Robert de Niro, talking Filipino

A few weeks ago, I was at the launch of a new service Zed and Smart had come up with. Called Safe Taxi, it provided a system whereby any Smart subscriber could call a number upon entering a taxicab, register the license plate number of the taxi operator and enter three numbers, which Zed could notify when the subscriber does not respond to the calls Zed would subsequently make. With two 30-minute gaps and then, 15-minute periods, Zed will text, inquiring if you’re okay and call your three emergency numbers if you continuously fail to respond to all these text messages.

Okay, while we do commend Zed and Smart for coming up with this service; let’s examine why this service came about.

The Zed and Smart representatives spoke of being inspired by a circular that the Australian Embassy gave to all its tourists and expats, warning them of how unsafe taxicabs were in our fair metropolis. Great, that’s tantamount to saying, stay in your hotels and company-provided homes and "see" the Philippines from your armchair, or don’t bother coming at all. Thank God for Lakbay TV; it seems it’s the only way to safely traipse around our islands. One step out of the hotel or subdivision, and it’s Survivor time!

Certainly "More than the Usual" and "Wow." Which incidentally, on a sidebar note, really bugs me. Here we are, holding the bragging rights for being the Southeast Asian country with the best facility for spoken English, yet our country’s latest tourism campaign hinges on a very eloquent and articulate three-letter exclamation… that uses two letters of the alphabet! What next, the Philippines, huh?

And speaking of Survivor, maybe that could be the next tourism pitch: "Didn’t make the final cut when you applied to join the show you love? Don’t fret, just book yourself to Survivor’s reality location–the Philippines! Just five minutes out of the airport and if you’ve not been kidnapped, pick-pocketed, gypped, raped, swindled, robbed or overcharged; we’ll pay your hotel bill. Net of tax and +++. A message from the Department of Tourism."

Anyway, got that off my chest. Back to Safe Taxi. In other cities like Singapore, the cellphone is used to call a cab to come to any point in the city to pick you up; here, it’s used to check that you safely got to your destination. Your risk–since you hailed one. And there were several women who were visibly happy that Zed/Smart was now providing this service. Excuse me for noticing, but isn’t that one sorry state of affairs, a sad indictment of where we’re at?

Zed did admit that the offered service was not foolproof; and maybe the day will come that the technology can provide a 911 type of number that can be punched in when needed. When that day comes, we hope it will be used responsibly. In the meantime, it’s great that we are being given these types of services, as the other network providers will be compelled to answer the challenge with similar and improved options.

The Politics of Party Lists

If you thought this was going to refer to political parties, go to the back of the class. This one is about making it to dinner party lists, and how in this fair city, nothing grates as much as finding out you were not invited to one whose host was someone you considered a friend. Okay, I saw and felt those flinches and recomposing of facial muscles to feign nonchalance. Caught you unawares, didn’t I? Admit it, almost everyone at one time or another has had that twinge of bitterness at being left out, right? Plus, if it’s at some swank new resto with matching "swank" prices, ‘tis a bitter pill to swallow that you didn’t get the proverbial "free lunch"... or dinner.

I know of some "uninvited" who then turn the omission into some kind of grudge, letting it gnaw at their insides till the event passes or a subsequent invitation for the same night crops up (the "No, I declined coz I have this other thing to attend" explanation). Others will even find ways and means to get a message to the host, whether of the entreating kind or the scathing type. What gives? It’s just one dinner, one occasion. Are you a social pariah based on this one slight? Was it even an intentional slight? Is not being invited now going to condemn you to the status of "untouchable"? For some individuals who you’d have thought would know better, certainly seems like it.

From the other side, I’ve heard people gripe about hosting such dinners in this city, as it now turns the "choosing whom to invite" process into a veritable minefield. Would I want to have the same faces assembled in front of me each and every time I go out for dinner? I don’t think so. We may have some mainstays, but if the point of such nights out can also be to meet new people or one has a wide circle and elects to create different sets and permutations of friends each time out, why can’t that be done without the pressure of hurting somebody?

Easy enough to say, but host or invite on a regular basis, and you’ll see how the reality is quite different, rife with social repercussions. Why? Perhaps, Manila really is a provincial town disguised as a sprawling urban center. And maybe we really are incestuous at heart, never wanting friends to be anything less than "family." And rather than incestuous, we should say insect-uous–of parasite variety–and we can’t stand the thought of someone else enjoying flowing drinks and bountiful quality food at a seat we’d like to think should have been ours. Also, whether we’re fair mestizos or morenos, a common trait we have is that we’re all onion-skinned, ready to unravel and feel hurt at the slightest slight. Ah! The bittersweet nectar of self absorption and delusion; that the whole social scene revolves around us. The pain of feeling left out, that something somewhere is happening and we have not been included because of some so-called friend’s stupidity.

Whether we like to admit it or not, Manila’s social scene whirls on such feelings. Some of the innuendo, gossip and bad-mouthing we hear stem from deep harbored feelings that seek release, because it’s so much easier to say "We found out we don’t really get along, cause he (or she) is like… pala." Then to say, "I wasn’t invited and now I hate them!"

‘Crime Does Pay... And How’ Department

Caught a news item the other day on CNN. They were interviewing James Myatt who had just emerged from prison. James, an Englishman, is considered the master forger of all master forgers. He’s duped several well-known auction houses and museums, collaborating with unscrupulous art dealers in foisting some of the more lucrative and celebrated scams of the last century on to the genteel art world.

They shot him in an art gallery and had him replicating paintings of modern Masters. Okay, it is an ability in itself, and I won’t begrudge him the talent for faking these paintings. What struck me was the revelation that James had now sold his life story for an undisclosed amount to Michael Douglas, who plans to produce a film about his life. Hey, I know that in this topsy-turvy world, the film may actually sell and make ludicrous amounts for all the parties concerned. But with all the legitimate artists floating around, struggling to make ends meet or holding on to what integrity they can muster in the face of crass commercialism, isn’t it funny that the artist who gets optioned for film rights, puts millions of development money into his bank account, is the criminal forger? Without a single original brush stroke to credit to his career, he’s now to be immortalized on film. Now that’s one artistic obscenity. Would love to hear what someone like the outspoken Malang Santos Myatt say about this!

Hollywood producers like Douglas constantly complain about film and audio piracy; moaning about the royalties lost and the infringement on the proprietary rights of the artist. And here he is, planning to produce a film about the career of one such "pirate." Duhh! Butter this item with irony, very rich irony!

If the film does become a success and some film pirate defrauds Michael of millions in box-office receipts, chalk that up, in my books, to a perverted version of justice. No prize for guessing whom I’ll be rooting for.