One morning while driving to work I was switching stations on the radio and stumbled upon an old song that I used to hear a lot back in the 70s. It’s by Don McLean, he of the “American Pie” fame. “If We Try” was not as huge a hit as the drove my Chevy to the levy ditty, but it resonated with me more. And after recent events, the song became more haunting to me nowadays.
When I see you on the street,
I lose my concentration.
Just the thought that we might meet
creates anticipation.
Won’t you look my way once before you go
and my eyes will say what you ought to know.
Well I’ve been thinkin’ about you day and night...
and I don’t know if it’ll work out right...
but somehow I think that it just might...
if we try.
The song starts as a paean to longing, hoping and wishful thinking. The simplicity of the words match the simplicity of the feelings they evoke.
Faces come and faces go in circular rotation.
But something yearns within to grow
beyond infatuation.
Won’t you look my way once before you go
and my eyes will say what you ought to know.
Well you’ve got me standin’ deaf and blind...
cause I see love as just a state of mind...
and who knows what it is that we might find...
if we try.
The author asks for the simplest things: that they meet and perhaps she notices him. How very childish and innocent, right? But then comes the bridge, and along with a shift in tempo is also a curious shift in the lyrics.
You’re walking a different direction from most people I’ve met.
You’re givin’ me signs of affection I don’t usually get.
I don’t want you to pledge your future;
the future’s not yours to give.
Just stand there a little longer
and let me watch while you live.
“I don’t want you to pledge your future, the future’s not yours to give” is a sentiment that’s more mature than most; the usual line would be usually be like, “please let me be your future!” or something similar. But then the next line, “Just stand there a little longer and let me watch while you live” shifts back to a sweet sentiment that’s endearing in its naïveté.
The song then ends with the author repeating his hope, that despite the possibility of failure, “somehow I think that it just might if we try”.
After 21-yr old I thought I’d take a break from heart matters. But then suddenly _____ came along and now when I see him on YM, I lose my concentration. Where will it lead with _____? Who knows. All I know is, my mantra these days is simple: non-exclusive, elusive. Let me try and see if _____ is worth staying around for.
For those too young to know the song, here’s “If We Try” by Don McLean:
Monday, August 13, 2007
Saturday, August 11, 2007
DFA
Department of Fixers A-plenty: that was how I viewed the DFA (actually Foreign Affairs) for the longest time. And for the longest time I had no opportunity to change my view—the first time I had to get a passport was in 1995 and back then a travel agent can get it for you. So I had no need to personally go to the DFA.
I lost my passport between 1996 and 2000; back then I did not have plans of going abroad so I didn’t bother getting a new one. But two weeks ago our boss told us to get our passports ready—the whole office was going to Hong Kong!
To renew my lost invalid passport I had to apply in person at the DFA in Pasay City. This Monday I got my birth certificate from the National Statistics Office. Tuesday I spent almost the entire day getting my passport photos taken and preparing the necessary supporting documents. I scheduled my trip to DFA the following morning.
I woke up Wednesday at 4:30am to thunderous rainfall. Typhoon Chedeng had dragged monsoon rains and was hitting Metro Manila at full blast. For a moment I thought of postponing my trip to Thursday. But part of me thought: with this weather, maybe only a few people will go to DFA.
Braving flooded areas of EDSA, I reached DFA at 6:40am. By 7:00 I was already in line (I wasted time going back to the car to get the passport photos I left there). They let us in a little earlier and by 7:30 the windows were open and the processing started.
It was thankfully very efficient. Everything was done as fast but as efficient as they could. And there were signs everywhere telling you what to do every step of the way—at the front of the lines, on the windows, everywhere. And the processing was fast. Window A just made sure that the documents were in order; people stayed there for less than 10 seconds before moving to the next window. Window B double-checked the veracity of the documents; because they had to retrieve my lost passport’s data via computer, I stayed there for about a minute and a half. Window C was where I stayed the longest—that was where they asked me for proof of residency and other pertinent questions (“What is your father’s middle name?” and “Where was your mother born?”). Because everything was in order, I was told to proceed to the cashier to pay.
At the cashier I paid Php750 for the 2-day express processing and then looked around for the next step. There were no signs on the window. I turned back to the cashier and asked, “Excuse me, what’s next?” The cashier looked me in the eye and said, “You go home, sir.” Then he grinned at me.
Wow. That was it? By 8:15am I was done. I could even come in for work on time. The stormy weather had nothing to do with it; I overheard a DFA employee exclaim, “There’s a storm already yet there are still so many people in line?!”
As Leigh said, efficiency is the killer of corruption.
So if you are going to get a passport at the DFA (passport application starts at the huge DFA basketball court that’s converted to their processing area during the day), make sure that you deal only with real DFA employees. On the street outside the alley leading to the DFA are stalls of photocopier services, canteens, and ID photo shops. Men standing in front of them will approach you; IGNORE them. One of them said that I needed to get an application form first from their stall—not true! Application forms are available inside the DFA for free. Another guy said I needed to get a number first from stall 2—again, not true! Your application form will be stamped with a valid number only after standing in line inside the DFA. Once you’re in line with a valid number, everything afterwards proceeds like clockwork and can be done by you—no need for fixers.
* * * * *
While waiting in line I scanned the other poor souls who braved the weather to get their passports. Most looked like they were overseas Filipino workers on their way to try their luck abroad, either for the first time or for the nth time. One mother brought her crying baby with her. I was wearing a long-sleeved collarless shirt and jeans yet I felt over-dressed compared to the rest.
Then he came in.
He looked like a college boy. He was with an old man whom I assumed was his dad and another guy in a polo barong who looked like he was the old man’s employee. The old man instructed college boy to take his place in line while he and employee, who held the documents, sat on a bench at the side of the court.
Okay now. If I met college boy at a mall or in the Ateneo or in Makati I wouldn’t have given him a second glance. He’s tall and smooth-skinned and looked neat and fastidious, with very lovely, kissable lips, but that’s it. However, when placed in the midst of OFWs and moms with crying babies and a 41-yr old from the lower middle class who had not taken a bath yet at that time (since he rationalized that: [1] he was already running late and taking a quick shower would have serious repercussions on his timetable; [2] it was so cold he wouldn’t sweat and produce body odor; and [3] even if he did, he’ll be in and out of there for one time only and would never see the others for the rest of his life, so who cares if someone beside him thought he stank?), college boy by comparison looked like Mr. Dreamboat. I started assessing him from head to foot: neat blue cap to discreetly hide his Fil-Chinese mestizo features, Lacoste jacket, preppy t-shirt with plaid accents, heavy metal Tag watch, pin-stripped dress pants with matching dress socks, and immaculately white Pumas. Plus he was busy pounding the keys of his Nokia N-series phone the whole time. As my eyes wandered from head to foot, my mental cash register kept going Ka-ching! Ka-ching! Ka-ching! Mwhahahaha! My inner social climber wanted to grab both his hands, look into his eyes, and say: “I’m yours.”
It’s amazing what the power of contrast can do to boost a guy’s pogi points. Sigh. I should really start hanging out with the taong grasas for me to be noticed.
* * * * *
Dear Dan, Rye and Rabbi: I will definitely be in Hong Kong from Aug. 19 to 21. Sana you have shows I can watch in one day. Anyway, bahala na. Wheee! I’m excited.
P.S. – No, I’m not there to review all the bathhouses in H.K. Maybe just one. Or two. Charing!
I lost my passport between 1996 and 2000; back then I did not have plans of going abroad so I didn’t bother getting a new one. But two weeks ago our boss told us to get our passports ready—the whole office was going to Hong Kong!
To renew my lost invalid passport I had to apply in person at the DFA in Pasay City. This Monday I got my birth certificate from the National Statistics Office. Tuesday I spent almost the entire day getting my passport photos taken and preparing the necessary supporting documents. I scheduled my trip to DFA the following morning.
I woke up Wednesday at 4:30am to thunderous rainfall. Typhoon Chedeng had dragged monsoon rains and was hitting Metro Manila at full blast. For a moment I thought of postponing my trip to Thursday. But part of me thought: with this weather, maybe only a few people will go to DFA.
Braving flooded areas of EDSA, I reached DFA at 6:40am. By 7:00 I was already in line (I wasted time going back to the car to get the passport photos I left there). They let us in a little earlier and by 7:30 the windows were open and the processing started.
It was thankfully very efficient. Everything was done as fast but as efficient as they could. And there were signs everywhere telling you what to do every step of the way—at the front of the lines, on the windows, everywhere. And the processing was fast. Window A just made sure that the documents were in order; people stayed there for less than 10 seconds before moving to the next window. Window B double-checked the veracity of the documents; because they had to retrieve my lost passport’s data via computer, I stayed there for about a minute and a half. Window C was where I stayed the longest—that was where they asked me for proof of residency and other pertinent questions (“What is your father’s middle name?” and “Where was your mother born?”). Because everything was in order, I was told to proceed to the cashier to pay.
At the cashier I paid Php750 for the 2-day express processing and then looked around for the next step. There were no signs on the window. I turned back to the cashier and asked, “Excuse me, what’s next?” The cashier looked me in the eye and said, “You go home, sir.” Then he grinned at me.
Wow. That was it? By 8:15am I was done. I could even come in for work on time. The stormy weather had nothing to do with it; I overheard a DFA employee exclaim, “There’s a storm already yet there are still so many people in line?!”
As Leigh said, efficiency is the killer of corruption.
So if you are going to get a passport at the DFA (passport application starts at the huge DFA basketball court that’s converted to their processing area during the day), make sure that you deal only with real DFA employees. On the street outside the alley leading to the DFA are stalls of photocopier services, canteens, and ID photo shops. Men standing in front of them will approach you; IGNORE them. One of them said that I needed to get an application form first from their stall—not true! Application forms are available inside the DFA for free. Another guy said I needed to get a number first from stall 2—again, not true! Your application form will be stamped with a valid number only after standing in line inside the DFA. Once you’re in line with a valid number, everything afterwards proceeds like clockwork and can be done by you—no need for fixers.
* * * * *
While waiting in line I scanned the other poor souls who braved the weather to get their passports. Most looked like they were overseas Filipino workers on their way to try their luck abroad, either for the first time or for the nth time. One mother brought her crying baby with her. I was wearing a long-sleeved collarless shirt and jeans yet I felt over-dressed compared to the rest.
Then he came in.
He looked like a college boy. He was with an old man whom I assumed was his dad and another guy in a polo barong who looked like he was the old man’s employee. The old man instructed college boy to take his place in line while he and employee, who held the documents, sat on a bench at the side of the court.Okay now. If I met college boy at a mall or in the Ateneo or in Makati I wouldn’t have given him a second glance. He’s tall and smooth-skinned and looked neat and fastidious, with very lovely, kissable lips, but that’s it. However, when placed in the midst of OFWs and moms with crying babies and a 41-yr old from the lower middle class who had not taken a bath yet at that time (since he rationalized that: [1] he was already running late and taking a quick shower would have serious repercussions on his timetable; [2] it was so cold he wouldn’t sweat and produce body odor; and [3] even if he did, he’ll be in and out of there for one time only and would never see the others for the rest of his life, so who cares if someone beside him thought he stank?), college boy by comparison looked like Mr. Dreamboat. I started assessing him from head to foot: neat blue cap to discreetly hide his Fil-Chinese mestizo features, Lacoste jacket, preppy t-shirt with plaid accents, heavy metal Tag watch, pin-stripped dress pants with matching dress socks, and immaculately white Pumas. Plus he was busy pounding the keys of his Nokia N-series phone the whole time. As my eyes wandered from head to foot, my mental cash register kept going Ka-ching! Ka-ching! Ka-ching! Mwhahahaha! My inner social climber wanted to grab both his hands, look into his eyes, and say: “I’m yours.”
It’s amazing what the power of contrast can do to boost a guy’s pogi points. Sigh. I should really start hanging out with the taong grasas for me to be noticed.
* * * * *
Dear Dan, Rye and Rabbi: I will definitely be in Hong Kong from Aug. 19 to 21. Sana you have shows I can watch in one day. Anyway, bahala na. Wheee! I’m excited.
P.S. – No, I’m not there to review all the bathhouses in H.K. Maybe just one. Or two. Charing!
Friday, August 10, 2007
The Making Of The TD&RS OBB
When Rye asked if I could do an OBB (a.k.a. “opening billboard”) for The Dan & Rye Show, I didn’t bother to ask if he was serious or just joking. I wanted to do an OBB for the funniest-duo-in-Philippine-podcasting-history-as-far-as-I-know.
Unfortunately I had already used the opening sequence of the dance remix of Fashionista for an OBB of my podcast; the shout-out “Everybody line up! The show is about to start!” would have been the perfect call-to-arms for TD&RS. So finding the music was of utmost importance. I wanted it energetic, to match the energy of the two hosts. I wanted it to be somewhat familiar too, so that the listeners have an immediate connection.
When I stumbled upon my old CD of dance hits of the 90s, I hit upon the infectious opening groove of Groove Is In The Heart by Deee-Lite. “We’re going to dance and have some fun!” was a perfect opening for Dan and Rye, who are both dancers. In the same CD was 2 Unlimited’s Get Ready For This; the title alone was perfect to connote an “Are you ready for Dan and Rye?” vibe.
Choosing the soundbites from 25 episodes of TD&RS season one was actually easier. I compiled almost 3 minutes worth of interesting snippets from several episodes—hindi ko na kinarir pakinggan lahat ng 25 episodes, noh!—before I started editing.
I never begin editing a project until I have a definite idea of how it will start; sometimes I also know how I it will end. But the middle is one big lemme-just-wing-it experiment. It’s this fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants attitude that makes producing an OBB or a whole podcast exciting; there’s the joy and thrill of making things work that is so fulfilling for me.
When I finished the OBB, I thought it was already short with a running time of 1 minute 18 seconds. But when I let a couple of my friends hear it, one said it was too long for an OBB. And to think that I had already tossed out so many other great soundbites just to keep the running time short! So I bit the bullet and chopped it off by almost half.
And so here McVie’s OBB for The Dan & Rye Show, Season Two:
But of course I kept the longer original mix. So now I call it my “Ode To The Dan & Rye Show”. I especially had a problem with deciding which to edit out: the “Ibulong mo!/”Hindi ko narinig” upsound; or the “Aaaachooo!” upsound. It was a Solomonic dilemma—it felt like I had to cut a baby in half. In the end I kept both in.
So now here’s 1 minute and 18 seconds of McVie’s “Ode To TD&RS”:
Unfortunately I had already used the opening sequence of the dance remix of Fashionista for an OBB of my podcast; the shout-out “Everybody line up! The show is about to start!” would have been the perfect call-to-arms for TD&RS. So finding the music was of utmost importance. I wanted it energetic, to match the energy of the two hosts. I wanted it to be somewhat familiar too, so that the listeners have an immediate connection.
When I stumbled upon my old CD of dance hits of the 90s, I hit upon the infectious opening groove of Groove Is In The Heart by Deee-Lite. “We’re going to dance and have some fun!” was a perfect opening for Dan and Rye, who are both dancers. In the same CD was 2 Unlimited’s Get Ready For This; the title alone was perfect to connote an “Are you ready for Dan and Rye?” vibe.
Choosing the soundbites from 25 episodes of TD&RS season one was actually easier. I compiled almost 3 minutes worth of interesting snippets from several episodes—hindi ko na kinarir pakinggan lahat ng 25 episodes, noh!—before I started editing.
I never begin editing a project until I have a definite idea of how it will start; sometimes I also know how I it will end. But the middle is one big lemme-just-wing-it experiment. It’s this fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants attitude that makes producing an OBB or a whole podcast exciting; there’s the joy and thrill of making things work that is so fulfilling for me.
When I finished the OBB, I thought it was already short with a running time of 1 minute 18 seconds. But when I let a couple of my friends hear it, one said it was too long for an OBB. And to think that I had already tossed out so many other great soundbites just to keep the running time short! So I bit the bullet and chopped it off by almost half.
And so here McVie’s OBB for The Dan & Rye Show, Season Two:
But of course I kept the longer original mix. So now I call it my “Ode To The Dan & Rye Show”. I especially had a problem with deciding which to edit out: the “Ibulong mo!/”Hindi ko narinig” upsound; or the “Aaaachooo!” upsound. It was a Solomonic dilemma—it felt like I had to cut a baby in half. In the end I kept both in.
So now here’s 1 minute and 18 seconds of McVie’s “Ode To TD&RS”:
Monday, August 06, 2007
Life Goes On
So now I’ve been catching up with my life these past few days. Over the weekend I managed to watch two movies in one day (a one-two punch of The Simpsons Movie and Ratatouille), drive all the way to Laguna for a haircut, and finish the long-in-production opening billboard (a.k.a. OBB) for The Dan & Rye Show. Well, as I told Rye in my email, it’s not exactly an OBB for Season Two (I’m praying you two will have your contracts renewed!) but rather an ode to Season One. I will post that here when Season Two starts (take note Dan and Rye, “when” not “if”).
My conclusion? Love can really be a hindrance to this thing called Life. Hahaha!
I love being single, unexclusive and elusive. I doubt anyone can catch me. Stopping me in my tracks is easy; it would take someone extraordinary to make me stay voluntarily.
Zoom, zoom.*
(*Leigh, I know what you’re going to say, hehehe.)
My conclusion? Love can really be a hindrance to this thing called Life. Hahaha!
I love being single, unexclusive and elusive. I doubt anyone can catch me. Stopping me in my tracks is easy; it would take someone extraordinary to make me stay voluntarily.
Zoom, zoom.*
(*Leigh, I know what you’re going to say, hehehe.)
Tonight On T.V.!
Pls. indulge me in a little cross-plugging for a friend.
* * * * * * *
“CHISWISANG BAKLUSH” (GAY TALK!)
I-Witness with Sandra Aguinaldo
This Monday: August 6, 2007
Carmi Martin, Manilyn Reynes, Jolina Magdangal…. Who would think that the names of these actresses would bear a totally different meaning for members of the gay community? Among them, Carmi stands for karma, Manilyn for being lustful or “malibog” and Jolina for someone already circumcised or “tuli na”.
In tonight’s I-Witness episode, Sandra Aguinaldo shows how “swardspeak” or gay lingo has infiltrated the day-to-day conversations of Filipinos. Even those who are not gay commonly use gay terms and phases.
Sandra brings together groups of gay beauticians and stand-up comedians to demonstrate how gays create their own language. According to the two groups, “swardspeak” is one way they express their freedom and fight discrimination in society.
The gay words “chika” and “tsugi” tied for 3rd prize in the 2004 Sawikaan Word of the Year competition, sponsored by the UP College of Arts and Letters. And several originally gay words are about to be included in the 2nd edition of the University of the Philippines’ Dictionary!
Find out which words made the cut in this fascinating and funny documentary on the evolution of language entitled “Chiswisang Baklush (Gay Talk!)”. Written and hosted by award-winning documentarist Sandra Aguinaldo, it airs Monday late night over GMA-7’s I-Witness.
* * * * * * *
“CHISWISANG BAKLUSH” (GAY TALK!)
I-Witness with Sandra Aguinaldo
This Monday: August 6, 2007
Carmi Martin, Manilyn Reynes, Jolina Magdangal…. Who would think that the names of these actresses would bear a totally different meaning for members of the gay community? Among them, Carmi stands for karma, Manilyn for being lustful or “malibog” and Jolina for someone already circumcised or “tuli na”.
In tonight’s I-Witness episode, Sandra Aguinaldo shows how “swardspeak” or gay lingo has infiltrated the day-to-day conversations of Filipinos. Even those who are not gay commonly use gay terms and phases.
Sandra brings together groups of gay beauticians and stand-up comedians to demonstrate how gays create their own language. According to the two groups, “swardspeak” is one way they express their freedom and fight discrimination in society.
The gay words “chika” and “tsugi” tied for 3rd prize in the 2004 Sawikaan Word of the Year competition, sponsored by the UP College of Arts and Letters. And several originally gay words are about to be included in the 2nd edition of the University of the Philippines’ Dictionary!
Find out which words made the cut in this fascinating and funny documentary on the evolution of language entitled “Chiswisang Baklush (Gay Talk!)”. Written and hosted by award-winning documentarist Sandra Aguinaldo, it airs Monday late night over GMA-7’s I-Witness.
Thursday, August 02, 2007
Four Down, One To Go
I wanted to hug him but the guards were there in front of my car, looking at us.
* * * * *
It was time for me to tell him. Do not prolong the agony. So even though it was nearly 10pm, I dropped by his place.
I had to wait for 10 minutes in the car while he showered and changed, so I reclined my seat and napped. His gentle tapping on the passenger window woke me up. I unlocked the doors and he greeted me with a cheerful, “Uuuuy! He’s sleepy already.”
He was singing songs to me in the car. At a nearby restaurant he teased me, “You look hot.”
I told him I liked him but like was not enough. I told him I enjoyed his company but didn’t miss him when we were apart. I would text him because that was what I’m supposed to do, although lately at times that was what I wanted to do. A friend asked me: do I want to take it to the next level? Without hesitating I said no.
He had stopped singing and was looking down. When he raised his head up to talk to me, his eyes were shiny.
“Is it something to do with the fact that I asked you to lend me some money?” he asked. He couldn’t look me in the eye.
“No,” I answered, “but that helped crystallize what I’ve been pondering on for several days now.”
I tried to explain as much as I can. I didn’t do so well. I even said the “It’s not you, it’s me” line. Ewww.
* * * * *
For the first time I found out that he called me Mr. Vitara to his friends. Strangely that broke my heart.
* * * * *
He tried to be cheerful. He started singing songs again. “Weekend In New England.” “First of May.” “Someone That I Used To Love.” He’s got a jukebox in his head—just like me. And he’s got a wicked sense of humor—just like me. So why do I just “like” him and not “love” him?
* * * * *
Driving back to his place I wanted to hold his hand. He had retreated to his own world, listening to his iPod and singing silently to himself. As his building loomed nearer I pulled his hand into mine; he didn’t reciprocate nor resist.
* * * * *
I parked my car in front of his building. The guards were standing by the road and looked at us. He turned to me. “I want to hug you but the guards are there,” he said. “So good night na. Take care.” I wanted to say something but didn’t know what. “Good night na,” he repeated.
“Good night,” I said.
And he left.
* * * * *
Driving away, I started groping for my iPod in my car. I was seized by a nasty thought: I wonder how much he can sell my iPod in Greenhills? But then I found it.
I drove home to the tune of Erasure:
“I don’t wanna look
Like some kind of fool
I don’t wanna break
My heart over you
I’m building a wall
Everyday it’s getting higher
This time I won’t end up
Another victim of love.”
* * * * *
It was time for me to tell him. Do not prolong the agony. So even though it was nearly 10pm, I dropped by his place.
I had to wait for 10 minutes in the car while he showered and changed, so I reclined my seat and napped. His gentle tapping on the passenger window woke me up. I unlocked the doors and he greeted me with a cheerful, “Uuuuy! He’s sleepy already.”
He was singing songs to me in the car. At a nearby restaurant he teased me, “You look hot.”
I told him I liked him but like was not enough. I told him I enjoyed his company but didn’t miss him when we were apart. I would text him because that was what I’m supposed to do, although lately at times that was what I wanted to do. A friend asked me: do I want to take it to the next level? Without hesitating I said no.
He had stopped singing and was looking down. When he raised his head up to talk to me, his eyes were shiny.
“Is it something to do with the fact that I asked you to lend me some money?” he asked. He couldn’t look me in the eye.
“No,” I answered, “but that helped crystallize what I’ve been pondering on for several days now.”
I tried to explain as much as I can. I didn’t do so well. I even said the “It’s not you, it’s me” line. Ewww.
* * * * *
For the first time I found out that he called me Mr. Vitara to his friends. Strangely that broke my heart.
* * * * *
He tried to be cheerful. He started singing songs again. “Weekend In New England.” “First of May.” “Someone That I Used To Love.” He’s got a jukebox in his head—just like me. And he’s got a wicked sense of humor—just like me. So why do I just “like” him and not “love” him?
* * * * *
Driving back to his place I wanted to hold his hand. He had retreated to his own world, listening to his iPod and singing silently to himself. As his building loomed nearer I pulled his hand into mine; he didn’t reciprocate nor resist.
* * * * *
I parked my car in front of his building. The guards were standing by the road and looked at us. He turned to me. “I want to hug you but the guards are there,” he said. “So good night na. Take care.” I wanted to say something but didn’t know what. “Good night na,” he repeated.
“Good night,” I said.
And he left.
* * * * *
Driving away, I started groping for my iPod in my car. I was seized by a nasty thought: I wonder how much he can sell my iPod in Greenhills? But then I found it.
I drove home to the tune of Erasure:
“I don’t wanna look
Like some kind of fool
I don’t wanna break
My heart over you
I’m building a wall
Everyday it’s getting higher
This time I won’t end up
Another victim of love.”
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
A Sunny Weekend
Last weekend Leigh invited me to join her family in celebrating her mom’s birthday. We took the scenic route, passing through Calamba and Los Baños in Laguna before veering right towards San Pablo. We stayed at Casa San Pablo, then visited Ugu Bigyan’s Potter’s Garden in Quezon, and had merienda and lunch at Kusina Salud in San Pablo. The last time we did this was a year ago when we went up to Baguio.
This was also an opportunity to be with my inaanak, Luc. He’s a great traveling kid: loves riding in cars, and gets excited at seeing new surroundings. He’s a little reserved with me; a slight case of autism plus not seeing his tito for months can do that. So I was happy when he made eye contact with me several times and actually interacted with me.
Usually in out-of-town trips I end up being the photographer, so you see lots of places and people and not much McVie. But since Leigh brought her camera along too, she was able to take potshots at me. It’s rare that I have so many photos of me, so indulge me please.
Here are the Viajistas, minus Leigh’s sister, who took the photo.
Puffing up upon arrival at Casa San Pablo after 3 hours on the road.
Horsing around with Woody Woodbunny. “Don’t give me that wooden stare!”
Checking out my shots.
Staring up at the moon at the end of the day.
This is the life… zzzzzzzzzzz.
Afterwards Leigh and I agreed that we’re really getting old. More and more we’re enjoying these relaxing, stress-free road trips instead of a frenetic weekend on the town.
More pics from my camera and Leigh’s at McMultiply.
This was also an opportunity to be with my inaanak, Luc. He’s a great traveling kid: loves riding in cars, and gets excited at seeing new surroundings. He’s a little reserved with me; a slight case of autism plus not seeing his tito for months can do that. So I was happy when he made eye contact with me several times and actually interacted with me.
Usually in out-of-town trips I end up being the photographer, so you see lots of places and people and not much McVie. But since Leigh brought her camera along too, she was able to take potshots at me. It’s rare that I have so many photos of me, so indulge me please.
Here are the Viajistas, minus Leigh’s sister, who took the photo.
Puffing up upon arrival at Casa San Pablo after 3 hours on the road.
Horsing around with Woody Woodbunny. “Don’t give me that wooden stare!”
Checking out my shots.
Staring up at the moon at the end of the day. 
This is the life… zzzzzzzzzzz.Afterwards Leigh and I agreed that we’re really getting old. More and more we’re enjoying these relaxing, stress-free road trips instead of a frenetic weekend on the town.
More pics from my camera and Leigh’s at McMultiply.
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