I spent 30 minutes on the phone with an arrogant Swede (no offense meant to the many, many nice Swedes out there -- you definitely outnumber the minority this particular man belongs to) who was trying to pitch a steeply-priced marketing project/racket to me. He was also trying to hijack me into meeting him today, under the guise that he was leaving for Stockholm tonight. Here're the man's sales pitch highlights:
You're new aren't you? (I've been where I am since 1999) ...
I don't wan't you to be embarrassed in front of your boss if you don't join this ...
You are the only local company in the entire region not supporting this project. I just spoke to Olle in Singapore (an ex-Managing Director over there who retired six months ago and had no say whatsoever in what goes on in my country) and he's behind this all the way. I'm sure he can speak to your boss about this ...
You are very hostile. I will just speak to the boss -- someone who knows how to speak Swedish...
Guess what, Göran, you stupid kuk! I am the boss. And I can speak enough Swedish to tell you -- Det var jävla dumt gjort, dumb ass!
Okay. I have vented. I'm not so mad anymore. I'm Bruce Banner again. I forgive Göran for his ignorance. Oh, but can you guess who won't make that sale today?
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4.29.2002
EVERYTHING I DIDN’T NEED TO KNOW ABOUT COMMITMENT,
I LEARNED ON “TEMPTATION ISLAND”
Do you watch “Temptation Island”? I do **covers face in shame**. It's one of the gazillion reality-based TV shows out there –- the second season of which is currently being shown on Channel 23 Sunday nights. Unlike "Survivor", they don't bring participants to a god-forsaken place to battle the forces of nature. They take them to a 5-star god-forsaken place to "fight off" select members of the opposite sex trying to steal them away from their partners. My kinda reality!
Anyway, after weeks of flirting, fighting and more flirting, the "doubles" selected the final five "singles" that could best "help them with their journey". So everything's set. Eight of the ten “singles” will be on the final date, right? Wrong! The show producers introduced a new batch of "singles" this episode and the selection process starts over again.
The most amazing thing about this little development was, as soon as the new “assortment” was brought in, the earlier batch of tempters who were lauded for being “the best [this]” or “the most [that]” were immediately forgotten.
So think about it. If the choice of partner is based on a person's ideals -- looks, disposition, intelligence, humor, kindness -- one can spend half a lifetime finding the one that best fits those ideals only to realize a little or maybe much later that someone else fits the bill better. With the billions of people on this planet, it is a mathematical certainty!
I understand that human relationships are complicated animals, near impossible to dissect and over-simplify. But in my small world, as I see more friends and family fall in and out of love every single day, the more I am convinced that the resolve to commit is not all about what your partner is and isn’t or does and doesn’t. If we wish, it can be as simple as a dictionary definition. It is a PROMISE, a CONSCIOUS decision to build a life together -- void of conditions, escape clauses or options to renew.
One should commit, NOT when he/she has found “The One;” rather when he/she is ready to stick with “The One.” Big difference.
<< Penguins have nothing like marriage contracts or joint-mortgages or nosy in-laws to keep them together. Yet inspite the changing seasons and yearly migrations, these birds find it instinctively sound to keep to one mate for life. Have you found your penguin?
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4.25.2002
FRIENDS
Lately:
1. My ex-ewan from the 80s and first love, now an ocassional drinking buddy, comes out of the closet (unofficially since he only told me). I am seriously freaked out at the thought that I had something to do with his change of allegiance.
2. The meanest practical joker I know, my sister's ex-quasi-boyfriend, enters the priesthood. This is the guy who defined to me and who offered to show me what kupal (in the interest of keeping my PG-rating, 'won't translate this one) was.
3. My high school best friend, an ex-convent novice, moves to another country to live a lesbian life away from the many hypocrites in this country. (She tells me I was never her type -- why?)
4. A "happily" married friend confesses to me (in a looong, teary phone conversation) her long-repressed love for my still-single pal (see #1) with whom she shared a hot month-long fling before graduation. The knowledge of the truth makes me almost explode in laughter -- managed to keep it in though.
5. Another friend, who has 4 kids with his ultra-gorgeous live-in partner, falls in love (or so he tells me) with a "simple" single mom I work with. He finally found his soul mate, he insists.
6. One of my dearest friends, who is an ex-wild girl (as in do-it-to-me-in-the-elevator wild), is re-born and is recruiting me to be a church lay worker.
Man, my life just is turning into an all-too-real, all-too-strange, Pinoy-style "Friends" episode. Should I be getting myself a new batch of buddies? Naaaah. Thanks to them, I got me enough material for a tele-novela I can sell to ABS-CBN.
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4.24.2002
JOLLIBEE ROCKS!
What is it about Jollibee that grabs its market by the proverbial balls? Nothing makes my boys (including the biggest one, my husband) light up than the mention of those three syllables at a mall and/or road trip. Is it the colors? Is it the happy bee mascot? Is it the food? Is it the commercials?
We would never know for sure. It’s one of those great legendary Pinoy mysteries that is way up there with “Who was the mastermind behind Ninoy Aquino ’s assassination?” and “How many Pinoy’s does it take to pack a Balikbayan box?” and “How long is Dolphy’s *****?”
And in the tradition of other true-blue Jollibee groupies, my little Diego said his first recognizable phrase last night. He said “Be happy.” Even if he was just echoing Jollibee’s latest marketing catch-phrase, I do hope it becomes his life-long mantra.
No angst-filled rambling today. Coming in from my great weekend, I am still at peace with the world. Check back on Friday.
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4.23.2002
UN-“HAPPY MONDAY”
The Arroyo Administration decided a month ago to make Mondays preceeding national holidays non-working days in exchange for making the inconvenient holidays working ones (Did you get that?). Thus the term, “Happy Monday.” But politics got in the way and the hard-working person's well-deserved long Labor Day weekend has been shot to smithereens (I'm getting a mental image of Yosemite Sam and a smoking gun right about now).
Labor groups and nay-sayers argue that the move is detrimental to the already low productivity of Filipino workers. Sadly, this lot’s view of work is straight out of the homily of turn-of-the-century Spanish friars:
Productivity = Work
Work = Sacrifice
Sacrifice = Tired
Tired = Unhappy
Unhappy = Productivity
The algebra in this equation makes more sense to me:
Productivity = f (Fulfilling Job + Work Hard + Play Hard + Reasonable Benefits + Good Management)
/(Matched Skills + Career Development + Inert Passion + Employee Empowerment)
Singapore and Malaysia have the most holidays among ASEAN nations, as they respect their Chinese, Malay and Hindu sub-cultures. I don’t see this blatant “laziness” reflecting on their Gross National Product.
I want my three-day weekends back!
On more pleasant matters, the family spent the weekend in a resort along the banks of Caliraya Lake. Time passed us by in a Kodak-moments-montage-kinda-way as Mel, Carlo, Diego and I horsed around by the poolside, trekked along the beautifully landscaped trails and watched the boys fall asleep in our arms, smiling. Over-all, life is still good – damn good.
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4.18.2002
GOING DOWN MEMORY LANE CORNER SESAME STREET
Recent discussions with Nic on the sexual leanings of Ernie and Bert got me thinking -- gawd, I miss Sesame Street.
I don't mean the new and improved Sesame Street with the Elmo, Zoey and Rosita. I mean the CLASSIC Sesame Street with Mr. Hooper! This was the Sesame Street way before Oscar got himself a neice, before Kermit fell in love with a pig (and signed all those TV and movie deals) and before Luis and Maria got it on. **sentimental sniff **
This was the Sesame Street I lived on -- where many vivid childhood memories are rooted, where Bob was cute AND young, and where the air first became sweet:
"A la peanut butter sandwiches!”
"A loaf of bread, a container of milk and a stick of butter.”
"Agua! Agua!”
"C is for cookie. That’s good enough for me…”
“Cooperation? Oooh! Cooperation!”
"Doing the -- coockoo -- pigeon...”
"I can’t hear you, Bert. I got a banana in my ear.”
"It's a magic carpet ride. Every door will open wide..."
"Manah – manah …”
"Near. **run, run, run** Far."
“Now, take the golden AN. Put in in the tan van. Give it to Stan. Understan’?”
"One of these things is not like the other. Which one is different? Do you know?”
"One-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight-nine-ten-eleven-twe-e-e-e-e-lve!”
“Rubber duckie, you’re the one. You make bath time lotsa fun…”
"The Family Car? The Family Car!”
"There was an old woman who lived in a 9..."
"Yip-yip-briiing!”
Please tell me someone else out there remembers these!
<< Buddies Bert and Ernie: 'Didn't realize the sexual tension between them until much later. This entry was brought to you by the letters X and by the numbers 6 and 9.
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4.17.2002
NEFARIOUSLY BUNGLED INVESTIGATION (NBI)
The early Wednesday morning fire on board the MV Dona Carmela off the coast of Quezon Province resulted in a casualty count of tragic proportions. Yesterday, I heard on the car radio an NBI investigator apologizing for the fluctuating death toll reports. Apparently, some of the "bodies" lying in their morgues were not people but cows (fatalities in the same maritime mishap) -- screwing up their arithmetic.
What the **bleep**?! I can just imagine the country's best forensic experts in a hushed discourse:
Dr Quincy: Does this guy look strange to you?
Dr. Quack2: Hmmm. Mortally obese. Strangely protruding cheeks. Hoof-like hands and feet. Really thick skin. Tail. No, not really.
Dr. Quincy: Yeah, you're right. He's probably related to these guys (pointing to the twenty other cow carcasses).
Hilarious this is not. This kind of institutionalized cluelessness is enough to keep me up at night. Din's concerns are well-founded.
Sidebar: It would take a lot -- a hell of a lot -- to get me to ride a commercial boat in the Philippines that ferries at night or is at sea for more than two hours.
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I don't understand that old-school notion that a child's future sexual orientation is determined by the toys he/she plays with. When I was eight, my favorite presents were jackstones, electronics (like Mr. Spell) and money (now on the top of my list). I never liked stuffed toys -- in time, they just stank. I never liked Barbie's or girls who played with them -- even then, "cute" made my teeth itch. And if I got that cool Radio Shack electronics experiment set I whined about when I was nine, I STILL don't think I would be on the "other side of the fence" today -- I'de be an outrageously-paid rocket scientist at NASA, that's what!
I bought Carlo, when he was five, a cool tyke-size kitchen counter even his female cousins drool over -- only because he showed interest in cooking at a young age. He would drag the thing in front of the television every Sunday and monkey Sandy Daza. Today, my nine-year-old can bake brownies and butter cookies from scratch. Ask him what he wants to be when he grows up and he would proudly answer, "Chef." This child is a far cry from boys coached into thinking they'd be lawyers, doctors or members of the ABS-CBN Star Circle. My spawn has vision!
My boys are also enamored with the Powerpuff Girls -- the same way I mimicked Batman, Superman and Spiderman when I was their age. I don't see any long-term damage being done on their sexuality there. If anything, little boys today are growing up, knowing little girls can kick their butts if provoked ... or if they feel like it. An important fact many grown men in my generation still has to learn.
And on a parallel note, so what if they end up with alternative sexual preferences? I trust the way Mr. V and I raise our children. In the end, sexual orientation is a personal decision they have to take a stand on as adults. And it is a facet independent of their capability to do the world good.
I hate liars. I hate liars who get caught. I hate liars who get caught and still lie about getting caught. I hate liars who get caught, lie about getting caught and forget about lying in the first place. My dilemma becomes more interesting because I am related by blood to one. I have to love the Worst Liar in God's green earth because I sprung from his family tree.
You know what the most fascinating thing about compulsive liars is? After telling one lie over and over again, to them, the untruth turns into a fact. And there is nothing more frustrating than trying to debate with a liar who has intelligently rationalized his shortcomings and convinced himself of his innocence -- worse so, his magnanimity.
Liars' memories are short and selective. Their gray world is wanting of absolute black and white. Their life, as they perceive it, is at a 45-degree angle to what it really is.
At the Ninoy Aquino International Airport today, there must have been two hundred travellers in line to get in through the front doors -- a phenomenon I saw only once before, during the first coup d'etat attempt against the Cory government in 1987. Why is everybody leaving? Did I miss a memo?
<< My teenage neices Karla and Clare flew to L.A. this morning for a month-long vacation with their hip single aunts -- without their parents! 'Have fun, girls! Don't do anything I wouldn't do. Have a LOT of fun!
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4.13.2002
BANK ROBBERY
Mr. V and I had to run out of our son's swimming class culmination activity today. The event was to be followed by a potluck lunch and as I was too lazy to cook the spaghetti I promised, we came empty-handed. ** guilty smirk **
So, out we went for a simple errand ... and a quick trip to an ATM. Or so we thought.
Forty-five minutes! Mr. V and I had to drive for forty-five minutes around eight city blocks flooding with ATMs before finding one kind enough to spout Ninoy sheets!
What is it with banks and their nasty habit of going off-line during week-ends? And pay days? I heard on a.m. radio about a proposal to equip ATMs with cameras. Why? So bank officers can replay footage of us "aargh" in despair when the screen reads "no switch patch available"? The consistent inavailability of these cash machines today made me wonder if there is a desperate organized ploy to keep the banking community more liquid than it is supposed to be. (Any economic insiders out there?)
Not giving me my money when I want it is a violation of our banking agreement! They are robbing me of mental peace, not to mention, opportunities to spend my hard-earned moolah!
But all's well that ends well. I had to buy mamon instead (pasta required a half-hour waiting time at Red Ribbon) and we came back just in time to watch my eldest chicken out of the relay race. And throw a fit when he didn't get a medal. Aaah, the joys of my life...
<< Carlo and his favorite swimming buddy Dani. This little girl, who happens to be the daughter of my son's swimming coach, can SWIM!
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4.12.2002
WISHING GENE WELL
Inspite my silence when my staunch Catholic friends were shooting down Gattaca, I do find the prospect of a pre-natal screening service fascinating.
Cheerful Receptionist: Good morning Mr. and Mrs. V! Welcome to the "Wishing Gene Well"! We've been expecting you!
Mel and Mona: **nod and grin**
Cheerful Receptionist: (logs Mona's name on her PC) Let's see. Aha, so you're expecting a girl. Congratulations! (looking at the database closer) So, you ordered superior IQ-EQ -- that combo is soo popular these days -- flawless skin, desirable-only body hair, aristocratic nose, vegetarian, zero cardiac problems and equestrian skills. Will that be all?
Mel: Oh, and can you add "no snoring" to that. You see, my wife does this wheezing thing at night. It can get really out of control sometimes.
Mona: **glares at hubby** And long, slender STRAIGHT legs please. Just to make sure she doesn't end up bow-legged, like one of her parents.
As we don't live in this ethically-challenging environment (at least, not yet), mortals, like Mel and me, do have to live with the guilt of passing on our flawed DNA. Our children are blessed with many, many beautiful gifts from us -- but they also got a bunch I'm sure they'd eventually wish they could return. Both of my boys do snore. Diego's legs are like Mel's. They have short, fat fingers (c/o Mona). They have funny-looking toe nails (c/o Mel). Carlo is fighting the propensity to be chubby (c/o Mona). They can't dance (c/o Mel).
But it's also a heart-warming thought, in this imperfect existence, that I will be able to pick my little ones in a sea of children. I will know they're mine because they have their trademark flaws -- so like mine and that of the man I love.
<< Both my boys cry during hair-cuts. They cry as if hair-cuts hurt! I don't know where they got THAT from.
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4.11.2002
TAMING THE TONGUE
My 2-year old and I were having a nice pleasant drive along EDSA only to be rudely cut off by a car, weaving in and out of the crawling traffic.
MONA: (in full arms-flying rage) Asshole!
DIEGO: As-o!
I taught my son how to swear before he could say his full name. Aaargh! Bad, bad mama.
If having two sons taught me one thing, it's parenthood comes with the responsibility of trying to be perfect. A typical human slip (like swearing) is a dangerous thing when small children are mimicking your every step...and word.
Good for me aso translates to "dog" in Tagalog. So when Diego starts calling his aunts and uncles aso, they'd just find it cute. He he.
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4.10.2002
BLOOD LUST
I drool over Angel every week. I loved the pasty-white look on Brad Pitt in "Interview with a Vampire". I think the Wesley Snipes-style vampire carnage in "Blade 2" was soo cool. The brooding, tormented type (a common ingredient in all three portrayals) is kinda sexy, ain't it?
I'm still trying to figure out though how I turned into such a vampire venerator. When did vampires become good guys all of a sudden? Aren't they supposed to be creatures of evil and all that? And didn't my Catholic upbringing teach me to shun all things rooted in evil, lest the "enemy" confuse my mind into thinking they're actually NOT evil.
Hmmm. 'Will think about it later -- after I check out the malls if the "Queen of the Damned" is still playing.
<< David Borneanaz -- ain't this little creature of evil just the cutest? He just makes me want to change sides.
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4.07.2002
NECESSARY MASOCHISM
Ever walk into a beauty salon just to observe? I did yesterday -- more like had to. I treated my 14-year old neice to a hair relaxing treatment before she left for a summer vacation in the US. The two hours I had to wait gave me time to ponder how female rituals and paraphernalia are, when you think about it, torturous.
1. Eyebrow plucking. Ouch. Take my word for it (see brows at upper right).
2. Manicures and pedicures. Necessitates those precious Kodak moments where you have to walk on your heels with your fingers and toes spread apart, like a mutant bird.
3. Pantyhose. The look of clean flawless legs paid for with circulation restriction, nylon against your skin (eeew!) and the resolve to stay away from rough surfaces.
4. Stilettos. My four-inch pair gives me back-aches. But it goes sooo well with my cocktail dress, so I wear it anyway.
5. Thong. A must for white pants but feels like having a foreign object literally up your crack.
6. Waxing. Involves hot wax and a lot of tugging and pulling. Do the math.
While I would love to just let my body hair grow wild, the cold hard fact is males are acceptable as God has designed them while women are expected to be "modified". The modification process is often painful, expensive and time-consuming but we women go through it anyway -- less because it makes us feel "good" but more because the result gratifies our egos. The pain we allow to be inflicted on ourselves is necessary to be considered neat, clean and/or stylish -- our sick, incurable mass masochism justified.
This whole do-it-because-it-looks-good thing reminds me of a likely urban legend about a girl who got a rubber cat suit as a gift from her boyfriend. She didn't want to but wore the thing anyway to please her man. A night out dancing resulted in a chemical reaction which made the suit bond with her skin. It took surgery to get her out of her sexy outfit.
It's tough being a girl.
<< When a guy proposes his eternal love, ask him if he will feel the same way if you never shave your pits. I rest my case.
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4.05.2002
IN WEB LIMBO NO MORE
Just when I've given up on finding a Filipino web creature, who like me, watched "Bagets"" when he was actually a baget and shared a UP existence when political apathy was unheard of, lo and behold, I stumble into Viloria.com.
Manuel Viloria and I shared the same third-year college block, the same college org, and the same building in UP with a lazer gun out front. I haven't seen him in ages! His site though had me updated in a jiff. It's funny to find an old classmate a lifetime after graduation (on-line no less!) and realize that his world -- my world -- has changed by leaps and bounds. No longer do exams and grades in Finance give us ulcers -- kids and financing kids do. Falling in love is not the obsession -- staying in love is. And no accounting case or algebraic theorem then could compare to our current bewilderment at how little baby poops could stink so much.
This is also my last. I promise I will not refer to canines again after this entry (unless it refers to some women I dislike).
My first job was with PLDT where I worked for the Management Control Division (what a name, huh?) and eventually Provincial Operations. We did audits on a lot of people -- commercial frontliners, traffic operators, field installers -- and ratted on the slackers to top management. We were the folks who people either avoided or tried to bribe. It was from my stint there that I got this little gem.
Filipino folktales tell us that dogs can tell if evil spirits are afoot. A Manila City (a place where they still report sightings of manananggal's) household that just had a wired phone installed, observed that every time the phone rang, their three dogs started to bark and howl like mad. Ergo, the family reported to our repair call center that their phone was possessed by evil. Hmmmm. When our audit team got there, it turned out that the telephone was grounded to a metal pipe outside -- the same pipe to which all three dogs were tied with a metal chain. So, every time the phone rang, the dogs were actually being jolted with electricity.
The report on this incident read: "Sub-standard installation. Poor dogs. Stupid humans."
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4.03.2002
X-DOG PART 2
A few weeks ago, our family dog Cuervo came home with a black and brown puppy that stayed over for dinner. And he hasn't left. Meet Cuervo's new sidekick, Salot. We suspect that he is another X-Dog who has found a kindred spirit in Cuervo. He shares Cuervo's fine taste in food (see below) as well as his uncanny skills in evading dog catchers. The young Salot, however, doesn't know how to control his powers yet -- as every morning, we find our garage littered with shredded newspapers, torn foot rugs, gnawed slippers (not ours!) and chewed plants from my garden. We suspect Salot and Cuervo must be holding some secret X-Dog training session at night.
My investigation reveals he was left behind by a family who moved out of the village. Maybe his humans knew something we don't.
Our family dog Cuervo (named after Jose), a classic askal, is a strange little creature. He was a housewarming gift from my husband's employee back in 1997. Well, actually the guy had to give him up because his neighbors wanted to make pulutan out of the little fella. The adoption sounded like a good idea at the time. Now, I'm having serious doubts.
I think my dog is going through the next stage of evolution. He is becoming an X-Dog. My suspicions are mounting because:
1. He has super-dog strength. No collar or leash or chain can hold him. Believe me.
2. He can find a way to get past a locked gate. I wonder if he can morph into air or other forms of matter.
3. He doesn't like dogfood or rice or table scraps or anything remotely edible. He feeds on slippers (rubber only), ornamental plants (mine), trash (my neighbors') and diapers (eeew!). He can chew metal. He "ate" the corners off our car license plates. And pooped it. X-dogs must required a special high-ummm...-ly weird diet.
4. He barks at us and totally ignores strangers. His super-dog senses must be telling him his humans are actually stranger than everybody else.
5. He survived many brushes with death -- too many. Very Wolverine-like of him. Example One: He runs after the school bus that goes through our street in the morning (an effort to look like an non-mutant dog, if you ask me). One day, the driver actually ran him over! He disappeared into his hide-out (a hole under the house no person could get to) and emerged a week later good as new. Example Two: He came home one day with a cut throat (a likely criminal attack from doggie-vores). He was weak and bleeding profusely. The vet stitched him up but was not optimistic he was going to live. He was chasing the bus again only a week later.
The administrator of our village (I have yet to confirm if he's part of a sinister anti-mutant organization) has put out an APB on him. Inspite our efforts (unsuccessful but well-meaning) to keep him within our property, he has been identified for arrest because of alleged multiple counts of butt-sniffing and trash-can-tipping. In December 2001, the village manager sent three men on bikes to patrol our street daily in an effort to put a stop to Cuervo's string of misdemeanors. Four months later, Cuervo is still at-large.
The threat of pursuers don't frighten me. Strangely, I feel Cuervo can outsmart the dopey dogcatchers sent by the evil village manager. And if things get too tight, Cuervo can just bring out those Adamantium claws and slash the living be-jeezes outta them.
Planning my soon-to-be-great business brought my thoughts back to Mr. John Gokongwei. Rags-to-riches tycoon. Patriarch of the Gokongwei business empire. A man whose life would make an interesting tele-novela.
I met him in 1996. My boss and I travelled to Malaysia to show him the wireless solution for rural areas which my company wanted to sell to his telecoms subsidiary, Digitel. When I first saw him at the lobby of the Sheraton, I was immediately awed. Huge man. Commanding presence. Deep, full voice. But the demigod turned human before my eyes when I noticed the back seam of his old suit was undone. Being who he was, the hotel staff started fussing and I could see Mr. John wanted nothing of it -- he just wanted to get on his way. The man is worth billions; but he didn't call for a valet to fetch a new Armani or get the hotel laundry guys to sew him up pronto. He reached behind the front desk for a stapler and "mended" himself. A quick, simple and apt solution, considering our circumstances. I understood then (in a six-degrees-of-Kevin-Bacon sorta way) why he is one of the great minds of Philippine business.
I will forever obsess about the old guy until I build my own empire.
Sidebar: Celebrating his retirement, Mr. John donated 200 million pesos (about 4 million US dollars) to the Ateneo de Manila University. It earned him the honor of having the Business School named after him. The man didn't go to school there and the elitist alumni are raising hell over it. Okay, fine. If you're so offended by the gesture, why don't you guys cough up the 200 mil.
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