Politcally Incorrect Queens

Nothing gets you publicity faster than by being overly politically incorrect.

Take these three ladies for example. They were virtually unknowns who have turn themselves celebrities (in that they're very famous) by simply speaking out their minds.

1. Pauline Hanson (Australia) - "Please explain?"

This is NOT Pauline Hanson. But I'd rather have a picture of Kristin Kreuk than of Pauline

Before 10 September 1996, Pauline Hanson was a nobody on the Australian political landscape. She made international headlines when in her first ever parliamentary speech, she voiced her opinions on (the undoing of) multicultural Australia.

Nice. Read her story here.

She single handedly divided the nation and catapulted herself (temporarily) to the front lines of Australian politics.

Not bad for a Fish N Chip shop owner.

She also single handedly killed my attraction for red-haired women.

2. Wendy Cheng (Singapore) - The Blog Princess

Xiaxue (aka Wendy Cheng) is a multi-award winning blogging princess of Singapore. And she no stranger to political incorrectness.

In fact, her blog is popular because she openly speaks her mind, regardless of how tasteless, selfish, degrading and rude they are (That's what makes it so interesting!) She is really bold and is very popular. She registers almost 12,000 hits a day and has made a living out of blogging.

Her posts on the use of disabled toilets and her opinion on the rape of a Filipina is quite a frightening read.

Which is a shame coz she's actually quite alright looking. I don't think she needed a nose job or needs to Photoshop her photos though.

She's a tad conceited (by tad, I mean very very very very very conceited).

Her most recent scandal was her post "Singapore's Most Disgusting Bloggers" where she openly slugs a 60 year old blogger!

Nice. Nothing like a good old flame war to raise dropping internet hits.

3. Malu Fernandez (Philippines) - Divalicious

Again, this is NOT Malu. I needed a picture of Jessica Alba to offset Malu's photo below.

Malu Fernandez has recently set the Filipino blogging community on fire with her remarks about overseas Filipino workers (OFW).

You can read the article here - Page 1 Page 2.

Then she followed it up with an even juicier post.

My favourite quotes from Malu:

“This time I had already resigned myself to being trapped like a sardine in a sardine can with all these OFWs smelling like AXE and Charlie cologne while my Jo Malone evaporated into thin air."

"Although it may sound elitist to you the fact is this country is built on the foundation of haves, have-nots and wannabes."

Irritated filipino bloggers then joined arms to stop the juggernaut (literally?) that’s is Malu and is pressuring her to resign.

Malu should be worried.

In the past, the Filipino blogging community banded to stop Pamie, an American who negatively critised Philippines' most beloved fast food chain Jollibee.

I don't think Pamie knew how big the can of worms she opened.

She got hate mail after hate mail. I think she's shut down part of her forum because it was inundated with hate comments.

I don't know how if the 'ugly american' incident had ever finished, but there's still hate mail going around. I wonder how Pamie sleeps at night?

In their defense, these women proclaim 'freedom of speech'.

And thats okay. Everyone has a right to say what’s on their mind. Their claim self-righteousness is based on what they believe, what have or what’s been taken from. Its based on life experiences and no one, no matter how many hate mails or death threats you send, can take that away.

Certainly, I’ve done my share of preaching. And I too have upset a few. I accept that. I’m about as wrong as they are right.

(I'll give you another second to think about that last line)

When you state your opinions, it isn't always going to be of everyone's taste. It might get praised or it might get hurled-out and thrown back at you.

But you'll certainly be remembered if your taste is bad.

UPDATE - News just in - Malu has just resigned as a journalist following pressure from the Philippine blogging community (23 Aug 2007).

That didn't take long.

Flood of 91

It was raining that morning. We wanted to visit our house in Cainta to check out its' construction.

We took my grandfather's jeep.

It was the type the military uses, but was red and had an off-white tarpaulin top.

Dad usually takes freeway EDSA to get there, but he anticipated the traffic because of rain and decided to take another route.

My two brothers and I sat at the back and my dad drove while talking to my mom about the construction.

Soon we found ourself in a two way street with the road ahead knee-deep in water. Its been raining for a few days now so this wasn't out of the ordinary.

There were small apartment houses lining both sides and you could see that the water has crept in some of the doorsteps.

But this wasn't deep. I've seen worse. Like waist-high floods. The jeep shouldn't have problems getting through this.

My dad switched to a lower gear and drove the jeep slowly through the water.

I loved it when the jeep cruised through the floods. You can hear the engine murmur through the water. It kinda feels like you're in a boat.

We drove a few metres. The jeep coughed but continued on.

Looking further down, we could see that the road ahead was long. The water would get deeper because the stranded vehicles further away were more submerged. It would have been very risky to plow through.

The nearby Shell station was dirty and run down. It had two pumps and you can barely make out the yellow and red colours from the diesel stains everywhere.

But the station was five feet above the road so it was a perfect safe place to wait for the flood to subside.

My dad drove the jeep up unto the station and parked so we overlooked the street.

And then we waited.

Rain, rain, rain.

Wait, wait, wait.

It wasn't very windy. But the air was shivering cold.

The fat monsoon rain was getting heavier.

We talked about all sorts of things and watched more cars get stranded in the flood. We waited patiently.

Then the waters started rising. And it was rising quickly.

The cars stranded on the road were now submerged to their side mirrors. And the rain continued to pour.

The water kept rising.

We sat there intently watching.

Soon the flood waters had risen to the level of the gas station and waters were now touching the jeep again. The cars in front were completely submerged and can be barely made out through the polluted water.

It kept on raining. We were starting to worry. We were about five feet above the street, surely the waters can't keep on rising!

It kept raining and raining.

My parents were arguing on what we needed to do. We could continue to wait in the jeep or we could try and get to higher grounds.

It kept raining, and it was getting stronger.

The water kept rising and rising.

I was silently praying in my head.

Then the waters started getting inside the jeep.

That was the trigger for us to get our quickly. My parents hopped out and we all moved to the front before jumping into the water.

I remember jumping out and being surprised on how deep the water was. It would touch my elbows if I had my arms straight.

My mom held on to me and my older brother.

I remember holding on to her waist tightly. We desperately tried to walk across the murky waters. My dad followed behind with my younger brother.

The water was so cold and the rain was making it really hard to see. The ground was also uneven and you could see the petrol and fuel mixed with waters.

With the help of a few strangers, we were guided up to the steps leading to an employee quarters, the upper floor of the gas station.

Maybe it was only four minutes or five minutes that we were in the water, but looking back at the jeep, I realise how fast the water had risen. The water was now in level with the seats of our jeep.

We were stranded in the small employee room with some other families. The family that lived there didn't look like they had much.

Their clothes were grey and dirty and there was little furniture in the room. But they were very kind and offered us their food.

The next hour saw the water continuing to rise.
Some have started praying. And we joined soon after. We all prayed for our lives.

I remember hearing screams of onlookers watching a desperate civilian swim to safety against the flood torrent. It was all very scary.

I'll never forget seeing our jeep submerged under the flood waters. All you could see was the white rooftop.

Then rains eventually stopped.

The flood rose to maybe six or so steps of the employee quarters before it started to subside.

We saw a few government officers drive by on boats. The national rescue service maybe.

It was already six in the evening before we saw our vehicle again.

And it would be another four hours before we finally get home. Safe at last.

1 September 1990

Blind Date (Part 2 of 3)

The 4WD parked at the side of the road. The street was lined with houses all fronting solid iron gates. The dim orange streetlights revealed a few other cars parked by the side of the road, but the street was mostly deserted.

My cousin whispered something to Anne before she disembarked. It must have been a private joke because she giggled on her way out. My cousin and I just sat there in silence listening to the murmur of the engine. He seemed pretty happy, grinning by himself.

Anne went to a gate and pressed a button. I didn’t hear a bell, but something startled the dogs behind the forbidding gate. Their barks echoing with other dogs down the street.

A few moments later a smaller door appeared on the metal gate and a girl stepped out.

She was wearing a tight black top and jeans. Her hair wavy and left untied. She gave Anne a quick hug before both made their way to the car.

"Hi!" she smiled warmly as she jumped on the 4WD. She took the seat next to mine.
"Hi!’ I smiled back'

So this is Kat.

Hmm.
I see.
There and then.
I knew.

She’s not my type.

'Uyy Kamusta ka na?! (Hey, how you've been?)" Kat cheered to my cousin in the front seat.

Kat looked excited and happy to be out. It seemed that Kat, my cousin and Anne haven't seen each other for a long time. They reminisced about college days and caught up on gossip.

I didn't say much. I didn’t know what or who they were talking about. All I could do was listen in on the conversation and smile pretentiously.

We arrived at a little restaurant-bar in the corner of a city block. There were posters outside of the band we were going to see.

The restaurant had a very browny-orange rusty theme going on. Orange walls with mocha brown leather seats. There were many small tables for two in the middle. Larger booths by the walls.

We were seated in a diner-style booth with Kat sitting next to me and my cousin and partner sitting in front. Our booth was next to the big window pane overlooking the city street. We were the furthest from the stage but still had a good view.

I remember feeling over dressed for the occasion. Everyone was wearing jeans and I was wearing brown pants. They had sneakers to my brown leather shoes and T-shirts to my ironed crisp and blindingly white shirt. I felt more awkward now because it was much brighter in the restaurant.

But with the better lighting, gave me better glances of Kat.

She seems friendly enough. She’s very comfortable with my cousin and Anne. And she’s kinda attractive... I think… It’s just that she was VERY different from the photo.

All those pimples weren’t in the picture.

Then again the picture was two years old. And it was in black and white... and its brightness adjusted to make it a very white photo. I thought it was just fading. Maybe the photo was purposely faded?

But even in the photo. There were no sparks or anything like that when I saw Kat.
I thought maybe if I saw this person, in person, then maybe something would happen.

But nothing did.

The band started. A thirty something singer sang jazzy love songs accompanied by guitar, bass, keyboard and drums. She sounded great. And looked great too. In fact I was more interested in her that the person next to me. Blame it on singer’s thick red lipstick and saucy singing.

During the first set break we ordered drinks and we all talked briefly. I finally got to do my part spoke to Kat.

"yes.. there are lots of kangaroos in Australia, I actually catch one to work.."

I asked her what kind of music she liked. She said Incubus, Incubus, Incubus. Incubus is her life.

Hmmm great, an emo.
But it dawned to me that my cousin was passionate about Incubus too.
Maybe that’s why my cousin speaks with so much animation when he talks about Kat.

Blind Date (Part 1 of 3)

March 2003

His Place

I sat alone in the back of the 4WD as it droned is way through the dark streets of Quezon city. My cousin was well versed in driving the champagne Toyota Revo . In fact, he looked to be enjoying driving past small cars and honking his way through traffic.

My cousin, at 5'10, was bigger than me. He's got a wide built but wasn’t fat. His inch long hair was styled forward, which was odd because it was usually untreated and puffs like an Afro. He was hunched in front of the steering wheel, wearing a blue polo shirt and jeans. He seemed to be in his own world now.

My cousin and I were born the same year thats why we get along well. But we're very different. We have different priorities, different ambitions and different goals. We've taken differents paths and have now ended up in different sides.

The first time I rode with him I went pale from fright, but tonight, sitting at the back, traffic was the least of my concerns.

I had other things on my mind.

Sitting in the front passenger seat was a girl with long brown hair I've met just twice before. She wore a plain yellow top, jeans and white head band. She kinda looked like Anne Hathaway, with soft filipina features. She's very pretty. I saw her photos in my cousin's house and there I discovered how really attractive she was.

She sat there faintly humming to latest pop songs on RX931, bobbing her head as she looked out the window.

She was definitely my type. But I knew I couldn't pursue this personal inkling because she was already my cousin's girl.

The 4WD came to a red light and my cousin turned around to check up on me. He grinned

Okay ka ba dyan?
[are u okay?']

My palms were making hand prints on my brown pants. I’ve rolled up the sleeves of my white business shirt to get some air circulating through. Last thing I’d want to do is scare my blind date with wet patches around my armpits.

I want to believe I’m okay. Dressed in my best gear - including boxers I’ve just bought the previous afternoon. I was styling a new haircut, slick and sharp reinforced with a tubful of hair gel. And although a little sweaty, I was still radiating scents of Giorgio Armanis' Aqua de Gio. All I needed was a heart shaped box of chocolate and some roses and I’d complete the picture of a nerdy first date.

My stomach churned in resistance to this date.

I feinted a smile to my cousin.

I was really worried.

Then she turned to have a look at me as well I guess she found it quite adorable that I was nervous.

hwag ka ‘alala, best friend namin si Kat, bagay kayo
[Don't worry. Kat's our best friend. You'll look good together]

She smiled.

hmmm, I hope so

And with that, I felt a little bit better.

Barbershop

The Italian barber motioned me that it was my turn. I was disappointed as I was getting to the juicy parts of the article entitled 'how to test if your girlfriend is a lesbian' on this month’s FHM issue. I swore to myself to stop reading such trashy material, but it was the reading material in the waiting section and I needed to pass time.

The short Italian barber looked to be near his sixties. His almost-maroon skin looking especially dark with his pale yellow shirt, bright red tie and cream pants. His face a cross between Mario and a prune.. minus the hair on top. It’s kinda funny asking someone who's losing hair to cut your own. Kinda like asking Ugly Betty for fashion tips.

Now I used to think talking to barbers was the right thing to do. With both of you sharing each other's personal space, it's only right to try and socialise and ease such foreign tension. But I’ve decided not to talk to pruny Uncle Mario today. I'd rather him concentrate on my hair than him stressing his very Italian vocabulary in answering my silly question of ‘how often do people ask for their nose hair to be trimmed?’

I took my glasses off and stared at my blurry reflection. Dam I look good when I can't see my reflection properly.

I sat there watching blurry Uncle Mario trim my blurry hair. The foggy peripheral of my thoughts fading into memories of when my dad used to take me to the barber.

If I had to recall happy memories with my dad, it would include the times he brought me and my brothers to the barbershop.

The barbershop in Malabon Philippines was located four houses left of my grandma's place which we visited almost every day (my grandma, not the barbershop). The barbershop is a small square shop with a smooth cement floor and four hair cutting chairs. The back side of the store led to someones house and smelled of cooking, the opposite a metal folding gate, entrance to the lime green barber shop. The mirrors on opposite end of the walls made the illusion of an infinite abyss which never failed to dazzle our young minds.

The barbers gave great hair cuts at very cheap prices. It’s no wonder all the blokes around the place had clean, well trimmed crops. The barbers were a trio, with Mang Nestor (Mr Nestor) my late grandpa’s friend, leading the other old timers. They're just your stereotypical old guys who talked of politics and boxing and smelled of baby powder, pomade and four day old body odour.

What made the barber trips particularly interesting were the posters of near naked women covering most of the lime green walls. The pics were of young models, similar to the viva hot , babes only of the eighties. In such a male oriented den, it seemed only fitting to have degrading arresting display of feminine beauty. Sadly back then my hormones have not kicked in and I didn’t’ know what the big fuss was with women. I stared at them posters with as much gusto I would a Snell chart.

But the barber trips always put a cheer on my dad’s stride. It was just us boys with dad. We didn't speak much, but that's how we communicate.

On our way home, my dad would be happy to do a side trip to a nearby store and buy our favourite drink - this with very little nagging.

When he’s happy, were happy. Life was good.

Uncle Mario has finished his job.

I awoke from my daze and put on my glasses. The haircut is much shorter than expected. I look like a dried up chiapet.

Oh well. It will grow back.