Lately, the cook has taken to watching her favorite teleserye in my room. It’s about two guys in love with the same girl, the twist being that they turn out to be brothers (half-brothers, actually; they have the same father). One is dirt-poor and the other rich, and both their mothers are continually at each other’s throats. It pays to familiarize yourself with the “down” volume button of your remote control for the confrontation scenes, which are frequent.
Anyway, the father dies (whether from a bullet to the noggin or the exasperation of having to deal with such shrill women, I’m not sure — maybe both) and the mommas promptly fight over the loot. That’s after they get into a brawl over… the coffin! Such Amazons, those women: no finesse whatsoever. Their own mothers are no better. But then them fighting genes have to come from somewhere, no? It makes you wonder about those boys.
Hmm, let’s see… They’re good boys, really, although the rich one has some control issues and seems to have inherited just a bit of Mom’s paranoid streak. Can you blame him for turning sulky and whiny when he learns that his bestest buddy is actually his brother? How about when he throws a jealous fit each time his girlfriend sneezes in another guy’s direction? So the kid has trust issues, too. Is it any wonder the girl turns down his offer of marriage?
Ah, yes — the girl. She gets the rawest end of the deal in this sorry tale. Most of the time she’s pushed around by her spineless father and domineering grandmother — or by her boyfriend and his devious mother. A veritable jerk magnet, that girl. Her father wants her to marry for money, while her BF demands marriage because, well, why the heck not? They love each other, don’t they? Or does she? Huh? Huh?
Poor rich brother. His irrational outbursts only serve to emphasize how cool and level-headed his sibling is. That, and he’s driving his girlfriend nuts and straight into the comforting arms of said sibling. Snap out of it, stupid boy, you want to tell him. Wake up and read the script. If you keep doing what you’re doing you’re going to get screwed!
Then the show pauses for a commercial break. A forlorn housewife surveys her dirty kitchen when Mr. Muscle suddenly materializes out of thin air to recommend a kitchen cleaner bearing his name. Delight is etched on wifey’s face, as if she has just been given the secret to the ten-minute orgasm. It doesn’t faze her that if that guy can enter her home just like that, who knows who’s going to show up next? Dr. Evil? Voldemort? The Cookie Monster? “What would you do if Mr. Muscle popped in on you like that?” I ask the cook.
“Faint from shock, probably,” she says, then pauses to consider. “Or whack him on the head with a cleaver.”
Next up is an actress in a supermarket aisle, making a great show of checking the label on a box of milk. What revelation is in store for her? Why, Nesvita Pro-Bone has 2,000 milligrams of calcium and only 1.1 grams of fat! Imagine that!
I can, actually — and more. Oh, I’m not that bad at math. I know, for example, that a foot equals 12 inches, or that 3 feet make up a yard. Kilograms to pounds, not so much. But I can tell you that a kilogram equals 1,000 grams, and a milligram is 1/1,000 of a gram. That puts the calcium content of NPB at — tada! — 2 grams. Comparing that to 1.1 grams of fat doesn’t require too much imagination now, does it?
“Di ba, Manang?”
“Shh.” Manang extends her arm sideways, her palm facing me, even as she inches closer to the screen. The showbiz news is on, and it promises an exclusive on the reason behind the Pops-Jomari break-up. Who cares about 0.9 stupid grams anyway?
UPDATE (2.5.09): If you have been following the show you now know that the brothers mentioned are actually twins. How much lower can you go for ratings? Wait — don’t answer that. I just realized that was a rhetorical question.
Source photos: Poltergeist rendition, My Paranormal Podcast; Quote, Man on the Lam
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