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Being Kind of Sorry

I never thought I'd say I admire George W. Bush for being so slow. But when it comes to this U.S. spy plane incident, we must be thankful for his slowness.

As we go to press, the U.S. crew members look to be heading back soon. China has our plane to pick through while it “investigates.” And the business community can continue not feeling conflicted for business dealings with China.

And what did it cost? A well-worded agreement of regret for the loss of a pilot, and an admission that the U.S. plane landed in the wrong place. Landing somewhere else is what diplomats do best. When two sides can't find agreement on the main facts, find some place else where you both land, no matter how far off the point it really is.

And all it took was being "kind of sorry."

In the meantime, it's certainly a plus that Bush did not succumb to the obnoxious sabre rattling that grew louder from his right the more time had passed.

So it's good. Not only is he slow. He's deaf.

He sure didn't buckle when one conservative rag called the whole thing a "national humiliation."

Anyone feel humiliated out there?

Here's a sample of the neo-Cold War rhetoric from the Weekly Standard: “It is essential that the Chinese be made to pay a price for their actions. Angry words and congressional resolutions of disapproval are now worse than useless. Unless backed by deeds, they will only confirm Beijing's perception of American weakness."

Just short of fighting words.

Ultimately, the issue really came down to body parts. China needed a way to save face. The U.S. needed a way to show a little bicep.

Thank goodness it took G.W. some time to figure out the difference between the words "sorry," and "regret" in Chinese. Now, maybe he can make better sense of environmental laws.

So now that the world's superpowers have grappled with the idea of apology and sorrow, we can all turn our attention to the real sorrow of Holy Week.

Do you know where your nails and wooden cross are?

True to my Catholicism, I have a confession to make.

Each year at this time, just as people look forward to a big event like the Masters or the Super Bowl, I await the arrival of the one day of the year Filipinos are guaranteed to make headlines.

It's time for the annual "Who's going to be first to publish that Filipino Crucifixion shot?"

Sometime this week before your Easter Egg Hunt, you will probably see a photograph of a Filipino or two crucifying him or herself to a cross. (Yes, that was a "herself." A small step forward for feminism).

You may be tempted to say, "Forgive them, for they know not what they do."

But that would be presumptuous. And unoriginal.

They know exactly what they are doing.

It's called "Extreme Catholicism."

Add a few soda and ice cream vendors, a few thousand fans, and you have the XFL of religious events.

Rome doesn't exactly sanction the event. No need to get Vatican lawyers involved. But official blessing or not, every year at this time, locals and tourists gather in San Pedro, about 50 miles north of Manila, to witness what has become the Woodstock of all world crucifixions.

PR types might say that this annual episode could be a bit of an image problem for Filipinos. But sometimes we can all be a tad over-sensitive about “image.” Take, for example, a group of Italian Americans who recently sued HBO over the TV series, The Sopranos.

The show is what you'd call one of the best pieces of entertainment this side of the Ba-da-bing. If you know what I mean.

The litigants are members of a group that strains to call itself the American Italian Defense Association or “AIDA.” We must presume this is because “RIGOLETTO” makes for a tough acronym.

Enrico Mirabelli, a Chicago attorney representing the group making the aforementioned overtures, reportedly said: "If a show like this had depicted a different ethnic group, the outcry might have been greater."

Hey, Enrico, Filipinos would love to trade places with Italian Americans on this one. We'll even sing falsetto. Just imagine: Tony Soprano as a Filipino with a real crucifixion story line. My friend, that spells ratings!

Filipinos know that when you're invisible, you take your face time when you get it. Even on cable. But until we get a call from HBO, we have our Holy Week crucifixions in San Pedro

Like any decent event, first there's the warm-up act — a few hundred people with crowns of thorns, beating each other in the back with bamboo whips. You don't get that in the XFL.

And then come the pros — a dozen or so lying on wooden crosses waiting to have nails (yes, real nails) driven into their palms. Not their Palm hand-held computers. Actual, real palms.

The pros use four-inch long nails, by the way.

Once secured, the penitents are lifted by their seconds (and a few thirds) into the air, and left to hang for as long as they can.

A good hang time is eight minutes. Double-digits and you're a superstar.

If Jesus is said to have died for our sins, why are these people doing it? A few years back, Reuters quoted one Ben Enaje, a signboard painter who said he wanted to repay a debt to God. Enaje had fallen from the third floor of a building and survived, unharmed. Since the injury, he said he would crucify himself each year for 12 years.

He's probably tripled his hang time by now.

The only woman who did it that year, 55-year-old Mother Paring, is quoted as saying, "I am doing this for the benefit of everybody."

Which makes sense. If, as it is said, Jesus died for all of us, then Mother Paring is only doing her small part.

In a world where concepts of sorrow, regret and forgiveness are so hard to come by, there's a reason to be thankful for the super-penitent.