Free Starbucks and then some

I don't do Starbuks often, It pains me to pay P150 for designer coffee, plus the "be-seen-at Starbucks-while-puffing-away" crowd is not my thing. I'm not a coffe drinker either. But there are days when I must have either signature hot chocolate or caramel-based frappuccino, both venti.

I decided Wednesday was frappuccino night. I needed the sugar fix. The late afternoon jog gave me back pains. The rains interrupted my poor excuse for a fitness regimen so my body had to adjust -- again -- to the physical activity.

The receipt came out with a code. All I had to do was answer an online survey and coffee is on them, even if it is just the "tall" size (which is actually the smallest cup size at Starbucks, talk about false advertising). The barista said I was one of two customers that day who got internet codes on the receipt.

The other day, while scouring the grocery aisles for pasta sauce. I saw a bottle of organic tomato and basil for P120, marked down from P350. It won't expire until September next year. It was a steal.

The sauce was sweeter than the regular brands, and it was chuky, the way I like it. It was perfect over spinach fetuccine, with a dash of my new favorite spice, cayenne pepper.

Sometimes, the planets align in your favor.

Erotic Chicharon

This will make your blood pressure rise, and your head ache for completely different reasons.

Monay ni Gloria

It got me laughing hysterically, what if government-subsidized bread was called "Monay ni Gloria"? We have "Tindahan ni Gloria" and "Botika ni GMA" so it makes sense. How about "Monay ni Gloria, abot kaya?" Anyone for a taste test?

Free at last!

I will do a cartwheel and a back flip if I could. My 78 days covering Malacanang on top of defense ended two days ahead of schedule today, Sunday. Hell yeah!

No more monitoring government radio and television (no offense to friends in state media, much respect). One morning, I puked listening to a mid-morning anchor lambasting the Sumilao Farmers, and I have a high tolerance for stomach-turning stuff.

No more wearing formal shirts, pants, and shoes. I don't iron clothes and I'm a sneakers person.

No more walking from LRT-2 Legarda Station to the Malacanang Press Corps working area, which to the overweight like me feels like a kilometer.

Thanks to old and new friends who helped me out over the two and a half months of double duty.

Finally, I can resume jogging around camp, taking a power nap after work, and most importantly, income-augmenting activities.

It gets sweeter. Tomorrow, Monday, I'll be back on Pag-asa Island in the Spratlys, and next week, I'll be somewhere in the extreme north for my vacation.

Market Manila

Read up on Marketman after the Holy Week fast. I log on to this site everyday because it's about two of my favorite things -- food and photography.

Lost is Quiapo, three blunders in one day

The universe conspired against me today, March 11, 2008.

I made three errors in my stories. I left my concentration in my apartment: I said the budget 2008 budget was P2.227 trillion instead of P1.227, I said the budget was for the "three Gs" instead of the "three Es," and I wrote Executive Order 127 instead of 712.

It's easy to blame it on fatigue, after all, I'm working the equivalent of three print reporters on two major beats, but at the end of the day, it's my responsibility.

I just wasn't myself today, I need a vacation bad.

I decided to call it a day early. I usually walk from the Malacanang press office to the Legarda LRT station, but I decided to take as jeep to Quiapo and take the train from Recto because of the early evening drizzle.

There I was, a 27-year-old lost in Quiapo. It was a long walk. I held on to my bag and my phone in my pocket, I was in snatcher territory.

I asked for directions from a pedicab driver. He didn't give me a straight answer. He couldn't believe that I couldn't find my way to Recto. I hope he burns in hell.

Luckily, a policeman (or at least I thought he was one) was on the street corner, I recognized him from his "Manila's Finest" sports shirt. His motorcycle wasn't marked.

He said I could take the jeep or walk the entire stretch of what I assumed was Avenida. I decided to walk, and in the 250 or so meters, I found out that at 5:30 p.m., you can buy the following in downtown Manila:

• DVDs (porn, American TV, movies)
• what I assumed were inflatable dildos (Imagine a shampoo sachet, 12 inches long, and with a picture of a penis)
• a "live show" (The faces of the girls were displayed on white illustration boards covered with plastic wrap that were displayed in front of doors that open to a narrow staircase. They looked like they were in their later 20s to early 30, and auditioning for "That's Entertainment)
• squid -- deep-fried crispy calamares style, or dried and roasted over hot coals
• knock-off fashion -- rubber shoes, shirts, jeans, jackets
• Diplomas, the one I saw was supposed to be from DLSU
• huge speakers, the kind that makes your heart and lungs beat
• roast pork belly (I would have stopped for one, but the place didn't look hygenic) and chicken

I decided to treat myself to Jollibee chickenjoy for dinner, but only the wing part was available. I ordered it just the same. It didn't taste fresh and it was a it overcooked. Damn. And the Jollibee Katipunan branch charged VAT separately, which explained the unusually steep bill. It said so in the receipt.

I hope I used up all my bad luck for the year today, and I'm really looking forward to my vacation.

US soldiers kill animals, too

To say this is cruel, even evil, is an understatement. What did the poor puppy do to him? According to a CNN report, the son of a bitch in question is being investigated by the US Marine Corps.

When I wasn't too old for MTV (rock)

At the turn of the millennium, sometime between the late 90s and the 2000s, I was hooked on MTV and Channel V, when it was all about the music, when the VJs were cool (Trey, Nadya, Mike, Kamal, Rahul, Sonya, even Donita Rose). I just don't get the music channels now, especially MYX, who the hell hired Lucky or Heart to VJ? I can't stand them and their twangs.

Thank heavens for YouTube.

Splender "I Think God Can Explain"



The New Radicals "Someday We'll Know"



The Goo Goo Dolls "Black Balloon"



Fuel "Hemorrhage"



Default "Wasting My Time"

The dissenting opinion

I'm sick and tired of people using the word "truth" so loosely, as if it were their monopoly. This article was the fourth most read article on INQUIRER.net on Monday evening.

Has Lozada been playing us for fools all along?

Philippine Daily Inquirer
First Posted 00:11:00 03/03/2008

MANILA, Philippines - I agree with Belinda Olivares-Cunanan that, indeed, Rodolfo Lozada Jr.’s “too emotional” look makes him appear believable. (“Whistleblower’s own sins,” Inquirer, 2/13/08)

We were intently watching the live telecast of the confrontation between Lozada and former Comelec Chair Benjamin Abalos. At the start, I was under the impression that Lozada should be given the benefit of the doubt. After all, his coming-out derailed his career and many ambitions.

Sadly, however, at one point in the program—when Abalos was talking about how good the hamburgers at his daughter’s canteen in Wack Wack was—we saw Lozada making faces in the background. I realized then that the benefit of the doubt should be given to the administration.

When Lozada was told he was on TV, he said he was not aware that he was also on air. How can an IT expert not know that it is possible for a TV station to simultaneously show on air two persons in different places?

Lozada’s seemingly innocent comment cast a dark cloud on his credibility. Has he been playing us for fools all along? I have been monitoring the NBN hearing at the Senate and the more I hear Lozada’s testimony, the more I realize that he is enjoying every minute of it. Maybe, there is truth to our perception—unpopular though it may be—that Lozada is part of a grand conspiracy to destabilize the present government. Sadly, this is not being shared by those who have been ranting, before the media, against the government.

We dream of a better country to live in, not only for ourselves but also for our children and their children. We fervently pray that our incomes grow tenfold. But allowing a few people to use us, make fun of us and play God with our future will not lead us to this dream. That will keep us from this dream.

—FRANK GONZAGA,

1 President Osmeña St. ,

Commonwealth Heights Subd.,

Quezon City

Click here to read the article on the site

It's all over, Arroyo flees

I was with a pack of reporters, scrambling for a good photo from behind the screen fence of the NAIA Terminal 2. President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo's black Mercedes Benz speeds towards the tarmac. She comes down and boards a gray military plane. She is going on self-exile.

This was my dream the other night. It was too vivid and unlike other dreams, I remember every detail even after I got out of bed. If this comes true, call me if you want to know your future.

Heartbreaking, but can I give up burgers forever?

The United States Department of Agriculture is recalling 143 million pounds of beef, the largest recall in US history, after a California meat packing company was found to have mistreated cattle -- crippling the poor animals and carrying them on forklifts.

I can't bear watching video footage of animal cruelty, but I sure love a big burger. Why am I so concerned with how these animals die, when they'll end up on my plate. What's difference does an "un-cruel" death make when they'll end up as ground beef? Is the food chain enough justification?

I can go vegetarian, even vegan, but that will take a lot of will power and a ton of cash. Plus I remember an animal rights-professor in college telling us in class that plants emit a very faint sound when their leaves or fruits are picked, or when they are uprooted. So what's left to eat?

Rex the Labrador needs a new home

Are you up to it? This article is from the PAWS newsletter, written by journalist Alya Honasan:

I had gone to the PAWS shelter last November 1, All Saints' Day, to light a candle on Muffin's memorial plaque and check out the little asPins, maybe to find a baby sister to bring home to Banana by Christmas. Then Anna Cabrera of PAWS took me to see the Labrador that the Animal Kingdom Foundation had referred to them for rescue and I found myself growing weak in the knees once again in the face man's profound cruelty to the creatures who least deserve it.

It was supposed to be a day for the dead, and I actually thought the dog would soon be among them. Call me nuts, but I found myself in indignant tears, and immediately praying to the high heavens that whoever did this to him would one day die a slow, painful death and barbecue in hell. The dog was a smelly, patchy bag of bones with a whole torso of prominent ribs and open wounds all over his head. The skin around his feet were swollen and wrinkled like a sharpe's, but definitely not as appealing. His hair was almost gone, and he was so absolutely caked in mange, I cringed. He threw up some yellow liquid even as Anna and I watched him. And then, he turned his brown eyes to us—and wagged his tail. Not a weak, tentative wiggle, but a wag as vigorous as his weak body could muster, which wasn't bad at all. Foolish little angel, I thought. Don't you know by now that people are evil, and we can be such bad news, and that we really don't deserve you? Apparently, he hadn't heard.

I couldn't get the dog out of mind over that weekend, and made a deal with Anna that, if things were too busy at the shelter that coming Monday, then she should have him taken to Vets in Practice, and I would pay for his treatment. I mentioned the dog to my friends Ame and Joy that weekend, and they volunteered to share in the expenses, so I was further emboldened. Anna and I had a frank discussion—if he was seriously ill, and it would cost too much to save him, and the money could actually save five other dogs, then I would leave it to her to decide if he had to go.

Come Monday, November 5, Anna called me as she and Liza brought the dog to VIP. On the phone. Dr. Nielsen Donato revealed that what we thought was a chocolate lab—yes, he was that filthy—was actually black, and that he hadn't been carried, but he had actually BOUNDED up the stairs to the clinic. "He's got the spirit," Dr. Nick Carpio said. "I've seen a lot worse. This guy wants to live." And soon, we had christened the dog Rex, for resurrection. I resolved then and there that I was going to try my darnedest to give this dog a second life.

I went to see Rex that same Monday after yoga class, and he had gotten his first bath in what may have been weeks. He was skinny, but still wagging his tail and immediately burrowing his head in my hands. He went for the food bowl with serious focus. We were in business.

Over the next few days, we learned that the swollen appendages were nothing malignant, just a major tick infestation. Rex had bad mange, but no heartworm, and his organs were functioning well. It was simply malnutrition and neglect, and so far, he was fine.

I had tried to keep some distance, asking Anna to find him a foster home and assuming he would go home to the PAWS shelter after discharge. But somehow, I couldn't do it. It's an ego thing, I will admit, whatever messianic complex I have coming into self-righteous overdrive. I want to take this dog, nurse him back to health, and make
him beautiful and happy again as one big, reverberating "F-CK YOU" to every damned soul who has ever hurt a dog. Maybe I can't single-handedly stop the dog meat traffic, or save every dog who's been kicked or beaten or thrown into a dog fight, or keep flaky idiots from buying cute pups and locking them away when they prove too much too handle. But like I told Anna, I have to stay a little myopic here, or my heart will keep breaking. I have to look at just this dog first, and do my bit, one dog at a time.

So, I am writing this November 18, 13 days after we took Rex to VIP and a week since I brought him home. God does keep watch; I prayed hard to Him and St. Francis, patron of the animals, to make Rex's homecoming easy. Now I have my brother's support, and some house help to walk him and feed him when I'm not home. We've built a little cage for him, and he curls up in it contentedly when we put him back in after a short poo break. Even the other dogs, Larry the alpha black Lab and Ruffa the grandmother Dalmatian, seem to have accepted him.

And my darling Banana? As I've always known, my baby has a good and kind heart. There has been no jealousy, no tantrums, no aggression. I thank God she's so secure in her love, she doesn't mind sharing Mama's attention, even for a while.

Now, Rex shoves his wet, drooling, still mangy face in my hands whenever he sees me, and rubs his body against my leg. I gave him his first mange bath outside the clinic the other day, and the sponge came away black—but I'm seeing more of his skin everyday. Most of his wounds have dried up, although I see some fresh ones when thick encrustations of skin fall away. Even his tail is skinny! But he's gotten more meat on his bones, he doesn't stink anymore, and I'm seeing patches of his thick black hair growing back. We're going back to VIP on Saturday for a check-up.

I am humbled by the joy Rex shows, even after everything he has gone through. To paraphrase Neruda, oh, how many times I have wanted to have a tail—how I envy his open spirit and his freedom from anger. Someday, I hope I can learn to forgive whoever did this to Rex, just as he apparently has. How much better would this world be if every person had a heart as big as a dog's? How perfect would it be if we could shake off bitterness like water, like a Lab does after a swim, with such vigor and determination? What a gift indeed.

My friends are already kidding me that Rex is mine. I like to think he always will be, in a way. And if nobody takes him and is willing to take care of him with the special care that this miracle dog deserves, then I AM keeping him. But I live with an 83-year-old mom, and Banana had to learn to walk gently around her so she doesn't knock her over; you know how Labradors are like small, panting freight trains when they careen towards you. If Rex stays with me, he will be walked, fed, loved, and taken care of. He will live in a kennel during the day, and when he's well enough, have the run of my garage with Larry and Ruffa for the late afternoons and evenings. But I can't bring him indoors like Banana.

Here's the deal: If you, my friend, or anybody you KNOW WELL wants him, and if you want to take him indoors and give him a really good, cushy life, then he's yours. I mean a life indoors with you and your family, occasional car trips, walks to any nearby patch of green—he's a Lab, he'll be the gentlest, most playful thing on earth, and he deserves some fun and a bigger world than the one he's had to live in.

The bad news is, they estimate him to be about 3 years old, and the fact is, this kind of malnutrition usually has some permanent damage, so there is a possibility that he may develop problems in the future, despite everything we're doing now—multivitamins, mange medicine, antibiotics, etc. The good news is, he's an extraordinary dog with a second life, and I am only going to turn him over when he's healthy and fully recovered again. But please assure me that you're committed, because you've going to have to answer to me!

So there. Just letting you know my latest canine adventure, and if there is somebody out there who really wants him and can give him a better life than I can—I pray that St. Francis leads you to each other, and I will know that my part in Rex's journey will have been fulfilled. I believe in fate; I'm still waiting to learn if I'm just a stopover, or the final destination in this dog's life. Either way, it's been a privilege. It hasn't been easy, but hey—gifts come in different packages.

Good night, Sheryl Cruz

I brought Sheryl Cruz (Crewe, as my sister and cousins insist) to the PAWS animal shelter along Aurora Boulevard this morning, the receptionist said their veterinarian would look at the poor thing, but chances are, she will be "put to sleep" (read: euthanasia).

Sheryl needs her mother, and the shelter did not have a mother cat, for milk and everything else, such as licking her eyes. She would have died an agonizing death, had she stayed under my care, the receptionist said.

The vetererinarian will inject Sheryl with sodium pentobarbital, afterwards, she will die in her sleep. The receptionist consolded me with the fact that the poor cat will be buried in a pet cemetery, one block away from the shelter.

I signed a waiver so, in a way, I am partly responsible in case the veterinarian puts her to "sleep." So much for rescuing her. My sister claims her asthma is triggered by cat fur and I will be out of town for the weekend so Sheryl would have died of hunger in the apartment.

On a happier note, I checked on Laya, a dog my colleague rescued from dog meat traders, who was recovering at the shelter and he was looking good.

Laya has grown his fur back. The last time I saw him in a PAWS newsletter, he was bruised and shaved, ready to be turned into "kapukan."

Goodbye, Nanay

Wala na si Nanay. Last January 18, at a little past midnight, with her children and grandchildren by her side, my aunt, whom I called "Nanay" passed away. I am sure she will go to heaven. I admire her for her kindness, warmth, and wit. I will miss the afternoon chats, the exchange of dishes during lunch and dinner. May she rest in peace.

Post-Christmas party

You can never go wrong with sisig, chicken and pork barbecue, chocolate cake and wine of all colors. The post-Christmas party of the Defense Press Corps was a blast, as usual.

It was the last party of some of us as DPC members, reshuffle time looms. Too bad those who got transferred ahead of us couldn't make it. Until the throw-away bashes!



I look fat in this picture, but the smiles are big, too





Look closely, General Emilio Aguinaldo's horse has balls.





With the Camp Aguinaldo divas.

Taking the plunge

Two of my close friends are getting married and I am one of the few people who know their secret (This flatters me to no end). The two of them don't even know that the other is about to tie the knot, and they're both planning to wed in March.

I wish both of them the very best. Follow your heart. Go where you are happiest.

I don't know if I want to get married. The Christmas holidays was part torture no thanks to relatives and family friends who have no better thing to ask than "When are you getting married?"

If I am getting hitched, my mother will send you an invitation. I'm single, don't ask why because I don't ask myself. I don't define myself by having a significant other.

Reborn

We were reborn a little past midnight on Wednesday. INQUIRER.net is finally up.

I used up all my anger over the unjust demise of INQ7.net. For the first time in a long time I am all pumped up to go to work.

We will prove them all wrong -- those who treated us like dirt, those who don't think we can survive on our own, those who underestimate us.

We owe it to our readers, who have made the old Inquirer.net and INQ7.net sites their home online.

Recharged and ready to rumble

I was on vacation for 10 days during the holidays. I needed it bad, 2007 will be as bloody as the Celebrity Deathmatch I watched on MTV at home in Nueva Ecija. We're starting a new website and the mid-term elections are four months away.

As the Deathmatch referee Mills Lane would say, "Let's get it on!"

At home, I was cook/paparazzo. I also slept and stuffed myself sick.



Dorky the childhood teddy bear







Taco time, taking a break from the usual Christmas ham with pineapple glaze.





with my lola and cousins on Christmas Day

INQ7.net, logging off

After five years, the INQ7.net as Filipinos here and abroad know it, will cease to exist. It will be a mere portal for the Inquirer and GMA Network.

I knew it was coming, but seeing my byline today for the first time as INQUIRER.net and not as INQ7.net, it finally felt real.

All I can say is this: Endangering job security is no way of thanking people who worked long and hard hours to make INQ7.net the most visited and most profitable news website in the country.

I just hope this new set-up works and the efforts of the original INQ7.net team will not go to waste. Good luck to all of us.

Here are links to all five anniversary sites of "our INQ7.net."

Year One (2002)

Year Two (2003)

Year Three (2004)

Year Four (2005)

Year Five (2006)

Shameless plug

I will be a brag this one time and make this shameless plug. Sometime before January 1, INQ7.net, the number one website in the country, will become INQUIRER.net, a 100-percent owned subsidiary of the Inquirer group of publications.

The INQ7.net editorial team, exactly 16 days before they are retrenched by INQ7 and rehired by Inquirer.net, partied from Friday evening until pan de sal is sold on the streets the next morning.

The food was fantastic, fit for the last meal of death row prisoners before they hit the electric chair. I stuffed myself sick.

One of our editors, who hosted the party, served authentic chicken inasal. I ate two quarter chicken sticks. Someone also brought dried cherries covered in bittersweet chocolate. You can never go wrong with chocolate.

Nachos with salsa and cheese was also served. You will never make me spend over 50 pesos at the mall for a handful of stale chips and diluted cheese spread.