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Former US President Bill Clinton’s talk at the Manila Hotel was entitled “Embracing Our Common Humanity.”

Granted, some humanity is more embraceable than others. (I am channeling Noel. And how.) One of the Winklevii Ayala Corp president Fernando Zobel arrived carrying a large umbrella—because he drove himself. No bodyguards (unless they were a crack ninja team), no retinue. That’s cool.

Doreen Yu noted the red string around his wrist and asked if he was into Kabbalah. He said no, it was just something his daughter gave him after they’d finished a run.

Are there other countries besides the Philippines where people will overthrow a regime one day and then line up for photos with the deposed strongman’s wife the next? On the other hand you can’t fight charisma.

Here’s one of the Jessicii, Soho, with Tim Yap who is totally ripping off my look. Odd juxtaposition, no? But they’re at the same network.

I hitched a ride back to Makati with Melo Esguerra, who told me an amazing story. Recently he took a taxi very late at night, and he didn’t have change so he asked the driver to stop at a convenience store. The driver seemed trustworthy, so Melo left his gadgetry in the cab—iPad, laptop, cellphone—and dashed into the store to get change. This took two minutes. When he came out of the store the taxi was gone. Vanished. Split. Melo thought his stuff was lost forever; he was just hoping to get his IDs back. Three days later the taxi driver called his brother, who was listed on Melo’s ID as the “in case of emergency” contact. The driver apologized profusely and returned all of Melo’s stuff.

Here’s the giant head with designer Frederick Peralta, whom you may have seen on the hit telenovela, Magkaribal. “Everyone was crying at the wrap party. I think there’s going to be a second series.”

I owe Frederick a tuxedo. This is what happened. Years ago, Abe Florendo my editor at Today assigned me to interview Robin Padilla. We were going to take photos, so I suggested we make him wear a tux. So Abe borrowed a tuxedo from Frederick. The interview and shoot went very well. The tux fit perfectly. Then Robin Padilla said, “Can I keep the tux?” and I was so mesmerized by his tattoo of a hand clutching a heart wrapped in barbed wire I said, “Sure!” When we got back to the office Abe said, “How did it go?” I said, “Great.” He said, “Where’s the tux?” “Uhhh…I gave it to Robin.” Abe sighed, rolled his eyeballs, and called Frederick. I love Abe, no one is better at managing nuts.

Where are the pictures of President Clinton? I’ll post the video later.

Koosi is even more antisocial than her human. (Why don’t people ever believe you when you say you don’t want your picture taken? Do they think you’re being coy? It’s not a nothing issue. If your hideous photo gets on the web it will stay there forever, reminding you never to leave the house without a bag on your head. There is no mystery here: I just don’t like having my picture taken. I’m like those African tribesmen.) If you call her, she will give you a look of “You dare summon me?” If you stare at her too long, she will smack you with a paw. When she wants attention she will let you know. Sometimes she does this. Most times she just bites your toes.

Ooh, there’s an Illy cafe at the big cavernous NAIA terminal 3!

Naah, skip it. The coffee is by Illy, but the pastries are fossilized. And expensive. And I ordered a double espresso that was served in a large cardboard cup. I said, Please put it in a china cup. They said, We’re out of the little cups. This in a near-empty cafe. I said, Then put it in the big cup.

Two tables away a white guy in board shorts was talking loudly on his cellphone. Then he handed it to his girlfriend, a tiny Filipina girl with long, straight hair. She continued the telephone conversation in labored but correct English, then said goodbye and handed the phone back to the white guy. He said, Why did you hang up?!

He said goodbye, the girlfriend pointed out.

Why did you hang up?!?

We were finished talking.

WHY DID YOU HANG UP!?!

I wanted to say, Hoy afam, huwag mong sisigawan si Inday. Kung ayaw mong magkamali siya, di ikaw ang kumausap.

Instead I tried to eat the calcified cheese danish for which I was charged P95.

Emotional people are following me around.

* * * * *

Blast, there’s no US Open tennis telecast on cable TV at Avenue Plaza Hotel in Naga. There was basketball, baseball, golf, and rugby, but no tennis, and I’d been looking forward to watching the semis in my very nice hotel room. I ended up channel surfing for hours, hoping the tennis coverage would start, and even when I decided to go to sleep I kept bolting upright every 30 minutes shrieking, Has it started? Has it started?

The life of a tennis fan is full of self-inflicted jet lag. So now I’m exhausted, so exhausted that when I heard the score on CNN I couldn’t even say What! I thought, Oh well, the Fed is slowing down, and good for Djokovic to be in another final.

Maturity is not fun. On the other hand I will sleep soundly tonight instead of agonizing over every point in the final and deluding myself that I can telekinetically help the ball over the net 12 time zones away.

When Saffy wants some privacy she squeezes herself into the nearest available handbag.

Barely a week after the last episode of bathroom drama, it happened again.

I was in the bathroom at the mall when I heard someone weeping in one of the cubicles. At first it was sniffles and sobs, then it became full-on wailing and keening. I could make out the words “Ayoko nang mabuhay” (I don’t want to live) between sobs.

So I asked the washroom attendant who was in there. She said it was a student, and she had been in there for a bit.

I never know what to do when people get emotional in public—half of me wants to say, “Pull yourself together for chrissakes” and the other half wants to find the nearest exit. My friends have pointed out that in these matters I am a guy, although the way guys cry openly these days I must be an alpha guy. Sure you can cry at the movies and at sporting events, but if your girlfriend/boyfriend has dumped you, not a single tear.

Plus I’m stupid at human relations and everything I know about that I learned from the movies. And according to Moral by Marilou Diaz-Abaya, troubled college students have miscarriages in public toilets. So I asked the bathroom attendant whether we should knock on the cubicle and ask the crying girl if she was all right.

No, leave her alone, said another lady in the bathroom. Let her cry it all out, she’ll feel better. When I left the wailing had not abated.

Maybe she flunked an exam, my friend speculated. Or got ditched by her boyfriend, or found out that she’s pregnant.

Maybe it’s just life in general.

Text message

Maricon: Tattoo on the chest of punk tambay: ‘Blind Teror’.
Me: He did say blind.

* * * * *

We like to walk. It clears our heads. We have no place to walk outdoors (indoors we walk round and round the mall). Pedestrians have no rights and there are hardly any sidewalks. On Sundays, though, the Makati central business district is quiet. I suggested that we walk around all the parklets of the area—Legaspi “active” park, the park next to it which we call the “inactive” park, Salcedo park, and the Ayala Triangle park. Their combined area should be almost a tenth that of a real park.

During the walk we spotted a man sitting at a table outside a restaurant, smoking. “Did you see that man’s jawline?” my friend said.

“Yes, it’s stunning.” In profile he looked like the classic Superman illustrations.

Having been trained in scientific observation, we went to have a closer look at the subject. This entailed looping around the park and walking back to the restaurant from another direction. We were out for a walk anyway, and science is a harsh mistress. As we drew near the subject and his handsome jawline we casually turned in his direction.

Aaa! The central features did not live up to the profile. He must always be photographed from the side. When he is introduced he must always present his left profile. It’s the life of Two-Face.

“If layogenic means ‘attractive from a distance’, and likogenic (likod-genic) means ‘looks good seen from the rear’, what’s the term for someone who’s attractive only in profile?” I asked.

“Gilid-genic,” said my friend. “Giligenic.”

“Or tabigenic.”

Or pangagenic—one whose strong jawline raises expectations which are dashed upon full frontal viewing.

Ricky didn’t have a vase for the eucalyptus so he put them in a briefcase.

Ige appears to be auditioning for Hamlet. The following day he shaved.

I bought this tote bag for 100 pesos at Aldevinco in Davao.

Rene was looking for Theodore Rex, the biography of Teddy Roosevelt. It was no longer available, but these biographies were. We lined them up to find the answer to the question, Which of these historical figures is the cutest?

Jay is describing a nefarious stratagem used by cellphone thieves on the MRT. Strangely, he is smiling.

The five prosecco cocktails I had at Cibo this afternoon in aid of research. Prosecco is like an Italian version of champagne. From left to right: Mimosa (orange juice), Plum Bellini, Mango Bellini, Rossini (strawberry), and Tiziano (grape).

All Noel wanted was a glass of the house red, but the waiter said it wasn’t Cabernet, it was a mixture of Cabernet Vallformosa Tempranillo tienes tienes tienes. It was complicated. I ordered cider.