Sunday, March 22, 2009

Obscene!

Became my dad's bantay in Medical City, and in true bantay fashion I decided to not take a bath, brush my teeth, wash my face, or sleep well. Being comfortable and well-kempt is just not being true to the spirit of being a bantay. Walking around I noted that the walls were shiny. The floors were clean. The light was soft, soft light, to make the ugly ones look pretty, soft light, to prevent shadow casting that will engulf whoever the shadow reaches into a blackhole. The restrooms smelled nice, there was liquid soap in each dispenser, and the bowls actually had a functioning flush. All the doctors wore pristine long-sleeved blazers over well-pressed, expensive looking clothes, and they all seemed to smell nice. The staff was nice. The nurses all wore thick make up. Everyone said ma’am, sir, thank you, and welcome. There was hardly any queue--because there were tons of cashiers. There were no strange hand-written reminders posted everywhere (ie, “Bawal Magtapon ng Ihi Dito” on a washing sink, or “Dun Po Magtanong (arrow)”). Everything was so bourgeois-y it begged me to approach whoever was on sight and ask, “Nasan po ang kubeta?!?!”

I, on the other hand, went on ER duty the other day in my oldest UP Diliman T-shirt and jeans. Before the twenty-four hours were up, I smelled like crap tossed in a vinegar bath in a gasoline station toilet bowl. And at night some of us even wear--this is so obscene-- tsinelas! Hear that, admin? Collar-less t-shirt, jeans, and tsinelas! Send us that memo!

Monday, March 16, 2009

Watchmen!

Shall watch Watchmen in a few hours. Of course movies are not required to be 100% faithful to the source material, if Watchmen were done in this fashion it would last 8 hours. You've heard all the raves and read all the top whatever lists, and let me state that yes, the graphic novel is a total stroke of genius. It's that good, and it's not just me being fanboyish and crap. I really want to like the movie version, and I have very little requirements (some possible spoilerrific spoilers ahead):

1. Nite-Owl. He should have a paunch. And a double chin. And with a receding hairline. He should not be some hot, ripped 300 warrior.

2. Silk Spectre II should be a chain smoker. Place some surgeon general warning in the end or whatever, but she should be a total chain smoker. I saw the trailer and she is played by some hot chick, but she looks so... clean. Silk Spectre II is pretty and all, but there is still some grit in her.

3. Rorschach should say "Hurm." I don't care how it really sounds out of the printed page, but he should say "hurm" a lot of times.

4. Bubastis. Just toss him in there.

5. It might be difficult if not totally impossible to include the comic within the comic, but we should at least see the black, smoking kid in the comic book shop reading it.

6. Rorschach should die. I don't want some crap like him being a mountain recluse in the end instead.

See, very little requirements. I am determined to enjoy this movie.

Thursday, March 12, 2009

Cheapo Missed Her Chance, and Other Meh's.

Cheapo was supposed to raise her hand in the middle of the conference and I would call her and she would ask a planted question. Yes, I can stoop that low, specially when I'm in the scalding seat presenting a very short case with an entire hour to fill. A few hours prior to the presentation we were contemplating on whether Cheapo would ask something that would require practice for believable delivery, such as, "So in thrombophilic patients presenting with UGIB etc etc," or something cheapo like "What's the age again?" Cheapo, however, failed to get her chance, because the powers that be in the audience all started saying all kinds of things--to each other. And sometimes they would start delivering a question, and then they would trail off to an explanation of sorts, and totally forget that they intended to ask a question. I happily became a bystander in my own presentation, at one point my head totally drifting into other stuff, like "did I unplug the electric fan?" After the lengthy discussion amongst themselves my attention was called that my presentation was to continue. The intermission was so long I failed to stop myself from mouthing to TT, my clicker, "Nasan na ko?"

Friday, March 6, 2009

Smitheteens

The first year medical students had their environmental hazard tour in our wards this afternoon, and I was tasked to tour them around. There was absolutely nothing to say and I was so encephalopathically sleepy, so I just asked them if they had any questions, which turned out to be foolhardy--they whipped out their environmental hazard checklists and asked in quick succession:

Asfaloth: Do you use machines that vibrate?
Me: Er, no
Blue Beetle Jaime Reyes: Do you sometimes find yourselves working in difficult, awkward body positions?
Me: Er, no.
Proky: Any fall injuries while working here?
Me: Er, no.
Cytomegalofungi: Do you wear protective head gears and other body protection?
Me: Er, are we still talking about a medicine ward?

Come to think of it, won't it be fun to work in the wards wearing an orange hard hat and full body protection while handling machines that vibrate? Just try to get close, MDRTB, and I'll vibrate you to smithereens.

Masticating

During our Grade 6 graduation practice we were all trying to be sopranos. Yes—boy or girl, we were required to totally emulate the nun singing “O Panginoon Ko” in the exact ridiculous coloratura (coboratura? Cororatura? I can’t remember my grade 5 MAPE) soprano voice the nun teaching us had. Of course, no one could comply, so we would all just chat in the back or read the rather kitschy The Death of Superman or The Mote in God’s Eye, while all the active kids (who would raise hands for everything) were in front. This is also the same time when I discovered what BK in BK Boys stand for (if you remember that old, old entry, 2 readers). At one point I went to the rest room, and when I came back Ruth Marx asked me this rather perplexing question: “You went to the rest room to masturbate, didn’t you?” “I absolutely did not, mate!” I said. “Oh really, let me smell your hand then,” Ruth said, and he grabbed my right hand and the freak smelled it. “Quite masturbated, you definitely did!”

Okay the conversation didn’t really go like that, no one actually conversed in English/Australian then. Oh what the heck the more piquant conversation actually went like this—Ruth Marx: Nagjakol ka no?! Me: Gago hindi ako nagjajakol. Ruth Marx: Talaga, paamoy!!

In high school years later while waiting for public school kids we would catechize Radagast The Brown was sitting on one of the benches yawning. “I’m bored,” he said. “Yesterday I was so bored in my room I masturbated six times. How many times do you masturbate?” And this from my seatmate Brutus The Barber Beefcake who came in really late: “You know why I’m late? I saw a picture of Priscilla Almeda, and I masturbated!!! So I’m late. Did you masturbate this morning?” Side story: we had a classmate who wanted to impress us with her vocabulary and stuff, and while telling a story in a graded recitation about a cow chewing grass and stuff she said, “Cows eat grass. They possess strong jaws in masturbating the grass”.

So maybe it was because it was high school and stuff with hormones and crap causing all this fascination with jerking off, but it was rather flabbergasting (flabbergasting—what a totally poser word) when, in college, I was duped into joining a one-on-one Bible study. Long story about this duping which I think I’ve already blogged about, but in one particular session Chihuahua read a Bible passage, slammed close his Bible, and asked: “So, how many times do you masturbate? I used to masturbate twice a day, in the morning upon waking up, and before sleeping, thinking of all the nice boobsy girls I’ve seen in public jeepneys. So, how often do you masturbate?”

I find this particular question quite offending—quite offending, indeed. Because damn it, why do people just assume that I’ll masturbate?! Can’t I have healthy real life adult sex?! Rhetorical, don’t answer that.

Sunday, March 1, 2009

Keyser Sosi

Ex-housemate Keyser Sosi was recently found slumped in the pediatrics callroom unconscious, cyanotic, and frothing in the mouth. I am yet to visit him and I got this information 6th-hand, so I am not sure if the cyanotic and frothing in the mouth parts are just add-ons. You might remember Keyser Sosi as the one who had a date with Goth Girl and who eventually ended up with Hippura. While at the ER Hippura was the one taking care of him, extracting his blood and caressing and kissing the arm from which the blood was extracted (again, 6th-hand information).

Unbeknownst to everyone (does anybody really use unbeknownst in everyday conversation?), Keyser has a secret showbiz past. I know, it must be the alignment of the stars or some cosmic whatever that makes this and the past ten entries very local showbizy. Indeed, Keyser has a secret showbiz past. You see, he was a child star. Decades ago the cast and crew of Panday (one of the original movies) went to Ilocos to film and they discovered Keyser. Yes, Keyser was one of the thousands of kids Max Alvarado was making hagad in the vast Ilocos fields.

Speaking of secret showbiz pasts, I cannot let this entry go without mentioning Mrs. Therese, who is currently pregnant and on-leave from residency. Mrs. Therese was among the cast of Radyo Batibot, reading those stories for the radio with Pong and Kiko. I asked her years ago for dirt on the Batibot cast, like if they had secret behind-the-scenes altercations, or sexual liaisons, or drama queen moments, or just general kinkiness. She couldn’t recall anything, except that whenever Ate Shienna was around the room was always cast in a haze of thick cigarette smoke.

Last 3 Minutes

RTD’s on drugs or scientific discoveries or critical appraisals of whatever are boring. There I said it. If not for the free food I probably wouldn’t go, so if there’s any drug company reading this you’d know how to captivate us—bring in lots of food, like lechon, huge amounts of salad, pizza, and overflowing Coke Light. Free action figures and comic books won’t hurt--Hello, Ethics Committee, I'm sure you're not reading this. Drug companies are not totally oblivious to this lack of interest to listen anyway, which is probably why they started to change tactic—last week they brought in a well-respected, well-versed, erudite speaker to talk about an anti-hypertensive drug, in the form of Jerry Cordinera.

The lazy question, of course, is why choose him, and we all licked our chops in anticipation as to how he would correlate basketball and sports to hypertension and stuff in the most pilit manner. Our expectations were totally exceeded, however, when he did not even mention the drug in advertisement, but talked about (and showed a powerpoint presentation of)… his basketball career! Like how he became MVP in this year or that, and such. Question-and-answer portion, and our more research-oriented colleagues who would usually raise their hands to ask about bioavailability studies and crap had, happily, nothing to say.

Acid House, however, asked this very important question: Bakit nung sumali kayo sa SEA games, naka t-shirt kayo sa loob ng inyong jersey?

“Dahil malamig,” Jerry replied.

We egged Donna Troy on to ask the question bothering everyone in our table, and it didn’t take too much egging on. Donna Troy stood up, grabbed the mic, and asked for everyone:

“Di lang talaga naming maalala—sino ang ka-love team mo sa Last 3 Minutes?”

“Last 2 Minutes yun,” Jerry corrected. “Napasubo lang ako kaya ako napasali.”

Of course, he was with Alvin Patrimonio and Bong Alvarez. And his love team was Aiko. This rather weird RTD proved to be very engaging, and I realized it would be more fun to have these sorts of guests in the future. Melena wants Alvin Patrimonio in the future, while Patricia Hogsmith wants Vince Hizon. Interesting if rather obvious choices, but we all know who we’re dying to hear from: Rudy Distrito! And Mamaril, I’d like to hear from him too. What the fuck--sorry--what the hell happened to Mamaril?

Something To Say To Donna Troy

As I’ve recently blathered about in this blog Donna Troy has laid their mother to rest about a week ago, with the special participation of everyone from PGH, the UP Med Choir, and of course, Boots Anson-Roa. And Selecta Ice Cream. Donna Troy immediately went back to work the day after the cremation. While walking in Robinson’s after a pig-fest of Wham, New York Fries, White Hat Yoghurt, and Benjamint Button we saw one of her fraternity brods Tempus who said hi. After saying hi Tempus paused, closed his eyes, and we could hear the gears in his head turning. He was obviously thinking of something to say to Donna Troy, something about a recent important event in her life. He knew something happened to her, something of utmost significance, and he knew he had to say something. Gears were turning, nuts and bolts chugging wildly, black industrial machine oil spilling out. Finally, he realized the important event—how could he possibly forget?

“Donna Troy,” he said, putting a hand on Donna Troy’s left shoulder. “Belated happy birthday!!!”