Coco before Chanel - a lovely tribute

It is as if Audrey Tatou was born to play the role as the legendary couturier Gabrielle Coco Chanel in the period piece Coco before Chanel.

Looking at the window displays at the Chanel boutique, I've always admired the style of Coco, that classic simple but elegantly expensive design. She was able to get away with the creations that are boyish in look but were worn in style by many socialites. Among her signature pieces that became fashionable were strands of pearls, the simple black dress, cardigan suit and the menswear-inspired suit vest.

What I didn't know was behind all the success as a fashion designer her early life was tumultuous. Hardly free of hurdles, she somehow lived through the struggles bravely and with such resilience. The movie is a classic much like Chanel's style. Tatou is the perfect model for the elegant clothes. During an interview with Charlie Rose, she claimed she hardly read up on the life of Coco, but it appeared that she captured the character she played in the movie.

Coco's designs remind me of the style popularized by two of the best dressed women I've admired - Katharine Hepburn and Diane Keaton. Known for their non-conformist style, both broke the dress code for women. Nobody wore pants like they did.

Headstrong but extraordinary, that's Coco Chanel and for Audrey Tatou, a very fine performance portraying the complicated life of a pioneer in design with true elegance.

You do the math, Helen

So, is it possible to find someone who is out there somehow lost in the black hole of Twittering or "booking Faces"? You bet it is.

I'm surprised it took her this long to make contact.
About 42 years ago pretty little Helen sat in my Math class in our local high school. Today, she was genuinely ecstatic that she was able to track me down. "A dream come true", she uttered. That was a compliment, but I thought I terrorized my students then. She must not think so.

Our reunion may not be headline-worthy but it sure left us both feeling great and nostalgic about the good old days. The meeting place was the front door of the St. Patrick's Cathedral on a cold Tuesday morning. We both spotted and recognized each other without a hitch. She didn't change much, not even an inch taller it seems, still looking young and sporting that shy-Helen smile.

The day proved to be a mini-vacation/tour for Helen. Realizing that she hasn't seen much of the City even as she stays with her son in NJ, I showed her around. We got good lessons on how cranberries are harvested by flooding the bogs. The Ocean Spray people had a nice display complete with flooded berries corralled in front of the Rockefeller Plaza. Harvesters in tall rubber boots and with their raking tools wade in a sea of bright ruby red cranberries. It was awesome. We even got a free bottle of cranberry -pomegranate drink.

We then strolled down nearby Central Park. Dwarfed by the towering skylines in the backdrop, she was so thrilled as we crossed the park to get to the west side of Manhattan.

Nothing much has changed between us it seems. Feeling a little awkward calling me by my first name, she addressed me as "Ma'am" or "Miss" all this time. Let's face it, there's really no way to put a youthful spin on "Ma'am", but I didn't mind, Helen is just too polite and respectful.

Her stories came pouring out - the success stories and whereabouts of her other classmates. I remember most of those kids and I feel like I'm part of their accomplishments.

As it turned out, Helen and I share the same passion - baking and cooking. We had lunch at Whole Foods by Central Park West. That's when she told me she was in the restaurant business for a good two years until it got too exhausting for her. She still does private catering and party planning and so we had lots of baking experience to share. We drooled as we window- shopped at Williams- Sonoma. Aside from the fact that I no longer have room for any more cookwares in my small kitchen, I've made a vow that my kitchen shopping days are pretty much over.

From there we walked down Broadway and took some shots by the Ed Sullivan Theatre, the home of the infamous The Late Show with David Letterman. Without the traffic from cars and cabs along the stretch going towards Times Square, we didn't find ourselves weaving through a mass of lost tourists. Helen had fun, I acted as her guide. "Let's do this again", she said, and I didn't protest, but next time it'll be with her classmate Antera from Maryland. They are welcome to stay with me.

Being with Helen for a very short time, suddenly 63 felt like half the number.

Not quizzing you Helen, but you do the math. How many miles did we walk without being bogged down? You think this "Ma'am" still has some good years left?

The wrath of Ketsana

Typhoons and monsoon rains are a normal occurrence in the Philippines around this time of year. I'm no stranger to this. It was something we've learned to live with, seeing trees get uprooted, roof covers blown away and entire cities knee-high underwater. I remember wading through a sea of water to get to the college campus at Intramuros and only the VW Beetles float and survived those floods. But that was nothing compared to the disaster typhoon Ketsana (locally named Ondoy) caused this Saturday.

Winds up to 65 mph and heavy downpour believed to have left twice as much rainfall as fell on Louisiana during hurricane Katrina, hit the area. Ketsana drenched major parts of the metropolitan Manila and wrought havoc that so many lives were lost and homes swept away in the deluge.

Rivers swell forcing dams to release water and consequently causing flash flooding in the low lying areas. As expected, the government authorities were blamed for the delay in the rescue efforts and the lack of preparedness. Among the many people marooned by the flash floods were my family members - the daughters of my brother Rene and the entire family of my sister Clarita, both own homes in the city of Marikina which literally drowned.

As the water quickly rose to the ceiling of their houses, my nieces and my sister had to climb up to the roofs to escape drowning. And then they clustered with 20 other people at their neighbor's roof deck for over 12 hours under the rain waiting to be rescued or for the water to recede. In the early morning they were able to move to safer grounds where they sought temporary residence until they will be able to return to their respective homes. That will not be for some time since none of their belongings can be salvaged and will most likely need to rebuild their houses. We are just so grateful that they are alive but what a traumatic experience that must be.

Entire families were displaced while some did not even make it. Questions are now asked, was it an act of God or failure of mankind? Global warming, clogged drainage systems, lack of disaster planning are named as only some of the causes of the devastation.

Signs that the climate has changed drastically are felt worldwide. We have experienced the coolest summer and the warmest winter ever in the US. Drought, wildfires and natural disasters have left catastrophic effects in many parts of the world and while enough has been said and written about environmental protection, forest preservation and the likes, what are we doing about it? Isn't it about time we do our part in order to save this planet?

Let's think about this and seriously. Before it's too late.

It ain't easy going green

Leave it to me to embark on a project with very little planning. My unstoppable urge to replace my wood floors with bamboo got me working like a hamster on a wheel for a few days. Prepping a.k.a. moving everything out of the way, was no easy feat for an old lady like me, but being on a poor man's budget, I convinced myself that I could manage. For three days, I was carting and hauling stuff into the garage. My bedroom looked like a dumpster filled with books and chairs. Except with the piano, I had little help lifting and gliding furniture from the living room, no surprise I ended up with a few scratches and black and blues.

It wasn't totally just my desire to do something good for the planet which drove me to this madness. For such a long time, I've thought of replacing my old worn out wood flooring (my mother will disagree with that), so I said why not go green while I'm at it.

After hearing so much about how bamboo floors look great, I requested a few samples from my contractor. Choosing between the vertical and horizontal cut, and picking the color of the unstained plank wasn't so easy. Remember I have to live with this hopefully for another couple of decades. My choice was the pale yellow vertical cut showing the nodes in their natural pattern.

It's a beautiful thing. It took three workers two days to install the floors - nailed-down, no glue and another couple of days to clean up. I feel like I have twice as much space as I had before, the place now looks like a piano studio, or a loft or a bowling alley. But I'm loving it! I like a lot of room.

Apart from being eco-friendly, it is easy to maintain. Aaahh.. walking barefoot indoors never felt so clean and good. Unless you are allergic to grass, since bamboo is actually hollow grass and not wood at all, bamboo is the way to go. It is considered one of the most renewable sources of timber as it grows very rapidly. After cutting the plant, it is able to regenerate and grow as fast as several feet a day which is the down side when growing the ornamental species in your backyard. Watch out, unless carefully contained, bamboo can be intrusive and will take over the entire yard in no time.

Just like Kermit who embraced his greenness, my story had a happy ending. I love Bein' Green.
"It's beautiful and it's what I want to be".

The last hurrah

To ease the pain of saying goodbye to the last warmer days of summer, this Labor Day weekend the grills were fired and the sails went up at the Meadow Lake once again. The nearby Billie Jean King National Tennis Center hosting the US Open is packed at this time, with Clijsters and Federer among the favorites. One can almost hear the crowd at the Arthur Ashe Stadium but with the prohibitive cost of tickets I'd rather be at the boathouse and watch a show for free.

Sailing is like a love affair for my dear friends who are crazed about the sport. Given their competetive nature, this may be their last chance to show off their nautical skills and beat the heck out of Herman or Sandy, the yeller. I watched from the deck sitting on a moist Adirondack chair and what a show it was. The course was outlined, the horn sounded and the red flag went up. But hey, where is everyone going? Where are they steering towards? No amount of waving could get them started at the right course, Herman was screaming on top of his lungs and ended up on a chase boat directing the sailors to the red or blue buoy. The scene came close to a bunch of babies on walkers rolling in all sorts of directions. Are they color blind or was it the wind or lack thereof to blame? It was hilarious but it didn't matter, the race was just for fun or so I thought. Who cares, everyone had a good time.

I ended up helping out fix lunch and watching Sandy pack boxes and boxes of TASCA belongings to get ready for the move. The boathouse which TASCA shares with the Hong Kong Dragon Racers was originally built for the 1939 World's Fair. It houses TASCA's small fleet of 14-foot sailboats. The brick building, one of two surviving structures of the 1939 fair, is set for major renovations, a much needed makeover since it is old and in disrepair. The building may reopen after two years.

So for now, goodbye to the wood-burning stove, the rickety dock, the murky lake , the squirrels and the cats. Goodbye to the "valley of the ashes".

Gag order

The whole discipline of philosophy/logic is alien to me. Give it to me straight. Is it right or left, black or white? Two plus two is not equal to five and my logic doesn't aim to prove that I'm the Pope either. I can be analytic but I can never engage in Socratic discussions. Maybe I'm lacking the brains for deductive reasoning or maybe I'm too old for anything that requires serious thinking. Proving theorems in plane trigonometry was about my caliber but that was a thing of the past. Heck if I remember anything about the subject now.

Where are we going with this?

On the evening of Inang's birthday August 5th, I watched a performance by the Buenos Aires Dance Troupe at the LPAC Little Theatre. It's a two-part contemporary program which was choreographed by Colombian-born Luis Garay. He combined, "gesture, text and live music" to explore concepts and transform them into dance.

Parto was accompanied by bouncy Latin-inspired music and danced by two young fellows hurling themselves into lifts, sometimes throwing themselves on the floor, talking out loud or leaping while a video plays in the background. Words unrelated were projected onto the stage walls. Text that did not make sense to me and images that carry no messages made the whole performance hard to understand. It was different but in no way am I suggesting that these were the easiest dance moves I've ever seen.

As difficult to grasp as philosophical concepts, is the second part of the program. Gag is an exploration of the definition of the word "gag" by the Austrian philosopher Wittgenstein. That being "something that can not be expressed or said". Whatever that means.

The brief research I did on Wittgenstein and his teachings left me more unsure, confused and feeling inadequate to handle this business called logic. A flat-chested young woman wearing nothing but short shorts and looking almost like a man, danced to the beat of live music. It was weird. There was no erotic element - just what appears to be unrehearsed moves - marching, walking and pacing all over the stage. I was so totally lost.

I'm sure Garay must belong to some group of elite choreographers and this was no easy task to produce but he did nothing for me. It was beyond my intellectual capacity for dance interpretation. The music was fabulous though.

Was that a gag? Did I gag? Was I gagged?

Let's just say at the end of the program, most people in the audience walked out of the Little Theatre speechless. That was it? Art form, you either appreciate it or not.

I say tomato

I don't know about places outside of New York City, but here the dermatologist's clinic seem to have become a one stop shopping center for skin rejuvenation, aesthetic skin care and a place for consultation for the usual dermatologic problems. Whatever happened to the 'traditional" physician dermatologist? In their posh waiting room in Manhattan, I found myself surrounded by women with tight-skin-can't-smile faces who obviously have had some cosmetic surgery of some sorts. The name reads Skin and Laser Center. Huh?

I didn't go there to have them shave a few years off my face or neck! My concerns are more real than that - white sunspots on my face. Well, thank goodness I got the advice and treatment from my dermatologist that I was hoping for and not a sales pitch about liposuction or some other procedures addressing the tell-tale signs of aging. They promise to even "customize" the procedure for the client. Noooo thanks.

Anyway, walking back home towards the subway station, I passed by the atrium of the former IBM building and what do I see inside? Some sculpture by local artists, ceiling high bamboo plants and a bar. It's the Obika Mozzarella bar. The name threw me off - Japanese mozzarella? Doesn't sound right. I found out that it is the spin-off of the popular mozzarella restaurant chain in Rome. The menu looked pretty impressive - organic salads, pastas and desserts but I didn't try. Birds (robins) were flying all over the atrium and I'm not too keen on having them around me and fighting over my precious mozz. I'm now assuming Obika's mozzarella is not the same as your regular deli stuff and must be pricey.

It seems like European chain eateries have taken the city by storm. There's the Belgian transplant Rouge Tomate on the East Side - I dare not look at the menu and their prices. They claim to promote healthy eating but I can do that by supporting my local producers through the Greenmarket. Or better yet grow my own - tomatoes.

I'm a traditionalist. I say tomato. And maybe I should also specify that I need a skin specialist and not a cosmetic surgeon.