Wikipedia, font of all knowledge in today's online world, defines mental obsession as a condition that may cause mental, physical, or even emotional pain, associated with insomnia as well as other health-related issues, and may keep one from focusing on more important tasks such as work or social activities. Some examples of what people can be obsessed with are: music, shoes, coffee, gambling, fire, celebrities, drugs, health/fitness, plastic surgery, royalty, money, religion, love, fame, cleanliness, diamonds, etc.
This latest facebook craze has ignited certain levels of obsession among people. Obsession? Nay, you'd say. But I have a hypothesis that it is addictive because it pushes the right buttons of longing to belong and be noticed. So, employing rigorous sociological field and survey research, I've plotted out how it happens.
Stage 1: You Join.
You scoff, roll your eyes, raise your eyebrows, snort, shrug, do the hokey-pokey and turn around--why are people all around you talking about Facebook, you ask yourself. Whatever. Sure, you'll join to stop people from bugging you to. It'll be passé soon enough. You blithely and obligingly fill out the forms, select a photo, sit back and wait. You claim that you are just checking out the Facebook bandwagon. Yes, that's what you tell yourself. And it's probably true. For now (ominous laughter...).
Stage 2: Your inner Narcissus rears his egotistic head.
Someone has tagged you in a photo or video! Now things are getting interesting. Obviously, the Facebook people have read Dale Carnegie's "How to Win Friends and Influence People"--an opus of ego manipulation and instruction manual for sycophants. People love to see photos of themselves. When presented a photo, the first thing they search for is their own face. So, at this stage, you are now more seriously trawling through your friends' profiles, noticing strange and possibly interesting features of Facebook like publicizing what you like (or hate) about life. You begin to understand that this can be an outlet for your inner celebrity slash publicity hound. And you start to believe that people might care to know what your absolute favorite movie is, or--channeling Oprah Winfrey--what book you're currently reading. You also get to find out whether your friends think that you're most likely to get swindled by a couple of old ladies in Vegas or show up in a bunny costume for no apparent reason...
Stage 3: You have all these friends to poke and bite and compare and throw inanimate objects at.
Facebook requests for undying friendship come flying into your email Inbox unexpectedly. You start to log in more frequently, directed by those insidious little email messages. Why not ignore them the way you're used to ignoring Friendster, Multiply, Linked-in and other social networking messages? Well... it doesn't hurt that someone's bought you a virtual beer or compared your smile to someone (and thought yours was nicer). This guy or girl you used to have a crush on or go out with is suddenly back in your life; wanting to be "friends" again--you can finally be magnanimous, it costs you nothing; besides, he/she sent you the invite first! Plus, once someone's chucked a shaved monkey at you, there's no turning back.
Stage 4: You're Hoooked
The first time you spend more than an hour on Facebook exclusively, you're hooked. By the time you start competing for Mogul status on Superlatives, you're doomed. If you were handcuffed 10 feet away from your computer, you'd gnaw off your hands and learn to type with your toes.
Your only hope is to live on an island. Without internet connection.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Saturday, August 18, 2007
Spaghetti in Sol's Midnight Marinara Sauce
I found myself pretty hungry at around half past one AM. When I couldn't convince Junior to fix me anything to eat, I resignedly went downstairs to cook.
I didn't grow up in a family that expected me to learn how to cook. My mom didn't really cook a whole lot, but she has a number of "signature" dishes, cakes and pies. My dad, according to family legend, has some sort of onion and tomato thing; but that may have all been just hearsay. I have three sisters and May, the second, is a really good cook (but she's also always been the "girly" one anyway). Gay, the eldest, can bake great blueberry cheesecake. Anna, the youngest, who lives on coffee and cigarettes, at most knows how to boil water by microwave (or at least I hope she does).
My first kitchen foray happened one summer when I was about eight or so (my most vivid childhood memories seem to begin at eight). Gay and May had this idea for us to cook an elaborate lunch for ourselves, complete with a fancy menu for dishes like "sautéed zygotes" i.e. fried egg. I contributed the beverages for the meal: "nestea con hielo con sprite".
Take the tallest glass in the kitchen. Fill three quarters with sprite or a similar colorless soda. Add two teaspoons of lemon-flavored instant iced tea powder. Witness the Rootbeer Float Effect: the powder causes the soda to fizz and a light brown froth bubbles to the surface. Take a long and slim teaspoon and stir gently, taking care that the froth doesn't diminish too much. Add a few cubes of ice.
I tried baking in high school and I wasn't too bad at it. Partly because they taught it in "home economics" (I also had a "practical arts" class with the boys, where I welded a swan-shaped ashtray for my class project). And partly because I had, for a long time, secretly wanted to grow up to be just like my best friend Lille's mom (who was a cool, single mother with her own company; and she gave away baskets of homemade pastries at Christmas).
I never cooked even when I lived on campus throughout college. I only tried my hand at cooking again years and years later when I started living with Junior. As a grad student, I had a pretty free schedule. But I eventually learned to hate sharing a kitchen with him--he was really merciless when it came to my dubious culinary eptitude. He made fun of my lack of common sense (with cooking and life in general--but hey, who cares about details when you're a genius, right?) and rolled his eyes at my reliance on recipes. When he petulantly complained that I had made spaghetti marinara one time too many, I literally threw the towel in (and at him).
But then Gabby came into the picture. Finally! A captive audience! An uncomplaining customer... at least before he could talk; and it is pure coincidence that his first word after mama and papa was "no"! Anyway, on Sundays (the nanny's day off), I started to cook for him. An improvisational spirit that I had sort of learned from Junior emerged. I got on a diet earlier this year and started cooking for myself, too.
Which brings me to tonight. The height of my haught cuisine. After two years of experimentation, I've come to the conclusion that I have a specific talent for combining a few specific ingredients into lush, flavorful food nouveau: tomatoes in any form (fresh, peeled, puréed, sauced), shrimp, olive oil, pasta, and oregano. And I've written my own rule of cooking: you can never have too much garlic--just be prepared to keep your trap shut for the rest of the evening!
And tonight's dish was a product of imagination.
Cook wholewheat pasta in boiling water and drain; place in a bowl. At the same time, heat a sauce pan, add a dollop of olive oil; fry a little minced fresh garlic and a few fresh large peeled shrimp or prawns. Don't be shy about leaving in all the weird orange gunk from the shrimp heads for flavor. Add some chili flakes. Add a couple of heaping spoonfuls of taba ng talangka or crab fat (available from Filipino stores at Lucky Plaza). Set aside. In the saucepan, leave in the sea-foody residue and add midnight spaghetti herbs (available at Carrefour; they come in little flat bags with brown paper labels) with just enough water to submerge the herbs. Wait until the herbs/spices are fully re-hydrated, then sauté with a little olive oil. Add chili flakes and tomato pesto. Stir into pasta. Top with shrimps and "marinara" sauce. If I'd had any fresh orgegano leaves, I'd have used them as a garnish. Cooking & preparation time: 20-25 minutes
Junior offered me fifty bucks to whip up another bowl, haha!
I didn't grow up in a family that expected me to learn how to cook. My mom didn't really cook a whole lot, but she has a number of "signature" dishes, cakes and pies. My dad, according to family legend, has some sort of onion and tomato thing; but that may have all been just hearsay. I have three sisters and May, the second, is a really good cook (but she's also always been the "girly" one anyway). Gay, the eldest, can bake great blueberry cheesecake. Anna, the youngest, who lives on coffee and cigarettes, at most knows how to boil water by microwave (or at least I hope she does).
My first kitchen foray happened one summer when I was about eight or so (my most vivid childhood memories seem to begin at eight). Gay and May had this idea for us to cook an elaborate lunch for ourselves, complete with a fancy menu for dishes like "sautéed zygotes" i.e. fried egg. I contributed the beverages for the meal: "nestea con hielo con sprite".
Take the tallest glass in the kitchen. Fill three quarters with sprite or a similar colorless soda. Add two teaspoons of lemon-flavored instant iced tea powder. Witness the Rootbeer Float Effect: the powder causes the soda to fizz and a light brown froth bubbles to the surface. Take a long and slim teaspoon and stir gently, taking care that the froth doesn't diminish too much. Add a few cubes of ice.
I tried baking in high school and I wasn't too bad at it. Partly because they taught it in "home economics" (I also had a "practical arts" class with the boys, where I welded a swan-shaped ashtray for my class project). And partly because I had, for a long time, secretly wanted to grow up to be just like my best friend Lille's mom (who was a cool, single mother with her own company; and she gave away baskets of homemade pastries at Christmas).
I never cooked even when I lived on campus throughout college. I only tried my hand at cooking again years and years later when I started living with Junior. As a grad student, I had a pretty free schedule. But I eventually learned to hate sharing a kitchen with him--he was really merciless when it came to my dubious culinary eptitude. He made fun of my lack of common sense (with cooking and life in general--but hey, who cares about details when you're a genius, right?) and rolled his eyes at my reliance on recipes. When he petulantly complained that I had made spaghetti marinara one time too many, I literally threw the towel in (and at him).
But then Gabby came into the picture. Finally! A captive audience! An uncomplaining customer... at least before he could talk; and it is pure coincidence that his first word after mama and papa was "no"! Anyway, on Sundays (the nanny's day off), I started to cook for him. An improvisational spirit that I had sort of learned from Junior emerged. I got on a diet earlier this year and started cooking for myself, too.
Which brings me to tonight. The height of my haught cuisine. After two years of experimentation, I've come to the conclusion that I have a specific talent for combining a few specific ingredients into lush, flavorful food nouveau: tomatoes in any form (fresh, peeled, puréed, sauced), shrimp, olive oil, pasta, and oregano. And I've written my own rule of cooking: you can never have too much garlic--just be prepared to keep your trap shut for the rest of the evening!
And tonight's dish was a product of imagination.
Cook wholewheat pasta in boiling water and drain; place in a bowl. At the same time, heat a sauce pan, add a dollop of olive oil; fry a little minced fresh garlic and a few fresh large peeled shrimp or prawns. Don't be shy about leaving in all the weird orange gunk from the shrimp heads for flavor. Add some chili flakes. Add a couple of heaping spoonfuls of taba ng talangka or crab fat (available from Filipino stores at Lucky Plaza). Set aside. In the saucepan, leave in the sea-foody residue and add midnight spaghetti herbs (available at Carrefour; they come in little flat bags with brown paper labels) with just enough water to submerge the herbs. Wait until the herbs/spices are fully re-hydrated, then sauté with a little olive oil. Add chili flakes and tomato pesto. Stir into pasta. Top with shrimps and "marinara" sauce. If I'd had any fresh orgegano leaves, I'd have used them as a garnish. Cooking & preparation time: 20-25 minutes
Junior offered me fifty bucks to whip up another bowl, haha!