Earltender's Open Salon Blog

Top Things Filipino-Americans Hate in the Philippines

Mon, 28 Feb 2011 22:02:38 -0500

Cousins are never annoying; they're almost always terrific!

People talking in the movies.
Being asked if we’ve ever tried pancit or sisig.
Being asked if we’re “pure American” or “half American”.
Having the supremely obvious things explained to them “In the Philippines, there is no “v” sound so we substitute with a “b” sound.”
People assuming we know absolutely NOTHING about the Philippines.
Being told repeatedly that you should learn Tagalog, especially annoying if your parents are either Visayan or Ilocano.
Being told repeatedly that we’re rich.
People talking about you in another language while you are standing right there.
People asking you for your shoes.
People asking you for your things. (Shoes deserve their own special mention.)
People believing that since your parents moved to America, they fed you nothing but mashed potatoes and meatloaf.
Sweet spaghetti, especially sweet spaghetti with hotdogs.
Philippine hotdogs.
Telling your friends who are traveling with you not to laugh when you introduce them to your Tita Bing-bing, Lolo Joker, Cousin Boy, and Tito Bong.
If you’re young and single, people are always trying to set you up.
If you’re married and childless, people are always speculating on why you cannot “produce”. (The reason is usually contraceptives.)
If you are older and single, people pity you and say “There is always hope.”

Dealing Coke in Tokyo More Trouble Than It's Worth

Thu, 3 Feb 2011 10:02:14 -0500

So I finally got out of the tiny town out in Aichi-ken and managed to work my way to Tokyo. Okay, the town wasn't really that tiny – about 200,000 people - but in Japan, 200,000 people is a small town. After a couple of weeks of searching in the common areas that foreigners look for a job, I got one at "Dueces Wild", a hostess bar in Roppongi*- you know the one? It's the big one close to Roppongi station.

Well, y'know how I am always looking for stuff and being the floor manager in a big hostess club really helps when you're looking for stuff. I found a guy who knew a guy who could make a call to a guy who could turn me on to some coke. I was looking for grass, or rather hash cause it's hard to find grass if you're not Japanese, but coke was okay. I knew lots of people who were always looking for coke. After a phone call or two, I was able to set up a buy in a nice house in Nishi-Azabu.

The price was 8000 yen for a gram but the buy was an ounce minimum. After I bagged and stepped a bit, I would turn it over for 20,000 yen a gram - I know, I know; the price is 15,000 yen, but you know the dumbshits in Roppongi- just got off a plane, don't know anything or anybody. Hell, the first time I bought hash in Tokyo I paid 8,000 yen a gram and I tipped the guy to be polite. I didn't know that I was paying for two grams; but honestly, if I did know, I wouldn't have cared. All I know is that I hadn't gotten high in eight months.

Now I am walking around with at least an 8-ball on me all the time--don't tell me, I know, stupid, stupid. But I would turn at least an 8-ball every night. It wasn't too long after a girl got a job at Dueces that she would find out that she could score from me, and she has friends she was traveling with, and you know how it works. So I could turn all this coke over in nothin' flat.

I'm working the floor, the girls come in with a smile and I would know what they would want. Hell, some of them would tip me in flesh and that was alright. Even better, the owners of Dueces opened up a sports bar next door and I could take a break from work and go there and make some connections. Dude, I was clearing so much K and you know how the cops are here; takes 'em forever to put 2 and 2 together, and who's going to rat on me?

This goes on for about six months and I'm clearing anywhere from 15 man* to 25 man a night. My connection is solid and doesn't want any of my action - I guess that's the nice thing about a Japanese connection—they don't care about your profit.

One night, I meet this guy Jack in the sports bar. Nice enough guy, no tie, but still dressed a little too salaryman for my tastes. We get to talking and he buys me an Old Speck, so of course I like him. Jack always spoke formal-like, kind of funny. Like he would never say "How's it going?", he'd say things like "And how are you this evening?" or "Are you having a wonderful evening?" Coupled with Jack's deep voice, it sounded like something in the movies.

Jack starts coming into the sports bar a couple of nights a week but never Dueces. We'd have a couple of beers and shoot the shit whenever he came in. After a few weeks he asks me about scoring. Caught me off-guard. He didn't seem like the type. I told him I could take care of him if he wanted, and he said

"No, I think I could take care of you."

My ears pricked up at that and he said to meet him after I got off of work, around 3:30. Not a problem.

I punched out and unloaded all the stuff I was carrying to the girls and a couple of guests at the bar. Jack had a car parked out front—a Caddy, one of the small ones—and we took a ride to Shinjuku, to this danchi close to the Park Hyatt. When we got in his place, he tossed me a beer and said to wait a moment while he got the stuff. He had a nice place; a 3 LDK on the 15th floor. You could see all the hotels from his balcony- the Century, the Hilton—all of the biggies.

When Jack came out of his room he was carrying a ziplock filled with cocaine. Freaked me out. It wasn't a kilo brick nicely wrapped; it was a giant ziplock with the shit inside.

"Do you want few lines?"

"Fuck yeah." I said.

I cut some lines and did a bit of the blow. Shit was way better than the stuff I was dealing. Of course I had to ask.

"Where'd you get all this coke?"

"From a guy." he replied

Jack said that where the stuff came from is not important, but what is important is that he was looking for someone to turn a bunch of coke for him. He liked to do coke on occasion, but he didn't want to get into dealing grams here and there. He wanted someone to sell it to wholesale.

"How much do you want?"

"48 grams per buy, and the price for the merchandise is 250,000 yen. Can you handle quantities of that size?"

"Holy fuckin' shit" I thought. Cheaper and better. And I can stop dealing with the Yak.

"Right on" I told him "I've got 25 man right now; you want to weigh some out?"

The dude weighed me out a couple of o-z's- his scale didn't even do grams - and we did some business. He took me back to Roppongi and we drank and bullshitted until the morning.

Well now I was really making some money. You'd be surprised at how that extra 3000 yen per gram adds up . Do the math: if I turned ten grams a night, then I've got three extra man, after ten days, thirty man, thirty days, ninety man. Ninety extra man. Hell, my job just paid 400,000 yen. With just the hostesses, scouts and peelers, I was turning over more than ten grams a night. I had more K than the average bear.

This shit goes on for about six months. I'm buying pretty regular from Jack and I'm clearing loads of K. On my visa run, I took a two week vacation with two girls to Koh Samui and I paid for everything. Flew BC too. Life was pretty good.

One day Jack calls me in the afternoon and says he wants to meet, that he needs a favor. I want to keep this guy happy so I meet him in a coffee shop in Omotesando.

Jack tells me that he's got some friends coming in but he's tied up with some other things and he can't get free. It's really simple he explained: two girls are coming in from Colombia; someone needs to pick them up from the airport and give them a place to stay until he gets free later on.

"I will, of course, compensate you for your time and effort."

"Not a problem" I told him "I'm your man."

Picking up the girls was easy, two hot Colombian women in Narita airport were pretty easy to spot. Maria and Juanita. Both tall, leggy, and hot as shit. They were both pretty genki and glad to get off the plane. The two-hour drive from the airport went pretty quick. I brought a couple of joints and we smoked them on the way back to Tokyo. Yeah I drove, no fucking way I'm riding the Narita Express.

When we got to my apartment, I called Jack and told him the girls were here and to page me when he got free. You heard me right, I said "page"; this was way before there were a jillion cell phones in Tokyo.

The girls were carrying half a pound of coke each stuffed in a condom up their ass. After I talked to Jack, Maria was able to drop her load and we did a few lines. I left for work and told the girls to hang there until I got back.

Work was the same - girls, booze, coke, skin- nothing different except when I checked my pager towards the end of the evening, my phone number was on there about six times.

"Fuck!" I thought, "Something's gone bad."

After my shift finished, I didn't dick around the bar like I normally did, I got my ass back home. When I got to the apartment, Maria was yammering at me non-stop in fuckin' Spanish an octave above what dogs hear and I heard some moaning coming from the bathroom.

Took me a while to piece it all together but I finally did. After I left, Juanita sat on the can to kick out the coke. After about an hour of trying, Maria tried to pull the shit out for her. She must have tried too hard because she ripped Juanita's asshole when she was reaching in. Now Juanita is sitting in my bath, in pain, and she's been bleeding for about six hours. Maria tried lots of stuff but the bleeding just wouldn't stop. Naturally we can't fuckin' go to a hospital. I didn't know what to do so I called Jack. He tells me to sit tight and that he'll be there in an hour.

The longest hour in the world passes before he gets to my apartment. He sums up the situation and asks me if I've got a phonebook. He looks up "veterinarians" and calls the first foreign name he finds. Tells the guy that he's got a problem with his dog and that the animal is in pain, "can he come over right way?"

Thirty minutes later the doorbell rings and we let the vet in. He asks to see the animal and Jack tells him to have a seat, that he wants to tell him something.

"Thank you for coming." Jack says softly. "I am afraid that I have deceived you. There is no dog and I have a different problem entirely. Inside the bathroom, there is a woman in pain. Stuffed inside her is a quantity of cocaine - she carried it on board an airplane and traveled here to Tokyo. In the attempt to get the product out, she was injured. I would like you, doctor, to retrieve my product and sew the woman up."

He pulled an envelope from his jacket and set it on the table.

"In that envelope is half a million yen. After you are finished, the envelope is yours."

The vet looked at Jack, myself, the envelope, and Jack again.

"I don't know what's going on here guys but I think I should leave you to your problems." Vet stood up. "I don't want any trouble or anything."

"Sit down." said Jack "You misunderstand me."

Jack then pulled a gun out of his jacket. A GUN.

Except for the cops, I hadn't ever SEEN a gun in Japan, even with the Yak guys. The vet had been in Japan for a while too, because the gun made his eyes go wide open.

"Doc, you will go into the bathroom. You will retrieve my product from the girl and then you will suture her up. You will take the money in the envelope, you will leave and you will speak of this to no one. If you do not begin now, I will put a bullet into your head and call another vet."

Talk about a tense moment. The gun had already freaked me, now Jack, -Jack, who's one of the nicest guys I've ever met—Jack had told this guy he was going to kill him - IN MY LIVINGROOM.

Couple of pregnant beats pass then the vet speaks.

"Can I have a couple of lines first?"

"Coming right up!" I say. I cut the doc up a couple of lines and he does them. Then the doc grabs his bag and goes off to the bathroom.

Forty minutes later it's all good; the coke is out, the girl is stitched and she feels better. The vet took the 50 man and left; he looked way relaxed when he left but he did do a few more lines with me. The girls stayed at my place an extra week so there was more time to heal. Maria was pretty fun to hang out with; never made it with a Colombian chick before.

Five months after that, Jack's phone stopped working. I went by his place and there was nothing there, his apartment was cleaned out. Never saw him again. I had to go back to my connection with the Yak but I stopped dealing so much after that; it felt like it was getting too hot.

I always wonder what happened to Jack.

* Roppongi - nightclub district in Tokyo
Man - pronounced "mahn", short for ichimaien, 10,000 yen.
Yak - short for Yakuza
Danchi - large apartment building
genki - usually translated as "healthy", but also vital. Usually the first
word in Japanese that foreigners pick up.

Lasagne in the Fridge Yet Still Defrosted the Gumbo

Thu, 3 Feb 2011 03:02:58 -0500

Gumbo is a wonderful dish. When I worked in the restaurant business I always put gumbo on the menu because of it's ability to take any flavor, any ingredient, a fantastic dish to lay at the feet of the food cost god.

Trim some fat off of a steak after you pull it off the grill? Toss that lovely piece of USDA grass-fed prime FAT right into the gumbo. Little bits of bacon--in the gumbo. Half a slice of avocado--plop. New line cook overgrill lobstertails? Chopped and tossed into the gumbo. The tomato ends left over from the burger sets end up being nice flecks of red in the gumbo. I wished I could toss in the extra Caesar salad that was prepped. You can even toss cheese in gumbo.

Everybody has a recipe for gumbo and mine, not being born of a kitchen in Louisiana, came from making innumerable batches and feeding them to my one Cajun friend who was always more than happy to to have yet another bowl.

Gumbo is a simple but not an easy dish. The base is the roux, the trinity, garlic, thyme, and some stock. Either file' powder or okra, but usually not both, is added as a thickener. Everything else is all up to the cook and that what makes gumbo personal.

My recipe for the base if I am making a 4 quart pot is much like anyone else's with the personal variations:

4 0z. of flour and 4 fl.oz. of oil for the roux
4 celery stalks, chopped
4 garlic cloves, pressed
1 large bell pepper, chopped
2 medium sized onions, chopped
1 1/2 Tb. Thyme
1Tb sage

Heat the oil to a low medium heat, add the flour and stir continously until the roux becomes brick red. It takes a long time for the roux to become almost ready and then a heartbeat for the roux to become burned so be careful. I've tossed many a burnt roux due to videogames and TV shows so make sure you give the roux your almost undivided attention (Listening to This American Life is not a problem) until the roux is ready.

The more you develop the roux, the more of flavor you get out of it though the roux's ability to thicken wanes the more you cook it. I've been in restaurants that never seem to develop the roux to that brick red color and nobody ever seems to say wonderful things about the gumbo they serve other than "look there's shrimp in it".

After the roux is developed, toss in the trinity, the garlic, and the herbs and work those together until the trinity softens. Add some stock, chicken, vegetable or otherwise.

From this point, the personal comes in. Andouille sausage is common but I suggest slicing it thin and then browning it before you add it to add that extra layer of flavor. Chicken is also a nice ingredient and I use chicken thighs that have been cubed into 1 inch chunks.

The last batch I made I had both of those items plus a pound each of shucked mussels and clams. I also chopped some mackeral. I like using mackeral, an oily fish that stays together even when you stew it. If you wish to add shrimp or other crustaceans, add them at the end so they don't overcook. Serve it over rice, always.

The only non-traditional ingredient I add is fish sauce, a bunch of it. The smell disappears and all that is left is that nice round flavor; hey, a billion Asians can't be wrong.

Go out to the store and your local fishmonger and make some gumbo today. Winter is a great season to make your first pot of gumbo and then you will have a dish that you can serve for four seasons for the rest of your life.

Here's a photo of my friend Chris Leslie after he had a bowl of gumbo. The mean look on his face is "stop taking my picture and bring the roast chicken you promised".

Multiple Personalities to Keep Your Real Life to Yourself

Wed, 19 Jan 2011 09:01:26 -0500

Every couple of months or so I Google my name to see what comes up. I see the few people who share my name who have died, I see places that I’ve been years ago but the web page isn’t dead, and I occasionally see my name in a place that I think it shouldn’t be. I Bing my name as well, but that always seems to yield fewer pages. In some ways, that isn’t disparaging to Bing because the choices seem more relevant.

After I run searches on my name, I then run searches on my online aliases; yes, my aliases. A large number of people have more than one identity on the web and people who only have one identity are quickly realizing that they need more than one. One identity doesn’t suffice when your information is held in a global forum to which millions of people have free access. When employers started to do credit checks on potential employees people freaked out, their feelings being that inspecting a person’s personal finances was irrelevant, or at least too intimate a look for someone who didn’t even write you a paycheck. Now a credit check is standard in many industries just like a criminal background check is standard for different fields.

(an image of the trail I leave on vacation)

Yet all of those things are simply numbers and yes/no—credit check good, credit check bad, felonies yes, felonies no. Today a person can search your name and come up with an image or video attached to your name, images and video on the web to which you may be completely unaware. People routinely tag photos on Facebook or another social network, upload videos to YouTube, put pictures on Picasa, and attach your name to everything. This is great for organizing pictures for church picnics, office parties, and family outings. This makes it easier for friends and family to share information about each other’s lives and track annual changes as we grow in our relationships and get closer over time.

It also makes it easier for everyone to see what you do. Everyone. In the past it was the social security number. Get the SSN and you’ve got everything. Now they just need your name and then they can get an entire personal profile through normal organic keyword searches. This has hurt some people; the flight attendant who was goofing off in the empty jet and posted the pictures online; the teachers who were out on vacation who subsequently had students discover their online album; the blogger who complained about his job; and the politician who… no need to finish that sentence.

Our online selves, or at least my online self, have built in layers of intimacy. Small children are quick to pick up on the fact that people are much more polite with strangers than they are with people who know them better and my online self is designed that way. My real name is always in a nice sanitized environment with nice, pretty-as-a-picture pictures that project an image of responsibility, confidence, and a high moral standard. Then the layers change and there is an intimate web persona that strangers, or potential employers, could never discover through any random searches. An organic search would never turn up my true political thoughts, true effectiveness in the workplace, and my true moral compass.

I like that an organic search could never reveal those things. Ensconced in a world with instant communication through computers, portable media players, and smartphones, I like that people have to talk to me to learn about my politics, to work with me to see how truly good I am at my profession, and to be with me to discern the strength of my character as they see my moral choices.

Some people may view my preference as a preference that wishes to hide something, to not be honest about who I am, but it really is about being intimate with people. With people becoming increasingly web-reliant for their communication, our transparency of personality becomes increasingly harder to manage as we try to insulate ourselves from those to whom we are not intimate.

If you don’t have more than one web persona you should make one. Make one for your friends and family because your boss doesn’t need to know how your niece has grown up to be a truly beautiful woman.

TV Spouses: The Top Five Best and Worst

Tue, 18 Jan 2011 22:01:31 -0500

Rearranging files on my computer in preparation for one of my twice a year reformats when I came across this piece on TV spouses. I thought of three things: one, update this and maybe include girlfriends; or two, make one for movie characters; or three, explore the idea of women in fiction being either Ginger or Maryann archetypes. Update for sure--I am not in the states nor am I married.

Here are my favorite and least favorite TV characters for spouses:

Now that I've been in the states for a while AND been married for a while I watch TV couples a little differently. I see things that have happened between me and my wife and also things that I have seen between my friends and their spouses. This of course brings me to another list and this one is "Top TV Spouses I Wouldn't Mind Being Married to".

For this list, the character had to be a spouse so Maryann from Gilligan's Island wouldn't make the cut. Send me back your picks, especially the husbands.

Before I show you that list I would like to unveil my list of spouses to whom I wouldn't ever wish to be married.

Follow up:

Jeanne Nelson from I Dream of Jeannie

I wouldn't pick Jeanne because that would be extremely self-indulgent. The ditzy-ness would get to me (but I could probably deal) but I wouldn't pick Samantha Stephens (Bewitched) for similar reasons. To digress for a moment, Samantha has huge personal issues otherwise why would she let her stupid husband Darrin rule her life like that? You can't practice witchcraft?!? If it bothers you, maybe you shouldn't have married a witch.

Getting back to Jeanne Nelson, though, I think she would be every man's all-star pick, the first round draft choice in the great wives in fiction.

June Cleaver Leave it to Beaver

Who wants a woman in black and white? Seriously though, there are just too many time/culture issues here that I think are local to June. After all i did mention that my favorite fictional wife was Nora Charles.

Jamie Stemple Buchman Mad About You

I used to find her character attractive but I think she would drive me nuts, in the same fashion that Grace Adler would drive me nuts. Still I could cook for Grace Adler; that would be a plus.

Carrie Heffernan King of Queens

I feel sorry for Doug. While I don't dislike her character, I wouldn't like being married to her.

Carmela Soprano The Sopranos

Dude. Scarier than Tony.

Top TV Spouses to Whom I Wouldn't Mind Being Married

Debra Barone Everybody Loves Raymond

Watches the kids well, level headed, in charge; definitely the type of woman I need since I just love to read books, watch TV, and play videogames all day. Okay her cooking leaves much to be desired but I like to cook so that evens out.

Emily Hartley The Bob Newhart Show

Kind of the same as Debra but with no kids and better cooking. And she has The Voice.

Morticia Addams The Addams Family

Okay there is a black and white love. Carolyn Jones was hot in this role and the combination of macabre and sexy was a powerful imprint on my prepubescent mind.

Emma Peel The Avengers

They couldn't all be from sitcoms. A hottie with a gun. Cool in stressful situations and always optimistic. She believed her husband would come back and he did. You never saw her with her husband except at the end of her run in the series when she is driving off in cabriolet.

Dharma Finklestein Montgomery Dharma and Greg

Wouldn't like making tofu lasagne all the time but I think the family get-togethers would be super fun. Imagine my father and Dharma's father together.