Pogi or not, you are welcome to come!  There will a book signing for ‘Lies My Yaya Should Have Told Me’, my first collection of humor essays, on November 22 (Saturday) 5pm at Fully Booked, Bonifacio High Street, Taguig.  I will be reading excerpts from the book and also some excerpts from my upcoming collection, “I Do or I Die!”  We will also be selling limited edition “My Yaya thinks I’m Pogi” and “My Yaya thinks I’m Seksi” t-shirts.

(Originally published on November 12, 2008 in the Philippine Star)

Who says true love is hard to come by?  All you need is some olive oil, some acrylic yarn and an oversized Hello Kitty doll.  

Over the undas (All Saints’ Day), I learned that the thousands of words I have spewed out in this column have just been pure drivel.  All that muckety muck about learning pick up lines and reading body language and buying gayumas (love charms) outside of Baclaran church are just as effective on the opposite sex as filing impeachment charges is against the President. Why dab yourself with expensive cologne or don your China-made Rolex or flash your surgically-enhanced pwet just to catch the attention of that woman you have been obsessing over when all you needed to do was mosey on over to your neighborhood sari-sari store for some eye of newt and toe of frog? 

If there is one thing that I learned from Tony Perez’s book Mga Panibagong Kulam sa Pag-Ibig (The New Spells for Love), it is that the government does not have a monopoly in making magic.  This book is the royal straight flush in the poker game of love, where you can stack all the cards in your favor. After you have mastered this book, all you No Girlfriends Since Birth (NGSB) can finally forego the use of your one-armed bandit.

However, what do we really know about kulam that we except for preconceived notions tht we have learned from Bible-thumping conservatives, from our yayas and from movies starring Judy Ann Santos?    What exactly is a kulam and how does it work?  According to Tony Perez, a kulam is simply a creative form of prayer using ingredients. And when you brew together the right amount of ingredients, it’s the equivalent of sending a text message to the ‘higher ups’ asking them to be your tulay (bridge) to spell-bounded love.    

But if this explanation doesn’t satisfy you, then maybe some geometry will: Imagine yourself as a dot.  Now imagine the woman, whether existent or blown up, as the other dot.  Imagine that there is a dotted line connecting both of you.   Imagine that to turn that dotted line into a straight line, you need to perform a kulam.  Now imagine that kulam is like bidding for a government contract.      

There are many spirits, diwatas (fairies), dwendes (dwarves), kapres and congressmen, who have their own agendas, and they may either want to help (tagahatid) or hinder (tagaharang) your kulam from reaching your intended victim, este, beloved.  Imagine your kulam passes through several of these go-betweens who give you the run around, so much so that you have no choice but to overprice the newt eyes and frog toes, without any assurance that the kulam will reach the target, este, woman in the first place. If karma is on your side, your kulam will reach her faster than tsismis on the Buzz.  But if karma would like to stick a hot poker up your pwet, your kulam will reach her slower than oil price rollbacks of multinational oil companies.  But take comfort in the fact that when the kulam reaches your woman, whether it takes five minutes or fifty years, you will have definitely smitten the woman of your dreams. Or you may have smitten a manananggal. 

The kulams that Tony Perez advocates are relatively easy to perform and, thankfully, none of these spells require the drawing of pig’s blood, dancing naked while beating your chest (much to my dismay) or sacrificing a virgin or two.  These would have been particularly daunting tasks, especially if we had to look for virgins.  And, if I may digress my three female readers, there is an interesting factoid about virgins:  There is a misconception that for spells to be potent, they must be performed by people who have not yet field-tested their potency. In other words, spells must be performed by certified virgins (which would make the purchase of the kulam book by DOMs an exercise in futility).  The only thing that that needs to remain chaste for a spell, Tony Perez clarifies, are the ingredients – which means they should not be used for any other purpose except for the spell, whether that purpose is hygienic or otherwise.  But even if these spells required virgins, my NGSB readers would have had no problem with that.    

For most of these kulams, there is a basic five-step process which must be strictly adhered to unless you plan to grow an extra nipple:       

1. Kasangkapan (ingredients).  The most exotic ingredient here might probably be isaw (chicken entrails), only because it is good pulutan (appetizer) while preparing the love spells.  Otherwise, the ingredients for most of these spells are fairly innocuous and can be found in most households, hardware stores and wet markets.  Among these ingredients are vigil candles, candle holders, matches, potpourri bowls, heart shaped nighlights, hair brushes, lipstick cases, hand mirrors, cologne, forks, knives, a chopping block, a pair of tongs, fresh kalamansi, coconuts, biscuit boxes, empty mayonnaise bottles, a pair of scissors, wax crayons, modeling clay, plastic canisters, your passport photo, a domino set, a pair of dice, towel, a pair of tsinelas (slippers), assorted bathrooms sundries and, the most important ingredient, toilet paper (most NGSBs know what to do with the toilet paper).  After gathering all these ingredients, you aren’t quite sure on the onset if you will perform a spell, go on a romantic date, bake some pastries, attend an art class, or take a shower. 

Second, most of these ingredients for the kulams must be monochromatic. Because love spells are nothing if not fashionable.  Therefore, try to gather red apples, red roses, red ink ballpens, red envelopes, red straps, red stamp pads, red soap boxes, red balloons, red birthday candles, rose-colored glasses, red piggy banks, red sugar, the esoteric bagol ng limang sentimos (made from red copper, which supposedly makes the spells more efficacious), and finally, the most mahiwaga (mysterious) of them all, the rose-colored post-it notes (Really).  

And lastly, you are advised to scrub the ingredients with salt, especially if these ingredients have not yet been used for magical, alchemical or world domination purposes.  The salt scrub also leaves these ingredients well-exfoliated and with a nice afterglow.

1. Ang Pagtatalaga ng mga Kasangkapan (Dedication of the ingredients). Before you conduct the kulam, the ingredients are dedicated to magic by bathing them under the light of (preferably) the third full moon for three hours.  As the exfoliated ingredients get a nice moonlit tan, you can choose to bask in the moonlight as well. According to the book, it is untrue that bathing underneath the moonlight will drive you to lunacy. But if you do notice yourself developing a very sharp overbite, or body hair where it doesn’t belong, or are seized by the desire to dine on human viscera, it is best that you go back into the house, lock yourself in your room and then shoot yourself with a silver bullet.  After you conduct the dedication, there is no need for a repeat performance when you cast future kulams.     
2. Pagkokonsagra sa Magica ng mga Kasankapan (Consecration of the ingredients to magic). Every time you conduct a kulam, you need to consecrate the ingredients.  You can consecrate the ingredients by dabbing extra-virgin olive oil on your right thumb and index finger then proceed to smear it all over the ingredients.  Please do not eat the ingredients.  If you are clueless as to where you can find extra-virgin coconut oil, do not fret, just look for a patch of ugly olives (That joke was sponsored by Gary Lising).  If you want quicker results for your kulam, you may want to try using motor oil.  
3. Ritwal (Ritual).  After being bathed, color-coordinated, exfoliated, and moisturized, the ingredients are now ready for their close up.  The ritual is the actual step-by-step spell-casting process, which may or may not involve some blowing of the ingredients. Let us not get into that discussion without having a couple of drinks. 

The spells in the book do not appear in any particular order. In fact, the book recommends you to do a bit of self-diagnosis: there are a grocery list of spells that you can choose from, based on the level of your desperation, hopelessness and medication.  There are very helpful spells that are great for self-medication (i.e. First-Aid for Love), for gardening (i.e. Zen Garden of Love) and for building a strong investment portfolio (i.e. Piggy Bank of Love).

Several of these spells will also help cement your friendships with the “higher ups” who will escort (tagahatid) your message of love to the intended casualty, este, woman.  These “higher ups” include the moon goddess, the earth, wind and fire elementals (when they are not on tour) and diwatang kalachuchis (frangifani (yes, that’s kalachuchi in English) fairies), who can be found on flowering trees.  Although I do hear from reliable sources that you can also meet a lot of diwatang kalachuchis in select bars around the metropolis.

Aside from those “higher ups”, you will also be making barkadas with fruit seeds, Barbie and Ken dolls and “power” cats (between Garfield and Hello Kitty, choose the one with better merchandising material) whom you can help make palakas (peddle their influence) on our behalf to the “higher ups”.  In case you do not have a direct internet connection to love, then there are other alternative forms of communication that you can use – such as the whistle of love, the paper boat of love, the Valentine’s day card of love, or the potentially trademark-infringing starbox of love (really).

If you already know whom you wish to enslave, este, enrapture in the folds of your love handles but are unable to get through to her because of court orders, then there are some love spells which will require you to be more stealthy than police generals returning from an international conference. You can scavenge for personal items that you have, ehem, obtained from her -her picture (clue to NGSBs: you can download their picture from Facebook mwahahahaha), cigarette butts she has thrown away, chewing gum she has spat on your face, buttons from her shirt (remember, the buttons must be acquired through legally defensible means) and the temporary restraining order she filed against you – and store them in a special box which will have the magical effect of bringing her close to you. But also remember that this box can also be presented as evidence in court.

Meanwhile, if you still do not know whom you wish to eventually procreate with, there are other spells that allow you to see the face of your future paramour in the melted remains of birthday candles (which are, of course, red).  And, finally, there are spells that require to make biyak (split open) some mani (peanuts). Let’s not get into that one without a couple of more drinks.

1. Orasyon (Oration). You must recite the oration with ooompha loooompha if you want it to be picked up by the ether and broadcast to the “higher ups”.  I know it might feel rather awkward at first, but just think of an oration like a potential pop or novelty song.   

Imagine Christian Bautista crooning these lines to make a woman want to exercise her biological imperative with you:  

“Ito, ang Pag-ibig, (This love)

Magbubuklod sa ating dalawa (Which binds us)

Magpakailanman (Forevermore).”

Or Jay-R humming this potential chart-topping hit to make the woman as hopelessly irrational as you:

“Ako, (fill in name of NGSB here) (I)

Ang iyong palad (I am your fortune),

Ang iyong tadhana (I am your fate),

Ang iyong katarungan (I am your equity),

Ang iyong biyaya (I am your blessing),

Magpakailanman (Forevermore).

Or, my favorite, the oration to the power pussycat:

“Pusa, pusa (Little cat, little cat)

Ikaw ay magkusa (It’s all up to you)

Huwag mong ipaubaya (Don’t leave things to fate)

Na ako ay lumuha (Or else I’ll go boohoo).”

I can hear Willie Revillame singing it in my head right now. Or Phoebe from Friends.  

By time you’ve labored through every spell outlined in the book, you will be excreting so much love from your pores that Cupid will have to look for another line of work.  However, the kulam book does have a disclaimer: the same way that our prayers are not always answered, kulams are not always guaranteed to work.

When this happens, there is no need to curse the heavens, grab that consecrated knife and turn yourself into a eunuch just yet. Find a way to keep yourself entertained.  After all, since most of the ingredients were household items, you can always recycle them. With all that art material you bought, you can always make a sculpture out of paper-mache.  With all the olive oil you bought, you will never be in need of salad dressing.  And with all the dolls that you bought, you can always find other NGSBs that you can play with. 

If there is absolutely nobody who will give love to you voluntarily, then you can always try casting the love spells again. If worse comes to worse, you can always give love to yourself.      

Mga Panibagong Kulam sa Pag-Ibig by Anvil Publishing is available at National Bookstore and Fully Booked. 

Because I am a shameless self promoter, I would like to repost in my blog several of the full book reviews I came across of ‘Lies My Yaya Should Have Told Me’ that came out both in print and online.

And hopefully, this gets you excited enough to show up to my book signing at Fully Booked, Bonifacio Hi Street, Taguig on November 22 (Saturday).

Thanks again for the support! Namaste.

From Carlomar Arcangel Daoana of The Daily Tribune (originally published on February 14, 2008) 

RJ Ledesma’s take on love and all things similar

Since the publication of Kitty Go’s two delightful volumes on the foibles of high society, there has been no “funny” read to emerge that can actually balance the tightrope between acute observation and simply rollicking humor, that is until RJ Ledesma’s Lies my Yaya should have told Me was launched last Thursday in Archeology in Rockwell.

The book, published by Anvil, is something we have been expecting from RJ all along, if I may hazard a guess. His must-read ruminations on love, dating and things similar in the 21^st century, as chronicled by two dailies, plus his energizing touch that  transformed Manual into the only irreverently smart men’s magazine in the country, had left us guessing what RJ can do with the format of a book.

Lies my Yaya should have told Me is, simply put, a suave masterwork to this juggler of many careers. The first chapter “Love is a Four-Letter Word” blurts out what may be a fundamental truth about men: “They confuse sex for love.” From here, the author darts toward assembling objects that curiously set the mood for sex, which men believe they have wrapped in smokescreen. The author, as a fact-seeking journalist, takes a quick jaunt to Victoria Court and cyber-cruises in dating sites to report first-hand the nitty-gritty of love’s nether regions.

 His vivisection of Christian Bautista’s “Hands to Heaven” is, however, the crux of this chapter, as it betrays the underlying message in the song’s refrain repeated five times: “Tonight I need your sweet caress,/Hold me in the darkness/Tonight you calm my restlessness/You relieve my sadness.” What looks like an innocuous string of words is actually deceptive. Warning the “three female readers of my column,” RJ decodes the lyrics as: “I want to go at it with you five times but I hope you don’t make me feel guilty in the morning when I give you a call.”

The second chapter, “The thin line between love and insanity,” ventures into terra incognita: the wrath of a woman.  The “rusty pliers,” a character that will evolve to Darth Vader proportions as one reads along, makes its initial appearance here. Essentially, the stories in the chapter are meant to make sense of woman’s a senselessness when she is fuming mad. RJ, in a stroke of genius, realizes that “she has the divine right to get angry at you about anything because it is entire your fault.”  He spirals into another Dante Alighieri hell by knowing the fury connected with PMS and ovulation. I have never read anything as reverential when it comes to woman’s body rhythms.

Dating, as seen through the eyes of RJ, gets demystified in the third chapter, “Mating Games.” His almost anthropological approach to the anatomy of flirting (ditto the svelte seduction of stilettos), which RJ concludes as a failure of interpretations, is juxtaposed with a she says/he says repartee on the nature of woman’s weight, all meant to save a man’s precious extremities once the conversation actually creeps up. Describing blind dates as “the Russian roulettes of the courtship world,” RJ reasons that “men shouldn’t be allowed to go on speed dating without a license” and “women shouldn’t go on speed dating without alcohol.”

The raison d’etre isn’t served until the last chapter, “The Parent Trap,” which reads like a somnambulist’s recollection of a guy meeting his girlfriend’s parents for the first time while simultaneously glimpsing a vision of his death. It’s incisive, not to mention hilarious, in a way that it exposes the nuances of the uniquely Pinoy phenomenon called dalaw, the prelude to the actual pamamanhikan.

“According to the book The Filipino Family,” the author writes, “tradition dictates that parents command their daughters to stay in their rooms and plug their ears full of cotton so that they can face the young man and pulverize him without restraint.  And, even if your dangle has yet to cause collateral damage, the Q&A serves as a preemptive strike to ensure the preservation of virgin territory.”

 In Lies my Yaya should have told Me, RJ’s strength lies more on hyperbole than irony. There’s nothing to read between the lines and all the scenes are meant to be imaginatively relished (yes, even the dog fornicating with the author’s leg in a beach) and in some instances, cringed upon, especially when rusty tools creep up as a warning against men’s nonsense and such. It’s evident that the author dips his foot into the territory of fiction, but not only for effect: he finagles truths about the human condition—chiefly, the eternal interplay between a man and a woman—by enlarging and sculpting situations to suit his end.

 As the book engages with Philippine contemporary life, the reader will not miss the deft tirades of the author on politics. RJ describes GMA’s approval ratings as “scant as the outfits” which “nubile starlets” wore in his TV show.  It’s commentary that doesn’t leave a bad taste in the mouth, but interests just the same because it is so left-field, so dripping with humor.

For some, the author may even be considered as a feminist—a self-deprecating figure prostate on the altar of Venus. But he is, deep down, just an ordinary bloke who is man enough to admit, recognize, even celebrate the importance of women—not merely for pro-creation purposes, mind you. Because of this, RJ may come across as merely earnest. But if earnestness is his vice, so be it.

From Paolo Lorenzana of Philippine Star’s Supreme (originally published on March 1, 2008)

Randomonium

Welcome to the 21st century, where the sexual revolution has revolved off into absurdity—and where a Pinoy guy in his 30s can unflinchingly write about his inadequacies and pay homage to the woman who constantly provides him wisdom, mis-education, and towels to wipe his pawis: his yaya.

Sure, any guy would have reaped emotional scars from hawking Royal Tru Orange in an ‘80s commercial that takes totoy to an unprecedented level, but that colorful blip in a man’s life only proves to add to the wisecracking, utterly self-deprecating persona of Rene “RJ” Ledesma, which is what prodded me to purchase Lies my Yaya Should have Told Me: RJ Ledesma’s Imaginary Guide to Whine and Women over Pulutan from the Soldier’s Kitchen, a bar chow cookbook compiled by two Oakwood mutineers-turned-gourmands who’ve whipped-up productivity from incarceration—the former, way tastier than a serving of adobong hito sa gata.

A collection of his columns from the Manila Times (“Playing With My Tools”) and The Philippine Star (“Pogi from a Parallel Universe”), Lies my Yaya Should have told Me chronicles its author’s testicle tickling—and kicking—travails in the savage lands of the female species; one presided over by a girlfriend who’s privy to the law (she’s a barrister) and won’t think twice about pummeling his man-parts with a gavel, a mother who’s amusingly overbearing, and, of course, a yaya who acts as the cackling entity looming over his manhood and the bastion of his subservience to the fairer sex.

No, the holy trinity of girlfriend-mother-yaya doesn’t really stand behind RJ holding cold gun barrels against his head as in Iraqi captive execution, but all the campy imagination makes for a riotous read, anyway; RJ writing of the 21st century Pinoy man’s concerns (Victoria Court motels and chloroform, boys’ nights out and KTVs, and all the blood-pumping dilemmas of having a d*ck) from the hazards of dating and the task of appeasing girlfriends we don’t seem to deserve, no matter how smart, funny, and rightfully geeky a man is. Whether it’s weathering women through “permissible manslaughter” (PMS) and irrationale (“She has the divine right to get angry at you about anything because it is your entire fault”) or having to learn the secret art of listening, RJ channels Steve Martin, Dolphy, and pre-Duplex Ben Stiller—especially when he meets his girlfriend’s parents in an essay entitled “Let Sleeping Pickles Lie”, an allusion to slipping some discretion to a mate’s parents to avoid the pickling of one’s testicles.

We’re all pretty much on the same train to men-only Auschwitz when we deal with the women in our lives, but with RJ as our crash test dummy fumbling for propriety and his girlfriend’s graces, we can stand at the sidelines rubbing our bellies and laughing nervously at how much of an absolutely clueless and lesser sex we are. Ledesma’s Lies makes for great pulutan for the imbecile’s soul (that means all hetero wielders of the schlong) and it’s good to see one guy, as they say, taking it like a man.

From Rome Jorge of Manila Times (originally published on April 3, 2008)

RJ Ledesma tells all about his Yaya, The Tru-Orange kid and his expose about his nanny

He started his literary career here at The Manila Times. His column, “Playing with My Tools,” reintroduced Filipinos readers to RJ Ledesma, then better known for being that kid, Joey, in the Royal Tru Orange commercial (if you’re old enough to remember, you’re old—like RJ and I are) who was sent by his mommy to buy some suka [vinegar, not puke].

He also co-hosted for that FHM-like TV show Men’s Room. In his column entries, he intimated: his fixation with supermodel Phoemela Barranda; his dependence on his yaya [nanny/wet nurse], belying any similarity of television commercial persona with his true self—that of a scion of real estate development empire, Ledesco; and his supposedly henpecked and Catholic-guilt-stricken relationship with Vanessa, now his wife. Read it and weep:

The Comet that Killed the Dinosaurs [RJ Ledesma’s pet name for his girlfriend, specifically when she’s pissed at him]: Why do you keep writing about Phoemela Barranda!? You think I find that funny!? Every week it’s Phoem this and Phoem that! It’s enough already that I have to compete with your yaya sleeping beside you at night, then Phoem pa!

RJ the dead idiot: What does this have to do with what we’re talking about? Love, you know I’m just writing about Phoem for humorous exaggeration, and you didn’t have to let the readers know about my yaya . . .

- Playing With My Tools, The Manila Times, May 29, 2005

Later, Ledesma became Editor in Chief of Manual Magazine. And then he left to us to write for that other newspaper filled with star columnists. Arrgh. The turncoat! But we know the dirt on Ledesma. And so does everyone, thanks to his new book, Lies My Yaya Should Have Told Me: RJ Ledesma’s Imaginary Guide to Whine and Women.

They say it’s a bestseller, most especially after it was allegedly mandated as required reading for the rank and file of Ledesco. Friends of Ledesma (as well as complete and utter strangers) can expect to receive copies of his book for Christmas, Valentine’s, Halloween, and on their wedding, baptism, confirmation and circumcision. Sources allege that this is but the first in Ledesma’s quest for ultimate power.

Rumor has it that a movie musicale based on the book (starring Barranda no less and the dashing Andrew E as Ledesma) is set to be released shortly before the campaign season of the next elections, where Ledesma is said to run for President under a platform of free government-subsidized soft drinks, a ban on all meat products and calls for an orange revolution.

Oh, about the book. It’s kind’a funny.

Be on the lookout for special copies with centerfold spread photos of Ledesma and nanny. Do not open—not unless you value the meal you ate beforehand.

In it as well are insights into the Pinoy psyche—at least the psyche of Pinoy who’s a vegan yoga instructor, real estate magnate, Couples for Christ member and men’s magazine editor. Definitely, the author is your typical guy.

Already, literary critics have lavished praise on the book:

“It made me cry.” -RJ Ledesma

Kidding aside, the book delivers oodles on the science behind romance such as the biochemistry of pheromones and oxytocins. It also delivers realistic situationers about romance and relationship for 21st century Pinoys—like Catholic guilt about premarital sex and skulking about drive-in motels just the same.

It’s a must read, especially for employees of Ledesco.

From Gmeleen Faye B. Tomboc of Clickthecity.com (originally posted on February 11, 2008)

Lies My Yaya Should Have Told Me

If you walk into a book launch graced by Mayor Binay and members of the diplomatic corps, you could have mistaken it for the launching of a coffee table book. However, once I spotted Gary Lising and DJ Mo Twister milling around, I knew there was something else to it.

On a Thursday night, RJ Ledesma (aka that guy in the Royal Tru Orange commercial) unveiled his first compilation “Lies My Yaya Should Have Told Me: RJ Ledesma’s Imaginary Guide to Whine and Women.” Gary Lising, DJ Mo Twister, Nancy Castiglione, Sam Oh, and Jojo “All the Way” Alajar were on hand to read out excerpts. Those familiar with his late-night show with stand-up comedian Tim Tayag (“The Men’s Room”) would definitely know what to expect from this paperback – tongue-in-cheek humor.

The book is a compilation of his essays from his previous column in the Manila Times called “Playing With My Tools,” and his current column for the Philippine Star called “Pogi from a Parallel Universe.” The observations on pick-up lines, dating, courtship, and certain life-changing events, such as dealing with the parents of your girlfriend, are razor-sharp, laugh-out-loud (not just chuckle) funny, and most of the time, embarrassingly true. How else can you explain this passage: “In their more complex minds, women mistakenly ‘boys’ night out’ with cheap beer, voluptuous women, and really lousy singing. They’re wrong you know- the beer isn’t cheap.”

Surprisingly, there’s a fair amount of research that went into each column- RJ cites sources running the gamut of the president of the American Board of Sexology to books such as “Shoes: A Celebration of Pumps, Sandals and Slippers.” There are also sprinklings of political innuendo thrown in: “(My) girlfriend informed me that I had first to ask her parents’ permission to accompany her to the United States. If there’s anything that scares me more than GMA’s mole, it is her parents.”

Of course, the evening could not have been complete without RJ’s yaya, who gamely hammed it up for the camera with her ward. There are more observations on everything else than on what RJ’s yaya actually told (or did not tell) him. But after going through all 107 pages, you wouldn’t mind.

This paperback is a fun read because RJ isn’t afraid to poke fun at himself; in one essay, he describes himself this way: “I was already a thirty something who had suffered his first bald spot (oh, the indignity!) and finally gained the privilege to watch porn movies guilt-free (but I still lock my door).” RJ shares, “The nice thing about humor is that you’re able to tell the truth in a way that you can accept it. Luckily I’m someone who has a very low threshold of embarrassment.”