, Siamese twins joined at the waist, albino humpback, and youngest child with yet-to-be-disclosed physical aberration.

Wow! How did Ms. Dunn get away with writing that! Self mighty encouraged and is plowing on with great interest.

This morning, self acquiesced to meet Dearest Aunt at some place called Beijing Buffet on South Airport Boulevard. The occasion was Aunt’s second husband’s 70th birthday. So, self wished hubby a blithe “Good Day!” (Hubby makes it a point to make himself scarce at all of self’s family gatherings) and hot-footed it north on 101.

And then self got lost. And self placed four calls to aunt from her cell, and aunt kept throwing out markers like:

“The Lyons! At Lyons turn right!” So self turned right and found herself back on the freeway, pointing homeward.

Then aunt said: “It’s at Grosvenor’s Inn! Can you see Grosvenor’s Inn?” Self said no, but she could see a See’s store. Aunt said, “What See’s store?” So then self made another wrong turn.

Then aunt said, “When you see the gas station, make a right.” And self did so, and found herself on Grand Avenue.

By this time, self was getting might frustrated, and thought she might just stop to get a bite to eat from a place called Galli’s Sanitary Bakery on Grand, which self has heard carries the most divine mango tres leches. Self also saw a Salon called Crimpers Bizarre Salon. She kids you not, that is exactly what she saw on a sign.

But no, self decided to make one last effort, and found herself in Costco. At which point, what else was there to do but to investigate? This was a huge Costco — self means huge! And the fast food section had the feel of an actual restaurant, not the rinky-dink service counter they have in the Redwood City Costco. The signs advertising sodas and pizzas were almost seven feet high. It reminded her of the drive-in from the movie “American Graffiti,” minus the cars.

And then self detected an insistent bzzz bzzz bzzz coming from her bag, and when she realized it was her phone she picked it up, and it was her Tita, begging — no, pleading — for self to make one last attempt.

And so self hurried out of Costco, and made a right turn, and she finally saw Grosvenor’s Inn, then saw a Holiday Inn, then, then — set back from the road a bit, and attached to some nondescript hotel, was a small one-story place with a yellow sign saying, in red block lettering: BEIJING BUFFET. And there were hordes — hordes — of Asian people heading there, whole vanloads.

And when self entered, almost the first person she saw was uncle-who-used-to-be-a-security-guard. And the first thing he did upon seeing self was pull open his shirt and reveal a row of fresh stitches all the way down to his navel. And so that self would not have to eat while thinking about that all through her meal, she opted to sit at another table, this one with Dearest Aunt and the 70-year-old birthday celebrant. And this is what self ingested, all in the space of 45 minutes:

roast duck
fried rice
fried mackerel
shrimp fried in honey
clams with a white topping (tasted like gummy cheese)
fresh oysters
steamed flounder
fresh manggo
fresh watermelon

Hmmm, let’s see, what else? Oh, yes, self learned that one of her nephews, the one with the long hair spilling fetchingly over his eyes, was going to be a father in September. No word about the wedding. “His girlfriend’s Burmese royalty,” one of her cousins informed her.

Then self does what she always does when attending a family gathering: she called son (And it suddenly occurred to her that she’d been calling son rather a lot lately, but — too late! Her finger had already speed-dialed) And self had barely passed the phone to uncle-with-a-fresh-scar-down-his-chest when he suddenly handed the phone back to self. “I dunno, he has to work or something,” Uncle mumbled, and self said, “Hello?” and she heard son say, “Gotta go!” And then self said, “Hello?” again, but there was no sound so she knew that son had hung up.

But that did not at all deter self from eating. And eating. And eating. And then self went home.

And hubby was watching a basketball game, and self saw that Shaq was exerting himself but not getting anywhere, and so she suggested that she go to Draeger’s and bring home a pie. And hubby agreed with that plan of action. So self took herself off to Draeger’s. And was filled with quiet love for this store, where she used to meet son after school almost every day of the week, while he was in middle school and high school. And, since she was in a slightly daring mood, she bought a blueberry pie even though she had never eaten one before.

And then she went home. And now, if dear blog readers are still there, still awake, and still eager for more, she will now list all the books she is interested in reading after perusing The New York Times Book Review of 30 March 2008:

(1) After reading Steven Brill’s review of John Grisham’s latest, The Appeal:

John Grisham’s The Appeal

(2) After reading Pamela Paul’s review of Mary Roach’s latest, Bonk: The Curious Coupling of Science and Sex:

Two previous books by Ms. Roach: Stiff and Spook

(3) After reading Lisa Fugard’s review of Lorna Goodison’s memoir, From Harvey River: A Memoir of My Mother and Her Island:

Lorna Goodison’s memoir, From Harvey River: A Memoir of My Mother and Her Island

(4) After reading Liesl Schillinger’s review of Tobias Wolff’s new collection, Our Story Begins:

Tobias Wolff’s Our Story Begins

(5) After reading Christopher Benfey’s review of Gerard Woodward’s new novel, A Curious Earth:

Gerard Woodward’s A Curious Earth

(6) After reading Evan Thomas’ (riveting) review of Max Hastings’ Retribution: The Battle for Japan, 1944-45:

Max Hastings’ Retribution: The Battle for Japan, 1944-45

(7) After reading Floyd Skloot’s review of Larry Woiwode’s new memoir, A Step From Death:

Larry Woiwode’s 2000 memoir, What I Think I Did

( 8 ) After reading Julia Scheeres’ review of Edward Docx’s second novel, Pravda:

Edward Docx’s second novel, Pravda

(9) After reading Michael J. Totten’s review of Sandra Mackey’s Mirror of the Arab World: Lebanon in Conflict:

Sandra Mackey’s Mirror of the Arab World: Lebanon in Conflict

(10) After reading Barry Gewen’s review of Charles Ferguson’s No End in Sight: Iraq’s Descent Into Chaos (which expands and updates the material he collected for his powerful 2007 documentary of the same name):

Charles Ferguson’s No End in Sight: Iraq’s Descent Into Chaos

(11) After reading Lori Leibovich’s review of Amy Sutherlands new book, What Shamu Taught Me About Life, Love, and Marriage:

Amy Sutherland’s earlier book, Kicked, Bitten, and Scratched
Amy Sutherland’s What Shamu Taught Me About Life, Love, and Marriage

(12) After reading Nancy Kline’s review of N. S. Koenings’ short story collection, Theft:

N. S. Koenings’ first novel, The Blue Taxi
N. S. Koenings’ short story collection, Theft

A Few E-mails Self Has Received (Since Returning From Tel Aviv)

Self very proud of herself: only a few days after getting back from Tel Aviv, she downloaded the pictures from her (cursed Nikon digital) camera and sent a few of them to the following: son, Ying, her favorite aunt in Manila, and dear cuz Maitoni.

The first to respond is Ying, who e-mails: “I think I don’t look too bad.” Self realizes that what she means is, “Or do I??” In the picture self sent, Ying is sitting up in her hospital bed, and Dearest Mum is sitting just behind her. Naturally, Ying is bald, and thin. But both she and Dearest Mum are smiling, and not in a forced way, either.

Self immediately replies: “You do not look bad at all. You are beautiful.” Which she is.

Self receives several e-mails from Sandy. First she sent self a picture of a brown animal cupped in two hands. This animal had huge black eyes, little paws (with sharp nails at the end). In fact, self thinks it is a squirrel.

Sandy’s accompanying message says: “Look what Dave found!”

Self e-mails back: “What is it???”

Sandy then confirms that it is indeed a squirrel.

When self tells hubby, he suddenly remembers that Sandy had told him about it, when he was in her dentist’s office (Sandy is a dental assistant/ hygienist), getting his teeth cleaned.

Sandy then e-mails various jokes, and then self gets e-mail from Dutch Gardens (“Spring Perennials Sale!”). Yesterday there was further e-mail from Sandy: the baby squirrel has died.

Then self hears from dear cuz Maitoni, who reminds her that she should Tivo “Check, Please!” because we happened to be eating at New Kapadokia the night the restaurant hosted a TV crew from said show.

Self also receives e-mail from cuz Mike V who lives in Calgary. Mike used to live in Glendale, and self and hubby used to drive down to visit him every year or so. Then, suddenly, he decided to move his family to Canada. Self confesses that she finds Calgary a rather strange choice of abode — for a Filipino, that is, since we usually hate the cold.

Since cousin moved to Calgary, over a decade ago, self has not laid eyes on him, but she knows what his daughter looks like, as he sends pictures every Christmas. And she has seen all the houses he has lived in (He sends pictures of those, too).

His latest e-mail, received just a few days ago, lists the “most livable cities in the Philippines.” And here’s the list:

1. Bacolod
2. Makati
3. Davao
4. Marikina
5. Iloilo
6. Las Piñas
7. Pasig
8. San Fernando
9. Mandaluyong
10. Quezon City

Self wholeheartedly agrees with the choice of Bacolod as # 1 “most livable” city in the Philippines: it’s very green, there’s hardly any traffic, and the restaurants are fantastic (In fact, self thinks it is the only city in the Philippines — or, for that matter, the world — where the McDonald’s carries fine pastries — !!). At the same time, self must admit to a certain bias, since Mike is one of her Bacolod cousins.

Self wonders, too, how Makati earned its # 2 ranking. When self grew up there, it was a wonderful place: uncrowded and comfortable. Now, the traffic is such that car-owners are assigned certain color codes, and can drive their cars only on the days allotted for their particular color group. And the air quality is horrible: self sees the evidence in the fine layer of dust and soot that seems to settle on the plants in her mother’s house, during her occasional visits home.

Most of the listed cities comprise the a behemoth called the “Manila Metropolitan Area”: She means, aside from Makati, the cities of Pasig, Mandaluyong, and Quezon City.

As for the rest, it’s literally been decades since self has visited Las Piñas (which she always associates with “the world’s only bamboo organ!”) and Marikina (where she used to go shopping for shoes), and San Fernando, which her family used to visit only when they were on their way to Baguio.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.