The More, The Merrier!

I've always wanted to have a big family. By big I mean four kids at the very least!

I have six other siblings. And if not for two unfortunate miscarriages, we would have been nine kids! And I'm sure my brothers and sisters would agree that our childhood was a lot of fun.

Sure, I had a late start. Gabi was born when I was already 40. My wife Patty is now six months on the way with our second child. Good thing Patty is much younger than me. Gives us a chance to have more kids. God willing, of course.

This summer we've been spending a lot of time with Gabi's Mercado cousins. Gabi is the youngest among eight cousins. And except for Paris-based Gio and Pepi, the cousins are constantly together now. Beach trips, birthday parties, baking sessions, swimming dates.

And they are constantly in each others' nerves. Which is really part of the fun! Teaches them among other things, what it means to share. And how to be patient. And how to survive!

No matter what population control advocates say, I firmly believe that having many kids is NOT counter productive, does NOT cause more poverty and hardship, and is NOT a manifestation of irresponsible parenthood.

An Earth Day Surprise!

Got a 40 peso discount from Starbucks just by using my own tumbler! What a great way of celebrating Earth Day! Thanks Starbucks!

What's up, Duck?

In the middle of the concrete jungle that is the Makati Central Business District, in Legaspi Village between Gamboa and Legaspi Streets to be exact, lies a most welcome little oasis of trees, plants, sculptures, water, koi fish and yes, even ducks!

Patty and Gabi decided to accompany me last Tuesday morning to Makati for my weekly visit to Zenith Optimedia. The plan was for them to kill some time in Greenbelt and then later join me for lunch. But Gabi fell asleep during the 45-minute trip from my Tomas Morato office and so Patty decided to drop me off first and carry the snoring Gabi to the park across the ZO office instead where he could continue his sleep under the shade of the big trees.

Gabi soon woke up and thought he was in Forest Club in Laguna!

Now called Sycip Park after the SGV founder, the park is the work of landscape designer Ponce Veridiano and features installations of renowned sculptor Impy Pilapil.


Gabi's favorite was the giant turtle stone sculpture.

SOS! It's time to get rid of Filipino Time!

Patty and I watched the Swing Out Sister concert last night with Ton and Mylene Mapa. The concert itself was great and a lot of fun.

What I couldn't take was the long wait we were made to endure for the show to start!

Patty and I decided to go to Cubao early. So that we could get good parking and have more than enough time to have a leisurely dinner.

So we left the house at 6:45 pm and got to Araneta Center at five to seven. Unfortunately, the Gateway parking facility was already full. And so after spending more than 10 minutes and probably a couple of liters of gasoline, we finally ended up in the open parking lot across Farmer's Market.

It was already 7:15. Too late to walk all the way to Gateway to have dinner. Besides, Patty is five months pregnant and had not been feeling too well the past few days. Getting her seated comfortably was now my priority. The leisurely dinner could wait until after the concert.

So off we went to the Dome. We got burgers, hotdogs and popcorn and settled down in our seats at 7:45.

And then the long wait began.

I've been to enough concerts and weddings to know that when the ticket or the invite says 8, what they really mean is 9. Filipino Time is what it's called, as if it was something we should be proud of.

And to make things worse, the ticket said that the show would start on time.

And so we waited. At 8 the stadium was still empty. At 8:45 the obligatory OPM front act finally began.

Poor girl. She was jeered endlessly by a now restless and probably hungry crowd.

At 9:15, after about six songs, her agony finally ended, to the cheers of the thousands in Araneta.

Then the TVCs began running on the giant screen. One after the other. Of the sponsors of the concert. On and on. For close to 15 minutes. Like the commercial breaks in a Pacquiao fight.

By the time SOS finally came out, it was already 9:45. Two hours after we arrived.

Unbelievable.

This Thursday Patty and I will be back in Araneta for the Duran Duran concert. What time do you think we should go?

Volks Populi

Gabi and I chanced upon a swarm of Beetles along the Quezon Memorial Circle last Sunday morning. We had just come from the Ateneo Football School and were headed towards Trinoma to buy Gabi's soccer gear.

Turned out that we were accidental witnesses to the Volkswagen Club of the Philippines' new attempt at a Guinness World Record for the largest parade of Volkswagen vehicles.

There were Volkswagens of all kinds. Not just Beetles but also Kombis, Karmann Ghias and Jettas.
VWs have been a part of my childhood. We had a Kombi when we were in grade school and it was our school bus to and from Maria Montessori Cooperative School. My Dad also had a Beetle and I remember that An, Wawel and I used to ride in the small "third row" package compartment.

Wawel is still enamored with VWs. He has a late 60's Beetle, a red Jetta and a Caravel van.

I am not sure if the attempt was successful. Newspaper reports say that about 800 cars participated! Visit the club's site vwcp.org in the next few days for updates.

(2) When I grow up ...

I want to be a professional soccer player!

I love sports! I like swimming. I like basketball. I even like boxing!

But one sport my Papa has always tried to teach me is soccer. From the time I turned one, Papa has tried to enroll me in a football school. Problem is these schools all have a minimum age for participants. And I've always been too young to join.

This summer Papa and I are resolved to finally get me into a football clinic. We even bought this new outfit!

We're no big fans of Chelsea. We are die hard Real Madrid fans. But unfortunately, the Chelsea blue was the only one in my size.

I can't wait to finally join a football school. Papa and I do play by ourselves from time to time. But I think I'm more than ready now for the big boys!

Go Paolo! Go Nestle!

After weeks of keeping things under wraps, we can finally let the cat off the bag: my younger brother Paolo is moving to Nestle head office in Switzerland!

This picture was taken late January this year during the Nestle Philippines annual sales force convention. Back then Mom was already convinced that Paolo would eventually join Nestle global. And she was right. Mother's instinct, for sure.

Here's the official announcement from Nestle's Tom Coley, head of Nestle's Dairy SBU:

I am pleased to advice you that Paolo Mercado of Publicis will join us on July 1st as our Communication Manager.

I do not think I need to explain Paolo's background, as he has been heavily and actively involved with the Ambient Team over the past years in his capacity as Deputy Worldwide Account Director (of Publicis).

Paolo will report directly to me and will be a permanent member of our EXCOM.

Please join me in welcoming Paolo and wishing him every future success with B-Dairy.

Best regards,

Tom S. Coley

Woohoo! Congratulations, Paolo. We are all so proud of you.

And just a friendly and brotherly reminder: when you and Dana go house hunting in Vevey, always keep in mind that you have a large family back home and that for sure, some of us will be knocking at your Swiss home in the months to come for a place to stay. :)

Our Youngest. Our Dearest. Our Best.

Our youngest sister Samantha graduated from high school last week.

And I still can't believe it.

The same young girl who came to us as a most welcome gift almost eighteen years ago is now a high school graduate. I still remember bringing her to and from Casa Montessori for pre-school. I still remember fighting my other siblings over who would baby sit Samantha when Dad and Mom were out of town.

And now she is a bona fide high school graduate.

We all made the long trip to PAREF Rosehill School for Girls last Friday to witness Sam's graduation. All the kids went to see their Tita Sam: Therese, Luis, Rocio, Diego, Beeto and Gabi.

And we all wore caps that spelled out: "Congrats. We love you Sam!"

We also had banners with her baby picture.



Congratulations, my dear sister! You've brought so much joy to the family. And as you now enter college life, please know that we are here always for you and continue to support you in whatever path you choose.

We love you, little one.

I love hand me downs

One of the privileges I enjoy as the youngest of the Mercado grand kids and as one of the eldest in the Tengco-Bautista clans is that I get first picking from tons of good stuff from my older cousins and youngest titos and titas.

Like this Formula 1 bed that my Tito Xabi Tengco gave me recently!

The red bed was already too small for Tito Xabi and was thus given to me. Just in time, I must add, for I was already getting too big for the bed Cousin Pepi lent me. :)


But what do we do with Pepi's bed? With Tita Dana's permission, I helped Mommy sell the bed in the village bazaar last week.

And with me as a very convincing salesman, we sold the bed within the first hour.

Thanks again, Cousin Pepi for lending me your bed. And next time you're here for vacation and want to sleep over, you and I can share the red bed my Tito Xabi gave me.

Morato Ra(n)tings: Amici Overhauled

Patty and I got a chance to try out the new outlet of Amici on Tomas Morato early this month.

Formerly called Amici di Don Bosco, the Italian eatery was recently acquired by the Moran family, founders and until recently owners of Red Ribbon Bakeshop which they in turn had sold to food conglomerate Jollibee Food Corporation.

I was an occasional diner in the original Amici when I was still based in Makati in the mid 90s. It was not a cozy place. It looked and felt more like a school cafeteria. In fact it probably started out as just that since it was located in the Don Bosco Makati compound and was run by Salesians who probably doubled up as teachers or school administrators.

But the food was great! The pizza, the pasta, the pannini ... yummy!

Legend has it that it was an Italian Salesian who started the restaurant. And that he insisted on using fresh ingredients, importing most of them from Italy.

And then of course, there was the gelati. The "ice cream from heaven," as many fondly referred to it. Ice cream that even a diabetic like me would label as to "die for."


And so when I heard that the new Amici had opened a branch on Tomas Morato, off I went to reconnect with and old friend. Yes, I was apprehensive. Would the food be as good? Would the ice cream be as creamy? Would the charm of a hole in a wall Italian eatery be replaced by the artificial air and trappings of a fast food joint?

Thankfully, one small bite off a slice of Quatro Formaggio pizza quickly allayed my fears.

And the gelati! A spoonful of sinful espresso ice cream was all I needed to be assured that an old friend was back. In my neighborhood. And hopefully to stay.

Truly Pino

Finally got the chance to visit Pino in Maginhawa Street. After months of prodding from Monica, Patty and I had dinner in the resto bar run by Martin and his friends last night.

And to think it was Patty who suggested it. Imagine that! She who's sense of culinary adventure is to put mustard on her french fries, she who swears she could have sinigang and kare kare all year round. (Must be because she's four months pregnant. Hormones make you do irrational things, or so they say.)

And so before she could have the chance to change and her mind, we dropped off Gabi in bestfriend Beeto's house and raced off to Pino. Of course, I was already thinking of a Plan B. There was always Ken Afford on Katipunan where we could run to just in case Patty chickened out. But hey, I would have my Pino meal first!

The first challenge came when we were shown the menu.

I could see the panic in Patty's face. She read and read the short menu and muttered, "I think I will have the cheese sticks."

I already knew what I wanted, the Chicken Confit that Monica always talked about. I wasn't going to budge. I wanted my leg of fowl in duck fat. And I wanted it now.

I gently explained to Patty that the Lemongrass Chicken was nothing more than Chicken Inasal, remembering that we once frequented Joel Torre's Manukan when she was pregnant with Gabi.

She agreed. Thankfully.

And except for having the rice changed to plain instead of java, she didn't ask for her meal to be modified in any other way. Usually she'd want all sauces on the side and all greens -- peas, onions, lettuce -- removed. (I too have an aversion for things green. But not in food.)

And she wasn't disappointed. And neither was I.

Great food, great presentation. One small step for me, a giant leap for Patty.

Thanks, Mons, for making us kulit.

Speechless

For once, Papa was speechless!

Today was my Moving Up Day in Little Sandbox. And I received an award!

The teachers voted me the Little Chatter Award for being able to "express my mind freely" and "converse with others fluently."

In other words, because they can't keep me quiet, they decided to give me an award of excellence for being madaldal.

And I choose to chat not with my classmates, many of whom are still in the googoo, gaga stage, but with my teachers. I like telling them stories of where I went on the weekend, the games I played, the places I visited, the people I met.

Sure, I still have to work on my pronunciation and I still mix up my past perfect and past progressive tenses but by and large, I think I am understood by most.

Papa was so surprised by my award. I am sure he was proud of me. But I guess he was more caught off guard by the accolade.

Papa doesn't realize that it's all his fault. He and Mommy have always insisted on talking to me like an adult. Even when I was still in a crib and not yet crawling.

Every morning, while having breakfast and before Mommy wakes up, Papa and I spend the time talking about anything and everything. Today Papa asked me what I wanted to do during the summer. Of course he had to explain to me what summer was and what it meant. That there was no regular school because the teachers needed to rest. But that if I wanted, I could continue to go to school for special classes or join football clinics or swimming lessons.

I enjoy these chats I have with Papa. Not only do I get the chance to learn new words and expressions but I also get a chance to be with my Papa before he sets off for another long day of work.

But why were you speechless, Papa? This we have to talk about.

Sa Totoo Tayo: A Petition for Freedom of Access to Information Law

Team RP statement:

"Secrecy breeds irregularity, fraud, and crime. It allows chicanery, graft, and corruption... A democracy based on ignorance, on misinformation, on conjectures, on suspicion is doomed to fail. The more enlightenment the people have, the more guarantee there is for their success in their collective enterprises, and in the fulfillment of their social aspirations and purposes." -- Justice Gregorio Perfecto

From the de Venecia-Lozada expose, the Hello Garci scandal, and the Spratlys mind-boggler to the North and South Rail questions, events of the recent past clearly highlight how very little we know about the workings of our government, how much difficulty is involved in getting truth to come out and how, albeit fundamental in any republican and democratic state that the government is accountable to the public, we Filipinos are in reality denied direct access to our government institutions and our public servants. As a country that prides itself with democracy, it strikes us with a disquieting reality that we Filipinos have no real access to information to empower us to properly and actively participate in governance.

We in TEAM RP believe that in order for there to be a responsible citizenry that can actively and meaningfully craft the future of the country, there is a need to give teeth to the policy of full public disclosure and the right of the people to be informed as contained in the fundamental law of the land. Moreover, we are aware that if people, especially those who have been bypassed by development, are unaware of laws and procedures for availing themselves of their entitlements or of mechanisms they can use to remedy their plight, then they will always remain poor.

Let us call on our lawmakers to make top priority the passage of a Philippine Access to Information Law which, subject to reasonable and clearly outlined conditions, ensures unfettered access of the people to information of public concern, including government transactions involving public interest.

We urge our lawmakers, let us not delay this any further.

Trying out posting entries on multiply using my mobile. Connection is kinda slow but and the screen interface quite small but hey, it's still easier than having to stop the car, connecting the weRoam kit to my laptop and accessing the site. Oh well, we'll see...

Father and Son Relationships

Last Saturday, 23 February 2008, we hosted 19 pairs of Southridge Grade 7 fathers and sons in Forest Club (www.theforestclub.com) for a whole day of outdoor activities.

For three years now, we have been offering unique outdoor games in Forest Club to both schools and companies as an alternative to the usual field trips and team building exercises. Last Saturday was the first time we used the activities for a father son bonding session.

I made sure that I would be around for the activity. Not only because the organizer is a friend from college but more so because I wanted to observe how the fathers would relate to their sons while going through the fun yet challenging games.

And I was not disappointed. I definitely learned a lot. Just by observing, I picked up several insights that certainly would be helpful in my own relationship with my two year old son Gabi.

Many of my observations echo an article posted by Anthony Willis in www.ezinearticles.com.

Willis identifies three secrets to insuring success in a father and son relationship:

Encourage your sons to be problem solvers
This is especially critical if your son is still young, teach him how to solve problems. It's better that he's in the habit of quick thinking when it comes to problems, because otherwise those problems lands on your doorstep oneway or another. If he's still young, say about 4 to 11 years, you instill the problem solving habits thru little games or situations that you come with while the two of you are playing together. This will be "fun" to him and he may not even realize what you are doing at the time, all he know is that he's "having fun with daddy," which is a good thing for your relationship. Later on this will help in becoming a man, and being a father like you!

Allow your sons to make mistakes, not errors
The difference between a mistake and an error is that a mistake is usually made when a person has a lack of knowledge and an unwanted result occurs. An error is made when a person "knows" the good and bad options of their choice and they choose the bad option and get the bad results.

Don't try to relive your youth thoroughly through your son
This is a mistake that some fathers make, especially in the sports world. Don't get me wrong, every man should want his son to be successful, but "your tunnel vision" on "his success" can drive a wedge between you two. The father oftimes are so consumed with the "potential" dollars of his son making it to the "big leagues" or "the pros", that he forgets that his son is a child and just want to have fun. The same goes for parents who push their children academically, but with such rigidity that the poor child, can't handle even the slightest imperfection and feels destroyed. The sports child feels like the fatherloves the game/money (potential) more than his own son! Is that the case for you? How do you handle it?

You handle it properly by letting them be children and live a little. Give them some freedom, because if you have been training them since they were young, they are probably going to do the things you were encouraging them to do anyway. However, the children need room to find themselves also. No one wants be in a career that they hate, or better yet they did it because of you solely! They'll hardly enjoy it, and quit it all together to pursue their inner passions. Find out what their inner passions are early in their lives and incorporate some "rock solid principles" for them to apply in their lives, so that they will be successful in whatever your sons choose to do!

In conclusion, ENJOY the rest of the teaching process, it is or should be every father's dream and life goal for son(s) to go farther than he did. Remember how far they go is a testament to the FATHER SON RELATIONSHIP that you are establishing now! By you teaching them this way, they will in turn teach their sons the same way and because of YOU, your family will have continual growth!!! Build your Father Son Relationship TODAY!

Praying with Jun Lozada

I admire Jun Lozada not only for his courage and honesty but more so for being a prayerful soul. He is to be emulated for his rectitude of intention and his supernatural outlook.

In the Truth and Accountability Mass held yesterday at the Church of Gesu in the Ateneo Loyola campus, Jun Lozada came straight from the Senate hearing to be with Cory Aquino, Bishops Bacani and Yniguez, Jesuit priests, La Salle brothers, nuns from several congregations and a church full of ordinary laymen who all came to pray for him and the truth.

I did this not to get public adulation but to save my soul.

I am not a saint. I too am a sinner. I continue to struggle, my life is a struggle to become a good Christian.

Jun Lozada reminds all of us of our purpose here on earth, something we all learned by rote in our grade school catechism classes.

Life indeed is a struggle. It is a struggle that we must all go through. It is the Cross that we must all help to carry, lovingly and without calling attention to ourselves.

Appropriately, yesterday's Gospel was the Sermon on the Plain (Luke 6:1-42).

Again it is a reminder to all of us who may be angry and even harbor hatred towards people in government to be calm and to pray and to sacrifice. Especially in this season of Lent.

"Therefore be merciful, just as your Father also is merciful. Judge not, and you shall not be judged. Condemn not, and you shall not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven. Give, and it will be given to you: good measure, pressed down, shaken together, and running over will be put into your bosom. For with the same measure that you use, it will be measured back to you."

It is right for us to be outraged. It is right for us to seek the truth and demand justice. But let us not let anger and hatred overcome us. We might just end up as bad as those we accuse of lying and being unjust.

It is hard, I admit. But as Jun Lozada himself says, life indeed is a struggle. Truth and justice begins with each one of us. In the ordinary circumstances of our life.

While we protest the brazen lies, the corruption and the injustice in government, let's make sure that we at least try to live truth, honesty and justice in our own ordinary lives.

Let's pay our taxes. Let's obey traffic rules. Let's not make "lagay." Let's not use fixers. Let's treat our household helpers with respect. (Yikes! Mea culpa! :( )

Like Jun Lozada, let's all try to be the "change we want to see." Let's all be the little sparks of change in our own lives.

I shiver in my shingles

Not only because I've been forced to stay away from Patty and Gabi. Not only because of the excruciating physical pain that comes with the shingles. But also because of the unbelievable cost of medication! Now that's truly painful.

As it is, I already spend close to P10,000 a month for my diabetes maintenance. This includes my insulin, oral medication (glucophage, minidiab, januvia, lipitor, etc.) as well as the necessary paraphernalia (gluco-meter strips and needles, insulin injection pen and needles, etc.).

For the shingles, I was given a prescription for Valtrex (Valaciclovir), 500 mg. I was told to take 2 tablets 3 times a day for 7 days or a total of 42 tablets. I sent the driver to Mercury Drug with P3,000 and my Suki card to buy the anti-viral medicine and one banig of Ponstan to manage the pain.

To my horror he came back 30 minutes later with just 17 Valtrex tablets. Each tablet was P171! He didn't even have enough to buy me one Ponstan 500mg tablet! And I was now in excruciating agony!

I took my last pair of Valtrex last night. My wallet can now breathe.

In all, I spent P7,182 in Valtrex alone. That's more than P1,000 a day for 7 days.

Now I feel sick.

And sad.

Whatever happened to the Cheaper Medicine Bill?! It's still pending with the bi-conference committee. It was not passed in the last Congress and by the way things look, it might not even be passed in this Congress.

What in heaven's name is our Congress doing to help the people who foolishly voted them into power?

Is the House of Representatives too busy inserting individual pork projects into the 2008 budget and ousting speakers who refuse to be puppets? Is the Senate too busy interrogating and humiliating common folk heroes like Jun Lozada?


I am better off than most. I have an insurance policy that takes care of even my medicine bills. But still. I pay my taxes. I fulfill my duties as a citizen. And yet I don't seem to get anything in return.

It is this system of government, this culture of unabated corruption and "moderated" greed that truly makes me and many others sick.

How to make the perfect cup of coffee

With a little help from Kenneth Davids, author of Coffee: A Guide to Buying, Brewing and Enjoying (5th Edition, St. Martin Griffin's, New York, 2001)

It all starts with the coffee itself.

The first quick rule to making the perfect cup is to make sure your supply is fresh. Green coffee, as in those straight from the crop, stay fresh for years. Roasted whole coffee beans keep fairly well. But once you remove them from their vacuum-sealed pack, they begin to lose flavor after a week. Ground coffee begins to lose flavor an hour after grinding, and ground coffee, in minutes.

Step 1: Grind the roasted whole bean coffee

"Grinding coffee fresh is the single best thing that you can do to improve the quality of your coffee." (Kenneth Davids)

Papa buys two small packs of coffee beans from Starbucks every week. He sticks to the medium varieties but always has a bold option for his single shot espresso fixes. Sometimes, for his morning ritual, he combines the coffee beans into his grinder: 3/4 medium and 1/4 bold.

Grinding is the part I dislike the most because I don't like the loud sound the grinder makes. Papa also doesn't allow me to touch the grinder. Too dangerous, he says.

Since he uses the French press for his morning coffee, Papa grinds his coffee to a medium grind, meaning about 8-10 presses of no more than two seconds per press.

French press and conventional (nonfilter) drip require a medium to coarse grind. (Kenneth Davids)

Step 2: Add hot water

Brew with hot water, as opposed to lukewarm or boiling water. A temperature of 200 degrees F is ideal, which means bringing the water to a boil and then waiting a minute or two before brewing. (Kenneth Davids)

Papa insists on using bottled water for his coffee. Water he says, is essential since any cup of coffee is basically 99% water.

If you use bad, really bad, water, you might just as well throw away this book and buy a jar of instant! (Kenneth Davids)

Step 3: Take the plunge!

This is the part I love the most! I like the sound of the air wushing out. Although at times I get impatient because Papa insists that I wait for at least 55 seconds "to allow the coffee to breathe" in the hot water. And he also wants we to press slowly and deliberately.

It's a sacred ritual for Papa. A one-play act that re-stages itself every morning. And I must play my part, consistently and always with the same passion.

The plunger pot is an enthusiast's brewer. It appeals to those who like to dramatize their coffee making. With the plunger brewer, coffee is not an after-dinner option that emerges routinely from the kitchen. It is the product of a small but satisfying ceremonial event that unfolds at the table. (Kenneth Davids)

Need I say more. :) Bravo, papa! Encore!

In solitary confinement ...

I am. For at least the next seven days. Probably more.

I am now under room arrest. I've taken over Gabi's 3rd floor loft where I've temporarily set up shop. My computer and printer were brought in from the office together with that large plastic container of "urgent" work files.

Now I am beginning to understand the loneliness Erap went through while under house arrest in his palatial Tanay vacation house. It's not the lack of earthly goods that makes one lonely. Though I don't have Erap's swan pond and giant flat screen TVs, I do have the essentials: Wifi, my coffee press and accessories and my iTunes.

But being separated from Patty and Gabi, who are now confined to the 1st and 2nd floors. That is what really stabs at the heart.

I have the Shingles. Otherwise known as Herpes Zoster. Some form of adult chickenpox.

The rashes are all over my left back and extends to my left armpit and part of my left chest. (Pati ba naman sa sakit, e puro left side?)

To allay the fears of those I've gotten in touch with the past few days and to remove the naughty smiles and thoughts I'm sure some of you are now entertaining, here's a medical description of what I have. Straight from www.medicinenet.com:

What is shingles? What causes shingles?

Shingles is a skin rash caused by the same virus that causes chickenpox. The virus responsible for these conditions is called Varicella zoster. After an individual has chickenpox, this virus lives in the nerves and is never fully cleared from the body. Under certain circumstances, such as emotional stress, immune deficiency (from AIDS or chemotherapy) or with cancer, the virus re-activates causing shingles. In most cases, however, a cause for the reactivation of the virus is never found. The herpes virus that causes shingles and chicken pox is not the same as the herpes virus that causes genital herpes (which can be sexually transmitted) and herpes mouth sores. Shingles is medically termed Herpes zoster.

What are symptoms of shingles? How long does shingles last?

Before a rash is visible, the patient may notice several days to a week of burning pain and sensitive skin. Shingles start as small blisters on a red base, with new blisters continuing to form for three to five days. The blisters follow the path of individual nerves that comes out of the spinal cord (called dermatomal pattern). The entire path of the nerve may be involved or there may be areas with blisters and areas without blisters. Generally, only one nerve level is involved. In a rare case, more than one nerve will be involved. Eventually, the blisters pop and the area starts to ooze. The area will then crust over and heal. The whole process may take three to four weeks from start to finish. On occasion, the pain will be present but the blisters may never appear. This can be a very confusing cause of local pain!

Are shingles contagious?

Yes, shingles is contagious. Shingles can be spread from an affected person to children or adults who have not had chickenpox. Instead of developing shingles, these people develop chickenpox. Once they have had chickenpox, people cannot catch shingles (or contract the virus) from someone else. Once infected, however, people have the potential to develop shingles later in life.

Shingles is contagious to people that have not previously had chicken pox, as long as there are new blisters forming and old blisters healing. Once all of the blisters are crusted over, the virus can no longer be spread.

The Fetish for Grades (by Ricardo G. Abad)

I once surprised my sociology class with this question: “How many of you,” I asked, “will stop coming to this class if I assure you, right now, a passing grade of D for the course?” Four people raised their hands. I raised the ante: “What if I assure you a grade of B?” Half the class raised their hands. “What then if I give you a grade of B+ or A?” All but two of my 47 sophomores, among the best of their batch, raised their hands. “So,” I said, “it’s the grade that matters, doesn’t it, not the learning you’ll get in this course?” And this applies to you and many students too, no? Silence filled the room. A few bowed their heads in shameful supplication. Supplication to whom, I wondered: the god of grades?

This fixation for grades – ratings, points, or any number used to measure school success -- has long been seen to undermine education. These numbers box learning and overlook dimensions of success that are difficult to quantify, among them the creativity and enthusiasm of students. Yet the practice persists, and with little protest. Who’s to blame? The students? Not really. The fault, I think, lies less on the students but in a system that has grown too dependent on numbers.

The academic lives of students have been ruled for years by all sorts of numbers. Students qualified for admission on the basis of test scores that become the basis for sifting them into sections, tracks or programs. They enroll for subjects that meet a set number of units – this many hours for science, for example, and that many for the humanities. They also take a fixed number of units per semester.

Students also talk with guidance counselors who enlighten them on personality traits or career options based on another set of scores, displayed sometimes in nifty-looking graphs.

Students are then evaluated through a point system that demarcates what’s passing or failing, excellent or mediocre. They quickly learn that academic survival depends on reaching a certain number of points. The high pointers win praise, while the numerically challenged suffer various degrees of social stigma. And since no one wants to be branded as a scholastic idiot, students carefully track the number of cuts they have, and spend hours calculating their imagined final grades. The school system, they also discover, doesn’t round off decimals that may spell the difference between passing and failing – this arithmetical procedure would compromise academic standards. Knowing this, students figure out that survival in school is a game of millimeters where every damn point counts.

School bureaucracies need units, points, quotas, and ratings to operate efficiently. These numbers plot profiles, tally trends, facilitate forecasts, and balance budgets. They even help set norms for equity and fairness in academic practice. A grading system also links schools to outside worlds -- companies, foundations, families, and other schools -- that interpret report cards and transcripts as indicators of human worth.

But grades and cuts also act as instruments of conformity and control. They force students to attend courses that mean little to them. They warn students to tow the line. They also mold the academic identity of students, roughly classifying them as good, average or bad. Good students enter honors programs. Average students stay in regular programs. Bad students are banished into exile. Theirs is not the kingdom of heavenly summas.

Numerical ratings have their uses. But these ratings can kill learning when the quest for a good grade becomes a fetish, the primary measure of academic success. This fetish makes students play it safe: why question the teacher at the risk of failure or a low grade? The fetish also limits class performance: why bother working hard when less work results in a good grade? Why join discussions if class participation comprises a small percentage of the final mark? Or, why don’t I say what the teacher wants to hear so I can get a high grade? The fetish also dissuades active involvement in co-curricular activities and invites cheating. Why spend lots of time in a student club when it will lower the chances of getting a high grade? Why not copy answers to deal with the pressure of grades?

I stand in front of my class, looking at students who have started to acquire the fetish for grades. Will they learn sociology? I can’t say. Some will and some won’t. Like the love that may come after marriage, it’s a learning that may come after enrollment. Much will depend on the teacher to make the class enjoyable and enriching.

But aye, there’s the rub! For in a system addicted to a fetish for numbers, the burden of learning falls into the weary laps of teachers. Instructors must now master two kinds of knowledge, an academic discipline and a student-centered pedagogy. But the mastery of these two kinds of knowledge will bring success if the school (and the society that breeds the schools) continually worships numbers. Only when the system --and the students-- detach themselves a bit more from the fetish of numbers will teachers be able to heighten creativity and intellectual independence in the classroom.

Students complain that many of their classes are boring. Many don’t even remember the names of former teachers. Students have become comfortable sitting in “silent classrooms” where only the teacher’s voice or the sound of a film or video is heard. They can’t wait for the bell to ring. They are a “hostile class” - a bunch of students who are there because they have to, initially indifferent to the subject, and desirous to get a high grade with the minimum possible work.

The situation will stay for sometime. The system must change, but I cannot wait for change to happen before I can act in the here and now. Maybe it’s not too late. I’ll have students enjoy sociology. I’ll treat them to a feast of insights. I’ll open their minds and hearts. Perhaps some will care more for learning than the grade. Perhaps a few will take another sociology course. Who knows? At this moment, I’ll simply make their brief encounter with me as luscious and exotic as, well, a guava in Ethiopia.

Dear Ricky,

I was in that SA 21 class you mention in your 2004 article. In 1985, it was.

But then again you probably made that dare more than once.

I was one of those who bowed my head in shameful supplication.

Alas, this fetish for grades extends outside the classroom and into professional life. Sad that many remain obsessed with titles and certificates of recognition.

I enjoyed your class. I enjoyed your mentoring in TA. And although I never graduated (I still cringe when I recall your rushing to the dressing room when you heard of my series of Incomplete Grades. I disappointed you, I must admit), I am proud to shout to the world that of the many things I did learn in school, many of nuggets of wisdom I continue to hold dear to this day, I learned from you.

You indeed are worthy of top teacher's honors. And belated as it may seem, I just want to thank you not just for teaching me introductory SA or college theater acting, but more so for imparting in me and the hundreds of wannabe actors and actresses who made TA their home throughout the years, that passion for life that is so well… Ricky Abad.

Thank you, Ricks! I miss you.

Happy birthday, Gel!

Thanks, Michelle! Thanks for sharing your Facebook note with all of us. Galing mo. You beat all of us to the punch.

Happy birthday, Gel! Thank you for still being there, after more than two decades. Still fixing things for me, like the first time 21 years ago when you came to the rescue -- okay, okay, we kidnapped you! -- of two clueless lads named Robbi and Bert and made their car work again.

We watched you tinker with the car --- was it the Mercado avocado green wagon? --- and dirty yourself while we watched. You made it run, which was more than what we hoped for, and we left you with a hasty thank you.

Only the following day did we realize it was your birthday! Oh man, how embarrassing.

And how touching.

We used you. We abused you. On your birthday too. And nary a complaint from TA's resident fix it man. A man we all christened Gelzon McGyver. A man who started the fatigue workman look that Ria eventually got "tired" of. (Thanks, Ria. We could never muster the courage to tell Gel that rebellious green was no longer the fashion.) A man who continues to be of Good Housekeeping-grade service, not just to friends who continue to abuse him, but more so to Ria, Isabel and Miguela and the extended family he has learned to love.

Thank you, Gel, for extending McGyver's run way beyond Season 24 . Thank you for being nerdier than me. (Believe me, it's a relief to know that I am somewhat normal).

And thank you for being Gabi's nonong and Patty's friend. You're a great friend, the best anyone could ever hope for. And what I will never forget is that when I was at my lowest, you and Bert were there. Always. And forever.

Josh Groban's You Raise Me Up always reminds me of the two of you. (Okay, not when I sing it. And don't you dare try to sing it! Si Bert pa, I'm sure can do justice to the song. Pakingan na lang natin si Bert.)

Happy 41st, my friend!

And dude... sira nanaman yung Montero. Baka naman ...

Dengue kills

Here's forwarded e-mail from a friend. Natalie is the daughter of Ed Feist, a former client of Basic FCB and a good friend of my late father. My condolences and prayers to Mr. Feist and his family.

Many a grim tale has been told about the dreaded dengue. Here’s another one, as shared in an e-mail:

This evening, we attended the wake of Natalie Corrales Feist, only 17 years old. Her mother Rosa is the sister of Pilita Corrales and her father Ed Feist is the head of a big pharmaceutical company in Manila.

Natalie was studying in Australia and had come home to Manila to spend the Christmas holidays with her family. What started only as a stomachache progressed to malaise and fever that turned out to be the deadly dengue fever which snuffed out Natalie’s life in such a short time. Natalie was an only daughter and the youngest of three children. It was indeed so sad to witness the grief, the sadness, and the pain of losing such a wonderful daughter and so pretty at that. The priest saying Mass also mentioned about another young girl of 15 who also died recently.

A couple of years ago, my nephew who was only 28 years old and was to be married, also died within a short time after he contracted dengue. He was an only son.

Dengue kills. Let us not wait for it to get out of hand and claim more young lives. As my own small contribution to help increase people’s consciousness of this disease, allow me to share the warnings below. Many people are not aware that in their own homes, there are dangerous places where mosquitoes breed.

Please take note:

• The bromeliad plant has beautiful flowers, but they are deadly, because in between are pockets that collect clean water, which is where the dengue mosquitoes breed. If you have them, get rid of them or place them in pots so that after watering them, the pots can be turned over to remove the excess water. I have noticed that along Ayala Avenue in Makati and other roadsides, the bromeliads, which are very colorful, are often used by landscapers to brighten areas, etc.

The landscapers must be discouraged from using these plants, especially when they are planted in the ground, because they can cause an epidemic, as what happened in Cebu many years back. It was discovered that these plants were the culprits.

• Those that have bamboo fences placed over their concrete fences (as in many subdivisions) must see to it that the top is covered, because the bamboo crevices hold water and again become breeding places for dengue mosquitoes.
• I have just read on the Internet about a tip that was given at a recent gardening forum. Here it is:

Put some water in a white dinner plate (I suppose a small white platito will do) and add a couple of drops of Lemon Fresh Dish Washing Liquid. Set the dish on your porch, patio, picnic table, park bench, or other outdoor areas. I’m not sure what attracts them — the lemon’s smell, the white plate color, or what. But mosquitoes flock to it, and drop dead shortly after drinking the Lemon Fresh Dish Washing Liquid and water mixture and usually, within about 10 feet of the plate.

Try it, it works just super! It may seem trivial, but it may also help control mosquitoes around your home (especially in areas where the dengue- and malaria-carrying mosquitoes have reached epidemic proportions). It’s safer than mosquito coils ... no offensive odor and harmful fumes, no risk of fire.
This is all I can say, which may be helpful in controlling the rise of the deadly dengue mosquitoes. Let us all try to do our part in our own homes and surroundings, so that by doing so, we can lessen dengue’s breeding places and save more lives.

Isabel F. Guevara
Magallanes Village, Makati City

In sickness and in health (Part I)

Gabi has been sick on and off for the last couple of months.

It all started early December 2007. Patty, Gabi and I treated ourselves to a weekend stay in Renaissance Makati (formerly New World Hotel). It was our wedding anniversary and we had reason to celebrate. We originally wanted to run off to a beach resort. But just the thought of organizing the logistics of a road trip discouraged me from pursuing the sun and sand idea.

The Renaissance seemed like a good choice. It had broadband in every room so I was happy. It's right in front of Greenbelt and all the shops and restos we QCers hardly get a chance to visit and so Patty was happy. It had a nice pool ("Two pools, Papa!") so Gabi was happy.

I had a Plan. Everything was scheduled, down to the last minute. Patty was to drop me off in Jupiter St. for a 1:30 pm meeting, check-in at the Renaissance and then walk on over to Greenbelt 1 to buy tickets for that evening's performance of Repertory's Fiddler on the Roof. Dinner and drinks in Casa Armas was to be the night cap.

Gabi was to spend the night in his Wowa's house and follow first thing the next morning. After buffet breakfast, we were to spend the whole morning in the pool. Lunch in Emperor Court before checking out at 3 pm.

We never got to follow the schedule. On our way to Casa Armas Patty already got a call from her mother. Gabi it seemed was not feeling well. He was matamlay.

"Of course, he is!" was my instinctive reply. "He misses us!"

Turns out he was ailing from something more than papa and mommy homesickness. Mother-in-law dutifully reported his true state of health at 6:30 am the next day.

"He made suka twice last night and his poo poo is wet."

Now we were worried. We got Gabi on the phone and asked him how he was.

"Fine... But where are you, papa? I thought we were going swimming. I want to be with you and Mommy," was his weak reply.

"Come on over then, anak. Elias and the black car will pick you and yaya up and you can come here."

Patty and I quickly shifted to Plan B. The morning swim was definitely out of the picture. We went to Mercury and bought what we thought was needed: pedialyte, bottles of mineral water, fresh juice and a thermometer. The plan was for Gabi to be at our side so that we could assess his condition ourselves and then call his pedia for advice.

Gabi was asleep when the car drove up the hotel driveway. And the yaya was drenched in vomit.

I took him in my arms and we hurriedly brought him to our room. He was definitely matamlay. And was obviously in some sort of pain.

"Ouchy my tummy, Mommy," he didn't have to verbalize.

Patty quickly tried to cheer him up. "Look, baby," pointing at the complimentary fruit basket in the room. "Want some of your favorite oranges?"

"Yes, Mommy. I want." His face lit up at the suggestion of food.

And he quickly devoured three small slices.

We gave him juice to drink but he wanted water instead. He finished a whole bottle. We took his temperature. No fever but higher than normal.

It was then that we tried to contact his pedia. We sent her a text message. To both cell numbers she left in her calling card. And the long wait began.

Meanwhile, a somewhat revived Gabi sauntered to the window and saw the pools on the roof deck a few floors down.

"Two pools, Papa! Two pools. Let's swim!" he gleefully proclaimed as he scampered for his swim suit.

Patty and I just stared at each other. How do you tell an obviously sick child that he couldn't swim even if he was looking forward to family time in a pool much bigger than what we had at home?

We eventually came up with a rather foolish compromise.

"Okay, anak. We will swim. But only for a while. Because you're sick," was my Solomonic reply.

"I am not sick! Let's go."

Besides, the pedia had not replied yet. So might as well let Gabi have his cake.

So off to the pool we went. And had fun! For an hour, we played and laughed in the water.

We went back to the room, took quick showers, packed our stuff and informed Front Desk of our early check out. We had hoped that by the time we were on our way home in the car, we would already receive the pedia's instructions.

She never replied.

We got home, put Gabi in bed and shifted to Plan C. We called ER in Medical City and asked the resident pedia for advice. We were told to bring Gabi to the hospital for assessment. They would then text his pedia for instructions.

Huh? Text her? We already did! And we tried to call her but she wasn't picking up!

Did the ER have a special phone to contact Gabi's doctor? Much like Commissioner Gordon's red hot line to Batman? No use using the bat signal either. It was the middle of the day and the bright sun would have blocked off any SOS signal.

Time to shift to Plan D. I texted MY doctor, a cardiologist in Cardinal Santos who was my primary doctor and good friend.

He replied within 5 minutes.

"Bring him to St. Luke's. Not to the emergency room. Too much paper work. Straight to the lab and ask for a CBC. Bring urine and fecal samples too if you can. Do it at home so Gabi does not have to wait too long in the hospital. Have the tests done and bring Gabi home immediately. Just go back to get the results yourself. Have the pedia resident in ER interpret the results and then call me."

Huge sigh of relief. At least I now knew what to do.

We proceeded with Plan E and followed my doctor's instructions to the letter. I ended up going to the hospital four times that same afternoon. Once to bring the urine sample. Once to bring the fecal sample. And once to get the results. Gabi only had to go once, to have his blood taken for the CBC test.

That was gut wrenching.

Being a diabetic, I get to have blood extracted at least once every three months. And my stomach still turns and my heartbeat increases whenever I see the needle.

Gabi was very brave. He cried when he saw the needle. Mommy held his other arm and gently suggested that they sing the Moon song (Moonriver which is Gabi's favorite).

"No, Mommy, I want to count."

So count we all did as the lab nurse stuck the needle and drew blood.

"1 ... 2 ... 3 ... 4 ... 5..."

It was all over before the mandatory 8 count. Boxer Gabi who has always been a Manny Pacquiao fan won his first fight! By knockout too!

I returned to get the test results later that evening. My doctor had already called earlier to remind me to text him the results once I get them.

"Nothing to worry about", he said, a few minutes after I sent him the results.

"Continue with the fluid replacement regimen. Watch out for the signs of dehydration. And bring him to his pedia first thing Monday."

Relieved and suddenly exhausted, I said a quiet prayer of thanksgiving and drove home to be with mother and child.

I fell asleep right away. But not before already plotting Plan F...

More on Plan F, G and H in a later post.

When backs break

We all know by now of the untimely death of Australian actor Heath Ledger of Brokeback Mountain fame.

It’s truly tragic. And sad. May God bless his soul.

And although reports on the circumstances of his death remain at least for now speculative, what’s sadder is that he died from an apparent overdose of anti-anxiety pills.

I have always been against these types of drugs. Drugs that psychiatrists prescribe. And mainly because I almost got “hooked” on such anti-depressant drugs myself in the late 90s.

I was going through a major crisis in my life. I felt that everyone was ganging up on me. To quote the Paul Williams song, it was “you and me against the world.” Except in my case, there was no “you.” Just “me” … and not just “sometimes” but all the time.

Family, friends and my former significant other tried to help. But I refused to be helped. I chose to remain at home, with only my dog as company for most of the day, and spent the time staring at the wall or mindlessly playing computer games on my Mac SE.

There were no affordable broadband internet services back then. And no Facebook. Nor blogspot. There were no available online distractions to keep my mind away from my worries. Worries which at the beginning may have been real but which soon evolved to exaggerated and even imagined levels.

I was convinced into seeing a psychiatrist. Who immediately prescribed drugs whose names I can no longer recall.

I took the drugs. And got immediate relief. I was so “out of it” that I couldn’t even remember that I had issues to deal with. The drugs were definitely a narcotic. A temporary respite from the problems of this world.

But my worries never went away. Especially when the “high” wore off. So I became dependent on them. I was an addict.

And so instead of helping me deal with my problems, I ended up having an even bigger addiction problem. And did my original worries disappear through therapy and medication? No, things got worse. I lost my job. I lost all my money. I lost my significant other. And now I was a druggie.

It was my late father who eventually helped me snap out of my chronic depression. He distracted me. Gave me new responsibilities. Gave me time. Gave me other things to think about.

And he made me see beyond myself. He made me see that if I longed to be loved, I had to de-focus from my own selfish self and selflessly focus on loving others. Most of all, God, who is Love Himself.

“Mahalin mo na lang,” was his favorite saying. Focus not on what others are doing to you. Focus on what you can do for them. Not an original thought definitely, but it’s a certified depression buster.

I finally got rid of my depression blues when my father suffered a heart attack and eventually died in 2000. Even in sickness, even in death, he was teaching me that Charity was the best path to a depression-less life. It’s a difficult road, yes. But to struggle, to persevere on this track, despite the bumpy road, will surely lead all of us to where we are all meant to be. In heaven, with God, where we will forever be free of all worries and issues.

(1) When I grow up ...

... I want to be a barista!

Everyday, at 7:10 am sharp, I help Papa make his first cup of coffee.

Sitting on our kitchen counter, I first heat up some water on an electronic kettle. Papa insists on only using bottled mineral water for his coffee. Not tap water --- which is potable in our village. Not even distilled water --- which is what we drink at table. Papa explains that he needs the "minerals" in his water to "allow the ground coffee to blend with and blossom in the water."

Huh? Whatever! Too BIG a concept for me. Water is just that ... tubig!

I then put three heaping tablespoons of ground coffee on Papa's French press. Since New Year we've been using this glass WMf press that Tito Miguel gave my Papa for Christmas. Poor Tito Miguel and Tita Armi had to rush off to Rustan's to buy the press and tea cups that Papa put on his wish list.

That's what I don't understand. Papa already has three French presses. And not to mention an Espresso maker, a drip machine and three different sizes of the oven top coffee pot variety.

And he asked for another press for Christmas!

Papa then pours the boiling water into the press and after 55 seconds -- no more, no less, he lets me press the coffee, ever so slowly until the plunger hits the glass bottom.

Papa likes his coffee and insists on making his cofee the same way all the time.

"Life is simple, anak" he always says. "Don't complicate it. Consistency is key. The best stress buster is a life of norms and regularity."

Papa and I then proceed to the living room, him with his coffee, me with my Yakult. We partake of the same pandesal and cheddar cheese breakfast. And we share kwento about yesterday, today and tomorrow.

When I grow up, I want to be a barista so I can continue to make Papa coffee for breakfast. And so that I can continue to share my mornings with Papa.

Q: Why are doctors' clients called "patients"?

A: Because that's what we all have to be in order to endure the looooong wait outside their clinics!

Grrr...

I have been to three doctors' clinics at least seven times in the last four weeks. Four times to Patty's OB-GYN in Medical City. A couple of appointments with Gabi's pedia and opthalmologist in St. Lukes. And today to my cardiologist/ endocrinologist/ business partner and friend in Cardinal Santos.

And without exception, I've had to endure waits of no less than 45 minutes at a time. Sometimes even longer.

And it is not a pleasant experience.

I've long learned to block off the entire morning or the entire afternoon when I have a doctor's appointment. Patty taught me how to manage the long wait. She goes to the clinic early, signing up even before the doctor shows up, leaves her number and then heads to the nearest food stall to grab a bite and wait for the clinic secretary's text summons.

We get our sms notification when there are just two patients ahead of us. Enough time to negotiate the long queues to the elevator and get back to the clinic. But then we still have to wait.

The challenge now is how to fight off boredom. And irritation. And try as much as possible to remain productive. Or at least preserve sanity.

I've tried bringing a book or two. It didn't work. Reading is supposed to be relaxing, a luxury one looks forward to. Being in the company of other impatient patients is definitely not conducive to relaxing.

Once in a while, I find myself just just observing the faces of the waiting crowd. I particularly like observing the hordes of med reps who wait in doctors' clinics the whole day. Every day! Imagine that: waiting is their profession!

Today I am trying something new. Now I write this blog as I continue to wait. Writing on my notebook with my pen.

I'll bring my laptop and weRoam card next time. So I can post on the fly.

Wow, I don't believe it. I am actually looking forward to the next doctor's appointment.

Now it is I who can't wait.