Tooth and Claw

Ramblings of an Over-Caffeinated Mind

    Ahhhh, the untended blog. I almost left this blog for dead, but somehow having a blog in a not-so-popular site amidst all the other blog-dedicated websites in cyberspace gives you an artificial sense of privacy. There are blogs made to entertain, some to impress, and some just to vent out the ramblings of an over-caffeinated mind at 2 am. Ramblings meant for oneself, but somehow needing to be heard by somebody else and no one in particular.

    It’s been two nights since I watched Elizabethtown just before going to sleep, and I can’t help thinking about it before going to sleep every night since. I didn’t catch the beginning, or even remember if it was on HBO or Star Movies, but I decided to stop and watch for a few minutes when I saw Jessica Biel just as I was channel surfing through the network. It turned out that it was an Orlando Bloom movie but I was hooked to the plot before I could change channels.

    What transpired for the next hour-and-a-half was a strangely nice story about a guy on the verge of suicide whose plan was serendipitously interrupted by a call from his sister that his father had died and he had to go down to his dad’s hometown to facilitate the funeral. Along the way he met Kirsten Dunst, an intrusively sociable stewardess on the plane, but whose interestingness (I can’t believe that Microsoft Word’s Spellcheck recognizes this word as Anglically legal) grows on you. But as you’d expect from a guy who has his mind set on his death, Bloom goes on his way to Elizabethtown giving no apparent interest on, excuse the political incorrectness, “a clearly hittable chick”.

    He soon finds himself in a small town where he comes across a number of colorful characters from a has-been rocker and his run-amok kid, traditionalist old-timers, and a sappy groom-to-be who does that you’re-the-man pointy thingy every time they’d run across each other on the hotel. Well this Bloom fellow gets a bit lonely on his first night and ends up calling Dunst, who engages him on a conversation-ala- Before-Sunset until they at last agree to meet just around the crack of dawn for an “eyeball”.

    The rest of the movie is as you’d expect it to be – some romantic developments against the backdrop of the whole small-town charm, culminating in a funeral party with a heartwarming tap dance by Susan Sarandon and a totally rockin’ rendition of Freebird which sets the party ablaze - triggering a fantastic electric guitar finale with sprinklers a-sprinklin’.

    I wouldn’t want to ruin it for those who haven’t seen it yet, so I’ll have to stop the storytelling here. Pretty typical, I know. But the perfect combination of richly-developed characters, an exceptional script, and a soundtrack that stirs your inner free-spirit wells up to an insightfully fascinating movie that kept me reflecting on its intricate simplicity, and why I inexplicably liked it a lot.

    Ramblings, like I said. It wouldn’t be ramblings if I made much sense now wouldn’t it? Sleep is knocking on my eyelids and this blog had served its purpose…

Island Doctor Equipment Guide

Island medicine is something city-trained doctors feel that they need to prepare for. Choosing the right gear to buy for your trip might require you to reenact scenarios in your mind to decide which stuff to buy. But of course, nothing beats experience and there are times you’d wish you could get something up front from the Fates. So I’ve decided to come up with a list of equipment to help fill out your shopping list.
 

1. Havaianas Trekking Sandals

I used to believe that the Havaianas phenomenon was a fashion fluke which I decided never to take any part in. Just like the similar Starbucks phenomenon, it came with the question that popped in most people’s minds when it first came out: “Who would pay 800 pesos for the same footwear worn by your neighborhood pedicab driver?” Although at the very least I was thankful that it was Havaianas that at last allowed rubber thong slippers into public places where they were previously banned or regarded in poor taste where they weren’t.

That was until my birthday came and Tina wanted to buy me something I wouldn’t buy myself. The choice was obvious given the nature of my assignment and so I received my first (and only) pair of Havaianas. I insisted that she get me the ones with the straps on the heel so that they wouldn’t get sucked off when I go wading through muddy beaches. And of course the straps ensured that at least they looked a bit different from the ones owned by Mak-mak and Ma-oy.

In no time, the slippers eventually earned the title of “The Only Footwear You’ll Ever Need” in my wardrobe. Being all rubber, it dries quickly and it doesn’t leave you with the discomfort of wet nylon straps clinging to your skin while you consult the throng of patients queuing at your island health station. It also serves as bathroom slippers at the same time, saving you about a quart of backpack space.

The rubber is tougher than some athletic shoes I’ve owned and even more comfortable. Amazingly the thong strap doesn’t chafe even after hours of hiking. Although the comfort granted by the open design is the same reason for the main and probably only setback in wearing this podiatric phenomenon. Stepping on excrement from all types of island inhabitants is extra unpleasant. But just like with any other form and type of footwear, it is always prudent to watch where you walk.

All in all it’s worth more than how much Tina would’ve gotten it for. Local islanders would sometimes ask me for my slippers, testifying to the fact that those who lived in islands their whole lives recognize utility of the design. But I just tell them that I just couldn’t give them something my girlfriend gave me for my birthday. Thank God I didn’t buy my own Havaianas.

 

2. One Gallon Belt Bag

No brand in particular, but you could get them where North Face or Habagat products are being sold. What is important is that the compartment volume should hold at least 1 gallon. This will allow you to carry your aneroid sphygmanometer, stethoscope, flashlight, diagnostic kit, MIMS, Medicine Bluebook, and various Pea Brain and Babyprint notes with the added flexibility of free hands. Outdoorsmen would attest to the fact that hands-free equipment are lifesaving. The only thing between that outcropping ledge and the fatal plummet to the jagged rocks below could be that free hand.

Of course backpacks serve the same purpose, but they come with bigger compartment volumes making it harder to look for your stuff inside. Backpacks also tend to build up sweat on your back on long hikes, especially on hot tropical summers. Although there are packs equipped with technology to address this problem, they are costly and these features are mostly available for larger packs.

The problem with belt bags is that the straps may tend to loosen up as the hike moves on, so you could try tying them up to prevent this. You might also need to have at least a decent amount of glutes to keep the bag from falling to your knees while walking. The only thing between that harmless hands-free hike and the stumble to that fatally positioned sharp object conveniently lying on the ground could be your J-Lo.

 

3. Rayovac Swivel-Lite

Basically it’s a flashlight whose head could be positioned perpendicular to the battery barrel, like the ones they have in the army that they strap to their utility belts. Well, you could get the usual flashlight, but it does not conform to the previously discussed free-hand principle like the Rayovac Swivel-Lite. Obviously better than this is the head-mounted flashlight, but this could be the next best thing.

There are times when I wished I had the head mounted light, especially for extracting fishbones and other foreign bodies from various orifices. But you can’t carry around a headlight as conveniently as a flashlight. The batteries are practically impossible to find in island stores, and the straps hanging loose make it a clumsy tool when not worn on the head.

The usefulness of my Swivel-Lite was established when I once woke up in the middle of the night in an island without electricity with the need to relieve my bladder. With my Swivel-Lite tucked in my boxers and its belt clip latched on the garter, I nimbly manipulated my urinary stream to fall seamlessly into the toilet-seat-less toilet bowl, saving me the embarrassment from my host the morning after.

Upon deeper reflection, Swivel-Lite may have been a bit too pricey for a flashlight. But there are times things money can buy indirectly translate to things money can’t buy. It was one of those times that I was glad I had my Swivel-Lite.

 

4. Southwest Monsoon Tri-fold Lightweight Umbrella

Umbrellas are a must when traveling in tropical islands. Raincoats may keep you drier outside, but sometimes it gets so humid while it’s raining that they end up making you wetter inside. They take longer to dry and take up more of that precious compartment space in your travel bag.

Umbrellas not only protect you from rain, but also from splashing seawater when coasting through choppy waters on motorized outrigger boats. It is for this very reason that I specified that one should choose lightweight umbrellas. Lightweight umbrellas are made of aluminum, which makes it rustproof, assuring a longer service life despite prolonged exposure to seawater.

At the same time, almost all lightweight umbrellas are tri-fold. This gives you an umbrella small enough to pocket in your cargo pants, allowing you to carry it wherever you go without forgetting it every time. This ensures that you have your umbrella whenever and wherever you need it.

Some would question the use of a tri-fold umbrella for heavy duty use. Some would even postulate that the durability of an umbrella is directly proportional to its size and inversely proportional to its number of folds. This is why I stressed the importance of brand choice when buying your umbrella. My Southwest Monsoon lightweight umbrella survived 18 months through rain, storm, and seawater and it’s still one-hundred percent serviceable up to now.

 

Of course there’s nothing like the convoluted mass of nerve tissue between your ears to get you through a fix. The most formidable shoulder-mounted plasma cannon is useless in the hands of a squirrel, a great master once said. Recycled sack bags make excellent island luggage and just about any footwear, flashlight, or umbrella will have done just as well at the end of the day. But like I always say, if you’re going to plant a tree, you might as well do it with feelings.

Johann's Gas Equivalent

Like many of us, I am a fan dairy derivatives. One could not help but smile in one’s heart on the mere mention of the words “ice cream”, “cheesecake”, and “milkshake”. My disappointment was thus clearly understandable when I realized about two years ago, that I was, to a certain extent, lactose intolerant. Although I would not consider myself alone in this frustration since varying degrees of lactose intolerance afflict Asians from all walks of life. My mother told me that it was because I stopped drinking milk when I got into college. But as we all come to learn, no college student in his right mind would buy milk with his allowance when he could buy beer instead. Naively, I believed that such misappropriation of funds at so early in one’s adulthood would be without consequence, only to realize too late its painful price.

Being lactose intolerant is not without its advantages. By forcing us to cut down of saturated fat-dense dairy products, it just might be nature’s way of keeping us from ceaselessly feeding our coronary atheromas. In my line of work as a rural health physician, I could also cleverly exploit my lactose-intolerance-induced gas buildup to subtly convey to obnoxious patients that they’ve overstayed their welcome.

Living with lactose intolerance, like all other natural disasters, is simply a matter of acceptance. One simply has to weigh how many hours of diarrhea and distressing gas accumulation would one be willing to spend for, let’s say, a pint of ice cream. I have therefore come up with a measure, I hereby dub the Johann’s Gas Equivalent, by which dairy by-products can be conveniently evaluated as to their palatability and the amount of gastrointestinal embarrassment that persons with lactose intolerance would be willing to, ahem, stomach.

I have decided that the Gas Equivalent would be most conveniently expressed in gas-hours, since measuring the amount of discomfort in terms of its duration has been found to be more agreeable to the subjects than in terms of the volume of gas produced. And so, without further ado, I present to you the list to begin all lists of foodstuffs with their corresponding Gas Equivalents:

1. A glass of milk – 3 gas-hours

Lightly sweetened, with Oreos, or in a bowl of cereal, the warmed mother of all dairy products reigns supreme as the dairy icon of home, family ties, and motherly love. As a superb accompaniment for snacks too sweet to consume on their own, and for the good it does my body, I could spend about 3 hours acting as-if-I-didn’t-do-it for a timely glass of milk.

2. One large scoop of ice cream – 4 gas-hours

Of course we’d all expect this value to be highly variable depending on the particular brand and flavor of ice cream. Right now I’m thinking of the ubiquitous Selecta brand vanilla ice cream on a good slice of French apple pie. I guess I could jeopardize an occasional morning’s worth of salary for this one scoop.

3. Italianni’s Strawberry Cheesecake – 12 gas-hours

My vote for the best cheesecake in the country goes to this gastronomic marvel. Baked to a perfect golden brown with a butterscotch finish, the strawberry sauce suitably counterbalances the dessert’s sweetness. Aside from the amount of hard-earned cash I’d have to cough up for the pleasure of its consumption, I could throw in an additional half a day scurrying from chair to toilet seat for good measure.

4. Calea’s Frozen Tiramisu – 16 gas-hours

The best dessert in the country combines the best elements of ice cream and cake to bring about this man-made wonder. Well, if you really think about it, it’s just cake-shaped ice cream sandwiched between two giant ladyfingers. But since the world of enlightenment puts a premium on ordinary things done extraordinarily well, this masterpiece may just have achieved culinary nirvana. I could spend every waking hour in hypovolemic stupor for a piece of this heaven.

5. Picobello’s Quattro Formaggio – 24 gas-hours

Inconspicuously situated at the topmost floor of an old mall building, Picobello restaurant is one of Davao City’s best kept secrets. The fact that the country’s best four-cheese pizza is kept in such flagrant unobtrusiveness makes it even better. The pizza is cheesier than Air Supply, enough said. And if you make it to the place before 5pm, you can get two for the price of one. Now that’s enough cheese to make Ben and Jerry lactose intolerant. That’s an exaggeration of course, but I ain’t making one when I say that I’d spend 24 hours on diapers just to gorge on this scrumptious ode to lactose overload.

The good news is that modern medicine has come up with fairly effective adsorbents like dimethicone and attapulgite that make eating your favorite dairy-based dish less distressing.  More expensive lactase tablets are also available in the market for those who have serious engagements the following day.  Needless to say, lactose intolerance need not be messy.  But, well, where's the fun in that?

The Legacy of White Lion

First, I’d like to know how to remove the part of posting blogs that automatically sends e-mail notifications to your entire friendster-friend mailing list. I find it simply too obtrusive. Cluttering other people’s mailbox space is the last thing I’d want to achieve with this. I’d really appreciate any comments on how to go about deactivating it.

Dinner was great tonight. Manang Tessie made me some grilled skewered shrimp basted in her secret barbecue sauce with fried eggplant and vegetable soup for sidings. I’ve always suspected that she was the best cook in Concepcion. For the most part, she’s the mayor’s cook, and as with feudal tradition, the lord of the land keeps the finest house staff. Her skills in frying shrimp and squid are only to be matched by Bubba Gump’s Bucket-of-Boat-Trash. But since The Bucket does not include squid, her fried calamari stands without equal.

Dinner was made even better with the thought that the municipal malnutrition rate has gone down to 19 percent from 25 percent a year after I arrived in this town. I’ve been tabulating health data this afternoon, driven by the curiosity of how my presence benefited this place, and a big part of our advocacy this year was directed against malnutrition.  Of course nutrition is multi-factorial, but we all can’t help but secretly feel that we’ve been a good part in the things that make the world a better place.

I usually eat dinner alone these days. The mayor has been busy networking with the developmentalese in Manila and other parts of the world lately. So for company I have the sound of the nearby videoke bar frequented by what else. It was then when it came to my attention – the legacy of White Lion.

Well, for those unfamiliar with White Lion, it’s the band who sang “You’re All That I Need” – a cloyingly cheesy sellout rock song from circa 1992. Sick as some of us are from rock sellouts, one can’t help but notice how songs like these have leached into the soul of our culture after 15 years of being played and replayed on radios, small town videoke bars, and badly decorated prom nights. It makes you wonder how many men fought with tooth, nail, and gin bottles in bar brawls spawned from its singing, or lack of it - or how entire display cases of ladies underwear have been spirited away from their wearers on many a starry night under the influence of the song’s mush.

For some, it has become the soundtrack of their lives – like the music that plays in their heads while they imagine themselves to be in some music video as they episodically recall the things they like to remember. Apparently, this applies for music in general, but not every song makes it to the playlist of the rural videoke machine 15 years after its conception. It is a place reserved for the elite few who managed to play in synchrony with the heartbeat of a nation.

Mr. White Lion, probably now only a shadow of the rocker he was, might be one of those people right now playing “You’re All That I Need” in his head, trying to remember his glory days, wondering if his music ever made a difference in this world. Well, Mr. White Lion sir, for all it’s worth, you’d be glad to know that your song will be among the echoes forever to be remembered by the timeless hills of one small town, in one of the 7,107 islands of a tropical country.

The Birth of a Blog

At last... my own blog.  I somehow felt the need for this because of the ever shrinking pool of user names, proprietary labels, and in this specific case, blog site names in the Internet.  Ten years from now, someone just might offer to buy out this blog's name.  Originality sells, it's just a matter of foresight.  You see I could have used my name, but that wouldn't sell now would it?  Unless of course I become someone famous, but chances are, I'd be dead by then.

Come to think of it, my original blog site name should have been "Food for a Crow".  I tried to create a blog for two months now with that name, and every time Friendster would send an error report.  I thought all this time the blog engine was under repair.  Serendipitously I tried another name and here I am writing about it.

To give justice to the origin of the phrase, it's part of the lyrics of Sting's "I Was Brought To My Senses":

It's written in a sky as blue
As blue as your eyes
As blue as your eyes
If nature's red in tooth and claw
Like winter's freeze and summer's thaw
The wounds she gave me
Were the wounds that would heal me

I don't know if ten years from now the same phrase would still sound as cool as it did now.  In fact, ten years from now, "cool" would probably be just as uncool as hearing our parents say "groovy".  Too bad they didn't come up with "un-groovy" back then.

Frontage of Malangabang Elementary School, Barangay Malangabang, Concepcion, Iloilo