Would I dignify a blog controversy?  Nah…

There are songs to make love with, and then there are songs that just make you feel… well, horny.

Music has a lot to do with libido.  Carlos Santana’s “Europa,” for example, is the kind of piped music you’d expect in a gay bar (not that I know anything about gay bars).  Anyone who watched porn would have heard of those deep, rhythmic bass sequences followed by the saxophone solos from a guy who plays Kenny G music through a Kazoo.  Speaking of Kenny G, I don’t find it horny at all: “Silhouette” and “Forever in Love” are music better suited for idle days at 7-Eleven, provincial buses, and Japanese movie channels on intermission.  And Marvin Gaye’s “Let’s Get It On” does not reek of horniness: it reeks of sex.

Anyway, here’s this week’s X-List:

*     *     *

10.  Boyz II Men, “I’ll Make Love To You”

A lot about what the comedian Pablo Francisco calls “brother music” revolves around the musical celebration of sex.  It all depends on how sexy you can get it.  Like pouring the wine, lighting the fire, throwing your clothes on the floor, so I’ll take my clothes off too.

The 1990s was a time ripe - and rife - with Boyz II Men clones (anyone can remember All-4-One and “I Can Love You Like That”), but nothing beats the original when it comes to overall… horniness.  “I’ll Make Love To You,” like many of the group’s non-wholesome songs (like “Uhh Ahh” and “Four Seasons of Loneliness…” I just find it wrong), is about good old-fashioned fem-dom bitchin’.  It’s so romantic, and at the same time so… BDSM.

My favorite part: “Baby tonight is your night / And I will do you right / Just make a wish on your night / Anything that you ask / I will give you the love of your life / Your life / Your life…”

9.  Keith Sweat, “Twisted”

It may sound so racist, but when it comes to horny jams, you simply can’t beat a black dude.  Keith Sweat’s “Twisted” has horny written all over it.  For one, I think that you can’t get any hornier with a name like “Keith Sweat;” I don’t care if your Keith Urban, Keith Richards, or Toby Keith.

To be honest, I don’t really know what “Twisted” is all about.  On the one hand, it sounds like a dirty love song about making up and making love.  On the other hand, you get reminded of a game of Naked Twister.  “Twisted” also kind of makes you suffer from a bit of bad LSS, if only to sing the song as if you have a sinus problem.  Well, it does sound like it.

My favorite part (except for Keith Sweat doing the second voice things): “You got me twisted, thinkin’ ’bout the way that things used to be / When it was you and me girl, I was so free / See you had my heart from the start like Cupid / And I was just downright foolish and stupid.”  Reprised later on by the Philippines’ own Salbakuta.

8.  Meat Loaf, “I Would Do Anything For Love”

Like many of you, I don’t understand this song one bit.  Some folks find this song romantic, some people find this song alluring, some people find the late Selena sexy, and heck some people even find Meat Loaf sexy.  I guess it doesn’t hurt to ask… you would do anything for love, but what, pray tell, is “that?”

The reason why this song found a spot at the X-List of horny music is that there’s something about the mad, dramatic rush of piano keys.  It’s perfect for karaoke, although there’s always that philosophical question of what’s the “that” in the song.  Is this one of those Brokeback Mountain things?

My favorite part: “Some days I pray for silence, and some days I pray for soul / Some days I just pray to the god of sex and drums and rock ‘n roll / Some nights I lose the feeling, and some nights I lose control / Some nights I just lose it all when I watch you dance and the thunder rolls!”  Give it to ‘em, Meat Loaf!

7.  Sisqo, “The Thong Song”

No list of horny musical tracks would be complete without a mention of the man called Sisqo.  We all laughed watching or even singing “The Thong Song,” especially if some white dude sings it.  Or we “sanitize” the wrong-sounding lyrics and (in the tradition of a classmate of mine back in high school) change it to “Let me sing that song… that song, so-so-song, song song.”

I don’t know what happened to Sisqo, and to be honest, I could care less.  Not that “The Thong Song” ever drove me horny (it drove me insane with laughter, I can tell you that), but it was nothing more than a shameless musical presentation of butts and thighs and a man with a really bad panty fetish.  Well, don’t we all?

My favorite part (save for Sisqo’s hair): “She had dumps like a truck / Truck, truck / Thighs like what / What, what / Baby move your butt, Butt, butt / I think i’ll sing it again…”  Uhh, no thanks.

6.  Peabo Bryson and Roberta Flack, “Tonight I Celebrate My Love”

If you’re a 1990s kid, you know that Peabo Bryson was the voice behind Disney soundtracks like “Beauty and the Beast” and “A Whole New World.”  How the man could be able to sing something so dirty, I don’t know.  My parents used to sing this song to each other, and while it sounds romantic, I can’t help but hurl.

While the song is unmistakably about sex oriented towards everlasting love, the horniness comes a posteriori, so to speak.  On many piano instrumental collections, you’re bound to listen to at least one iteration of this theme.  What I remember most is when this was used in Saturday Night Live in a skit featuring (I think) Chris Kattan and Will Ferrell.

My favorite part: “Tonight, I celebrate my love for you / And that midnight sun / Is gonna come shining through / Tonight, there’ll be no distance between us / What I want most to do / Is to get close to you / Tonight…”  Emphasis on “There’ll be no distance between us” part.

5.  The Spice Girls, “2 Become 1″

Horny; definition: Spice Girls.  If there’s any song made for mental porn, it definitely has to be “2 Become 1,” when you need some love like you never been in love before.  As much as any man will profess to hate Baby Spice, Sporty Spice, Posh Spice, Scary Spice, and Ginger Spice… well, we all know the many hits of Girl Power.

I should know: Spice Girls are a karaoke specialty of mine.  And I always had a crush on Victoria Beckham then.  Not now.  Video of “2 Become 1,” anyone?  The brain-dead-ness of Spice Girls songs is bordering on obvious, so much so that “2 Become 1″ is a 100% horny jam.  Although I have to say that as much as I “hate” the Spice Girls, this terrible headache of a song is not without its merits.

Which brings me to my favorite part: “Come on get a little bit wiser baby / Put it on, put it on / ‘Coz tonight / Is the night / When 2 become 1″ may be about condoms.  You go girl.

4.  Whitney Houston, “I Will Always Love You”

You have to wait for that heavy drum cue, that two-second pause, and then scream, “AND I… WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOU!” to get the full effect of this epitome of wife-beating, cocaine abuse, and all around horniness.

The theme song of The Bodyguard may be relegated to the drunken parts of Friday karaoke sessions, but there’s something about the high-pitched dramatic falsetto that either has to come from the ovaries.  In the case of men singing this song, you just have to draw your pitch from the testicles.  It’s a sad break-up song, but hey, it can get horny.  Sexual Chocolate!

My favorite part: I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like the high-pitched Falsetto of Death that makes you either cover your ears in agony, or strip naked.

3.  Paula Cole, “I Don’t Wanna Wait”

Nobody got horny watching Dawson’s Creek back in the day.  No, wait, nobody I know will confess to watching it.  I know I did; heck, I even watched Tabing Ilog. I think that it’s not Katie Holmes that was the absolute product of “Dosong Kriks,” but was that really horny-sounding opening track that, well, none of us want to remember.

In these days of random shrieks by Leona Lewis, Paula Cole did the exact opposite: avoid breathing all together.  I don’t know what’s horny about this song, but I’ve been told that some of my friends make love to this song.  So after some random research on sex, I kind of get it.  Granted that it is romantic, but there’s something about the vocalization (and less-than-satisfactory grammar) that makes it horny.

My favorite part: “I don’t want to wait / For our lives to be over I want to know right now / Will it be yes or will it be / Sorry.”  I kind of sounds like an indecent proposal more than a tragic love.

2.  Creed, “My Sacrifice”

The interpretation of a song has a lot to do with personal taste.  It’s like saying that Lifehouse is emo because of one song (well, they are).  “My Sacrifice” by Creed is one of them; you may think that it’s religious, you may suppose that it’s a song about sacrifices.  I think that it’s a song about masturbating.

I’m not saying this on the basis of lyrics; I hate semiotics.  I’m saying this on the basis of the voice and tooth-clenched singing of Scott Stapp.  You think about the onomatopoeic, animalistic grunting of a man stroking the staff of life, and you suppose that Scott Stapp’s singing is akin to that.  The lyrical kabastusan comes later.

Since I brought that up, my favorite part: “Hello my friend we meet again / It’s been a while, where should we begin / Feels like forever…”  It takes a perverted imagination, but yes, it can drive you into horniness when you just wanna say hello again.

1.  Ricky Martin, “Maria”

I think it makes sense: Ricky Martin = horny.  I think it has a lot to do with the gyrating, the use of Spanish, or that you just want to scream “Heppa!” at the mere mention of his signature horny hit, “Maria.”

I don’t understand Spanish, and to be honest, I don’t know what “Maria” is all about.  But the “Heppa!” ad lib has to take the cake; it’s either a demand for a doctor because of a hepatitis-caused seizure, or that you’re just mad about the idea that Ricky Martin gets all the babes even if there’s ongoing speculation - ten years running - that the guy is gay.  You can only imagine how to attract chicks with this song because you had one too many shots of tequila or Goldschlager at some swanky club somewhere in Makati or Malate.

My favorite part: well, it definitely has to be “Heppa!”

*     *     *

So you see, there are a lot more important things to talk about than blog controversies.

While I do read the occasional back-issue of FHM, I am not exactly into it.  If anything, women from classic Hollywood films appeal to me more than a Katrina Halili or an Angel Locsin.  While I do find myself crushing on some of the more current female celebrities, I look up to the women of classic films as stars.  It’s the kind of admiration that makes me wish I was there on film’s golden age.

Many of my friends say that I am extremely difficult to please.  Suffice to say, I am: I have to look at a girl I crush on and see some sort of classic Hollywood feature in her before I really fall.  I guess that explains it.

Everyone will have their own favorite celebrities… here are ten of mine.  Enjoy.

*     *     * 

Marlene Dietrich 

Marlene Dietrich is the classic Hollywood femme fatale.  In her Hollywood career, Marlene has always been considered an “outsider;” her foreign looks added more mystique to her image.  Marlene is, was, and forever will be a Hollywood legend: her presence in films like Morocco and Shanghai Express are most memorable.  If anything, what I really admire about Marlene is that glance - that look - that made her such an iconic image in popular culture, from The Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper album to Madonna.

*     *     *

Zsa Zsa Gabor

In the history of Hollywood intrigue, if you get married nine times, get divorced seven times, have one annulled marriage and are currently married to a rather strange guy, you must be a real legend.  Zsa Zsa Gabor is one of those legends.  There’s just something about old portraits of Zsa Zsa that speaks to why she really is that famous: those arching eyebrows, those high cheekbones, that socialite grace.  In this day and age of kikays who go clubbing on a Saturday night, they can always learn a thing or two from Zsa Zsa.

*     *     *

Rita Hayworth

I think that no other actress can wear the slinky red dress better than “The Love Goddess” herself, Rita Hayworth.  Rita can do it all: she can dance, she can act, she can sing, and she’s one of the sexiest sex goddesses of classic cinema.  Her enduring grace and passionate performances are the stuff of legend.  Who can forget Rita in Gilda, where that one glove she removed became one of the sultriest and most electrifying things that came off the silver screen?  I wouldn’t mind having a poster of Rita Hayworth a’la The Shawshank Redemption, although there would be more reasons for me to stay in prison than to tunnel out.

*     *     *

Marilyn Monroe 

There’s just something about Marilyn.  Far from being the stereotypical blonde bombshell, Marilyn’s tragic death only served to highlight her remarkable life.  That skirt-blowing scene in The Seven Year Itch is something to remember; so is her song “Diamonds are a Girl’s Best Friend.”  To be honest, the only reason why I read the plays of Arthur Miller is because of Norma Jean.  And there’s just something about how you say that name - “Marilyn Monroe” - that still reminds you of how much a superstar she is today as she was back then.  Then again, everything about Marilyn will always be a mystery… that’s why she’ll always be a star, a legend, and an icon of the silver screen.

*     *     * 

Lauren Bacall 

Ah, Lauren Bacall.  That penetrating gaze, that voice, those smart remarks.  In these days of “dumb bimbos” and all-out stupidity in weekend showbiz shows, our local celebrities can - and should - learn a thing or two from Lauren.  “Looking at yourself in a mirror isn’t exactly a study of life,” she says, and it still holds true today.  The many things she has to say about her ex-husband Frank Sinatra are stuff that should right now be on Friendster shoutouts.  A journalist once called Lauren: “Slinky as a lynx, hot as pepper, cool as rain, dry as smoke.”  Suffice to say, that’s a good way to describe Lauren Bacall.  Among other things, she is truly a legend of the silver screen.

*     *     * 

Sophia Loren 

“Everything you see,” said Sophia Loren once, “I owe to spaghetti.”  There must be more than spaghetti that explains why Sophia’s legs go on forever.  Whether or not she had an affair with Cary Grant is something we may never know, but if they ever did, Cary must be one lucky dog.  What exactly is in Sophia Loren, I do not know.  Millions of men would have had fantasies and dreams of Sophia Loren.  Even I did; to be perfectly honest, I fall ever-so-often for girls who have the eyes of Sophia.  Not too many girls could have the kind of figure Sophia Loren has, even at 73.

*     *     *

Greta Garbo

In this day and age of Paris Hilton’s, Britney Spears’s, and Lindsay Lohan’s, few celebrities will ever have that defining mystique that becomes Hollywood glamour at its finest.  Such is Greta Garbo.  She was intensely private; she didn’t sign autographs, she didn’t give interviews, she didn’t divulge much of her personal affairs.  Even in her silent films, her introverted disposition gave her a mystery that is the stuff of Hollywood legend.  As a star of silent films, Greta let her actions do all the talking.  Hey, nobody’s complaining.  When you are an actress the caliber of Greta Garbo, you don’t need publicity stunts.  If anything, Greta is the ideal actress.

*     *     *

Ingrid Bergman 

My favorite classic movie - period - is Casablanca.  Not only because of that painful heartbreaking story, but because of Ingrid Bergman.  While gin joints and piano bars are a thing of the past these days, Ingrid Bergman forever remains to be one of the best actresses of classic film.  There’s something about Ingrid: her voice, her presence on camera, her many award-winning performances, her timeless beauty.  Or that song she told Sam to play again is a good metaphor.  As time goes by, she is that legendary actress that few will ever match, much less surpass.  Then again, they’ll always have Paris… and we’ll always have Ingrid.

*     *    *

Grace Kelly 

No other actress possesses the kind of beauty and grace of the one and only Grace Kelly, Princess of Monaco.  Films like Dial M for Murder and On the Waterfront showcase her talents, and that statuesque, graceful, royal figure she has.  Not to mention that smile… how many times have I tried - and failed - to hold up on my stoic, unresponsive usual expression whenever I saw Grace smile on those pictures.  And those eyes… royal, yet at the same time ever-so-charming.  How many actors in Hollywood have fallen in love with Grace Kelly, I do not know.  One thing is certain, though: they had all a good reason to fall in love with her.

*     *     * 

Audrey Hepburn 

Breakfast at Tiffany’s is one of my favorite classic movies, and Audrey Hepburn is one of my favorite actresses of all time.  There’s something about Audrey and that little black Givenchy dress.  Audrey Hepburn set standards for fashion that to this very day are still emulated, repeated, but never duplicated.  Cuteness?  Timeless beauty?  Definitely understatements, for one of the greatest actresses ever on the silver screen.  Audrey was also a great humanitarian, which set the standard for almost every Angelina Jolie and KC Concepcion of today.  Yet it is her memorable performances - not just in Breakfast, but also in My Fair Lady and of course, Sabrina - that makes Audrey stand out as one of the greatest legends and most beautiful faces of cinema.  Besides, no one else can fit into that little black dress like Audrey.

 *     *     *

So there you have it.  There are definitely a lot more beautiful faces and potential timeless beauties in cinema today, but I think it would be hard to contest their beauty and grace.  I guess Lauren Bacall said it best:

I think your whole life shows in your face and you should be proud of that.  

So true.  So very true.

*     *     *

Credits

Marlene Dietrich’s image from (http://www.meaus.com/94-marlene-dietrich-poem.htm)
Zsa Zsa Gabor’s image from (http://www.garboforever.com/Garbos_Lovers-Friends-08.htm)
Rita Hayworth’s image from (http://www.divasthesite.com/Acting_Divas/Rita_Hayworth.htm)
Marilyn Monroe’s image from (http://www.nilacharal.com/enter/celeb/MarilynMonroe.asp)
Lauren Bacall’s image from (http://www.physicsforums.com/showthread.php?p=1479574)
Sophia Loren’s image from (http://www.flickr.com/photos/view-finder/1165633328/in/set-72157601532477672/)
Greta Garbo’s image from (http://pediafallen.blogspot.com/2008/03/greta-garbo.html)
Ingrid Bergman’s image from (http://www.ew.com/ew/gallery/0,,20041669_20041673_20152905_4,00.html)
Grace Kelly’s image from (http://www.biography.com/dead_famous/dead_episode_guide.jsp?episode=150123)
Audrey Hepburn’s image from (http://blog.pricegrabber.com/chicshopper/2007/11/27/film-fashion-breakfast-at-tiffanys/)

First things first: I do not consider myself a “political blogger.”  I am not in the same league as Manolo Quezon, The Philippine Experience, Dean Jorge Bocobo, Nick, or any of my fellow contributors to FilipinoVoices (yes, that includes the Professional Commenter Known As Benign0 - I got that from Mr. Quezon).

Now that my definition-of-situation has been conveniently “categorized” by many bloggers as a “political commentator” - which, by the way, I am not - I am forced to reflect upon the ramifications of being one.  Because I don’t blog anonymously, I would be ever-so-prone to passing critiques by the anonymous and sanctimonious that I am a “hypocrite.”  After all, who am I to judge the proverbial dumi of This Government, when I turn a blind eye into my own, uh, lapses in judgment?  My own law-breaking?

In the effort to come clean, to be accountable, and to be transparent (which are curse words in the milieu of This Government, IMO), I have decided to enumerate a five things I do to contribute to the overall decay of the Philippines (in contrast to that guy who wrote a book on x-number of things you can do to help your country).  And no, I’m not going to make some lame, over-the-top explanations and excuses for my own errors.

*     *     *

1.  I don’t honor the Flag of the Philippines.

My lame excuse would be that the Flag is a mere symbol of high-minded, yet low-achieving, ideals of pseudo-independent post-colonial imperialism.  Yes, I do not revere the Flag as much as a high school student with a bad haircut from COQC.  Heck, elementary school kids are far more… patriotic, than I am.  At around 7:00 AM, I have just conveniently finished off a plate of breakfast at the office pantry waiting for my nightshifter to leave.  There are times that the police officers at Camp Crame, QC Police Station 10, or any other government office at the immediate line-of-sight of any train cab of the MRT raise their Flags early.  And yes, I am inside the MRT.  There is no way I could stand still, much less put my hand on my left breast, with that crowding.

2.  I jaywalk.

The lamest excuse that I would think of actually comes from back in my college days: I refuse to be constrained by the fascism of symbols and language that serve to restrict my realization of my full potentials (Gilles Deleuze’s A Thousand Plateaus, completely bastardized).  Jaywalking is the easiest, most convenient way for me to get to the office when I am running dangerously late for work.  The way I see it, Julia Vargas and San Miguel Avenue are most convenient for jaywalking.

3.  I don’t dispose of my cigarette butts properly.

Something as simple as looking for an ashtray or a trash can is something I ignore in the simple-minded act of throwing my cigarette butts.  A lame excuse would be that I still contribute to the economy, and even go so far as to pay more than my own fair share of taxes, by purchasing cigarettes from multinational corporations who evade taxation.  Yet I figure out that the toxic substances found in a single cigarette butt are concentrated enough to poison an entire family when the water from storm drains are eventually purified.  Besides, I also contribute to the clogging of the streets by “disposing of” my cigarette butts in storm drains.

4.  I do not support the local economy by buying foreign-made goods.

Lame excuse: products in the Philippines are surpressed by cheap imports that are not taxed enough, and Filipino products are in a losing effort against foreign goods because of a bad economic policy.  Of course, I didn’t figure that out when I dressed in a pair of Converse high-tops, a Levi’s 501, a Giordano T-shirt, pocketed my Marlboro Lights cigarettes, used my Sony Ericsson phone, and listened to the music of Rob Zombie.  Even my underwear is foreign (Puma socks, Tommy Hilfiger undergarments).  On occasion, I drink cold coolers at UCC Vienna Café (Japanese) and Gloria Jean’s Coffees (American).  The only things “Filipino” on me right now are a P15 blowtorch I bought from the sari-sari store and a couple of hundred pesos.  You can even question the allegiance of former President Manuel Roxas, but I leave that to the historians.

5.  The single vote for Victor Wood (among others) in our precinct at the 2007 national elections was mine.

One of my lame excuses would be that I don’t believe that elections constitute a basis for democracy in the Philippines (it doesn’t: more on that when I feel like it).  Because I only had four Senators in mind when I was voting in 2007, I decided to fill in the gaps on my ballot with people I know do not stand a chance of winning.  Voting for Victor Wood was NOT an exercise in “protest,” I just didn’t want to “waste my vote” contributing to politicians I do not particularly like, like Prospero Pichay, Koko Pimentel, Richard Gomez, and Vic Sotto.  The only senatoriables on my mind were Francis Escudero, Gringo Honasan (so sue me), Joker Arroyo (there goes a vote), and Martin Bautista (a vote I do not regret making).  The rest of my Senate line-up included Felix Cantal, Oliver Lozano, Ruben Enciso, and I even threw in the names of Nikki Coseteng and Cesar Montano for good measure.  And then there’s Victor Wood: I wouldn’t mind Madam Auring seated in the Senate gallery.

*     *     *

So there you have it: five things I do and I have done to contribute to the decay of Filipino society.  So as I lecture on and on about what “should be changed,” you must all be very well aware that all this rambling comes from a 22-year-old unpatriotic,
jaywalking, littering, foreign-supporting informal campaign manager of Victor Wood 2010.

So yes, Ms. Korina Sanchez, Mr. Luis Teodoro, Mr. Tim Yap, and Ms. Malu Fernandez: blogging is credible.

Following the lead of my friend Erik, here are five notes for the weekend.

1. You turn paranoid.  Drew Carey once said that all it takes is three walls for a man to feel trapped.  My paranoia almost always acts up on me, but never more so with my cubicle.  After working on a few write-ups, I look over my shoulder to see if anyone’s watching me doing the old Alt-Tab between my article, the 10 tabs of Firefox I use for researching my articles, and that other Firefox window that’s on YouTube.
2. You dream about your cube.  You really need to go see a psychotherapist if much of your dreams are about you and your cubicle.  Trust me.  There are better things out there to dream about than facing a blank wall.
3. You rearrange your workstation layout more than necessary, and realize that it will always work the same way.  I’ve tried moving my monitor to the left side of my cube, then to the right side of my cube, then to the center of my table.  I tried sitting towards the left of my cube, the right side of my cube, then the middle of my cube… until I realized that I can only do so much with five square feet of space.  So I just settled for placing the monitor to my right.
4. You think you own your cube.  Scott Adams writes that no office worker ever outlasts a cubicle; that on the contrary, your cubicle owns you.  I’ve seen my officemates decorate their cubes with all sorts of self-expressive stuff like toys and Post-It notes.  Maybe I should buy a Mirmo doll.  Besides, the night-shifter who may be using “my” cube reserves the right to leave his Fit N’ Right bottles strewn at the back of “my” monitor.
5. You have lost all sense of night and day.  I enter the office in the morning and leave at night.  ‘Nuff said.

   First of all: it’s great to be back here in Baguio.

   Last night, before I left for Baguio, me and my friend Erik were having a couple of cold ones at Tomatokick in Maginhawa.  Over random discussions of life and work, he asked me about my Manila experience.

   I’m reminded of Scott Adams’ preface to his best-selling book, “The Dilbert Principle:” you can sum up just about everything you learn in your life in bullet-points.  While it’s not my first run around the block in Manila, it is my first time to live there independently and to go to unfamiliar-going-on-extremely-familiar places.  If anything, probinsyanos like myself would be confused in Manila, to the point that they put themselves in harm’s way.  So for this long-overdue X-List, I am listing down 10 things that a Manila first-timer should never, ever, do.

*     *     *

1.  Jaywalk.  While I agree that the MMDA (to some, Manila’s equivalent to the Gestapo) would put their blue-and-pink overpasses (reminiscent of Kotex and Modess) on the worst of places, pedestrian overpasses are your best friends, especially when it comes to Manila’s chaotic roadways.  Jaywalking is very tempting for people who want to save a few steps and a few minutes to get to bus stops and to MRT stations, but it’s not worth your life.  Accidents resulting from jaywalking are one of the leading causes of death in Metro Manila.

2.  Hail a cab.  There are only three good reasons to hail a taxi in Manila: 1) you can afford it; 2) you know your way around, and; 3) you carry heavy luggage.  Taxi fares in Manila are prohibitively expensive: my trip from the MiniStop across SM North EDSA to my boarding house in UP Diliman cost me P70.  There’s no way in hell I will pay that much to get from my house in Teachers’ Camp to as far away as Wangal, La Trinidad.  I qualified for all three good reasons to hail a taxi: I had enough money, I knew how to get from EDSA to UP, and I was carrying heavy luggage.  It’s not that Manila taxi drivers are dishonest, it’s just that they just know too many “shortcuts” that you’re better off taking a jeepney to wherever you’re going.

3.  Take shortcuts through malls.  In theory, malls are “shortcuts” to get somewhere: in my case, from my office in Ortigas Center, the theory is to cut through SM Megamall to get to Ortigas Station or cut through Shangri-La to get to Shaw Station.  This is a completely stupid idea: malls are designed to get you lost in a maze of stores, food courts, and kiosks until you buy something.  Only with the purchase of a Happy Meal, prepaid load, or a personalized shirt will the epiphany get to you that the shortcut is actually around the mall.

4.  Rely on the “kanto” system for directions.  A “kanto,” or a street corner, is one of the most confusing terms in the Manila lexicon.  To many, a kanto would be just your average street corner.  But take a look at a road map of Metro Manila and you’ll get my point: everything in Manila is a kanto.  When asking for directions, always ask for the nearest landmark, not the nearest kanto.  This landmark may be a store, a building, a McDonald’s, a 7-Eleven, or a police outpost.  I take this cue from Erik: “Ped Xing” and “Railroad Xing” is not a landmark, but a common street sign.

5.  Show your cellphone.  This is a constant reminder I take from my landlady and security guards.  I use a Nokia 6300, but as I have observed, almost every Manila resident would use a Nokia 3310.  The reason being is that you can never underestimate pickpockets who would rob you of your diamond-encrusted Swarokski crystal-studded underpants without you even knowing it.  The best thing to do is to secure your pocket, keep your earphones inside your shirt, and do texting in well-lighted areas where you’re extremely sure nobody will rob you blind.

6.  Ignore the disabled, the old, and the young who seek alms.  Charity and empathy is something I feel is lost in Manila.  Remember that the reason why many of us are here is to look for opportunities and for a better life, and the same is true for them.  Never mind that they are dirty, lice-infested, or are nuisances on the sidewalks.  You can’t blame The System everytime a pathetic scene like this greets you in the morning.  Even a peso of alms will get them a step into making it for one more day in this world.

7.  Pay the jeepney, tricycle, or bus driver P100 or more in the morning.  The phrase, “Barya lang po sa umaga,” is not a request: it is a demand.  Even at 6:30 AM, conductors and drivers refuse to break bills bigger than a P20.  I suggest that you keep a jar of coins for loose change whenever you need money for alms and fare.  Sometimes, tricycle drivers can be mightily annoyed with people who give them a P100 in the afternoon.  Besides, you don’t have to wait for change.

8.  Take the MRT.  The Metro Rail Transit, or what I call the mechanical enema of Manila’s public transport system, is meant for people who are already familiar with it.  The MRT is one fast piece of shit, but it’s still pretty much a piece of shit when it comes to passenger comfort and convenience.  Ladies who wish to take the MRT should go ahead and ride out on the front cabs, but men should be prepared for near-suffocation, sweaty underarms, and random shoving.  Here’s when you should get rid of your Arthurian sensibilities: if you really have to shove your way in, by all means do so.  But if you don’t, take the bus.  But if you’re new to Manila, you’re better off avoiding the MRT altogether.

9.  Take “malapit lang” seriously.  Manila is a time-space warp: “malayo” (far) and “malapit” (near) are studies in the arbitrariness of linguistic terms.  A rule of thumb is that if you can walk from any point “A” to any point “B” within seven minutes or a cigarette, then it is “malapit.”  “Malayo” will qualify for everything beyond that measurement.  This is why Philcoa is not “malapit” from UP Campus, why my office is not “malapit sa” SM Megamall, and why TriNoma, though just beside SM North, is “malayo” from the latter.

10.  Call Manila “Manila.”  Remember that the term “Manila” is a vernacular for probinsyano’s like myself who couldn’t care if we’re in Pasig or in Quezon City or in Caloocan or in Mandaluyong.  So be specific about where you are.

   Or if you’re like me, just call the Metro.