Hail the Norton I - Emperor of the United States!

I first encountered the story of Norton when I read "Three Septembers and a January" from Fables and Reflections (Sandman VI) by Neil Gaiman, about five years ago. I was fascinated with his character so I did a quick google to find out more about him.

The Emperor is based on a historical figure named Joshua Norton, an English businessman from the 1840's who came to California to make his fortune, and instead, ended up losing it, supposedly in a lawsuit over a rice futures contract. (Norton, seeing the huge population in San Francisco's Chinatown, was trying to corner the market on rice.) Whether he was mad before or the deal sent him over the edge, Norton ended up living on the streets of San Francisco and soon issued a proclamation declaring himself the Emperor of the United States and Protector of Mexico. That a homeless fellow might indulge in delusions of grandeur is not unusual; that an entire city would be complicit in the delusion is.

The tailors of San Francisco supplied with Norton with top hats and grand tailcoats with gold braiding and epaulets. Restaurants allowed the Emperor to eat for free, and printers not only printed and posted Norton's proclamations, they created currency with his image on it, which was accepted from him by local businesses. Papers covered Norton as if he were a legitimate politician, despite some of his more insane proclamations: that a bridge be built across the Golden Gate, that another be built across the bay to Oakland, and that a league of nations be formed to resolve disputes without war.

The people of the city treated Nortin with great respect, and he them, as if they were indeed his subjects and he a benevolent ruler. There is a story that Emperor Norton even diverted a race riot in Chinatown when, after a crop failure in California's Central Valley, jobless men blamed the Chinese for their fate and stormed the neighborhood bent on burning it to the ground. Supposedly, Norton stopped them by putting himself between the workers and Chinese and reciting the Lord's Prayer.

In 1867, a police officer named Armand Barbier arrested Norton for the purpose of committing him to involuntary treatment for a mental disorder. The arrest outraged the citizens of San Francisco and sparked a number of scathing editorials in the newspapers. Police Chief Patrick Crowley speedily rectified matters by ordering Norton released and issuing a formal apology on behalf of the police force. Chief Crowley observed of the self-styled monarch "that he had shed no blood; robbed no one; and despoiled no country; which is more than can be said of his fellows in that line." Norton was magnanimous enough to grant an "Imperial Pardon" to the errant young police officer. Possibly as a result of this scandal, all police officers of San Francisco thereafter saluted Norton as he passed in the street.

When Emperor Norton died in 1880, more than 30,000 people marched in his funeral procession. His passing was marked by a total eclipse of the sun.

text based on You Suck by Christopher Moore and Wikipedia

Sick Leave

every now and again, i get sick and i am forced to go on leave from work for a couple of weeks at a time. as i sit here in bed, watching the days slip by, i remember a man with whom i had the privilege of being my mentor and my friend, sid gomez hildawa.

he once sent me a text message, asking my thoughts regarding his new blog. we exchanged opinions, and he decided to stick to naming it The SGH Foster-A-Poem Homepage. he asked me to choose a poem that i would like to take care of, and i selected Sick Leave, for obvious reasons.

and now, i would like to share with you the poem that reflects my current state of mind.

Sick Leave


Like a patch of skin spared
from sunburn by a shield
of cloth or sunblock lotion,
there's a rectangle on the wall
lighter than the wall itself,
where a painting used to hang.
Now that the artwork is gone,
visitors ask, "What used to be
there?,"
as if they hadn't seen the piece
before,
or maybe not carefully enough.
"Wasn't there a woman seated
in a cafe?, Didn't she have a glass
of wine, or some company?,"
The damp ground, eavesdropping
almost shifts, holding up a house
whose wall holds up a rusty nail
in its perpetual upturned pose,
holding up no answer.

On my fourth day in hospital
with dextrose feeding me twenty
drops a minute, I picture in my mind
a space I may have left behind,
not entirely empty, but of air
made thinner by my absence,
or of a lighter tissue,
so that people pause, inquire,
and imagine what used to be there.


"So where's the painting now?"



vvvvv

(With reference to Juan Luna's painting, "Parisian Life")

For more of his works, please visit http://lihawad.blogspot.com

Sid, you are sorely missed.

a star is born (?)

who? me?

i took odin out for his morning walk today. i decided to take one of our shorter routes because the sun was already too hot for the both of us. we walked down quezon avenue and went straight to a fast food chain in pantranco to grab my lunch. on the way back, i thought it would be better if we walked down panay avenue because there was more shade there.

there was more traffic than usual, and there were a lot of people all huddled together in the middle of the street. i wondered what they were all doing standing under the heat. they didn't even have umbrellas with them! somebody could have had heatstroke! and then, i saw what they were gawking at. a film crew was shooting a scene in the local veterinary clinic.

i hesitated and wondered if we would be let through the street. then i decided that i didn't want to go back to quezon avenue because it was too damn hot, and i could walk anywhere i wish to go. this is my neighborhood, after all!

as i walked past the crowd, a man on the other side of the clinic told me that i could pass, provided that i just walked straight ahead and as natural as possible. nothing to it, i thought to myself. what the heck do i care about those actors anyway? it wasn't as if i'm a fan or anything. (well, they may be well-established stars, for all i care. but i don't watch tv these days so i don't know who's who in the showbiz world).

when i passed the clinic, i breathed a sigh of relief. finally, we can go home in peace...or so i thought...

"hey you! hold up!"

i continued walking as naturally and as fast my feet could take me, without looking back.

"i said you! stop! lady with the red shirt and the big dog! wait! come back!"
"were you talking to me? i'm sorry! did i ruin your shot?"
"nah, you were great! that dog is huge! what kind of dog is that? nevermind. i want you to walk again, as naturally as possible."
"ah...sure. if you say so."

and so we walked past the fighting couple in the vet clinic. again and again, take after take. when i saw that odin couldn't take the heat any longer, we just continued walking towards home - oblivious to the pleadings of the film crew. after all, my priority is odin's health, not his stardom.

i never ever thought that one of my dogs would ever on tv. but for two straight days, the two rival networks featured him - well, kind of. but still. hmm...now that i think of it, i never even asked what the title of the soap opera was. i wouldn't be able to see odin's teleserye debut! waah!

unexpected package

the other day, i got a text message from my mom saying that i needed to come home as soon as i could. she didn't say why, but she insisted that i come asap. i was intrigued, so i packed my stuff and flagged the first cab that i saw.

upon reaching our doorstep, i could barely hear my mom shouting excitedly while my dogs were baying loudly. she immediately opened the door and blurted out that i got a package overnighted by lbc.

"who's it from?" i asked.
"i don't know, just open it!" said my mom.
"i wanna know first if this is really for me. i might get charged or something."

i took the package and examined it carefully. yeah, it was addressed to me, alright. but there wasn't an indication who it was from. hmm...

"did any of your brothers or sisters say that they will be sending me something?", i asked my mom.
"nah, haven't heard from them. just open it already!" she shouted.
"yeah, probably there's a note inside. lemme just get a pair of scissors..."

"give me that!", my mom shrieked while she grabbed the package.

she tore it open with her bare hands and these are what we found inside:

kenneth cole reaction wallet

kenneth cole reaction keychain

until now, i still have no idea from whom the package came from. my hunch tells me it's from one of my credit card companies, but i'm not so sure. they would have at least told me it came from them, right? i just hope i wouldn't get charged for something i didn't authorize. i guess i have to find out when i get my latest billing statement.

Sunday Bloody Sunday

Yes! I admit it! I'm a push-over, and a workaholic, to boot. I'm the laziest workaholic in the world - if there's such a thing. Anyway, after working 13-hour shifts for 9 straight days, my body was craving for rest.

It was an exhausting Saturday shift, with a lot of issues that needed my close supervision. Several of our people didn't report for work (the bastards were probably out on dates) and we lacked the manpower to meet our client's demands. Needless to say, we didn't meet them and I got drained in the process. At around 8:00, I finally acquiesced and silently waited for my agony to end. When the clock struck 9:00am, I immediately jumped ship and hailed the first coloured cabbie that I saw.

When I got home, I headed straight to my room. I sent an SMS to all my colleagues, telling them not to bother me for any reason because I was about to hit the sack. They sent their good night messages (even if the sun was glaring outside) and wished me good dreams. I was already in the fringe of the blessed realm of The Dreaming when I heard a voice booming in my ear.

"Wake up! We need to go to the mall! Now!"

"Hrrrm...nnnhh!"

"I said wake up! Get out of bed, this instant!"

"Nnnnhhh....nrrh....whu...wha...whut? Damn."

Crap. It was my mom, shouting at me. She wanted to head to the mall and needed me to come with her. I'm the only one in the family who knew how to operate an ATM and she wanted me to tag along so I can withdraw some cash. Reluctantly, I got up and went with her to the mall. She didn't know what she wanted so we spent the entire afternoon just looking around for things to buy. I could barely keep up with her, and she's past her 60's! That was how tired I was!

Then I remembered that they are now selling tickets for the upcoming Wolfgang concert through Ticketworld, so I asked her if we could drop by the Customer Service department of National Bookstore. I was able to get two Orchestra Center tickets (albeit at the far end already) and finally had something to be happy about the trip.

We went around the mall some more and came across an orchestra playing Beethoven's 5th Symphony. There was a big crowd that gathered, and I couldn't quite see who the performers were. I saw a white guy waving frantically in front of the crowd. I held my breath and thought, "It can't be! It must be Maestro Ruggero Barbierri at the helm! " And then, he turned around and I saw that he wasn't. But I wasn't too disappointed. After all, it has been quite a while since I was able to go to a symphony.

I thought how the acoustics of the mall would not be quite good enough for a symphony orchestra, but I realized that it didn't matter. They were bringing classical music to the masses, and they were responding positively. Of course, it would be much better if they held it in a concert hall, but people are usually adverse to going to such places. I closed my eyes and pushed my thoughts away. I eliminated distractions and prepared myself to listen to the music. And then, my mom yanked me away.

"Let's go! I want to buy some shoes! We don't have time for this nonsense!"

Aargh! Of all the people, I never thought that she'd react that way. She had been a concert pianist in her own time, and was a protegee of the late National Artist Lucrecia Kasilag. She was the one who introduced me to the works of Beethoven and Debussy! How can she call it nonsense?

I was hurt and was wondering why could she treat classical music as nonsense when we passed by Fullybooked. Needless to say, it is my favorite bookstore and I am a loyal customer of their branch in Gateway. I wanted to go in and check what books would pique my interest but my mom wouldn't let me, saying that we didn't have enough time. She told me that I didn't need any more books because I still have a lot at home, and my money would be better spent if I just buy her some more clothes.

I was so frustrated and was on the verge of tears when we passed by a candy store. I checked what different candies they have on stock and was excited when I saw some popping chocolates. I wanted to get one and see what else they had in store but then again, my mom grabbed my hand and led me towards the department store.

That was the last straw. I couldn't take it anymore. In the first place, I was already dead tired yet I accompanied her to the mall. She knew that. But why couldn't she let me get something that I would enjoy? I don't get it. I didn't speak for the remainder of our shopping excursion and let her babble on and on

When we finally reached home (around 9pm), I went straight to my room and dreamt about eating chocolates in the Tanghalang Nicanor Abelardo.

Sunday, bloody Sunday.

more on pens...

parker urban: london cab black rollerball

i'm thinking of getting this pen...maybe on my rd, i'll drop by cutting edge in trinoma to get one. i know, i know. i said that i didn't want a parker because i thought it's mainstream. but who wouldn't fall in love with the design of the parker urban? it's so sleek and sexy! *sighs*

update on my pilot pen: no, it's not missing. it's still safely tucked inside its special case in my pedestal. i just want to share that i found one that looks almost the same in edsa shang over the

weekend. how much are they selling it for? drumroll please. php 7,500! odk! i'm so lucky i got mine for a measly php750! thank goodness for connections!

on sacrifice...(Bantay Baboy '09)

IT

i was tasked to bring lechon for our company's new year celebration. since we're using a common pantry, i had to ward off people from other accounts from getting a piece of it.

and so, i stayed seated beside the pig. for several long hours i did nothing but stare at...ah...um...it. it may be a girl pig, it may be a boy pig. i'm not sure...i wasn't able to flip it over to check its genitals. but it had long eyelashes, so it may have been a girl. but then, i've seen boy camels with long eyelashes, so i'm not quite sure. oh well, to be safe, i'll just use it.

where was i? oh yeah. i was seating in the pantry, staring at the pig. sometimes at its face, most of the time at its butt. a little mist was forming in the room because of the pig's heat, combined with the ac blasting at 15 degrees. the smell of roasted flesh and fresh blood was permeating the air, and i couldn't help zoning off and wonder if the pig realized that it was led away from its pen to be slaughtered; so its meat would be feasted upon by my officemates. and if it had an inkling of its fate, how was it able to continue marching toward its ultimate fate? perhaps, deep in the recesses of its mind, it knew that it was making a sacrifice.

sacrifice. to make sacred. as i sat there, staring at the pig's eyelashes, i began to think about sacrifice; how different cultures offered countless lives and blood to their gods and to their causes.

my thoughts shifted then drifted to hinzelmann, a kobold in german mythology. his was a sad story. for the safety and prosperity of the tribe, a sacrifice is needed to take place. a babe would be taken from his parents and isolated. from infancy, he would be left alone in a darkened hut at the far end of the village. never talked to, never hugged, never kissed, never loved. on his fourth birthday, he would finally be led outside of his hut. the tribe's strongest man would carry him on his back and they would dance towards the village bonfire. he would stand dumbfounded and blinking, light entering his eyes for the first time. they would dress him warmly with red velvet, then fed the finest food and given the strongest drink. a woman would then snatch him from the rest of the crowd. she would hug him and kiss him, and he would sit in her arms wondering why were tears flowing down her cheeks. and then he would be grabbed and spun around by men, and given more drink. not knowing how to express himself, he would cry. but when he sees the people laughing, he too begins to laugh. for the first time in his life, he is happy. and then, his heart is pierced with two burning swords.

the happy tribe would then smoke his remains and put it inside a wooden box. they would carry it around wherever they went, and offer sacrifices to it. he was their god now, and he would protect them and give them prosperity. but as germany became christianized, his role in their mythos morphed, and he was transformed into a ambivalent house spirit: something like the elves, pucks, or brownies. residents would give small offerings of milk and honey for him, so he would continue protecting the household.

but now, since we're in the age of science and rationality, he doesn't have a place left in the world. i can't help but think how sad he must be, little hinzelmann, and if his sacrifice was worth anything at all.

i was sitting in the pantry, staring at the pig, thinking about hinzelmann and about sacrifice. i looked around the room and thought to myself that i also have made a sacrifice. i gave up my time for the long eyelashed pig. and i wondered if my sacrifice would amount to anything at all.

and then my boss arrived and gave me a cup of chocolate ice cream. woohoo!

on death...

my ultimate wish during this lifetime is to die when i decide that i finally want to.

nah, i'm not talking about killing myself. i must admit that thought crossed my mind before, especially during my turbulent teenage years, but that's not what i meant.

i've been an on-and-off practioner of rajah yoga / meditation since college and i want to have the power and self-control to decide not to come back from the higher planes in this incarnation.

well, it's the start of a new year. my resolution is to allot more time in my studies and practice so i would be able to attain my fondest wish.

missing my old life

when i was little, i saw myself as a highly successful and happily married woman with a kid by the age of 25. now, i'm a quarter of a century year old and i'm neither of the things i pictured myself to be. but it's alright. i'm not planning to settle down anytime soon anyway. what bothers me is when i remember what i used to do and dream about when i was still in college.

when i took the upcat, i had no idea what course i wanted to take, so i settled with the one with what seemed to me to have the fanciest title: doctor of dental medicine. after 6 years, i'd finally be a doctor! but at the end of pre-dent, i realized that dentistry didn't suit me at all. i found out what i really am interested in: cultural studies. i quickly shifted to philippine arts and fell in love with the course. i finally felt at home. i tried my hand in every class that was offered, and was happily surprised when i found out that i excelled in almost all of them. i had such a blast learning about aesthetics, reading about different cultures and histories, dabbling in painting, drawing, shooting photos, playing music, writing, acting, designing, curating, etc.

i spent lazy weekday afternoons in libraries (upm cas, ccp, natl lib, nhi, upd cm, etc.), even if i didn't need to research anything for school. i would grab a backpack full of books and head home, reading under the covers until the wee hours of the morning. thursday evenings were spent going to exhibit openings and gala premieres of different production companies. friday evenings would be reserved for watching concerts, gigs, and poetry reading sessions. saturday afternoons would be spent watching matinee shows at the ccp or going to different museums around the metro. sunday afternoons were spent with my bandmates in rehearsal studios or in our tiny apartment, playing good ole rock 'n roll. i was also very active with a couple of school orgs and i was in charge of inviting several artists to give lectures / workshops. i was also the resident percussionist and set designer of our theatre company. needless to say, it was exhausting, but i was enjoying every moment of it.

i also remember going to provinces and experiencing different cultures. i was part of the research staff of the manlilikha exhibit in ccp and was sent to all sorts of locations to interview artisans and to get exhibit items. i was able to meet local politicians, tribal leaders, and shamans. i will never forget being invited by a mumbaki to join them in playing the tongatong in a healing ritual. it was a magical experience, in every sense of the word.

i really thought that i finally found my place in the world. that i would lead the way towards a philippine renaissance. i imagined myself travelling around the philippines and immersing in different cultures. afterwards, i would be writing about my experiences and get published internationally. i saw myself having a phd in philippine studies and heading the ccp or the ncca.

but then reality caught up with me, and i'm stuck where i am right now. bummer.