John-Flor Thanks You

1 a day didnt work.

I guess the only way I could have really kept plugging away at 1 thank you a day would have been if I had all the time in the world…and NOT be into music-making too.

Breaking this resolution is like death: it was unavoidable.

Here’s to making these next thank yous Quality, not Quantity.

- jf.

11. Erin S - conversations on planes with strangers

It was right after I played at the University of Wisconsin years ago. I was strapped into my seat, ready to take off on a flight from Madison to Minnesota, when you walked next to my seat  asked politely if I can move my legs just a bit to the side. Your seat was next to the window, and I was at the aisle, though we were guaranteed to sit next to each other since there were only two seats on each side of the plane.

You smiled your disarming, Midwestern German/Swedish smile, and once you sat in your seat, we started talking. A lot.

For that hour plane ride conversation, I found out that you had a brother, were a journalism student, and grew up on a farm. I don’t remember what I told you except that I too had a brother. But somehow we kept the dialogue going on for the whole plane ride, and we were both really engaged in the conversation.

Oh….yes. You told me to go pick up the Commissariat for Enlightenment, a fascinating look into the role film played in the Russian revolution and afterwards. I was intrigued, and as you described the book, your eyes lit up with excitement.

After the plane touched down in Minnesota, we hung out and went to that Americana store that sold a lot of woodsy-outdoorsy things. I think you tried on a few trinkets, and I laughed a good amount. I probably said some really dumb things interspersed with some not so dumb things, and I made you laugh too.

We stayed together in that area as long as possible, before I had to depart for another gate. We hugged a lingering hug.  When I said goodbye, I felt sad. I think you were sad too. I walked away, and as I got further, you were still looking at me.

I thought about you during my plane ride home to New York.

I’m glad we kept in touch, though sparsely.  The next year when I went back to Madison, I got to hang out with you and your new boyfriend. We drank beers and talked about politics. And we hugged each other again before I left.

- fxfr

10. Danny Katz. Musician who’s got standards.

We met on Asian Avenue. Yes, that site that used to be kinda cool before it was gobbled up by a ton of ads and whatnot. I put out a feeler on the site about collaborating with other musicians. And you responded enthusiastically.

Since then, we have kept touch, hung out a bunch, shared dirty stories, and even played music together. There were even, dare I say it….saxophones involved. And you have been a big encourager of my music. I only hope I have been as encouraging as well.

I really like this video of you. It’s definitely you.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kj5mnEkocAE

And I like how sincere you are with your music. Even when you’re singing about you having a crush on Octimus Prime. There’s an essence of who you are in every song that you put out there.

Mr. Katz, I wish the best things for you. I hope you make a ton of money doing music in Japan, or the U.S., or whatever continent you end up inhabiting. I hope you find Mr. Right.  And I hope to see you soon.

Domo arigato tomodachi,

    fxfr

8. Ate Eva and the decapitated ghost of Muntinlupa

I was scared during the last few weeks of my stay in the Philippines, all because of you.

We were at your house in Muntinlupa, and had just seen a Filipino horror show on tv. I don’t remember much about the plot of the show, except that by the end of the program the whole cast seemed to be caked in fake blood. Naturally, that freaked me out, considering I was only ten and not as matapang (brave) as ten year old boys were supposed to be.

So you took advantage of that fact. You told me that a ghost haunted the house at night. You didn’t know why her spirit was so unsettled; you left that to my imagination.

You couldn’t see the multo when she was in the house, but you can hear her soft movements: the erratic footsteps in the kitchen and living room at midnight, like a dying metronome; the creaking of the cupboards because she was very hungry (I guess being deceased doesn’t diminish the appetite); the whispers and the sudden drop in temperature when she was present in the bathroom while you bathed yourself with a tabo and the boiled water straight from the stove.

Outside the house, she was visible. But do not look outside the window at night from the bedroom that you have been sleeping in, when you’re alone. Because if you do, a woman’s pale head without her body would be looking right at you.

Her eyes were in anguish, and her mouth kept trying to scream, but not a sound would emanate. Her hair spoke of suffering. And the veins protruding from the bottom of her severed neck would be writhing, like a thousand earthworms suddenly exposed to sunlight.

And she would say:”JF….bakit? Bakit?” over and over again..until you closed the blinds.

Thus, in the few days I spent there, I thought of rational strategies to avoid contact with the multo. I dared not look outside the bedroom window at night. I looked over my shoulder and walked quickly when I would enter and exit your house. And I always tried to be with you, or another relative, as much as possible so I wouldn’t be left alone.

Thank you.

Looking back in retrospect,you helped me realize that I had an active imagination…and you were one of the earliest examples in my life of a good storyteller. You inadvertently set me on the path to becoming a storyteller, though I usually put my stories to melodies and music.

So Ate,hopefully when I see you at the Sisante Reunion of 2011, I’ll say ‘thank you’  to you in person… and also, to give you the biggest scare of your life. You deserve that. And you have been warned.

Shukran,

   fxfr 

7. Mrs. Rossi, my 3rd Grade Teacher.

My introduction to the joys of American citizenship began with a lipstick kiss.

The principal just announced on the loudspeaker at Meadowbrook School that I, John-Flor Sisante, became an American the day before. I quietly sat behind my desk, embarrassed at my name reverberating throughout every classroom…as if my own silly name was now embedded into the pledge of allegiance.

Until then, I was happily anonymous. Now, I was an American.

The class erupted with applause, and I felt even more shy at the attention. I didn’t do anything amazing, like cure cancer, write the perfect novel, or compose the perfect Mozart-like sonata (which at that time, I actually tried to accomplish). I just did what anyone else would have done in my situation. And for that, I was lionized? It seemed silly.

That’s when I saw Mrs. Rossi.

She calmly and efficiently applied her red lipstick, like an assassin putting bullets into a silencer. She made sure to pucker her lips afterwards, even making the sound that fish do when skimming for food at the top of a fishbowl. Without a word, my 50-year-old-plus  teacher walked straight to my desk while I was seated, and planted the most bitchin’ kiss on my right cheek.

Bitchin’.

Totally bitchin’.

It was a pleasant experience, considering that I’ve never been kissed before, except during family get-togethers.

And this is why I love cougars.

…

I’m just kidding. But Mrs. Rossi, you made an embarrassing experience an even more embarrassing experience. And that is why you never left my heart.

Ic pancas do,

         jf

6. Rorie Kelly. Musician.

The first time we met was at that Borders Books in Syosset. You were so good. And to this day, you continue to be consistently so good with your music. 

http://www.roriekelly.com

You’re one of the best writers I know, and your lyrics and melodies are so interesting sonically, it feels like I’m on an one of those Disney adventure rides every time I hear you live,or on CD.

But besides the whole music thing, I do want to say that you are awesome for being you.

  Diolch,

            jfvs

Day 5. Carlo de la Rama. Fellow Pinoy runner/non-meat eater.

 I met you years ago at a show in Jersey. You really like that song ‘Second Wind’, which I wrote. You told me that as we officially hung out for the first time by watching Takeru Kobayashi bring it on against Joey Chestnut at the Nathans’ Hot Dog Eating Championships.

The irony hasn’t been lost on me at all. Considering that I think we’re the only two Pinoys in the East Coast who don’t eat animal flesh.

I know we’ll probably see each other at the end of this year, as we toe to toe it in the NY Marathon. But hopefully we get to hang before that.

And I’ll never forgot the great piece of advice you gave me when I became a vegetarian:

” whatever you do, never forget the reason or reasons on why you became one”.

Arigato Carlo.

     - fxfr

4. Julie Hill. Musician.

I had a dream about you last night, where we hung out and played music the whole night. I think we also co-wrote on each other’s tunes in my dream.

That’s what I call a music nerd dream.

When we met the first time at Bar 4, I asked you if you would be into singing harmonies with me up on stage for a song. You unequivocally said ‘yes’! I sang my song “Kneecaps” and made you laugh so hard on stage with my banter full of stupidity and…charm?

Definitely stupidity.

Well, we don’t talk much anymore, which is a little sad but inevitable, considering how I fell off the face of the Earth. But I hear you’re doing your own thing up in Berklee.

http://www.myspace.com/julieshanahill

And you rocked it at The Sidewalk Cafe I last saw you. It’s nice to hear you with a full band. The acoustic bass player was a really nice touch to your music.

Finally, that version of ‘La Paloma’ that you recorded for me because you know how much I love that song..especially the one sung by Caetano Veloso in ‘Talk To Her’.  You really put your heart into it when you recorded your version. And it’s a tremendous gift that I won’t forget. Ever.

Toda Raba, Julie Hill.

- jf

3. Harry George. Musician.

You let me stay at your place after we’d jam a bit, and I’d bogart your couch. You got me to play keys on your album, and it has always been fun hanging with you, Pete, and Billy the Kid on your Astoria rooftop. And that party that you and your roommates threw a few years back..was a really sweet shindig. Every time I hear of the song ‘Hey Jealousy’, I  think about that party.

But besides all that, you’re a down to earth guy from Pennsylvania who knows how to describe an amazing cross-country running environment. I really want to run that area that you ran during your halcyon days.

Finally, I enjoy your music.

http://www.myspace.com/harrygeorge

You’re a really good writer. A good guy. And you’re my Coney Island Polar Bear blood brother.

Tack,

    jf.