TINY TRASH

Yesterday, our source for hard-hitting news, TMZ, reported that Gary Coleman's wife, Shannon Price, was arrested for "domestic violence" and "disorderly conduct." 

After locking Coleman out of their house, Price had quite the tantrum and ravaged their bedroom. No word whether their insurance covers Gary's Fisher Price play set. When the police stepped in, the classy Price blew her carrot top and threw a few f-bombs at them ("fucker") as well as her hubby, blaming his treatment of her for the outburst. 

See, this is the sort of news that gives little people a bad name. 

People like Coleman need to stop milking the freak show act that midgets have been known for since Ringling days. At least that former Oompa Loompa is going for versatility in Hollywood, what with his recent appearance in Transformers 2 (even if the movie was a big joke). Or look at Peter Dinklage...you don't see him on Divorce Court or parodying himself as a washed-up actor-turned-security guard. Like I mentioned before, small but venerable: 

     

THE AFFAIRS OF TALLER MEN...

Perhaps as a sartorial paean to the golden years of Wallstreet (maybe more irony), Chuck Bass, Ed Westwick's character on Gossip Girl, dons some very familiar getup: blue dress shirt with cuff links, blood-red suspenders, and grey pinstripe trousers. Yes, Ed does a dandy homage to American Psycho's Patrick Bateman. 

It's a look I tried to pull off last Halloween (with a fake knife, even) and only the well-watched director Quark Henares got it. Hard for a short man to pull off Pat Bateman without looking like Joe Pesci in Goodfellas. Obviously, Ed carries it way better. 

The SHORT ORDER: String Cheese

It's been an emotionally weighty few days for me following a car crash that, in the blink of an eye and a momentary flick of unconsciousness, changed my life (it's as simple as that). Since then, I've needed the pinprick of solitude to burst whatever mindset I seem to have been living under for a while now. For the meager-minded decision--confidence accompanying it--to drive after having a lot to drink, all my preaching about being short yet having great stature, are for naught. This time, my mind truly fit my size. 

So I've been thinking. A lot. And in this self-imposed mourning for the life I could have lost, there are, fittingly enough, few comforts. But you need your breaks--and you can't allow yourself to whither into nothingness, either (even if your mind kind of considers it). 

String cheese has been my ever-reliable comfort food during these times. And it's not so much the pure, dairy taste or it's health-giving goodness as a snack that's what's so great about it. It's how you eat it: peeling each layer like you were peeling the layers of stupidity off of your head. Or like some kind of gummy catharsis you're dealing with. It's one stick, but even when you've got a lot on your mind, holding onto that last string and swallowing it--it leaves you satisfied. 

THE SHORT ORDER: The gyros at Cafe Med

There had to be a tribute to these suckers some time. When you're absolutely hungry and you can't make up your mind--a gyro just sounds like the right way to go. Pronounce it GEE-RO or JAI-RO or HEE-RO, whatever...it's the sort of food that's eaten passionately, your lips and teeth working in tandem to keep the wrap's contents together. 

The instant bite from raw onions, the crunch of cabbage, the tang of tomato, and the grilled promised land of meat--be it chicken, beef, tuna (okay, there's falafel, but that doesn't count)--your tongue treads upon; it's an all-encompassing meal literally rolled into one (at Cafe Med, you've even got the slimmer chance at health with a choice of whole wheat pita for an additional P 20). Pay less (P 100-120), eat right (the "Mediterranean" diet's probably better than insert-your-fad-diet-here diet), season to taste (the chili or garlic-mayo squeeze bottles are a plus), and fill yourself up. The gyro's a hero to me. 

(in picture: a whole wheat pita, chicken gyro from Cafe Mediterranean in The Podium, Ortigas) 

 

LITTLE MAN GREAT: Jamie Cullum

It's interesting to note that the best version of Radiohead's "High and Dry" came from a guy of low, well, stature. Only in height (5"6), that is, considering Jamie Cullum has elevated jazz considerably since he sprung up in pop music charts with his third album, Twentysomething (released in '03). And who says supermodels are too hard to reach for short guys? With Cullum tying the knot with Sophie Dahl next year, there are some small battles that can be won. 

Jamie Cullum (R) with model fiancee Sophie Dahl, who stands 5"11. 

Who's the Bigger Man Here?

I considered getting down from my car, kicking his door, and surrendering my face as punching bag--but I thought better of it. 

When an Innova driver with plate number ZBT323 (wow, I actually memorized his plates--anger DOES make you sharper) poked his head out of his car, shouted "Asshole! I'm parking here!" in his big-baby-tantrum voice, and slammed his car door promptly, I honestly felt kind of sorry for the guy. His balding head was throbbing, cheeks seemingly flailing, and his three Povedan daughters and the wife sitting shotgun seemed to slump in their seats at the embarrassing aggro-ferocity of their pater de familia. 

It was embarrassing for him because I wasn't even going to take this big baby's parking slot. The Eastwood Mall parking lot was abundant with parking spaces and it looked like the red Innova in front of me had passed the first vacant slot. He simply stopped at the turn past the vacant slot, no hazards to back up-no nothing. Even with my slight reversal as a mobile suggestion for him to back up and take the slot he had passed was for naught.  So I honked him so I could proceed and take one of the slots I saw by the entrance to the mall. 

Thus, Mr. Fury had his moment and dropped the "asshole" bit with his hapless daughters in the back seat. I protested with a lengthy honk, paused momentarily parallel to his car, and gave him the death stare as his bewildered family looked on.  There was a standoff in raised chins and gritted teeth, but I thought better of giving him a piece of my mind and a piece of my shin. A reverse reaction provokes more thought than a physical provocation--or even one of verbal hostility. Really, sputtering "asshole" at a stranger for something they shouldn't be an asshole for (believe me, I'll admit it when I fall under the category--and I have, proudly so) just makes one look like they need to visit a shrink. Or get laid. Or maybe find other means to pay for the education of three Povedan daughters (times are hard and school had just started, so I figure this must have been why his Innova's stick was up his ass.) 

A massive ego makes for a small brain. And the guy looked like he was gonna keel over from a heart attack. I drove on and went on to bigger, better things in my life.

  Sure, you can be small but terrible...but why not just be small and venerable? There's a whole lotta stupid out there, so it's best not to take part in it. 

The Petit Gourmand

I was never too sharp in mathematics and I struggled learning ratio and proportion in the 6th grade. Being the short--and not surprisingly, rather stocky--person that I am today, I wish I had listened a little better during those classes. 

You see, with the prime lesson of inequality you have to learn as a mini-man, there are certain ratios and proportions that follow. 

When you're young and you're obliged to finish the food on your plate 'cause, as your dad hammers into your head time and again, you're "a growing boy" (the more you eat, the more you grow, supposedly), that excuse to gorge expires when you reach the age of 21. Past that, the appetite you grew accustomed to being the "growing boy" that you were is transposed from Length to Width. The more you eat, the more you expand, obviously--and the probability of looking like Danny Devito becomes greater. 

Proportion. Re-learn it. U.S.-issued Steak & Eggs in a country where the average male height is 5"10 is definitely not as bloat-effective there as in a country where the average male height is about 5"6. That means even a "small" glass of root beer in the States is a little much to gulp for a guy like myself. 

This is a fitting intro for a new section in this site called THE SHORT ORDER. We aren't talking restaurant reviews here but meals that are both satisfying and scaled to fit proportionately smaller appetites. All of that will come, er, shortly. 

For now, though, I'd like to impart a little know-how I picked up on a food run today. Let's call it the KIDDIE CART DIET. 

Most supermarkets have those scaled down shopping carts; take one the next time you have to do the groceries. They'll fill up easily, it'll necessitate your focusing on quality food items, you'll bring home less grub. Simple, less spoilage, better for hand-to-mouth proportion. Being smaller, you'll need less, anyway. Now put down the frozen pizza, it'll take up space.