Wills

The following is the best will ever written. Unfortunately, it is not a real will. It was written for an episode of what, to me, is indisputably the best TV series ever.

(I am posting this in light of the news that the late Leona Helmsley, left her beloved white Maltese, named Trouble, a $12 million trust fund. Why is this suddenly interesting, you ask? Well, succession does these things to you.)

In that episode, Where There's a Will, There's a War, Hawkeye goes to help at an aid station, and under heavy shelling he draws up a will, leaving various items to his friends at the 4077th.

“I, Benjamin Franklin Pierce, being of sound mind and endangered body, hereby decree this to be my Last Will and Testament. I bequeath to my father all my worldly possessions with the exception of the following: To Charles Emerson Winchester, though we may have wounded your pride, you never lost your dignity. I therefore bequeath to you the most dignified thing I own — my bathrobe. Purple is the color of royalty. To Father Francis Mulcahy, I leave five cents. You are a man of God, and I know worldly possessions mean little to you, Father. So I leave you a nickel along with something I value more highly than anything I own — my everlasting respect. To you, Margaret Houlihan, I leave my treasured Groucho nose and glasses. Perhaps they’ll remind you of how much I enjoyed that silly side you show all too infrequently. To Sherman Potter, who’s a lot like my dad, I leave The Last of the Mohicans, my dad’s favorite book. I’d like you to have the copy he gave me. To Maxwell Q Klinger, I leave the shirt off my back. Not just any shirt, but my beloved Hawaiian shirt. To Erin Hunnicutt, I leave you a list of all the young men your daddy took care of while he was in Korea. Many of them have him to thank for being alive today. I want you to understand why he has to be away from you those first years of your life. I hope I have the chance to give you this list in person. But around here, you never know.”

The Disappeared

Why are there women here dancing on their own?
Why is there this sadness in their eyes?
Why are the soldiers here
Their faces fixed like stone?
I can't see what it is that they despise
They're dancing with the missing
They're dancing with the dead
They dance with the invisible ones
Their anguish is unsaid
They're dancing with their fathers
They're dancing with their sons
They're dancing with their husbands
They dance alone
They dance alone

It's the only form of protest they're allowed
I've seen their silent faces scream so loud
If they were to speak these words they'd go missing too
Another woman on a torture table what else can they do
They're dancing with the missing
They're dancing with the dead
They dance with the invisible ones
Their anguish is unsaid
They're dancing with their fathers
They're dancing with their sons
They're dancing with their husbands
They dance alone
They dance alone

One day we'll dance on their graves
One day we'll sing our freedom
One day we'll laugh in our joy
And we'll dance
One day we'll dance on their graves
One day we'll sing our freedom
One day we'll laugh in our joy
And we'll dance

Ellas danzan con los desaparecidos
Ellas danzan con los muertos
Ellas danzan con amores invisibles
Ellas danzan con silenciosa angustia
Danzan con sus padres
Danzan con sus hijos
Danzan con sus esposos
Ellas danzan solas
Danzan solas

Hey Mr. Pinochet
You've sown a bitter crop
It's foreign money that supports you
One day the money's going to stop
No wages for your torturers
No budget for your guns
Can you think of your own mother
Dancin' with her invisible son
They're dancing with the missing
They're dancing with the dead
They dance with the invisible ones
They're anguish is unsaid
They're dancing with their fathers
They're dancing with their sons
They're dancing with their husbands
They dance alone
They dance alone

- Sting, They Dance Alone (Cueca Solo)

---
"They Dance Alone (Cueca Solo)" was inspired by Sting's witnessing of public demonstrations of grief by the wives and daughters of men missing in Chile, presumed tortured and murdered by the military dictatorship of the time, who danced the cueca (the traditional dance of Chile) by themselves, with photos of their loved ones pinned to their clothes.

Today is the International Day for the Disappeared.

Maybe You Should Have Slashed Your Wrists

However I forgot that the hub was in Dubai and the majority of the OFWs (overseas Filipino workers) were stationed there. The duty-free shop was overrun with Filipino workers selling cell phones and perfume. Meanwhile, I wanted to slash my wrist at the thought of being trapped in a plane with all of them.

While I was on the plane (where the seats were so small I had bruises on my legs), my only consolation was the entertainment on the small flat screen in front of me. But it was busted, so I heaved a sigh, popped my sleeping pills and dozed off to the sounds of gum chewing and endless yelling of “HOY! Kumusta ka na? At taga saan ka? Domestic helper ka rin ba?” Translation: “Hey there? Where are you from? Are you a domestic helper as well?” I though I had died and God had sent me to my very own private hell.

On my way back, I had to bravely take the economy flight once more. This time I had already resigned myself to being trapped like a sardine in a sardine can with all these OFWs smelling of AXE and Charlie cologne while Jo Malone evaporated into thin air.

All in all, it’s been a pretty good summer. Jetting from the Aegean Sea to the Pacific may sound a bit pretentious until you wake up in economy class smelling like air freshener.

The open-minded writer who made the tolerant statements above has finally resigned from her job, after doing what only Ninoy Aquino and Manny Pacquiao were able to do in the recent past - unite a horribly divided people. Unlike the latter two, however, Malu Fernandez was able to do just that by directing the collective ire of Filipinos everywhere towards herself, and may have actually accomplished what only one person since 2003 has accomplished: become the most hated woman in the country.

She initially tried to answer the negative feedback by dismissing the backlash as the result of the failure of the reader to "get the meaning of [her] acerbic wit." She also said that she was only being true to herself.

The bottom line was just that I had offended the reader’s socioeconomic background. If any of these people actually read anything thicker then a magazine they would find it very funny…I obviously write for the certain target audience and if what I write offends you, just stop reading.

(Obviously, she assumed that the people asking for her head on a plate are all idiots, and disregarded the possibilty that they may have, in fact, read more than the usual fare of Hi! and Yes! magazines. Bad move.)

Fernandez later admitted being insensitive and offensive, as she apologized to the OFWs for whatever she had written.

Daily Planner

---

image courtesy of UP SJV.

Criminal Minds

On the one weekend of the year during which traffic at the academic oval goes one-way, and all high school seniors flock to Diliman, I was at Pasay City watching the refs call fouls on flies landing on Jervy Cruz' ass. It was a weird afternoon, one where a post-menopausal biatch from Espana tried to enforce her concept of discipline on us - and failed. But, it's really hard to be down so much even after the loss, since I'd still rather be on the stands watching hoops than in class praying to the gods not to be called. Besides, you have to give it to the Pussies, I mean the Tigers, who really played well that day.

After the game, we joined the team for dinner at a place along Roxas Blvd. I guess the mood would have been a lot better if we joined them after that win against DLRT (whose protest, by the way, was denied with finality last Sunday), but it was all good nonetheless. After all, who would have thought that the team would appreciate all the acts of slander and unjust vexation that we commit during ballgames so much, that it would actually invite us to join them for dinner? Maybe crime pays, after all.