A Post-Election Post

I was reading through one of my favorite blogs and came across a promotion of the movie Badil, by  Chito S. Rono. I first heard of the word "badil" as a child while manning our store near Pier I. Fishermen would bring in their catch of the day, and "badil" would somehow find its way to their conversation. I did not bother to find out what it meant.

The second time I heard it was during this year's local election. Post-election, I would stay with my mom on the phone while she incessantly complains how there are no pedicabs after elections so she had to walk to the bank, in the noontime heat, to make the required daily deposit for her lotto outlet. The town is awash with money, she said. No one likes to report for work (hence, no pedicab drivers), the Taiwanese store selling electronics has sold out every single cellphone, and my dad has to sleep late counting the practically limitless number of Php20 bills coming in (my parents are in the retail business, hence the small bills). Actually, it's not the counting of the bills that irritates him but the need to peel off every politician's campaign stickers stuck to the money. Sticky bills, we call them. If you leave the stickers behind, some of the goo would stick to the next bill, and chances are, your counting would be off. 

I am no stranger to how election is held in my quaint little town (I have been repeatedly corrected that it is a city now, but the sentimental side of me wanted it to remain a town). The day before election, I went home from volunteering in the NAMFREL office (this was pre-automation years, when NAMFREL still mattered), and found that I have an envelope waiting for me. Inside is a sample ballot and about Php1,250.00, in various bills, each with a campaign sticker of a local candidate. Come election day, we would gather information from our watchers and be puzzled why the voter's turn-out is  still low when it's already past noon. Turns out most voters would be in the waiting sheds outside the school, all refusing to go in and vote because apparently, they have not yet received their "envelopes."  I must count myself lucky, yes? 

This year's election is no different, except that the stiff competition between the parties has certainly upped the ante in vote-buying. Out maid, for instance, insisted on going home to our town and voting because she said she is guaranteed to receive at least Php4,000.00 from candidates. She earns that amount in a month, so who am I to argue with her? My mom confirmed this, saying some of our employees received up to Php8,000.00, because while their votes have already been bought, some of them are "nagpapa-badil." I thought then it meant that they are bidding out their votes to the highest "bidder" but get to keep all the bid money. Well, my favorite writer explained "Badil" better:

Written by Rody Vera, Badil follows a small-town political operator and his son as they do their rounds on the day before the election. The father, a recent stroke victim (played by Dick Israel, himself a stroke victim), distributes cash to the mayor’s supporters and reminds them of personal favors they had received from the man. Everything is personal in Filipino politics. They get word of “dinamita”—a plot to manipulate the vote by paying the mayor’s supporters to stay home on election day. (According to Rody, “badil” is Waray for “dynamite fishing”, and in this context, “killing the vote”.)

Ahh the things you learn everyday. I have not been able to go home to our town for the past elections, so I asked her if an envelope came for me. You see, you don't even have to approach any of these candidates; their representatives would go to your house, give you the envelopes, cross you out on the list, then move to the next house. My mom explained that there are no envelopes for me because I am no longer on the list of registered voters, my growing political apathy having deactivated my registration 2 elections ago. She then showed me the proceeds of the crime money, fondly saying it's her "souvenir." Take a look:

Envelopes with your printed name, precinct number, etc. One from each political party. So organized!

Stickers all over.

This one is my favorite. Mommy said the candidate is a known tailor in our town. Points for Creativity!

And this one is probably's Dad's favorite, because it sticker-free! Comes in a small, nice envelope, and probably less incriminating.

 I used to think only the local candidates resort to vote-buying.  Here's one from a party-list.

Years ago (and I think every election thereafter), advocates realized it is impossible to do away with vote-buying, so they created the slogan "Ibulsa ang pera, pero iboto ang konsensya" (err...pocket the money, but vote according to your conscience?). Well, the rule in my town is that whoever gives the most gets voted. Because there is no honor in receiving money from one and voting another candidate. I suppose in the midst of these election crimes and dirty politics, some sort of "decency" still creeps in. Well, yeah, decency is a stretch, but it cannot be denied that some sort of unspoken rule or order is still followed even when there is no compulsion to do so. 

It's been months now and I was kinda hoping that our maid's election money would have run out by now, so she can go back to us (evil, I know), and restore order in our house. But oh, the barangay election is coming up. This is going to be a long wait.

Of Questionable Authenticity

My mom was always making parinig that she wanted a longchamp bag like mine. I always dismissed the idea of getting her one because I know she only wears bags with a gazillion outer and inner pockets/compartments. But her birthday was fast approaching and I'm running out of ideas, so I browsed my instagram feed, aka, online shopping store, and looked for the longchamp bag seller with glowing and positive feedback. And yes, her bags were marketed as authentic. 

I initially wanted to get two le pliage long handle in fuchsia and paper. It was pretty cheap at Php2,900, but I thought the price was ok since I had friends buy me one from Europe for around Php3200++. I thought it's a bargain because years back, I got a bilberry medium le pliage long handle from Rustan's Makati at Php7600 -- I can justify it, but it's a long story. My sister still looks down on it saying she got (a fake) one from Divisoria for Php300, which she says she does not regret. I seriously doubt it. 

I was about to place my order when this instagram seller posted a Celine Mini Luggage "overrun" priced at Php18,500. I've seen those bags from travels abroad and none costs below 80grand. I had to pause there and think. Oh, but I still have to clean the house and do the grocery and change the bedsheets in mommy's room before she arrives, and absolutely no time to shop, so WTH, I placed an order for one (instead of two) large long handle. 

I sent the payment for the bag on Tuesday, but I was only able to inform the seller the following day. I looked up her terms on instagram and found she ships on Saturday only. I needed the bag on Friday, so I asked if she could send it Thursday, the latest. She said she can ask her "supplier" to do that, but  then she won't be able to check the bag first. I was puzzled and asked what she meant. I assumed she has to check if they're sending me the right color and size, but she said she also inspects the bag first if it has "damage or something." Alarm bells were going off again; how can an authentic longchamp bag have defects? 

Then again, what can I still do? I already placed my order and sent the payment. 

Anyways, despite the pleas for an early shipping, I still got the bag the following week, on a Monday. Like it was shipped on a Saturday, not a Thursday. But I no longer made it an issue, because she did say she only ships on Saturday, and hey, if I wanted that bag on time, I should have ordered it say, 2 weeks back. 

I liked the bag the moment I opened the package. It has, after all, all the markings of an authentic longchamp le pliage. The inside color was white, which is the right color for a fuchsia. It has plastic washers on the buttons, the leather has the diamond pattern you read about in blogs, and even the "ykk" mark (and another mark I could not capture on my point-and-shoot camera) on the zipper:

The seller was asking me if I liked it (I know it was only a text, but I could feel the enthusiasm in her voice. I mean, text). I was about to reply yes, but saw something that does not feel quite right. I pulled out my longchamp from Rustan's and started comparing:

Leather handle.

I had to follow up "fake" with a question mark because I'm really no expert in bags. The most I can do is be fair and compare it with what I can guarantee is an authentic longchamp, having bought it  myself at Rustan's. I would not even compare it with the Europe-bought bags because I did not buy them myself (although I do trust my friends got me authentic ones).

Blogs authenticating bags said that the leather handle should be flat instead of tubular. My instagram-bought bag got this right. But as shown above, the original longchamp has a clean finish, whereas the right one has leather trimmings showing. I don't know if it disappears in time.

The back of the leather flip cover should be smooth and not hairy. My "original" pic looks hairy, but it's actually only dirty (sorry), because it's my beater bag, and it has accompanied me to six countries, backpacking and taking public transportation, and getting stuck at state borders. Anyway, the kinda fake bag does have the smooth leather finish, but the indentation marks of the jockey on a horse can hardly be seen. Actually, only the back legs of the horse is visible. The rest of it is a flat, smooth surface.

Well, I'm not too sure about this, but I think the number "1" on the kinda-fake bag is starting to fade. On the other hand, I had the Rustan's bag for more than 3 years now, and all the letters and numbers have no fading parts. And God knows how horribly I've treated this bag. At one point, I had my lunch and my flip-flops in there together. 

Did I say my kinda-fake longchamp has the diamond pattern mark of authenticity? Well, I'm re-thinking that now. When I saw the close-ups pics, the leather on the right kinda screams fake, right? But, wow, the jockey on the horse even looks more detailed than the original bag on the left. 

At first I thought I'd let it go, after all, I did know the risks I was taking with these online transactions, and I paid a pittance for it. But a part of me just could not let it rest, and so here's how I replied to my instagram seller:

And there goes that factory overrun defense again! I was just pissed beyond belief. Her reply made me think about the "overrun" Celine Mini Luggage she posted a while back, aka, my first warning sign. It reminded me too of The North Face backpack I bought in Ho Chi Minh.  Everyone (in the Philippines) was saying that TNF backpacks were cheaper  in Vietnam because it was made there, and if you want it dirt-cheap, go to Ben Thanh Market because they sell authentic TNF, with very negligible factory defects. I haggled back then together with another (unsuspecting) British tourist and got my backpack for around Php2,000 (it was selling in Manila TNF shops for Php6,000). That bag too, has all the markings of an original TNF, complete with the plasticwares that whistles (so you can call for help when you're out backpacking in the wilderness?). But I took a good look around Ben Thanh, and there were probably a hundred shops there saying their TNF backpacks are factory-runs but authentic (authentic, not class A or AAAAAAA). And that's just Ben Thanh, so, come on, can there really be that many factory defects all over Ho Chi Minh? I don't think so. The Vietnamese lady who sales-talked me even gave me her card, saying she exports these bags to the Philippines (where it's probably sold again as overruns). So there, unless you're in an official outlet shop, don't kid yourself and say that bag is authentic. 

I no longer sent the pictures to the instagram seller because, what's the point? She is probably convinced she's selling authentic items (sometimes you have to give them the benefit of a doubt). Plus my mom adored the bag for like, 24 hours, tops, before tossing it out and saying she hates it because it doesn't have pockets and compartments. This whole fake bag thing probably worked out for the best. 

A Very Long Post on Stacy's

The moment we saw pictures of Stacy's from a someone's facebook post, we've been raring to go. Actually what did it for me was the generous serving of (heart-shaped!) rice. So one rainy Sunday morning, after a good run at UP Diliman, my sister and I and the trusty Google map, finally made it to Stacy's.

The place has quite a charm. Most blogs warned us that it is impossible to dine inside Stacy because there is always an event going on. Indeed, there was an ongoing one when we got there (and another one before we left). We were about to head across over to Pancake House when we saw that they lined up some tables outside the restaurant, for the walk-in diners.  

Service was a bit slow, because I think the ongoing event made it inconvenient for the waitress to move the food from the kitchen to the outside dining area. But for the meantime, we were to feast on these delightful assortment of popcorn, marshmallows and pretzels. Why didn't this place exist when I was a kid??

I'm a collage newbie, but I hope to get better in time.

There was an incorrigible child at the next table and he was given sheets of paper and crayons. I guess they'd give me some too had I asked. Oh well.

The pitfalls of dining al fresco in the Philippines is the lack of air condition. But that day was rainy and chilly, so I ordered what I thought would be my comfort food: tuyo flakes and chorizo on fried rice and tomato and mango salsa on the side. 

My sister went for the safer choice of Homemade Chicken Parmesan. 

The food was a bit on the mediocre side, and I suppose it was mostly because the look of the place set expectations too high. But I'm just being picky I guess. Like, I would have wanted my tuyo to be a bit more well-done, and lot less malansa (err...fishy?), and de-boned, please. My sister, on the other hand, is from the school of sweet, Filipino-style spaghetti, and so she found the red sauce on the chicken parmesan too sour. But no matter, the coffee was great. 

And then the order for the next table arrived, and omg, I have to have that croque madamme (a croque monsieur with poached egg on the side)! But I could no longer take another bite (did I mention they don't skimp on the rice?), and so we decided to go back the following week, with more company.

As expected, the place was booked again for another event, a baptism, so we were once more relegated to the sidelines. The kind  and uber-cheerful waitress however allowed me to take some pics of the inside of the restaurant before the event's guests started arriving.

Someone better fix that S.

Cath Kidston aprons. I want, I want.

That adorable pink rotary dial phone still works!

So anyway, I went back for the croque madamme right? Well, guess what, they ran out of french toasts. So the hyper waitress suggested I have the Apple County instead. I took a quick look at the menu and saw it was a chicken salad sandwich. So alright, get me one of that. 

And I was again disappointed! I started a sarcasm-fueled drivel: It's all mayo and apples and not even a bit of chicken! And this salad dressing! Ugh! And then I saw the menu fineprint description. Chicken salad sandwich indulgently (they weren't kidding on that) blended with premium mayo, refreshing green apple bits and purple grapes... So there. Why was I surprised to see apple bits on the sandwich? What exactly did I expect from the name "Apple County?" So I ate it all up with all the dignity I have left. No actually, I gave the other half to Kororo, who said it wasn't so bad. Of course, why would he complain when he got that really good mushroom soup and the Mobster Meal:

That garlic bread is to die for.

Italian sausage with oil and garlic pasta.

This is what my sister got. Some sort of casserole, which tasted "just fine."

I am on this "perfect Sunday morning" marathon, so I refuse to leave Stacy's without salvaging breakfast. I ordered what I thought was a dish that one could never go wrong: spaghetti and meatballs. 

It was okay. Not stellar, but good enough to make me recover from Apple county. Anyways, I'm still going back for the croque madamme. 

A nice touch. Last time I had butterball was when I was reviewing for the bar.