With April coming to an end, summer is half gone, and judging from the nearly every afternoon showers, we expect more of the same in May.
For all intents and purposes, as the lawyers would put it, the summer that never was is practically over.
No flower festivals, no Santacruzans, no beach outings, no promenading around the park with liberated ladies listening to their endless chatter, popping peanuts or popcorn into their never closing mouths in between giggles and laughs.
Even with a three-day weekend starting tomorrow (I am writing this on a Thursday), the fun-loving and adventurous hope (less) of the motherland won’t be swarming like bees for all the honey Baguio has to offer.
No cockfights on Sundays, but no church services either. Both the good and ugly suffering together, while the ugly takes over.
What happens when the typhoons come to visit one after the other? It certainly won’t wash away the virus, only add more to the suffering. Will the Benguet Electric Cooperative cut off electricity as a matter of practice, and will there be rationing of water by the Baguio Water District?
Will we ever be allowed to travel to safer ground, anywhere that won’t wreak as much havoc that a storm signal No. 3 does to a city sitting 5,000 feet above sea level?
For sure, the elderly won’t be permitted to step out, lest they catch their death of cold.
But who will do their marketing? Not everyone can afford househelp. Relatives and neighbors will be too busy attending to problems of their own.
The Covid-19 is said to have a life expectancy of two to three years. God forbids.
But even with the pandemic still hovering around, one more quite threatening, has descended upon us. There are now 2,103 new lawyers, and unless they dip into their pockets, may not be that helpful at the frontlines. No courts, remember?
William Shakespeare had the perfect vaccine to all the social ills pervading mankind.
Let’s kill all the lawyers, the Bard said.
But Mr. Shakespeare sir, if we do that, who would be left to run the Philippine government?
Take the Senate, for example, only two retired policemen, four women, three former actors, and one loyalist will be left to legislate.
The women will put their heads together on how to deal with the men; the police generals would prefer a military camp kind of government; the actors will vie with one another on who will be the bida.
The loyalist? Better safe than sorry.
In the Lower House, every other “cong” that you meet is a lawyer, each one wanting to say his piece.
The President and Vice President are both lawyers, the other a woman, so succession would be like jumping from the frying pan into the fire.
That’s how it is when you replace a tough guy with a demure one.
Put up your dukes, madam, and we might reconsider. Quit hiding behind the pants of your Rasputin(s).
And speaking of our tough guy, there he was on TV, a picture of self-innocence. Gone is the venom in his voice. No curses coming from his mouth (I wonder, who washed it with soap), almost in tears, his tone fatherly.
“If I have to sell Roxas Boulevard to feed my hungry people,” he intones, and one ear perks up. And the other ear follows suit when he adds, the Abu Sayyaf and New People’s Army are killing my soldiers who went out of their way to bring relief goods to my suffering countrymen living in the hinterlands.
His new tact is scaring us all, and the wealthy are quick to respond – donating money, sacks of rice, other relief goods. Hallelujah!
But none more scared than the professional class, who foresee another round of martial law, but done benevolently – my children, my people, my soldiers, followed by visits to hospitals to attend to the wounded, and going to the wake of soldiers slain in battle.
Like my skeptic friend surmises, Duterte is Machiavelli; Marcos and Hitler put together, in a style of his own.
He is the Putin and Trump of this part of the region, and there is applause coming all the way from China.
Every successful Bar examinee outside of the top 10 will brag that he placed 11th, a claim often unchallenged.
That too was my rank when I took the Bar in 1971. The records show, however, that it was one Isabelita Tapia who placed 11th.
A brains, beauty, and money type, the kind you will stumble all over yourself for. Friendly too. Each time she would say “Hi Benny” to me, the cat would run away with my tongue.
So, here’s what I suggest. Whether taking the Bar or going a courting, take a few puffs of MJ first.
You actually become wittier, funnier (girls love to laugh), more articulate, a more charming SOB.
If you are a simple guy, good food and good music will suffice, the sex unforgettable.
A word of caution, however, you need to have a happy disposition. Otherwise, if you are paranoid, a backfiring taxicab signals the start of World War III.
Congrats to fellow columnist, Ed Avila, whose son Anton Luis, placed 8th in the 2019 Bar Exams.
I hate to dampen Ed’s fatherly joy, but experts say that smart kids in the family take after their moms. I can see Bernadette, Ed’s better half, rising to her feet to object. Granted. Set the blowout on.
