Men, whether picky or of the random kind, like women who are smart, sassy, and earthy – a she-devil inside the bedroom, and a cherubim out of it.
Looks? For some, it means a lot, but for Baguio boys, if you can walk your girl up and down Session Road without hearing your friends snickering as you pass them by, that’s good enough – never mind the “oh’s and ah’s.”
Girls, on the other hand, prefer boys who can make them laugh, are submissive to their wishes and whims, and above all, faithful to their vows, whether said at the altar, or when whispering sweet nothings to each other.
Elder women go for the SSS types – security, security of tenure, security in life.
Night workers go for policemen and others in uniform for protection from being pawed by toughies; beauty queens are attracted to politicians who are elected, reelected, and still reelected.
Fresh college graduates take the path of least resistance – why work from 8 to 5 when you can sleep with the boss? And for that adept at this kind of game, are able to extract a car, a condo unit, and ATM and credit card from an old man with kinky ideas of sex.
It’s the economy, stupid.
More proof, you say?
Well, for one, you seldom see handsome couples together – the boy is plain looking, and the girl hanging on to his arms is as comely as they come.
Did I tell you that many of my Chinese friends are married to or have pretty Filipinas as their mon or Leung or Fong.
The very first thing I filch from my mom’s purse wasn’t money – but better than it.
It was a $10 coupon stub which you could use as a pass to enter John Hay, and make purchases with it, meaning my first sip of Schiltz beer, my first bite of real honest-to-goodness hamburger, and because my cousin Elaine had introduced us to cigarettes, I also bought two packs of Chesterfield.
With my younger siblings growing older themselves, and starting to understand the true value of money, my mom took to tucking her purse under her armpits even when sweeping the floor or cooking food in our dirty kitchen, blowing on a lead pipe to fan the flames.
When my mom suffered a nervous breakdown following two successive ceasarian operations, she was confined for over a month at the Baguio General Hospital.
My mom would smile and mush my hair each time I came to visit after classes, thinking what a good son I was. She had no idea about my ulterior motive.
Every afternoon too, after office hours, my dad would come and check on her condition.
As was his usual routine, he would drape his coat on a chair, go and talk to his old friend, Dr. Efred Montemayor, to ask how my mom was doing.
The inside pocket of his coat was where he kept his wallet, and at least thrice a week, I would dip into it and take out 10 bucks.
Curiously, my dad didn’t seem to notice.
And so it was that every other day – I would feast on miki pancit at Bontoc restaurant if not fried chicken at a cost of 50 centavos and P2.50, respectively.
And on Saturdays, I would go and see a cowboy or war movie at the Plaza Cinema, if not a Tarzan adventure at the Session Theatre.
If no movie was to my liking, I both suffered and enjoyed watching Hollywood flicks at the Pines, like “3 coins in the fountain,” which starred John Fontaine, Ann Blyth, and Pier Angeli, or “The last time I saw Paris,” featuring Van Johnson and the stunningly beautiful Elizabeth Taylor.
It broke my heart when Eddie Fisher left Debbie Reynolds for “the cat on a hot tin roof,” and gloated when Richard Burton took Taylor away from Fisher.
Serves him right.
I also grieved with Jackie Kennedy and her kids when President Jack was assassinated, and grieved even more when she married shipping tycoon Onassis, who later realized that even he, the billionaire, couldn’t keep up with Jackie’s buying spree.
But Marcos would with his Imelda.
Incidentally, I am watching “The Crown” via Netflix, and in one episode, Jack Kennedy was made to look like an asshole, who raved and ranted because he was outshone by his first lady when they made a state visit to Paris.
Also, that Queen Elizabeth tried competing with Jackie, with both starting out on the wrong foot, and later on became friends following a one-on-one dinner and talk between them.
Watch the series, an entertaining and educating flick.
At last, Trump’s game plan is beginning to show.
Having obtained 72 million-plus popular votes, he hopes and expects that those who voted for him will rise up in protest for as long as he holds out and not concede defeat.
Look how selfish Trump is, loving only himself, not the American people, not the United States of America.
When it became clear that Trump won the presidential derby in 2016, Hillary Clinton called him up to concede and wish him well as the next Head of State.
When Al Gore still had a chance of winning the elections against George W. Bush, rather than divide America into two, he quickly congratulated Bush on his victory.
Like he says in the opening of his speeches, “Hi, I’m Al Gore, and I used to be President of the United States.”
OBIT and TRIVIA: Our condolences to the Hamada family on the untimely demise of old friend and nephew Poli Hamada.
Also, to General Nelson and BPI Vice President Chit, upon the passing of Federico Regacho Eslao, dad and dad-in-law of Nelson and Chit, respectively, avid readers of our column.
On the 24th of next month, my granddaughter Mady (Amanda Noelle) will celebrate her first birthday, while her lolo turns 80.
Cristina Antonio, mayor of Alcala, Cagayan, says it best, speaking of the Cagayan flooding. To paraphrase the good lady, “It wasn’t Magat Dam releasing the waters that caused the flood, not even the rains of Ulysses. It is us, cutting trees for gain, changing the environmental landscape in the name of progress and money. No, it isn’t God’s wrath, but it is us who are to blame.”
Happy holidays!
