Timeout Boy's first time in Hawaii.

When Timeout Boy first went to Hawaii, he was still in his mommy's belly.  We went down there for a baby shower just after Christmas in 2008.  It was also my first time there.  I had only met a few relatives in the extended family before then, so it was a good opportunity for everyone to meet the baby daddy.

It was fun, of course.  It was good to have family there and save on food and lodging.  We stayed in the guest room of Gail Forcewind's aunt's house.  Her uncle joked at first that I would be sleeping on the couch because we weren't married yet then.

For the baby shower, most of our gifts were cash, since we would be travelling back to New Jersey.  Of course, we weren't going to be taking along a crib and a stroller on the plane.  But the money really helped when it was time to buy those things.  I mean, I knew having a baby wouldn't be cheap, but I was shocked at how expensive baby things actually were.

I only had a week off of work, while Gail had two.  (I wanted more time off work, too, but that's another story.)  So I had to leave her and Timeout Boy after a few days there.  I didn't really want to.  I had such a great time with the family that I seriously considered just giving up everything and just staying there.  We would just forget our jobs, and I would probably work at Wal-Mart or something, I guess.  (Since, the low-paying jobs at the pineapple plantations have been shipped off to even lower-paying labor in foreign countries, Wal-Mart stores have sprung up all over the islands to take advantage of the labor force.  But I digress.) 

Gail was smart enough to talk sense into me.  I was all like, maybe we can do this until this, and if this, then this.  And she was all, no because we need this, and if you do this, you can't do that and so on.  And I was like, I guess so.  But I kept trying to convince her until my last day there.

On the plane from Hawaii, I had a bit of a Santonio Holmes episode.  I didn't take off my headphones before take off, and the flight attendant had to come back and ask me again.  I reluctantly removed them.  I was depressed.  I didn't want to overhear the surfer dudes behind me talking about the righteous waves or whatever the heck that was about.

Even when we were finally allowed to turn on electronic devices, I couldn't get into my music anyway.  I watched "It's A Wonderful Life" over and over again while I was trying to sleep.  When I finally woke up - or give up trying to sleep - I watched "The Duchess" until I had to turn it off for landing.  I hated travelling across the continent and just sitting there on a plane and not being able to do anything but think.

I was just so depressed.  I was so afraid of bad things happening.  I was terrified of not being there for my wife and baby.  Thoughts like that entered my mind, and I just wished the week would be over and we would be together again.  And of course, I missed them like freakin' crazy.

I kept myself occupied by moving our things from the old basement apartment to the new place.  I still had a tough time sleeping.  I spent my nights on the futon mattress on the floor with movies playing on Gail's laptop.  They were DVDs I made of the trip, and when I couldn't stand them anymore, I played "Hellboy" on a loop all night.  There wasn't any particular reason why I chose it; it just happened to be the one I had from Netflix at the time.  After a few days, I switched to "Hellboy 2" on a loop.  It's kind of funny but now I don't remember any of it.  From either movie.

I was so relieved to finally pick up my wife from the airport.  All that bad stuff I went through kind of disappeared and I became me again.  It was snowing that day she arrived.  It snowed off and on for a few days, actually.  The cable guy came in the morning, and her flight came in the afternoon.  We sat together on the futon mattress and watched the Ravens beat the Dolphins, if I remember correctly.  After a few days, we bought the stroller and the crib and assembled them.

I feel for those parents who serve in the military and those who have to work overseas, and even those who have to go on business trips regularly.

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A bad dream and some regrets.

I had another bad dream last night.  It wasn't a nightmare or anything.  But what was terrible about it was that I was yelling at my son.

It's kind of vague now, but he was trying to take a shirt from me and I wouldn't give it to him.  I was cutting off the sleeves, and I guess I didn't want him to be so close and get hurt.  After a moment, he finally gave up and went away.  And then I noticed that one sleeve was already cut off.  So I wanted to show it to him and say, look, this is what I'm trying to do.  And then that was around when I woke up.

I think what brought that dream on, is that lately I've been kind of feeling guilty about some moments in the past.  Like now, he is almost fully potty trained, and I kind of feel bad about the times I've put him in timeout and yelled at him for not going to the toilet.  Not all of the times, but some of the times, maybe I could have been more patient.

There was also a time when he first started to walk that I refused to carry him.  We were in the park walking to the car, and sometimes he would just stop and wait for you to carry him.  I guess I wasn't having such a great day that day, and I refused.  I just kept walking and he kept walking after me and crying.  I don't know, I kinda feel bad about that now.

There was also a time when he started noticing the noises from our neighbors.  We had this one guy who used to always run up or down the steps for no real reason.  So every time he would go out or come home, we would hear him rumbling on the staircase.  Around ten months, Timeout Boy started to notice this and would run up to his mom or me in fear.  Me, mostly, actually.  (Which is one of the reasons why I lost patience in that walking incident; every time he wanted to be carried, it was by me.)

So anyway, around that time when he started noticing noises from neighbors and from cars outside etc., he started to be real clingy.  For about a week or two, when I would give him a bath, he would want to hold onto me and I kept holding him back so I could wash him and not get myself wet.  He got over that phase after a while, but every now and then, I still think about it and wish I comforted him more instead of just disregarding it.  Maybe I should have explained to him why I didn't want him close.  Or maybe I should have just jumped in the tub with him.

When he first started walking, we would take him to the playground almost everyday.  He would bravely explore, and run and climb, and we had to keep up with him.  One day, I got real mad because I kept calling him back to me and he didn't listen.  So we went home and we never returned for months.  It was near the end of summer, and then it got too cold to go there.  So I feel really bad about that.  When we finally came back, it seemed almost as though the place was foreign to him.  He was very cautious and scared.  He would crawl on the structures instead of running carefree like he used to.  He still does that sometimes nowadays, about two years later.

So these are some moments that I wish I could do over.  Overall, I'm happy with my parenting though.  Timeout Boy is a really good kid who wants to please his parents and teachers.  He is known as the helper in his day care.  And we have a lot of fun and inside jokes together.

I guess I've just been noticing that Timeout Boy is growing.  I think that's why I'm thinking more about when he was little.  Or more little.

I love every phase.  It's hard to explain.  I want him to be a baby again.  And I want him learning to crawl and walk again.  I want him learning to talk and eat again.  And at the same time, I'm glad that he is potty trained, dressing himself, knowing the sounds of letters and practicing writing.  It's like I can't wait to see him grow but at the same time I don't want it to happen so fast.

I guess I just gotta try and enjoy the moment more.

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Memory Gland: That one time I terrorized a pregnant woman.

Tagalog is not my first language.  I speak a different dialect, at which I'm still fairly fluent.  However, like most Filipinos, I learned to speak Tagalog at a young age.  It's the National Language in the Philippines, and it is the default spoken tongue in music, movies and TV there.

After a few years of living in America, I was definitely out of practice.  All the Filipinos we knew here spoke our own dialect, and the ones at school spoke English.  Of course, when we were at a Filipino store or restaurant, we would sometimes speak Tagalog with the clerks and servers, but those occasions never resulted in any deep, meaningful or lengthy conversations.  Even though I still understood, it had gotten awkward for me to properly convey my thoughts and sometimes to even pronounce the words properly.

Then when I was a teenager, I ended up living with my brother and his wife.  The two of them regularly watched Filipino movies, and once in a while I would sit and watch with them.  Cinematically, the films were lame and had terrible production value, but I did find Judy Ann Santos very cute and the movies made me miss speaking Tagalog.

One time after watching one of those movies, my brother and I drove over to the Filipino video store to return the tape.  My brother double-parked and asked me to drop it off.  He told me something about payment - I don't remember the details but it was some kind of arrangement with the guy who owned the store.  I don't remember the details because now I can only recall what happened when I got inside.

The attendant that day was the owner's wife.  She was a nice young Filipina lady, and she was pregnant.  She put the tape into their system and told me that it was late.  I relayed what my brother told me, and she said something else, that my brother was right but this and that.  As we spoke, I had been backing up towards the door because we were double-parked.  But when she told me that thing - which again I apologize that I don't remember - I wanted to be able to explain it clearly.  So I walked back toward her and said, "Ano'ng ibig mong sabihin?"  In English, it literally translates as "What do you mean to say?"

I had only wished for her to further explain, but when she drew back and I saw terror in her eyes, I realized that I probably did this wrong.  She said never mind, don't worry about it.  When I saw some of the patrons - nay, all of them - staring at me, I just turned around and left.

It seems that with me coming at her like that, plus the harshness in my accent, it may have come off as, "What are you alleging?" or, "Are you accusing me of something?"  Even though the words don't translate as such literally.  And I had nothing to gain or lose either way, as it was my brother's account and it would have been his problem, if you could even call it that.   So yeah, it may have looked like I threatened a pregnant lady for a couple of dollars in late fees.

I never went back there again.  I speak Tagalog way better now.  And when the right words don't come to me, I just say it in English.


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Timeout Boy: Scary Moments

 Well, of course, when we found out we were pregnant, I did all the heavy lifting and stuff.  But Gale, being the nice girl that she is, always wanted to keep helping.  When we would do the groceries, for example, she would always take a bag or two, like the eggs or the bread or something light.

One rainy day, we got home to our basement apartment.  She was walking in front of me because she had the keys to open the backdoor to the house, and then the door to our little place.   I had bagfuls of groceries in my hands, and as usual, she had a bag of something light.

The stairs were wet, and she slipped.

She couldn't grab on to anything, because she had stuff in her hands.  In that split second that she lost her balance, I could she that she decided to fall on her back, to spare her belly from impact.  And she fell right on her butt.

It was like everything stopped.  We couldn't believe that had just happened.  We dropped everything and went into the bedroom so she could lie down.

She was in a real panic.  She was holding her belly.  "I don't feel anything," she said.  I asked her to calm down.  We had this baby heartbeat monitor that we got from Babies R Us, and I put it to her belly.  After what seemed like forever, we heard the heartbeat.

From then on, I didn't let her carry anything.

And then weeks later, we got a call from the hospital for a routine procedure.  (It's funny how I used to know all the technical terms and explanations but now I can't remember them.)  It had to do with it being her first pregnancy and some chemicals in her blood or something.  They wanted to to take some of the fluid from the womb to check for the chances of Down syndrome.

This made her very worried.  We cried for a bit, just having to think about it.  And then we composed ourselves and decided, worrying won't solve anything, and that she shouldn't be upset for the baby's sake.

We met with a hospital counselor, who explained the procedure.  They would have to poke a needle through her womb in order to get the fluid they needed for testing.  She explained that it's generally a successful process that won't harm the baby.  She was very careful with her words in telling us our options while not swaying us one way or the other.  She also explained our choices should they find that the baby did have the syndrome.  She also explained that we didn't have to know if we didn't want to.

That was the toughest part of the pregnancy for us.  Having to wait with uncertainty.  Having to consider those things.  We decided it would be best to find out, so we went through with it.

Timeout Boy turned out to be normal and healthy.  I don't want to think about what would have happened if it had been different.  My prayers go out to those parents who are going through that routine testing, and especially to those who find out the opposite results. 


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Timeout Boy: Cellar Dwellers

In the summer of 2008, when we found out we were pregnant, my then-girlfriend Gale Forcewind and I were living in a basement apartment.  Our landlady assumed we were married, and we never corrected her.  The neighborhood was full of Filipinos, and some of the older middle-aged and married men would sometimes invite me for a beer, and we would hang out and drink by the sidewalk.  They also assumed we were married, and whenever they would ask about me and my "wife", I would just say we had a quick ceremony in Vegas.

I liked our little place.  It was pretty spacious because it was almost the same area as the house, minus the compartment for the boiler and the heater.  The only real problem was that it was not actually safe.  The only exit was the door at the back of the house, and the small windows, which at the start of fall, we had to seal with material to keep the cold out.  The potential hazard was always in the back of my mind, even before we were pregnant.

Another minor inconvenience was that, since we exited through the back door, we had to walk through the narrow driveway to get to the street.  Sometimes there would be a car or two parked there, and we had to squeeze through.  I knew this would not be a good situation as my wife's belly was getting bigger.

On the week of Thanksgiving, somebody broke into our car, which we had parked at the corner many feet away from the house.  Luckily enough, the day before it happened, we had cleaned up a little and taken our valuables inside.  The only thing that was taken was a one-dollar bill which Gale had folded into a ribbon and put inside the glove box.

The window was broken.  I wanted to bring it to a shop to get fixed, but I couldn't just call out of work, even with an emergency, because well, I could go on about my work but I'm not going to.  So I drove my wife to work, covered up the window with a trash bag and gaffer tape, and left the car at the parking lot where she worked.

I told the landlady about it, and she was kind enough to let us park in their driveway for a night.  She figured people were getting desperate with the holidays coming up, and what with the recession and everything.  I immediately brought the car in to get fixed so as not to inconvenience the house owners any further, and of course, because it was cold as hell already by then.

Things were okay for a couple of months.  I went to a job interview at NYU, got my hopes up and never heard from them again.  I watched MSNBC every night, wishing things really would change.  And both the Mets and the Jets imploded at the end of their seasons.

When Christmas break came, the landlady's kids came home from college.  She had three or four of them.  They would go out every night and come home around three in the morning.  Our bedroom was right under the front door of the main house, and they came in very late at night stamping and stomping and trip-trapping.  And their little dog would get excited to see them come home and she would run back and forth and back and forth and back and forth.

So I brought it to my landlady's attention that my pregnant wife and I haven't been sleeping very well for weeks.  She was all smiles about it, and she apologized even.  But the gist of her message was that, since we were only paying $800 a month, we should just deal with it.  She said there were other places out there that weren't basements were people were walking right over you, even though the rent would probably be higher.  So I said, okay, I hear you loud and clear.

There were a couple of nights when I totally lost it.  I started slamming doors over and over but it didn't seem to phase her little spawns.  I slammed the doors so hard that the panels broke.  A couple of times, Gale tapped our ceiling with a broom and the noise stopped.  For a few minutes.  Generally it was around 5am when they would actually go to sleep.

What got us through those times was the fact that we were looking forward to a vacation in Hawaii.  It would be my first time there, and Gale's mom was throwing us a baby shower.  I kept reminding her to think about our holiday and that in a few days we wouldn't be stuck in that hellhole anymore.  And of course, during her whole pregnancy, Gale always kept her composure because getting riled up would not be good for the baby.

We found another place but we didn't tell the landlady yet.  We were worried about what would happen to our things while we were away.  If they could be that inconsiderate with us there, what more when we were across the continent.

On Christmas night, we listened to the tribe upstairs literally whoop as they opened each present.  Each present.  Each.  Present.  They would whoop.  "Whoop, whoop, whoop."  Seriously.  I made sure to explain to Gale that this was not a Filipino thing.  At least as far as I know.  I don't know where the heck they picked it up.

The next day, we left for the airport.  The trip to Hawaii was great, and her family was very welcoming.  I had met a few of them before in Las Vegas.  And I had also met her mother back in 2004.

Going back to the subject of my job, I was only able to get one week off, while Gale had two.  So I left earlier.  That was the loneliest time of my entire life.  All sorts of thoughts went into my head while we were separated, and I just was never myself.

What kept me going was the move.  And I did it all by myself.  Granted our biggest piece of furniture was just the futon and mattress, but it still was no easy task.  I'm very proud of it.  Especially since I did it all without the landlady (and her husband and spawns) and the beer drinking neighbor buddies noticing.

I forgot to mention that when I first got back from the airport, I found fruitcake on our dining table.  Full of mold.  It confirmed our suspicion that they do enter our apartment without telling us.

When I got everything out, I then told her about it.  She tried to play it cool, but I could see she didn't expect it.  She wished me luck and everything and went off about other subjects.  And then she mentioned that she would still need that month's rent because the deposit should not be used for the last month's rent.  She was right.  But I didn't care.

I said, "Yes, of course.  By the way, can you get me a copy of the basement's inspection certificate?  My lawyer said I need it for my taxes.  I already have your receipts for the rent, but I'll need the papers that you filed with the city."  Something like that.

She stammered.  I was pretty sure she didn't have it.  And I don't even know why one would need it for their taxes.  I can't remember her exact words, some kind of excuse as to why she didn't have it, but then she said, "You know what, don't worry about the last month's rent.  I can just use your deposit for it."

"Okay," I said, "Good night."  And then I left.  It was one of the most satisfying moments of my life.  I wish I had a picture of that look on her face, or that I was enough of a wordsmith to describe it.

Oh and by the way, I locked all the doors inside.  They didn't have the keys for them, so the whole time we lived there we had to be careful not to lock ourselves out of the rooms.

My future wife and baby never had to return to that basement.  Oh, and I never touched that moldy fruitcake on the table.


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Timeout Boy's Greatest Hits

One reason why I started this blog was to put down some moments with my kid for posterity.  Unfortunately, most often it would take too long for me to finally have time to write about it.  Also, I would try too hard sometimes to find the write right words and discourage myself.

And now here we are three years later, and I haven't even written my son's first words.  I'm sure I've forgotten many of them by now.

So before I forget even more, here are some of Timeout Boy's greatest hits...


ball - This was his first word, as far as I know.  When he first started crawling around 7 months, we bought a couple of balls from Target so he could go after them.  One afternoon, we were lying together on the floor, and I told him, "Ball".  And I kept saying it, and he repeated it.  However, I don't know if he may have already said that in day care without us knowing.

mum-mah - He said this when he was a few months old.  My wife was really excited because he said it first instead of dah-dah.  However, he never said it again.  Once he started saying dah-dah, he kept saying it to me, but it took a few more months until he would regularly say mama to her.

dah-yee - Actually, he didn't really say dah-dah much.  He said dah-yee more often.

ah-ah-ah-ter - I've seen other grown ups point to a helicopter and tell a really young child that it's a plane.  I would guess they figure it's simpler to say than a four-syllable word.  I always told Timeout Boy it was a helicopter, and I said it was a plane when it was a plane.  He quickly was able to tell the difference.  Sometimes a friend or relative would tell him it's a plane, and he would correct them.  "No.  Ah-ah-ah-ter."  After some months, it turned into helly-hopper or helly-hotter, until he finally pronounced it helicopter.

Pipper - Kipper the dog, from a TV show.  He would sometimes repeat consonant sounds in words.  Glenda would be den-dah.  Digos (bath) would be dee-dose.  Ryan would be yah-yan.

bah-yah-yah-yah!!! - There's no meaning to this, as far as I know.  But when he was about a year old, he would once in a while, just yell out at the top of his lungs, with all of his energy, "Bah-yah-yah-yah!!!"  Like a tiny little mad man.

I no like... tunder. - This was his first sentence.  It was Monday night.  And I remember because it was the night the Jets hosted the Vikings in the Meadowlands, when right before halftime it just began pouring buckets of rain.  We sat by the window and looked outside.  When we heard a loud rumble I looked at him and said, "Thunder."  He looked at me and said, "I no like... tunder."  It really impressed me to hear him use a direct object in his sentence, although he had to pause to complete it.

I nike.  - Its means, "I like," which means "I want some" in Hawaiian pidgin.  He generally would say "I nike" and open his mouth during meal times, or when he sees you eating something you want.

eddie body - Everybody.

heady dough - Here you go.

on-dinge - Orange.

pee cup - Peacock.

ah boods - The birds.

ah-bump! - He would say this when he first learned to jump.  It was funny because at first he never left the ground.

J-E-T-S Jets Jets Jets! - Yes, I taught him the chant.  He knew how to spell Jets before he could spell his name.  On that Thanksgiving game against the Bengals, when Brad Smith had that touchdown return when he lost a shoe, Timeout Boy said, "It's Jets.  Running, running Jets."  Everytime he sees football on TV though, he says it's Jets, even though they're entirely different teams.

mommy aunty - Mommy and Aunty.  My wife's cousin lived with us for a couple of years to help out with Timeout Boy.  My wife helped her get enrolled and get a job at the college where she works.  They could drop him off and pick him up at day care.  Whenever they arrived in the afternoon, Timeout Boy would look up from his activities and see them, yelling out "Mommy Aunty" repeatedly.  It amused his teachers.

daddy water - Pepsi.  He only said this once when he opened the fridge and saw the liter bottle.  I said, "That's not for you." He said, "Is daddy water".

ah-show - We have this neighbor who used to blast his music from his car at 5 in the morning, before driving off to work.  Sometimes we would be outside the house on a quiet afternoon, and he would just turn his music on and open the trunk so it would get louder.  Things aren't so bad now, but we've never exchanged any pleasantries at all.  One day we were in our yard when the guy walked by and Timeout Boy saw him.  "Ah-show", he said.  I guess he's heard me call him the A-word more than a few times.  Either the guy didn't notice or didn't react.  (Or realized it was true!)  We've been more careful with our language since then.

Well, that's it for now.  I'm sure there's more, and I'll probably come back with another list.  Definitely I'll have to write about some of the latest things he's been saying.

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Dreamer's Ball (of the Foot)

I had another weird dream last night.  (I probably have them every night but don't always recall.)

I can't remember how it started, but I ended up at our old home in the Philippines in the middle of the night.  I was in the backyard.  It was pitch dark, and I had a flashlight. It was just after a storm, and there was plenty of debris and disorder around.

I looked up towards the roof of the kitchen, which was made of nipa palm leaves, and there was a baby shark stuck up there.  It didn't seem to be moving.  I wondered how that happened.  Then next to it, by a papaya tree, there was a bigger, fatter shark.  It wasn't moving either.

Our kitchen had two doors, one on either side of the house.  (I'll skip explaining the design of the house that my father built because it might take me all day.)  I stood by the other door and shone a light on the big shark, and it seemed to be hanging on the tree as some sort of decoration, with three strings that formed a pyramid shape over it.  The big one wasn't real, but the baby shark seemed to be.

I shone a light around the other side of the yard.  I think I wanted to make sure everything was fine, that nothing was stolen and that there were no intruders.  I didn't see much except for more mess.  I went back inside.  On the floor was more junk, including palm fronds for some reason.  I skipped over some of the mess towards the living room and felt a quick pain on my right foot, like I stepped on something pointy.

For some reason, I worried that a snake had bit me.  It didn't seem plausible that a snake could get its fangs right on the ball of my foot as I landed on it, but I looked closer at the palm fronds anyway.  And then I saw a little tail, shaped like one of the leaves, wriggling and disappear into it.  The dream seemed real but at the same time I was also thinking that if I didn't worry about it being a snake, it wouldn't have been so.  It's hard to explain.

So having confirmed my fear, I began to worry if it was poisonous.  And then I started feeling tired and groggy.  So then I realized I should do something.  I went over to my old room, which was pretty small.  I opened the door, and the bed was almost the same size as the room, only allowing for a few feet for me to walk in and a little drawer by the wall.  At this time, there was light in the house, and I don't remember what happened to the flashlight but I no longer had it.

The sheets were in some kind of blue and white, almost flowery pattern.  Sleeping on the bed was one of my best friends from childhood.  It was supposed to be my room, but for some reason it belonged to him now.  And certainly, my bed was never that wide.  He was about ten to twelve years old, and apparently, I was, too.

I nudged him, and he began to stir.  I let him know that a snake had bit me, and he slowly got up and got ready.  I showed him that there was a little hole at the ball of my foot.  He was going to take me somewhere, probably a hospital or something.  But before we departed, we suddenly decided to embrace each other quickly.  We hadn't seen each other in so long.  And then we started to go.

I texted my mom that I had gotten a snakebite.  And then I texted my eldest brother.  I think they were at some party, and they may have been together.  For some reason I thought texting would be better for my health than calling and wasting energy or whatever.

My friend and I had our arms around each other as we walked.  I remember thinking, "Not like this, not like this."  I was getting very drowsy and really afraid that I would die.

And then I woke up.  I thought, "Oh, thank God."  It was just a dream.  Again.

And now to analyze it.

First of all, I think returning home to find my childhood home in disorder is just about things not being the same anymore.  When I went home to the Philippines a few years ago, the house was being rented out, and I couldn't explore it like I wanted to.  One time I chased a little puppy who ran inside and apologized to the tenants for it, although they didn't really mind.

The sharks are weird.  It's like there was a tsunami instead of a storm.  The baby shark was real but seemed to be dead, while the adult shark was fake.  I could certainly apply that to me, I guess, since I'm definitely not the person I was.  Does that mean I'm now fake?  I'm not sure.  I'm certainly more self conscious now than as a child.

I have a memory of that papaya tree.  It was during a big hurricane when I believe my mother was already in America.  My eldest brother was away in college.  The winds were really strong, and the tree was really bending over low.  My dad rushed out into the storm to try to save it.  My other brother came with him to help.  I wanted to go outside as well, but I was told to stay inside, so I stood by the door and watched them.  I don't remeber if we saved it.  I don't remember if the tree was what they wanted to save, or whether my father thought it would be dangerous for it to fall onto our house.

In the dream, I was really worried about thieves and intruders.  I felt very protective shining that light around in the surrounding darkness.  I wanted to be sure there was nothing lurking out there.

As it turns out, the thing that almost killed me was actually on the inside already.  I can also be a bit of a hypochondriac at times.  I worry about heart attacks and aneurysms and stroke and appendicitis and cancer and so on, and I think I might have them.

The fact that it was on the ball of my foot.  Is it because I'm really into football?  Do dreams work that way?

When I left the old country as a child, I never got to formally say goodbye to my friends.  The petition was approved, the ticket was bought and I was gone.  So I think that's what the embrace signifies.  Also, I really do miss my childhood friends.  We got together when I returned, but everybody was different already.  Furthermore, we've all spread out around the world.

The thing with my mom and brother?  Well, let's not even go there.



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Memory Gland: Motorcycle in the rain.

When I was a little boy, we had a blue motorcycle.  Being the youngest, I got to ride in front, by my father's lap.  My father drove, and my mother rode in the back.  She would be side saddle when she was wearing a skirt.  Sometimes my two brothers would have to squeeze in the back seat.

Meanwhile, I got to see all the view.  I felt special.  Except sometimes the metal gas tank I was sitting on would get so hot and I would burn myself.  I got to hold on to the handle bars and pretend I was driving.  When we would approach a corner, my dad would alert me so I could beep the horn.  (We didn't have traffic lights, so people honked at intersections.)  And then I would cheer him on as we approached to overtake the other vehicles.  I was so proud.

There was a point in time when it seemed like every weekend, we would all cram ourselves into that two-wheeler and have an outing at the beach.  I remember us tying a nylon net full of ripe santol fruits on one handlebar, and a multi-colored striped plastic bag with other goodies on the other side.  I remember climbing on with excitement while the rest of the family was still hastening to get ready.

One day, my parents and I went to a party at another town.  When we left for home in the evening, it rained heavily all of a sudden.  It didn't let up, and the spark plug got wet.  The motorcycle stalled.  My dad pushed it for about a half a mile as we all walked home in the rain.

I distinctly remember my parents being cool about the situation.  That was the one and only time I could remember sort of playing in the rain together.  Generally, they were fairly successful and took themselves kind of seriously.

We washed up when we got home.  I think my brothers had dinner already prepared.  We all laughed about it.  It was a fun adventure.


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Timeout Boy couldn't wait.

The summer of 2008 was not exactly the best time to plan for a child.  Which is why Timeout Boy was not exactly planned for.  He just pretty much came as a pleasant surprise.

We had no doubt we wanted him, but of course, with the recession and my already low-paying job, I was very worried.  Actually, I was terrified.

We were not even married yet because I had hoped to actually have a real career going first.  I hoped for a nice Hawaiian wedding in Maui or something.  I was going to have some kind of really awesome proposal which I hadn't even thought of yet.  But it would have been awesome.

So the weekend we found out was full of different emotions.  Some relief that our newly discovered baby was alive and well in the womb.  Some anxiety about the cost and the work it takes to become parents.  Some curiosity about whether it would be a boy or girl, and healthy.  And of course, happiness and excitement about our child.

My wife was worried about telling her mom, who had wanted her to finish her Master's before starting a family.  Of course, we couldn't tell anybody until we had told her.  So we had to keep it quiet.  I'm pretty good with secrets so I didn't tell a single soul about it.

The next day, I came to work and had a session with a big-name client.  (I don't know who you are, but you would probably know who he is.)  And wouldn't you know it, our project was involving home videos of his kid.  I don't really know what I believe in, and I'm not sure about fate and coincidences, but with my mind on the weight of having to support another life, I had to sit their and watch moments of a child born with with a silver spoon.

Looking back, I think I should have at least told my boss about it.  My feeling now is that he may have resented that.  I don't even remember when and how I finally told him and my co-workers.  But I said I wouldn't tell, so I didn't tell.

My wife did tell somebody though.  It was her best friend, whom I will call Jess Dewitt.  She and her boyfriend were really supportive.  They gave my wife a ride home everyday.  She didn't have her license then, so I would drop her off in the morning and leave the car at the parking lot where she worked.  She would then have to wait for me, take the bus, or walk home.  We used to live a few blocks from her job.

I have to say her co-workers were very supportive of her as well.  Many of them knew her from when she first moved to New Jersey from Hawaii and are aware that she is pretty much alone here.  She really didn't have anybody here until we met.  And I don't really have much family here myself.  (There are reasons that I just won't go into yet.)

That was a real big worry for me.  What if there was an emergency?  I was across the river in New York, and it was always in the back of my mind.

I don't remember when she finally told her mom, but I think it was around Thanksgiving.  It was kind of funny actually, because Jess was there when she called, encouraging her.  Jess was saying, "Just tell her already."  And her mom said directly, "Why?  What's up?  Are you pregnant?"

And my wife sheepishly answered, "Yes".

And then her mom hung up on her.

I won't go into the details, but she eventually calmed down and accepted it.  Let's just fast forward to days later when she was already excited and giving us advice and so on.  And that was when I finally started telling people.  Well, some people.


So Timeout Boy was unexpected.  I was hoping to get a better job and have some savings before even considering marriage.  But Timeout Boy couldn't wait.

In a way, it was kind of meant to be.  I had just gotten my own place on August 2008, and by that September we were pregnant.  My wife was looking for a gynecologist for birth control purposes, and it turns out we would be using her services while expecting.  (And she retired soon after our baby was born).  And my son's day care had just opened a few months before he came.  Right now, he's the longest tenured toddler in the place.

Maybe it's all a coincidence though.  I don't know.  But I'm happy it happened.  Because what the heck were we waiting for really?  Years later, and I'm still in the same job anyway, so would we still be waiting by now?  I can't imagine what life would be like anymore.




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Queue Tips: Extremely boring and incredibly long.

My friend asked me if I saw that extremely loud and obnoxious movie, and I told him I don't think that's the title of it.  He said, "Whatever.  That kid in the trailer looks really obnoxious anyway."  Well, I don't know.  He didn't seem that annoying to me, but he did seem like he couldn't really act, in my opinion.

As it turns out, the kid has no previous acting experience.  Apparently, he was a "Jeopardy!" champion and that somehow turned into an acting career.  So that's a lesson for you struggling actors out there.

I once saw an interview of Martin Scorsese talking about getting a chance to direct "Schindler's List".  He said he turned it down because it wasn't his kind of project.  So Steven Spielberg ended up directing it, and it turned out to be awesome.

I think there's some kind of a lesson to be learned in that.  I don't know that Stephen Daldry really should have been the director of "Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close".  I'm sure he's been in the city, but I don't know that you can actually define him as a New Yorker.  As for his other films, I found "The Reader" to be extremely overrated, I found "The Hours" to be long and boring, and I didn't see "Billy Elliot".

You might know by now that the story has to do with 9/11.  So what's the first image you see?  A man free falling in the sky.

The protagonist is a nine year old kid named Oskar whose dad died in the attack.  He narrates with very deep thoughts and wide vocabulary, but he can only call it "the worst day."  Because it's so tragic.

He finds a key that his dad had hidden, and he resolves to find the lock that it opens.  Although he is deathly afraid of public transportation and noise and crowds and everything New York City, he somehow travels - on his own - around the area and somehow meets with interesting strangers.  Even the locksmith has some kind of philosophical view on keys and stuff.  Something about how they can open things.

The film is based on a novel, which I don't know anything about.  And I don't know what the novelist based his story on, and how much research he did.  But I just get the feeling that it was just some guy who decided to write about this topic on some kind of whim or lack of other inspiration.

The screenplay was adapted by Eric Roth, who did the same for "Forrest Gump" and "The Horse Whisperer", but those films were directed by Robert Zemeckis and Robert Redford.  So I guess people decided that if they have the money to purchase rights to a novel, they can just hire this guy to turn it into a screenplay.  And maybe it can get overhyped and overrated like "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button", which I felt was totally wrong and different as far as the nature of the short story by F. Scott Fitzgerald, on which it was based.

The mom is played by Sandra Bullock.  How she keeps getting roles, I don't understand.  I've seen people on soap operas do better.  I've seen high school plays do better.  Tom Hanks, John Goodman and Viola Davis were a total waste of talent.


Oh, and by the way, the whole film is underscored.  It feels like it anyway.  Because it was so tragic.  There has to be emotional music underneath everything. 

Apparently, the director hoped to release this film in time for the tenth anniversary of 9/11.  I'm sure he was thinking of those families affected by the attack.  There's a scene in which the mom tells a stranger that her husband died there, and the stranger repeatedly hugs her.  That's how I feel the filmmakers hope the audiences would embrace their product.  Did the and the producers actually have good intentions with this film?  Maybe.  But even then, it feels misguided.

So to sum it up.  Take a topic that affects everyone universally.  Hire some big names.  Don't worry whether they're right for their roles.  Find some kid on a game show to carry the entire film.  Blow smoke up your own ass.

It's just so fucking Hollywood.

Anyways, check out "Reign Over Me" instead if you're looking for a film that deals with the topic.  If you want to see some annoying little shit in another film adaptation of a novel, watch Christian Bale in "Empire of the Sun".  If you want some annoying little shit named Oskar in a different adaptation of a novel, watch "The Tin Drum".

Also, speaking of keys, why can't I get a copy of my Jeep's key made?  I don't need the electronic parts of it.  I just need to be able to stick it in the door and open it in case I ever lock the actual key inside.  They can't duplicate it at Home Depot or something.  I have to take it to a dealer and it'll cost me a couple hundred bucks.  O-welles.  It's kinda tragic.  Maybe I'll write a movie about it.

And now here is a scene from "Family Guy":



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Timeout Boy's Bad Dream

Timeout Boy usually wakes up about 5 to 10 minutes before the alarm goes off.  (And by alarm, I mean "Sesame Street" on Channel Thirteen.)  Sometimes, he'll just lie there in his crib.  Or he'll play and we'll hear him saying cute things to his stuffed toys.  Sometimes he'll go back to sleep, and sometimes he'll climb into our bed and cuddle.

Not too long ago, he woke up around five in the morning crying.  He climbed into our bed, and when I hugged him, I felt that his heart was beating real fast.  So I asked him what was the matter.

"Are you scared?"   He nodded his head.

"Did you have a bad dream?"  He nodded again.

"What did you dream about?"  He didn't say anything.  I didn't want to probe further and remind him of his bad dream, so I let it go.  I comforted him and told him everything was all right now.

After a while, I knew I wasn't going to be able to get back to sleep.  And I saw that he wasn't sleeping either.   So I asked him if he wanted to watch Sesame Street.  He nodded yes, and we went over to the other room so we don't disturb Mommy.

We had an early breakfast, and I made hot chocolate and toast for when my wife wakes up.  When Timeout Boy had calmed down, I asked again what his dream was about.  I guess I wanted to get some insight into his subconscious, maybe learn what's weighing on his two year old mind, and maybe it'll help me somehow to respond to him better.

He didn't seem interested in talking about it.  "Did you dream about a monster?"

"Yes," he said.  Then we watched "Sesame Street" together.  (I recorded a bunch of them so we can watch them back to back without him going nuts when the show is over.)  It was a particularly cold day that day, and I warmed up the car so it was nice and toasty when my wife got in.

Later that day after work, I decided to ask my son again about his dream.  He just pointed quietly towards the wall.  There's this picture of a playful monkey with the words "Monkey at Play" that we bought from the dollar store when we were still expecting.  "The monkey?" I said.  He nodded his head again.  "The monster was a monkey?"

"Yes," he said.  I laughed.  I told him that monkey was nice.  I was trying to figure out what my son thinks about, and what goes on in his dream psyche and stuff like that.  I guess maybe he was staring at the monkey before falling asleep or something.  I don't know.



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Memory Gland: A lucid dream.

Sometimes I think too much.  I am also a light sleeper.  This is not a good combination.

I wake up at least a couple of times a night.  I don't mind when I can get back to sleep right away.  But sometimes a thought will pop into my head, and my mind will wander.  And then an hour or two will pass, and I haven't gotten back to sleep yet.

(This is one reason why I write this blog even though no one really reads it.  It's good to be able to dump some of these things and clear my head.)

Anyway, last night I had such a rough time trying to get sleep that I went into a half-asleep, half-awake mode.  If that even makes any sense.  I ended up working on a video slideshow for Timeout Boy's third birthday.  And then my wife sat beside me and started giving me suggestions on the edit.

And then somehow, she turned into my client.  It was about three in the morning, and I told her I understood her directions but I was just about to sleep.  So then she lay back down in bed and faced towards her side of the bed.  I really don't think this is anything sexual because she is this old lady who looks and sounds like Lorraine from "MadTV".  I hope it's not, anyway.

And then Timeout Boy, like he sometimes does, rolled in his crib and talked in his sleep.  He said something like, "We have to play again!"  And we both laughed.

So then I reached for the standing floor lamp to turn off the light.  For some reason, its metal pole was wrapped tightly in an old faded beach towel.   I then noticed that on the wall near the ceiling were some big staple like thingies.  So then I realized the landlord or some workers must have been there to fix something up.

I lay down on the bed facing towards my side.  I then felt the need to pee.  But I didn't want to get up.  I wanted to sleep.  I thought about it for a minute or so.  And then I finally got up and headed to the bathroom.

I walked past the kitchen and noticed a couple of lines on the wall to my left.  I thought maybe they were more of those big staple thingies, so I wanted to touch them.  However, I couldn't move my left arm.  I used my right hand to lift my left arm from the elbow.  When I touched the lines, I saw that they were tiny cracks on the wall.

I stood in front of the toilet, just about to go, when I glanced behind me at the tub.  But it wasn't the tub.  It was another bed,  and my wife in it.  So I start thinking this isn't right, that there shouldn't be a bed in the bathroom.  So I guess I'm seeing things.

I reach for the light so I could see the room clearly.  But the light doesn't turn on.  I look at my wife and she smiles at me.

That's when I realized I was dreaming.  It was pretty scary and pretty cool at the same time.  How often do you know you're dreaming while you're in the dream?  Not often for me, so that part was pretty exciting.

But of course, I'm just not used to that, so I was kind of worried.  I yelled out loud, "I want to wake up!"

And then I was standing outside the bathroom door, looking towards the bed and the crib.  Suddenly, it was like I was in a DVD that was skipping.  Facing forward, then backward.  Forward, backward.

And there were a few seconds of black.  And then I woke up back in bed.  My wife was sleeping soundly next to me, and my son was snoring quietly in his crib.

It was actually a pretty awesome little adventure.  I just might be capable of having a real lucid dream someday.  But at the same time, to be honest, it's pretty terrifying.

And now here is a scene from "Waking Life":



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Final Cut Bro: Queer queries.

Through my years at work, I've been pretty good at small talk with clients.  It's a pretty useful skill when you have to kill some time while fiddling around with wires like a blind man in an orgy rendering, compressing, burning, uploading, downloading, etc.  And usually it's just nice to get to know them a little more.

One of my regulars usually comes and sits with me for a few hours.  Recently, however, he booked time for two days straight.  Things have always gone relatively smooth before because most of the projects had been just a few minutes long.  This time, however, the video we edited was about an hour.

That means it would take at least that amount of time to compress it to DVD.  And then some more to burn it and make copies.  I explained all this to him.  But wouldn't you know it, he wanted to wait anyway.  He paid for the studio time, of course.

What followed was a barrage of non sequiturs in the form of questions.  I was already aware of this character's quirk, but it was fairly manageable in small doses.  He was endlessly thinking out loud in interrogative sentences.  In the words of The Dude, he's like a child who wanders into the middle of a movie and wants to know.

Here are some examples:

Do they still make CD burners? 

Why do you have two monitors? 

Who supplies your DVDs? 

Are these Halls for me?  (This is after he has been digging into the bowl all morning.  He then points out that there's an empty wrapper in there and that I should throw it out.  I tell him I didn't put that there.  He says he put it there.  And then he throws it out.) 

Did you see the Woody Allen documentary?  (I say no.)  Do you know if it was on film or digital?  (I tell him that I wouldn't know, seeing as I wasn't even aware of it.) 

Do you get DHL coming in here? Who do you use for your deliveries? Do you use the post office? UPS? 

Are you working Thursday and Friday? 

How long is "The Godfather"? 

(Before we take a lunch break)  Is it gonna be the Greek place today or McDonald's? 

(Reading Rolling Stone) Who do you think has a longer career, rock musician or classical musician? 

(After his phone rings) How do you make this off?  (He presses a button.) I just learned something. 

Do you have one of those iPhones?  (I say no, blackberry.) Oh, a blackberry. But can you talk on it, too? What does your wife have?

The next day, I come to the office and find him waiting for me, and he says, "David, you're always on time.  Did you know I was coming?"  And finally at the end of the session: "What are you gonna do next?"

It might seem pretty benign, but there were plenty more mind-numbing questions that I've left out.  This is why they pay me the big bucks to be a Final Cut editor.  And so, my friends, as the old proverb goes, if you don't know, you better ax somebody!

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Queue Tips: No Takers

A friend of mine was kind enough to let me borrow "Takers", so I watched it.  I didn't really know much about it, but apparently, it's not the sequel to "Taken".  Idris Elba of "The Wire" fame is in it, and it was pretty cool to watch him in his English accent.  The guy who played the mayor had a small part in it as well.  Am I just me, or do these guys from that show always seem to appear with other actors from the cast?

Anyways, I can imagine some teenage kid watching this and really enjoying it.  I, however, thought it was pretty corny.  It's about a group of criminals who at the beginning look so calm and cool as they carry out a very elaborate plan to rob a bank.  They really seem professional, like they've been there before.  They even walk away from an explosion nonchalantly.  Like as though there's no exploding helicopter just a few feet behind them, they just walk away ever so slowly.  Oh, wait, that's slow motion.  You know, like that shot in John Carpenter's "Vampires" and a million other movies since.

And then there's a cop and his partner who are tracking down the group.  So we follow along with their subplot as the movie goes.  I'm not going to spoil the ending for you, but let me just say, there's really no payoff in the end.  There's really no point in showing the lives of these guys apart from the fact that it takes up time and distracts you from the main plot.

And then there's the ex-con who convinces the group to go along with his one great big score.  It's played by rap star Tip Harris.  I don't know.  Maybe I'm just me, but I don't think every rap star can be an actor.

One good one I could think of is Mos Def, who apparently is not the founding member of Def Leppard.  Not that I ever heard any of his music anyway, but I thought he was pretty good in "16 Blocks", "Be Kind Rewind" and especially "Cadillac Records".  And oh yeah, he had a very funny cameo in "I'm Still Here", the plot of which is the vice versa of this topic, an actor trying to be a rap star.  But I digress.

During the big score, the very cool criminals get into one minor snag, and everybody loses it.  There's cussing and finger pointing and plenty of confusing camera angles and quick edits.  And through all this action, Harris' character is describing everything to the rest of his group.  I don't know, but for some reason I was wishing the dialogue rhymed.

"Takers" also stars Hayden Christensen, known for playing Anakin Skywalker.  His previous movie was called "Jumper".  He has another movie called "Vanishing on 7th Street", but I don't think I'm going to watch it because it's in the wrong tense.

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Memory Gland: Under where?

Well, you know, growing up in the Philippines, we never really got a lot of Christmas presents.  You were lucky to get one gift.  Unless of course, you were very rich, which we were not.  And of course, we were taught that it was better to give than to receive and all that good stuff.

You didn't really expect to get a ton of presents on Christmas morning.  We certainly didn't feel entitled to be writing to Santa with our demands.  My cousins and friends and I mostly just enjoyed being out of school and singing carols and seeing decorations and stuff. 

Well, on my first December in America, somebody gave me a present.  Only I don't remember who it came from.  It may have been from some aunt or my mom's co-worker or something.

At the same time, I had told my mom that our sixth grade class was planning on a gift exchange, also known as Secret Santa or Kris Kringle.  As a fresh-off-the-boat immigrant, I had no idea what to get an American boy for a present.  And then days later my mom comes home with that gift for me.

So I thought, you know, I don't really want anything, so why don't I just give this gift for Secret Santa?  Problem solved.  It made perfect sense to my 12-year-old mind.

I didn't think anything wrong with re-gifting either.  The gift was still new.  I certainly didn't use it.  I re-wrapped it and brought it to school on the last day before Christmas Break.

I had done gift exchanges with my classmates in the Philippines, but those were pretty much token gifts.  Generally, it would be some kind of candy or something, maybe a pen or some kind of school supply.  And it was always conducted by us kids amongst ourselves and done after class.  So I knew this time it would be different with it being kind of formal with everyone at their desks and everything.

I don't remember what I myself got as a present.  I was busy opening it, or examining it, or talking about it to somebody when suddenly someone in class exclaimed aloud.  It was my Secret Santa.

"Underwear???!!!!!"

It got everybody's attention.  The whole class couldn't believe it.  I did not expect that reaction.  In fact, I didn't expect any reaction.

Suddenly some kids were snickering and wanting to see the pack of briefs.  And I was being questioned about what I could possibly have been thinking.  And then there were jokes that I may have been sexually attracted to the guy.  That kind of stuff.

I just shrugged and laughed it off.  I didn't really think too much about it after.  I told my mom, and we laughed about it.  Even today, I started writing this because I of course thought it was funny.

But now I'm kind of wondering, how my life could actually be totally different had that not happened.  I wonder if any potential friendships may have been forestalled because of this incident.  I can think back to some of the boys who were not close to me after that winter, but that could all be coincidental.  If I did become friends with them, of course, I would inevitably be a different person.  And of course, some girl could have been less inclined to talk to me after that, and I could have had my first kiss and first other things way, way sooner.

But anyways, it happened and I don't really regret it.  It's just funny how writing about memories brings up so many other thoughts.

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Timeout Boy Begins

It was Labor Day in 2008, and my then-girlfriend and future-wife wanted to do something with the day off.  We had decided on going to the Bronx Zoo earlier that weekend, and on Monday morning, and as usual, I woke up early and my wife woke up late.  That kind of got me upset because I didn't want to drive through traffic.

Even though it was already late, we decided to go anyway, and the vibe was pretty tense.  When we got there, the parking lots were full, so we had to drive around and settle on parking on some street in the Bronx.  I was not very happy about that.

When we got there, we only had an hour until closing, but we managed to walk around and take some pictures.  Then we left, I ended getting all turned around and going in the wrong direction.  I was very angry by this time, and in turn she was getting angry at me as well, but we both managed to keep our composure by the time we righted ourselves.

And then she checked her voice mail.

Let me rewind back a few days, and I'll warn you this might be just a bit TMI.  So it's up to you if you want to keep reading.

Queue Tips: 50/50

Fifty divided by fifty equals one.  As in, one great movie.  Well, I guess it depends on your expectations.  A friend of mine thought it was too slow, but I think he had the impression that this would be one of those hilarious, laugh out loud Seth Rogen movies.

That's why I don't like to watch trailers and commercials.  I knew I would check it out because Joseph Gordon-Levitt is in it, and he gave an excellent performance, by the way.  Seeing Anjelica Huston as his mother was also a nice surprise.  I have to say, I think she's pretty awesome.  In addition, it was pleasant to see Matt Frewer (Bob Moody from "Shaky Ground") and Philip Baker Hall (Lt. Bookman from from "Seinfeld").

I think the reason why I really liked this is that it was apparently based on a real-life experience by the screenwriter Will Reiser.  The rest of his work doesn't seem in line with this type of drama.  I think it reinforces the old saying that you should write about what you know.

I also didn't know who directed it, but it turned out to be Jonathan Levine, who was behind "The Wackness", which I don't recommend at all.  Or maybe I just had different expectations from it because it was a Ben Kingsley movie or something.  But anyways, definitely put "50/50" on your queue.  There's an equal chance you might like it.

Oh, and one last thing, I like the fact that they have an Asian doctor and and Indian nurse in one of the hospital scenes.

Oh yeah, and one other last thing.  Am I just me, or did anybody else find the musical choices of Radiohead's "High and Dry" and Pearl Jam's "Yellow Ledbetter" kind of strange?  I don't know.  I guess I've just listened to those songs so much that finding them in any other context seems out of place.

More queue tips: