This is the beach in front of my house. The sand bar shifts depending on the time of the year, and now the entire area you can see is filled with sand 3 meters high. That boat really is called Mr. Suave.
Friday, October 27, 2006
The View
This is the beach in front of my house. The sand bar shifts depending on the time of the year, and now the entire area you can see is filled with sand 3 meters high. That boat really is called Mr. Suave.
Why I Might Become an Ex-Pat
From my house I'm listening in on a local prayer meeting at the neighboring chapel, although a casual passerby might mistakingly assume the attendees are filming “Star Wars: Episode 17”. The church microphone is on echo and colorful lights are emanating from the building. I think I just heard someone is either screaming or else cackling, but I'm not quite yet certain. The speaker keeps repeating the Cebuano words for “sinners” and “fire”. They must be planning the bake sale.
Sadly, this odd display of Catholicism will end precisely at 8:00 p.m. and all nannies in their whitest of white clothes will hurry home; no more children will be heard playing in the streets; dogs will stop barking; and no one will be taking any more calls for the next half hour. Life, it may seem, will have stopped in order to observe a new sort of holy hour for Filipinos the country throughout. Make way for what I consider to be the single greatest evil to come from America: Deal or No Deal.
Ridiculous game shows have never been my fancy since The Weakest Link invaded perfectly good prime time television way back in the year of our lord 2001. (Pause briefly while I explain the joke: Filipino English is a bit unusual to the American ear, and often you can read newspaper articles or hear interviews where people say, “way back in the year....” regardless of whether or not it was way back or just a year ago. So there you have it.) In fact, I consider my disinterest in television over the past five years to be directly linked to the Stupid Game Show/Stupid and Mean Reality Show plague as of late. Foolishly, I thought that I could escape such things by running off to an impoverished and developing country, but I underestimated the 10 million Filipinos overseas who send money back home so that even the poorest of the poor can buy a television. This is development.
While I haven't borne witness to the American or British versions of Deal or No Deal, I am assuming they are just as stupid as the local one. A hostess in a fancy dress calls out the sexy dancer girls who, as it turns out, are neither that sexy nor can dance well, and they hold briefcases for the next half hour while contestants try to win 2 million pesos by hearty guessing. I repeat, guessing. Is winning money in a guessing game the only hope 80 million people in this country have of every overcoming poverty? I suppose so, judging by the extreme and disgusting popularity of this show. I pray nightly that sensible Americans hate it and the show will be forced off the air before my swift return so that I never have to suffer from it again.
When the number in the briefcase is high, the music annoyingly goes DUN DUN DUNNNN and when the number is low, the music annoyingly goes WOO LOO LOO LOO LOOOOOOO, and the audience gasps accordingly. The most irritating of all, though, is how the hostess – the very famous and beloved daughter of a former president – tries to make a show interesting that, let's face it, is exactly the same every night. She always berates a contestant for “choosing high” and insists he should pick “lower numbers”. The contestant's facial expressions seem to agree, and I can just imagine him thinking, “why didn't I think of that?? Lower numbers!”
While the hostess is waiting for the banker's offer, she asks invasive personal questions similar to those I have heard every day since coming here – How old are you? Why aren't you married? Have you ever had a boy/girlfriend? Oh, that's too bad.... Just when I think it can get no worse, she makes a horrid hand gesture when she asks “Deal, or No Deal?” and the audience, now completely reeled in, screams NO DEAL! NO DEAL!, even though the odds are one million billion trillion to one against the contestant and he should just take the 80,000 pesos. Adding to my extreme displeasure is the fact that my host family watches it religiously. What the hell was Edison thinking, inventing electricity?
Sadly, this odd display of Catholicism will end precisely at 8:00 p.m. and all nannies in their whitest of white clothes will hurry home; no more children will be heard playing in the streets; dogs will stop barking; and no one will be taking any more calls for the next half hour. Life, it may seem, will have stopped in order to observe a new sort of holy hour for Filipinos the country throughout. Make way for what I consider to be the single greatest evil to come from America: Deal or No Deal.
Ridiculous game shows have never been my fancy since The Weakest Link invaded perfectly good prime time television way back in the year of our lord 2001. (Pause briefly while I explain the joke: Filipino English is a bit unusual to the American ear, and often you can read newspaper articles or hear interviews where people say, “way back in the year....” regardless of whether or not it was way back or just a year ago. So there you have it.) In fact, I consider my disinterest in television over the past five years to be directly linked to the Stupid Game Show/Stupid and Mean Reality Show plague as of late. Foolishly, I thought that I could escape such things by running off to an impoverished and developing country, but I underestimated the 10 million Filipinos overseas who send money back home so that even the poorest of the poor can buy a television. This is development.
While I haven't borne witness to the American or British versions of Deal or No Deal, I am assuming they are just as stupid as the local one. A hostess in a fancy dress calls out the sexy dancer girls who, as it turns out, are neither that sexy nor can dance well, and they hold briefcases for the next half hour while contestants try to win 2 million pesos by hearty guessing. I repeat, guessing. Is winning money in a guessing game the only hope 80 million people in this country have of every overcoming poverty? I suppose so, judging by the extreme and disgusting popularity of this show. I pray nightly that sensible Americans hate it and the show will be forced off the air before my swift return so that I never have to suffer from it again.
When the number in the briefcase is high, the music annoyingly goes DUN DUN DUNNNN and when the number is low, the music annoyingly goes WOO LOO LOO LOO LOOOOOOO, and the audience gasps accordingly. The most irritating of all, though, is how the hostess – the very famous and beloved daughter of a former president – tries to make a show interesting that, let's face it, is exactly the same every night. She always berates a contestant for “choosing high” and insists he should pick “lower numbers”. The contestant's facial expressions seem to agree, and I can just imagine him thinking, “why didn't I think of that?? Lower numbers!”
While the hostess is waiting for the banker's offer, she asks invasive personal questions similar to those I have heard every day since coming here – How old are you? Why aren't you married? Have you ever had a boy/girlfriend? Oh, that's too bad.... Just when I think it can get no worse, she makes a horrid hand gesture when she asks “Deal, or No Deal?” and the audience, now completely reeled in, screams NO DEAL! NO DEAL!, even though the odds are one million billion trillion to one against the contestant and he should just take the 80,000 pesos. Adding to my extreme displeasure is the fact that my host family watches it religiously. What the hell was Edison thinking, inventing electricity?
Common Sense
Untold joy abounds when one witnesses a baby taking its very fist drink of tuba and its first puff of a cigarette. Like the first few steps, the first indulgence in a vice is a symbol of the youth that will one day grow to maturity and individuality.
Little Jerome had his first puff yesterday when his grandma Rita stumbled drunk and smoking into my house, where Jerome and his mommy were visiting. In accordance with good and proper judgment, Rita put the cigarette in Baby Jerome's mouth and had a good laugh in the process. Later, as she was finishing her bottle of Black Wings – a vile alcohol that reeks of licorice and ethanol – she had the courtesy of leaving the last shot for Baby Jerome. Watching a child wince in disgust really is quite sweet. Surely his early exposure to alcohol is merely preparing him for four years of high school football games and four subsequent years of frat parties and initiation ceremonies...such a lucky child.
The first time I saw a baby drink was on my birthday, and since then, much like eating dog, the activity is commonplace. The educated American in me knows that alcohol and fags might not be entirely healthy for a young baby, but the burgeoning Filipina in me wonders what the real hurt is, if limited in quantity and frequency? No, no, I'm being serious now.
Americans have a, sometimes, too-great sense of danger and litigation. I have had a lot of time to reflect on the American's concern with child endangerment, among other things, and I am truly convinced that such a concern stems from bad parenting. Bad bad bad. We Americans are content to put our children under someone else's watch or in a crib or in the company of distracting toys and films. In essence, “distraction” is the key word – we do things to distract our kids from having family far away. Then, if something goes wrong, we can always blame the thing that went wrong, but not the ultimate caregiver – the parent.
I see kids here climbing trees and playing with knives and swimming unattended, and surprisingly accidents are less common here than at home. It seems that kids and parents of the Philippines know the consequences, but have no one to blame except themselves. Perhaps parents here wouldn't let their kids participate in certain activities if they didn't have faith in their child's own sense of judgment; furthermore, by allowing their children to have exposure to mild risks and dangers, kids are more apt to make good judgments and understand the risks. Ultimately, kids are trained to blame no one but themselves and have good judgment; likewise, the parents are too. It's okay to make a mistake, as long as you learn from it and fault no one but the one to blame, likely yourself. Difference between Americans and Filipinos: Americans can buy someone else's common sense (aka the Warning Label on the toy). Filipinos can't afford anyone's common sense but their own.
I'm not advocating children start practicing juggling chainsaws and eating dirty food from the garbage to toughen them up. I'm merely suggesting that paying attention and relaxing a bit might not be so bad. So baby Jerome smoked a cigarette and it was weird and shocking but strangely not disturbing. I laughed, albeit the kind of laugh that comes out when the dude walking in front of you makes a face plant on the curb. Mother, does this provide further evidence that I shouldn't have children?
Little Jerome had his first puff yesterday when his grandma Rita stumbled drunk and smoking into my house, where Jerome and his mommy were visiting. In accordance with good and proper judgment, Rita put the cigarette in Baby Jerome's mouth and had a good laugh in the process. Later, as she was finishing her bottle of Black Wings – a vile alcohol that reeks of licorice and ethanol – she had the courtesy of leaving the last shot for Baby Jerome. Watching a child wince in disgust really is quite sweet. Surely his early exposure to alcohol is merely preparing him for four years of high school football games and four subsequent years of frat parties and initiation ceremonies...such a lucky child.
The first time I saw a baby drink was on my birthday, and since then, much like eating dog, the activity is commonplace. The educated American in me knows that alcohol and fags might not be entirely healthy for a young baby, but the burgeoning Filipina in me wonders what the real hurt is, if limited in quantity and frequency? No, no, I'm being serious now.
Americans have a, sometimes, too-great sense of danger and litigation. I have had a lot of time to reflect on the American's concern with child endangerment, among other things, and I am truly convinced that such a concern stems from bad parenting. Bad bad bad. We Americans are content to put our children under someone else's watch or in a crib or in the company of distracting toys and films. In essence, “distraction” is the key word – we do things to distract our kids from having family far away. Then, if something goes wrong, we can always blame the thing that went wrong, but not the ultimate caregiver – the parent.
I see kids here climbing trees and playing with knives and swimming unattended, and surprisingly accidents are less common here than at home. It seems that kids and parents of the Philippines know the consequences, but have no one to blame except themselves. Perhaps parents here wouldn't let their kids participate in certain activities if they didn't have faith in their child's own sense of judgment; furthermore, by allowing their children to have exposure to mild risks and dangers, kids are more apt to make good judgments and understand the risks. Ultimately, kids are trained to blame no one but themselves and have good judgment; likewise, the parents are too. It's okay to make a mistake, as long as you learn from it and fault no one but the one to blame, likely yourself. Difference between Americans and Filipinos: Americans can buy someone else's common sense (aka the Warning Label on the toy). Filipinos can't afford anyone's common sense but their own.
I'm not advocating children start practicing juggling chainsaws and eating dirty food from the garbage to toughen them up. I'm merely suggesting that paying attention and relaxing a bit might not be so bad. So baby Jerome smoked a cigarette and it was weird and shocking but strangely not disturbing. I laughed, albeit the kind of laugh that comes out when the dude walking in front of you makes a face plant on the curb. Mother, does this provide further evidence that I shouldn't have children?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
