Anonimus

Full circle

2011-11-11T20:10:00.002+08:00

I've been avoiding writing as a means of livelihood all the time, for the longest time. I thought tech was the solution. Wrong.

Tech types (most of them) haaate any form of formal documentation. Formal here meaning grammar and composition and all that. They have no problem writing scripts and code. So I eventually always end up doing the writing part. Or maybe I need to be kept away from email. They also hate reading more than one paragraph of more than three sentences of more than four to five words each. I write chapters. For someone who declares he doesn't want to make a living out of writing...

I need to stop this warla with words. Or maybe It's just English I'm quarreling with. Will try to write in Cebuano and Tagalog. I need to reclaim my ability to think in these languages. In mid-paragraph I hear myself blabberring away but I feel disconnected with the words coming out of my mouth because of the extra layer of translation going on.

Try nga natin....

Ambot unsa'y akong nahuna-hunaan. Sa wa'y hinungdan wa mapugngi ang kahidlaw sa kanhing kinaham nga lauya. Ang kalainan, lahi ang lauyang nagduwa-duwa sa akong alimpatakan. Nganong bukog-bukog man. Di diay mahimo ang pata?... Pata? what's Cebuano for pata? Is it pigi?

Try nga again...

Sa di mawaring dahilan 'di ko mapigilang mag-crave... Mag-crave talaga? Ay leche.... next time na nga lang...!

Missed

2011-06-04T16:12:00.002+08:00

Missed this blog and thought it was lost forever. Funny how passwords remain buried in the subconscious and reveal themselves when they're least expected to. I think we should do away with passwords altogether and instead require all gadgets to have retina scan as the default authentication method. Or maybe saliva analysis, You shout Open Sesame ten times or until you froth in the mouth enough for saliva to spew onto the screen where it sizzles while the acid therein is analyzed by the touch screen, Or something else. Whatever. Anything that doesn't require me to memorize something. Leche!

25 Things About Me

2010-02-05T15:16:00.003+08:00

One of my earlier FB accounts was hacked so I forgot all about it until just minutes ago when while checking my email, a message from FB popped saying I was requesting to change my password. Ah ganun ba? Heheheee... So now I have the account back.

Heniwey, while backreading I found this! Written 12 months ago, still rings true.

25 Things About Me.

1. I am not a grumpy person. I may look like one but I'm not. Not always. There are days when I don't grump at all. They may be few and far in between but.. Oh okay, I'm grumpy.

2. I love eating out. I like trying new places (to me, even if they've been around for decades). The motive being that I will attempt to cook at home whatever it is that captures my fancy. In twenty years of trying, I have never been successful. I always end up making my own version which is not quite like what I ate when I ate out. But I can always rely on my pancit bihon and lechon kawale to draw rave reviews.

3. My lechon kawale is triple cooked. Boiled, baked and fried. I only cook lechon kawale for people deserving of such a labor of love. More labor than love really. Ang hirap eh. Portugal. It has to be frozen overnight after boiling.

4. I like four-wheeled motor vehicles. But I have never seriously contemplated buying one, or inheriting a dilapidated one from my relatives. I love life. Mine and other people's. Sometimes, I want to go forward but then I realize my destination rapidly shrinks as I accelerate. It's that bad.

5. I am a magnet for life-threatening freak accidents, the last one being when I covered for XXXXX XXX and the bus I was riding post-shift slammed into a wall in SLEX.

6. I'll go back to school in June. Sublime Karma. (P.S. Karma nga. Those were months of pure hell)

7. In school we lined up according to height. In Grade 3 I was first in line, in Grade 4 I was last. Something happened that summer in between.

8. In Grade 3 I was suspended for scrubbing a classmate's face on loose gravel. In Grade 4 I was suspended for saying "You're lying" to the teacher at the top of my voice. The other suspensions are now a distant blur.

9. If I made too much noise in class the teachers would lock me up in the library instead of making me stand in the corner where I'd still be making lots of noise. Everyday I would try to make as much noise as I could. I loved the library so so much.

10. Between the ages of 8-16, I slept in other people's houses more than I did in my own. My house was just a stone's throw away from school. I'd do that even during weekdays, but still managed to never be absent. My parents simply gave up looking for me. When I was about 10yo, they had the radio announcer broadcast this message... "umuwi ka na... hindi ka daw papaluin..."

11. In college I frequently survived on kamatis and itlog na maalat for weeks on end, because I had blown a whole month's allowance away on Skiva Ruki,and Britannia, Sassoon, and Jordache etc... in Cartimar.

12. Sen. Francis Pangilinan was my team mate in the UP Men's Volleyball Team at the same time that Sen. Pia Cayetano was playing for the women's team. I studied in Los Banos but played for and practiced in Diliman. But played for and practiced in Los Banos also... at the same time. MWF and TTh held a different meaning for me. Oh... and I hit Kristy Ramos on the face with a volleyball but I'm still alive... that's why I campaigned for Fidel Ramos.

13. I hated iPods until I was given one (sort of). Now i obsess about in-ear headphones all the time. I have a Bose Tri-Port but I'd also like to have Klipsch's Image X5, Denon's C551, and a token Shure headset that's out of production therefore on sale (masabi lang...).

14. I love kakiage. Tried making this at home and ended up with something resembling OKOY. I love tempura. I tried making this at home and was successful only with kamote and talong. I can never quite get shrimp right. But they're expensive so why bother.

15. I watched all episodes of "So You Think You Can Dance -- Canada" over the holidays, on YouTube. Which prompted me to load up on all of Rick Astley's songs, because they're the last ones I remember dancing to. "And don't you know I would move heaven and earth to be together forever with youuuu"

16. I used to join amateur singing contests as a kid. Kinda like Regine Velasquez and Nora Aunor. Sometimes lost but mostly won... singing "Beeeen the two of us need look no moooore"

17. My first taste of glory was when I won the Southern Mindanao Regional Science Quiz (for Biology). I always thought I'd be a scientist someday. That was before I discovered sports. I like the smell of sweat on my jersey better than HCl on my lab gown.

20. I memorized the spelling of the longest word in the English dictionary because I might finally get to join a game show. Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis. Hala. I think mali 'cos there's a squiggly red line running under it.

21. My dream career was to be a cook. Not a chef, but a cook. I'd open up my own carinderia and be famous for bila-bilaong pancit, ginataang labong, lechon kawale, and steaming hot bulalo.

22. I grew up in a town in the middle of a tree plantation surrounded by tropical forest. In a province that's mostly coastline facing the Pacific. It's hard for me to relate with the excitement over Boracay and Palawan.

23. I worked in the Middle East for some time, and discovered Indian food there. I can eat curry and chapati everyday for the rest of my life and I wouldn't be any less happier than if I ate rice. But smellier? Definitely.

24. I trained in Japan for three weeks but don't remember anything about "Digitization of Public Information" because I was too busy window shopping and eating.

25. I will buy a mountain bike this year. (P.S. Hindi nangyari, wish lang talaga pero malabo)

The Perfect Excuse

2010-01-17T16:23:00.004+08:00

I needed an excuse to start blogging again, something that ignites my stove and gets the soup bubbling. I was hovering in and out, in and out until I realized it's a week away from the Australian Open. I don't have Sky which has Balls TV which has cornered aaalll the grand slams except the Australian Open, which is aired on Star Sports which my cable Tv provider carries.

I was planning to crusade with McVie for Solar Sports to improve programming by getting the slams but he flatly told me he's with marketing, not programming. But won't turn the soup cold because the Aussie Open will be enough fuel. Until the French of course. Kase naman.

For good measure I'll also blog about the one sport I know how to play really well. Okay, knew. It's been twenty years since my high-flying UAAP days when I left skin on the floor for my alma mater and I haven't been following UAAP volleyball action for the longest time until last year when U.P. almost made it, but now I'm excited.

I wont blog about work. I won't blog about school. I won't blog about love and libido. I discovered that these topics were the cause of this blog's near demise.

I will blog about food -- my food, restaurant food, restaurants, but not Restaurant City on Facebook.

I will blog about movies and TV (what little of them I manage to force myself to watch).

I will blog about books.

I will blog about clothes, other people's clothes.

I will blog.

Repeat after me, me.

I... will.... blog.

formspring.me

2010-01-17T14:59:00.002+08:00

Ask me anything http://formspring.me/anonimal

Triny ko lang kung available ang Anonimus. Hindi daw? Sabi ko na mali ang pinili kong alias eh.

The Unbearable Heaviness of Upward Mobility

2009-12-21T01:16:00.006+08:00

It all started with knees.

One fine day, I joined the fire drill in RCBC Plaza. This drill involved walking all the way down to the ground level from the 20-something floor where our office is.

All the people half my age could hardly stand up, knees shaking, when we got to the bottom. I, on the other hand, carless for the greater part of of my adult life and walking daily from Pasay Road to Ayala/Buendia in less than 20 minutes without sunblock or shame fared better than all of them. No hint of jellyness, except for the niggling pain of sports injuries resurrected by vigorous exertion.

So the plan was set. When it's time to buy my own pad I'll go for a walkup one. One without elevators so I won't have an option to cheat.

And I found one! And I bought it, sort of. Paid a lump sum as equity so that my PAGIBIG loan for the balance will fall into the correct interest rate bracket. Happy happy me? Well, yes, until the itch to stitch bit.

I started imagining partitions and cabinets and range hoods and tiles. Tiles! They had to be 60cm x 60cm diagonally set because conventional interior decor wisdom has it that this makes a small place look a lot bigger.

Budget here, budget there. Kasya! I would only need roughly 90 pieces for the whole place. Plus consumables like grout and tile bonding agent of around 20 bags weighing 25 kilos per bag.

Choosing which tile design best reflected my personality was pure joy. I was willing to pay for top of the line Spanish tiles which were selling at 50% off. Heaven. Of course my common sense kicked in right away and I was soon down to two choices. Wood or leather. I was so amazed that ceramic tiles could actually look so close. Leather won. Ramos Cuero. I carefully chose the grout color to match. Paid for everything. Arranged for delivery. I was drooling. I just needed those tiles to be set and I could do anything with the place! Frosted glass on partitions and doors, cabinets of a lighter tone, etc etc.

Two days later, my tiles came crashing down on the dream. Not literally. To my horror, I soon found out (stupid me I didn't do due diligence) that most construction stuff suppliers, appliance dealers, and all other stores that need sweaty muscular young men to deliver stuff DO NOT deliver beyond ground level. And my condo-condohan has this policy of kanya-kanyang bitbit. Even if they were contracted to install my tiles, I had to find a way to haul everything up. Eeeek! 90 super heavy tiles. I could hardly even budge a pack of four, let alone lift it. 20 bags weighing 25 kilos each of tile bonding adhesive! What did I get myself into?

I mean, I wanted daily exercise so I chose the topmost fifth floor unit of that walk-up mid-priced condo in the suburban south. Honest. But not naman that I would consume the daily calorie quota intended for a year in one day only. Wag naman. I'm not a Darna person, and will never be even if I swallow stones and sand and gravel.

And since aminado naman talaga ako that I can't do a Darna with those tiles, I did a Valentina na lang. I used the potent combination of fear and charm to get the supplier to haul everything up. "I will return everything! You pay me back!" And then of course I ambushed the delivery boys and flirted with them. [According to reliable sources boys I flirt with actually have sleepless nights for several weeks, scary kase the way I stare like I'll eat them alive or something tapos di ko naman pala itutuloy eh namutla na nga sila sa pinaghalong libog at kaba, 'chos]. Plus, of course, I paid them handsomely. Mas correct, I paid the handsome one. Meaning, sa kanya ko inabot yung pasasalamat.

So there, problem solved. For now.

I dread the day when I have to do this all over again for the ref, the aircon, etc. etc. It's not easy dealing with toned sweaty young men who use their muscles to earn an honest buck. There's always the temptation to corrupt the honesty.

But like everything, these too shall come to pass and either of two things will happen. Everything that needs to be moved up will be moved up and I will need to spend extra for labor, or everything that needs to be moved up will be moved up and I will spend extra for the laborer. :=)

Why Smart People Do Dumb Things

2009-11-10T07:36:00.003+08:00

Lots and lots of food for thought. Lots and lots of thought.

Title links to the article. If you follow the link through, don't miss reading the comments.

I Looked Into It!

2009-09-19T22:24:00.005+08:00

As a post-finals exam reward, I’m blogging.

But first the exam. I studied. I really did. I even memorized all the acronyms and faithfully learned Dijkstra’s algorithm for computing the shortest path of a packet transmission from one node to another. I thought I had it all in the bag. I wasn’t aiming for perfect, I just wanted tres. And wow, did I zip through the 100-item exam. But the very last question (worth 20 points) drained the blood from my face.

I was supposed to name at least 20 reserved TCP ports, and identify the application reserved for each. If the port number and application didn’t match, wrong. Oh lord. At that very moment, I felt completely and utterly mortal. I realized I was nearer to death than I was to birth, and my once-famous photographic memory is now only capable of sad sepias. Honestly I never ever anticipated that 20% of the exam will come from that miniscule table tucked away in one corner of one page. One page! And the coverage was around 120 pages. So I did what was proper. I left the item blank, submitted my paper and left the room. So what if I spent only 45 minutes of the allotted three hours? Even if I stayed until the very end, nothing approaching a correct answer would have flowed from my pen. Something approaching tears, baka pa.

But, nothing will dampen my spirits for maybe the next three or four weeks. All because of Eugene Domingo and Kimmy Dora. I had seizures inside the cinema. Like always my laughter was maniacal and prompted my seatmates to the left and right (I was watching alone) to change seats. But what were we watching this movie for, anyway? Eh sa hindi ko talaga mapigilan.

For a good part of the movie I was laughing at us who were trained like Dora by DingDong to say these three golden nuggets of wisdom when we need to say something but don’t know exactly what to say:

1. I’ll look into it.
2. I’ll give you an update.
3. I’ll get back to you on that.

Those very same words. For two weeks now I simply couldn’t keep a straight face in the office. Problem talaga because I say these things by force of habit. And even if I say “I’ll keep you posted,” or “I’ll have an answer for you within the day,” or some other similar cultural necessity (because we all need to speak the language and grease the wheels of progress nga naman) wa epek pa din. Specially when I contemplate appending najejebs to any of these. I still blush a deep red from controlling the urge to go epileptic. A deep purplish red, because the experience is very similar to having an unwanted and embarassing erection.

Sige na nga lang. This too, like all agonies, shall pass. Wag lang akong itapon sa malayo, apak-apakan at paluin ng tsinelas.

This Blog is Officially Closed

2009-09-01T03:51:00.003+08:00

But since I'm a fan of Tristan, I'll decide to reopen it within the amount of time required to make three tabs to navigate from Title to Compose. I suddenly remembered crossposting from and to Multiply is possible. I'm not so sure I can with Wordpress, but I'll give it a shot.

Trekking Linabo, Inhaling Dakak

2009-08-31T17:09:00.007+08:00

So I was finally dragged by relatives away from my musty, dusty, smoke-filled hole-in-the-wall and out into sunshine and fresh air. It turns out that we have a huge. huge branch of the family tree on the mother side in Zamboanga del Norte, specifically in and around Dipolog.

And because we were there already, why not spend a night in Dakak? So we did. There was nothing supertacular about the resort. It had the usual monobloc tables and chairs and the requisite floral shirts as staff uniform. There was something tacky about the whole place, but tasteful decor isn't the come-on. It's the air. Pure as pure can be. The sand isn't as fine or as white as Boracay's (haven't been to Bora so I took my cousins' word for it), and the sea wasn't still and blinding blue, but the wind blowing from it was like liquid oxygen (fed from a tube straight up your nostrils). I wanted to just sit and deeeeep breathly for hours.

I grew up in Mindanao but I swear this province is a lot more blessed than the others I've stayed in. The green of its vegetation is so vivid it's almost painful to look at. After you've stared at the plants and trees here I swear you'll feel sad for the the flora in Manila. One friend who's originally from Bontoc and who now works in Manila said that the leaves (of the mangosteen tree, for example, growing in our host's backyard) looked like they were waxed everyday.

And there was absolutely no chance to feel guilty about all the food we shoveled down our throats. Oysters (P100 for half a sack), Andres-Andres (a seashell unique to the area), crabs (small and not as fantastic as Surigao's but crabs are crabs), freshly-picked mangosteen (at P30-40 a kilo, imagine?), longkong lanzones (a bit pricey but worth it), durian (almost as cheap as Davao's but with a unique flavor; they say the taste always depends on the soil and climate of the area where it's grown). Why no guilt? Because in the afternoon of the day before we left for Manila (meaning yesterday), they made us climb the 3,000++ steps up Linabo Peak.

In the picture above on the lower left side you'll see 1,800 clearly painted in white on the steps. For the record I made it way past that point. A few hundred steps beyond that you'll come across a mini plateau and, believe it or not, an elementary school! They say the students and teachers walk up to the school everyday. Wow! But going down they ride the rails using plastic net bags. It was a Sunday so I didn't see the spectacle for myself, but the metal rails are so smooth you wouldn't think twice about believing the story.

Of course I wasn't told about this side trip so I didn't come prepared. I was wearing Birkenstocks! After that climb, my faith in the product jumped a quantum leap up. My feet didn't hurt at all, the Arizona slip-on didn't break or show obvious signs of wear from the ordeal, and I never wavered or had a misstep on the way down in darkness because, of course, we had to wait at the peak for the sun to set before starting the trek down.

The sunset was something else. As the sun disappeared over the horizon, it was a sunset like any other. But a minute or two after the sun sank the sky morphed into a giant fireworks show -- golden rays shooting through clouds, and... and... and... there are no words enough to describe the beauty (or maybe I'm not the kind who would or could). My sister tried to do a running commentary of the spectacle and I, of course, bitched. "This is a visual, not auditory, experience. And don't try taking pictures either or you'll miss the show."

A few hours before we left for Manila, it was pasalubong time and to my extreme delight I found out that Dipolog is THE source for bottled sardines (and bangus, tuyo, herring, etc.) in olive oil. Montanos is the preferred brand and the prices are worth excess baggage fees (e.g the same bottle of spanish sardines in olive oil is sold in Shopwise for P98 but can be bought for P56 only in the Montanos outlet). I've tried gourmet tuyo in olive oil with freshly-streamed rice. Heaven! The sardines, they say, are perfect for pasta and as pizza topping din daw with sun-dried tomatoes. Tsk tsk. I have to give all those bottles away. LOL.

All told, this is an experience I'll definitely repeat. The trek up Linabo Peak, that is, not the pigging out.

Also, I won't be allergic to taking vacations with the family anymore. Yeah, the women are noisy and nosy and fussy but I have an iPod.

Rip What You Sew

2009-08-29T04:42:00.002+08:00

And so it came to pass I realized that even in the world of massive multiplayer online social gaming, karma rules.

Eh kse naman, hinack ko ng hinack my gourmet points in Facebook’s Restaurant City so now I have this faaabulously big restaurant and I can hire the maximum number of people (eight) and all the nine plots in the garden (new feature added today lang) are unlocked. But do I have money? ‘Nyeta.

I found out that (1) you really don’t enjoy something you didn’t work hard for and (2) if you go big time suddenly the old rich will still turn their noses up at you even if you can pee higher. So in unreal life as in real, the same rules apply. After all, there are very real people behind those very unreal ‘toons walking ika-ika.

My first thought was.. why do I have to suffer this ignominy? I can always use PayPal to buy coins and splurge on decoration and ingredients. But no! Haven’t I learned enough? I’ll wing it the hard way and build up points while salivating over that most expensive item of indoor décor – the Ming vase. I was planning on having eight of those craftily scattered as if carelessly inside the restaurant.

But no! I will control my saliva and focus on earning my coins one day at a time, with the thought in mind that each day I play gets me a new ingredient, free!

So there, I now know the true meaning of the aphorism “Reap what you sow.”

And since my newfound status as a high roller in the food and drinks stakes was ill-gotten and shadier than the acacias of Forbes, I will have to undo the fabric of lies that weave together my dream karinderya and admit that this thing I’ve sewn together will have to be ripped asunder.

Or maybe not. I can always cloak its origins with the sheen of social responsibility. It has been done before. It can happen again. I will give away free tiles to aspiring restaurateurs. I have three roofs and I only need one. I can give away two. I covered the whole building with extremely expensive glass doors and windows, hiding the brick beneath. I can give these doors and windows away… Noooo…!!!!!

I’ve spent too much on electricity already. I deserve all those points. Plus, hacking needs brainpower. That was my equity. Most of all, if my laptop suddenly gives because I’ve left it on non-stop for two weeks already, I need a reason to buy myself a Mac Book Pro. The me of three months ago would have despised the me that I’ve become.

But… I won’t have internet access for three days starting today, as in now na… I’m done packing and will be off to the airport in two hours. I hope these three days will be enough to slap me to my senses.

The Blur that was August

2009-08-23T20:12:00.001+08:00

First the imperial boss arrived from the ‘Merika. When gods descend, mere humans quiver like gelatin in buko-pandan salad. I’d like to think I’m made of stronger stuff. Unfortunately, I have a brood of kids that I need to protect so the last two weeks were a blur of trying to ensure that my kids did their cartwheels to perfection.

Then there were the needless moments of agonizing over assignments for school. Days and days of guilt and anxiety that dissipated when I finally sat down to attend to them. Madali lang naman pala. Of course I had to wait for the eleventh hour. I think I’ll never ever rid myself of the addiction to cramming. The adrenaline rush is pure joy! Perhaps it’s my way of reconnecting to my cavemen ancestors. Because I don’t have giant snakes or some other prehistoric beast trying to eat me for breakfast, I get my survivor surge from anthropomorphizing my schoolwork and pretending they were vampires out to suck me. I mean, suck my blood. ‘Chos.

First week of the month I went home to the province to make my Papa happy on his 84th birthday. Because vacations are usually the most hectic and non-relaxing of all human activities, this set the tone for the rest of the month.

While all these were happening, I discovered Restaurant City on Facebook. In two weeks of playing I now am Level 27 thanks to (minor) hacking and leaving my laptop on overnight.

So there, this is my excuse for not posting enough, and I know it’s not enough but what can I do? I’m only human.

Entitlement

2009-08-16T23:42:00.001+08:00

I’ve always wondered what it is in Roger Federer that makes me want to not like him. He has the moves, after all -- the fluidity, the grace, the power deftly disguised and always lethal.

One fine day out of virtually nowhere the epiphany hit me like caveman’s club on my cone-shaped head. Heapin’ excreta! There’s one word that sums up the smugness, the (sometimes) misplaced and often grating confidence. One word that sums up his thinly veiled contempt for lesser beings.

Entitlement. His utterly blinkless assumption of his place in history’s pantheon of greats. It matters not to me that he actually racked up enough chips to make a sure bet on the GOAT (greatest of all time) stakes.

Perhaps it says a lot about me and my proclivity for underdogs, and I’m quite consistent about it in almost everything.

And because there are too many things I want to say on the topic, as usual I’ll end up saying too little.

Hands and Noses

2009-08-11T02:06:00.003+08:00

My kibbitz on the National Artist award upheaval (uprising?).

I think I need to change my alias to something that doesn't sound anything like anonymous. LOL.

Oh well, I have no pretensions about art and all that so I shouldn't really be plunking in my two cent's worth. Plus, I sometimes get a kick from really cheap stuff so I can't stick a finger up Carlo's. However, I would hate getting kicked in the face so I sympathize with those who feel that way about Guidote-Alvarez.

The protest against Carlo I really can’t get. I grew up on comics. It's low art, yes, and I find it funny that people name other lower artists as more deserving. So their art is lower? Or a higher form of low? This whole thing about which body of work is more deserving is confusing me, because I can't see how this protest against Carlo's art will lead to better art in general. Filipinos are not known for subtlety or nuance. We're vulgar and tacky and inane. Maybe Carlo's award is a reflection of what we really are as a people? That it comes as a slap in the face to the well-bred and the well-read is no surprise. It reminds them of the one thing they've been running away or were insulated from all their lives. Eeewww... no... noooo. I'm not like that, that doesn't represent me! I'm a Filipino and I'm so not like that. Well...

As for this Guidote-Alvarez thing... Was there no chance at all that she'd have won this award on merit alone at any time other than the Glorious incumbency? She's so kapal and all that? Hmmm... I think that to raise the consciousness of the masses to a level where they would feel indignation over this utter indecency the masses should first be weaned away from beauty contests, singing contests, reality show contests, mr. bikini contests, and all such contests. Anything of this kind can be rigged, and is always rigged. In the Philippines most specially but also everywhere else. There is always an agenda, even for the most deserving, and it is always a reflection of the times.

In fact, in skewed agreement to Juanna and her thesis, this National Artist scam couldn't have happened at a better time. Perhaps this was a brilliant stroke of PR genius.

At a time when everyone wants to deduct two inches off GMA's height, this adds two more feet to the dungpile. And because the noses offended are very sensitive, the collective achoo is bound to have enough physics to dislodge irritating boogers. But only if they achoo many many times and infect others with achoo fever. Otherwise, this will be just one insignificant blip in the social achoometer. However, I strongly doubt that this irritation has enough methane to sustain a prolonged achoo.

The arts is notorious for taking the craft of backstabbing and oneupmanship to rarefied levels, as much as it is revered for giving form to what's beautiful, good, and true. And this is because art is but the mirror of the fingernail of the hand that feeds it. And the hands of patrons, sponsors, and benefactors at one time or another would have made the trip to the nether regions to clean up the call of nature. And whether this breeds in them the desire to fill the air with perfume or share the stink with many is immaterial. Only one thing is true. Art feeds off the hand -- somebody else’s or the artist's own. Any hand, it doesn’t really matter. The hand is bound to show up in the art it helped create.

No hand, no art. Bad hand, bad art.

Which brings me right back to my original confusion. What are we up in arms against? Is it the art, or the hand? Is it at all possible to smell the art without smelling the hand? Who thinks art shouldn’t be fed at all because it is capable of feeding itself, thank you? Who says art is exempt from “never bite the hand that feeds you?” Who says I couldn’t care less? Raise your hand. Many would like to cut it off.

But really, to actually take to the streets over an art award is so Pinoy. Other cultures would simply gossip about it over tea and cucumber sandwiches. Sometimes a wrist or two is slashed, sometimes people jump off buildings, but these cases are individual acts of ultimate protest. Perhaps these cultures have had high art for centuries already, so they can be calm about it? We, on the other hand, constantly raise the bar for collective public display of emotion as art. Theater of the streets with riveting raw power. Extemporaneous apparently, spontaneous seemingly, but if you sniff hard enough, your nose will always lead you to the directors' hands. We have such soft noses.

Growing Up and Cory Aquino

2009-08-02T17:27:00.012+08:00

I think everyone who blogs and was technically capable of reproduction when Cory became president is obliged to post about her passing. Here’s mine.

Fresh out of high school and into the frying pan, I was forced to audition for a role in the play “Alay sa Sigwa ng Unang Kwarto (In Honor of the First Quarter Storm). I was actually holding hands with my talent scout all the way to audition not because we were an item but because I think that was his way of making sure I wouldn’t run away. On hindsight, I think that was a moment for him but I knew nothing back then. He grew up in Tondo and graduated from Torres so I think he must have been self-aware already. Me? I was fresh meat from the farm.

“Sigwa” is quintessential “tibak” theatre -- spare sets, and lines that will never ring false no matter what era spoken. “Ang lipunang Pilipino’y sakmal ng malalang krisis. And sambayanan ay naduduhagi sa pagdarahop.” How we’ll ever escape being sakmaled by one krisis or the other I don’t know. There will always be naduduhagi people living in abject pagdarahop.

For the record, my roots will always be working class. I am just one generation removed from my farmer granddads – honest-to-goodness Mindanao homesteaders who owned as much land as they could clear and I think they cleared a lot. And because they knew how difficult the farming life could be, they made sure the generation of my parents all had college education. And so the parents and aunts and uncles became teachers and professors and dentists and all that. I, therefore, had a sub-privileged childhood. In Grade 3 I could bake a chiffon cake all by myself (whisking eggs whites to a stiff included) and eat it all by myself, too! You could count with your fingers and toes the households in our town that had an oven. We were one of the toes.

In elementary and high school, Martial Law proved to be both a stabilizing and destabilizing force. We were lulled into prolonged periods of quiet punctuated very infrequently by the percussive staccato of gunfire. Often it was far away, but one time it was near enough to punch multiple punctuations on our tin roof.

Meanwhile, the aunts and uncles were developing their own political preferences. One went the military way and eventually became a colonel in the Philippine Constabulary. One dropped out of UP and became a councilor before dropping out again to go up the mountains. One stayed in UP and became a professor and then a director of one government agency. My Mom was the moving force behind the local chapter of the Alliance of Concerned Teachers. We were not an apolitical family.

Because a steady diet of Tom Swift, Nancy Drew, Hardy Boys and Bobsey Twins can do this to you, I grew up an avowed capitalist. You are what you eat. So I went to the “Sigwa” auditions mainly because my scout was persistent. Plus he was holding my hand, I had no choice. Fast forward to after the auditions when it was announced that I was to play Kinatawan ng Proletraryado and those naduduhagi and pagdarahop lines were mine plus five more pages in long bond paper back to back.

What?

I never knew if my rendition of “bangon sa pagkakabusabos, bangon alipin ng gutom” ever came across as convincing. Maybe not because I was wearing Levi’s on stage. But I did acquire beefcake status because I wore nothing else the whole time. I was half naked on stage for almost two hours. And for myself I acquired a whole new way of looking at things. In other words, caught between Ayn Rand and Marx, I was a blabbering mess.

As I was busy being a blabbering mess, Ninoy happened. I remember that day very clearly. The TV was on in the cafeteria, a hushed crowd in front of it. I knew something life-changing was going on. I didn’t know all that much about the history between Ninoy and Macoy, except that Ninoy was the last best chance for change. I had no great sympathy for Ninoy prior to that day, nor did I have great love or hate for Marcos. But boy did I cry. I must be extra-wired to the social psyche because I felt a very strong surge of emotion right there and then for something I didn’t quite understand.

That void would soon be filled in trickles by the mosquito (some are now full-grown elephants, but that’s another story) press. I read. I listened. I watched a let’s-tusok-the-fishballs friend cry on the bus as she struggled for words to express her outrage. I think I remember saying that we should be happy for the changes his death will bring about (or words to that effect). Shocked, she could do nothing except stab me in the face with dagger stares.

And as the country spiraled into chaos in the years that followed, so did my life.

Cory was my foothold to hope. Her voice cheered me up. The way she pronounced “support” will forever echo in my chamber of happy moments. People talk about missed opportunities and could’ve beens? C’mon. She was what we needed at the time, and she couldn’t have made those misses all by herself. She was ill-prepared to be President? Maybe we were unprepared to be without Marcos.

Like it or not, a president is the sum of all our aspirations and desperations. I believe that we always get the president that we deserve, and Lord knows we needed a break. We deserved to have one blazing yellow beacon in Cory Aquino in those darkest of times. We needed inspiration? We got it. That was all we were asking for. So now we tarnish her memory for what, not inspiring us enough? Enough!

She might not have been the greatest president, but her legacy extends far beyond her tenure in Malacanang. In fact, it extends right into our living rooms. Because, you see, the Kris is an embodiment of the nation – the sum of all our hopes and fears for the generation that comes after us. If Cory remained faithful to the public embarrassment that her daughter has become, there is a lesson to be learned. It provides stark contrast to the frenzied hand-washing and buck-passing of feckless public officials when caught in a bind. If Kris had been the daughter of some other president, she might have been exiled to Iligan to live with the Lola and let loose her wild horses in relative solitude.

Now, if Kris does her mother proud and transfigures from a Boy into a Ninoy, there is hope for our children yet. And Kris, in so doing, lays Cory's good soul to rest.

What's school got to do it?

2009-08-02T08:19:00.003+08:00

To channel Tina:

What’s school got to do with it?
What’s school but second-hand education
What’s school got to do with it?
Who needs a school when your cool can be broken…

That’s just me bittergraping about sleepless nights because I had to finish assignments and study for exams and all that. “The roots of education are bitter, but the fruits sweet.” How true.

And hey Tristan, how come I'm not looking any better despite being bitter? My belly is bloated, my eyebags have sunk lower than the Titanic (millimeters away from "hello cheekbones!"), and I have lost all urge to (window) shop.

Oh well. Maybe I'm not really bitter. Just plain tired. Very very tired.

You Do, You Know

2009-07-28T11:13:00.003+08:00

I guess there's so much more
I have to learn
But if you're here with me
I know which way to turn
You always give me somewhere,
Somewhere I can learn
You make it real for me

What's with Hankies?

2009-07-26T22:36:00.005+08:00

I liked the performance so much I was planning to heap praises... and then he started throwing those hankies to the girls. OTOH, Nadal and Djoko throw their dripping wristbands to the crowd and they love it. It must have something to do with sweat and tears. And blood? No not that. Noooo...

Budding Badings, Junior Jocklings

2009-07-25T22:51:00.008+08:00

Without permission from Migs, but I'm sure he'll understand... here goes...

A hyper-belated reaction to Mig's podcast on Closet Badets

Okay. I'm retarded. I'm a blog retard. I should have read this a long, long time ago. I could have made 24 blogs out of this. What catharsis that would have been. At last, kindred spirits. Fellow Jock-lings.

Thanks Migs for keeping this in your archives. This is precious. This generation talking. Our generation learning. The prejudices and biases of our generation are so... nakakahiya after listening to these guys. They're so savvy and street smart while us... (do a KimmyDora here) we're just bitter and disenfrancished pink pesos, marching on the streets, asking society to laaav us. Hay... Since when did sexuality become public sector? But I think these kids need to thank us for the bad example we set. Because of our militancy, alam na nila what they don't want to be when they grow up. (World Peace po, maraming maraming world peace). Because really, you don't have to be out to be gay. And the really smart people of our generation realized that. And we vilified them for it. Crucified them. Force-outed them. Eh? And we ask society to laaav us?

(Plugging for Danton Remoto. I will work for that guy gratis et amore if he decides to make good on running for the Senate in 2010).

Clearly, I see your struggle here to evaluate their experience in the context of your own (e.g. coming out, labels, and all that western mishmash that we inherited from Gay Pride). The Freudian fabrications that we can never wash ourselves clean of... (World Peace uli na may kasamang Faith, Hope, and Charity).

And clearly, I can feel your tension. I wouldn't want to be where you were at that moment. I would have made no effort, at all, to be objective and understand where they're coming from. But I would have made an effort to hide my hard-on. Just the physical hard-on, because you can never be objective about that while it's happening.

No Migs. They're not trying to understand themselves and make sense of what's happening to them. They already have that pretty much figured out. It's us who still need to understand ourselves in relation to our personal pasts and the present that we now gleefully inhabit. And they do not need our advice. No please. We don't want to turn them into fabcasters. LOL. Joke lang. They have a good thing going, and have more between their ears than the swarm of out-and-out metroposhies in emo outfits and/or discreetly branded mid-priced imported labels feeding Lady Gaga to their cranium, etc. etc. etc.

Sexuality is NOT about coming out! That is so fringe. Sexuality is. It just is.

For people like them there is no coming out. There is only self-acceptance.

P.S. -- but to all of us for whom coming out is "what completes me," for heaven's sake let's all hurry up and complete ourselves.

Yes there will definitely be more on this when I find the inspiration. My deepest gratitude to my muses BITC, Tristan, McVie, Gibbs, and now Migs.

Love Moments

2009-07-22T02:32:00.004+08:00

To gay people who think spinsterhood, (spinsterity, spinsterrorism) is the worst of all punishments and who now spend their days wishing this was that and all that...

The couldves wouldves and shouldves are sometimes their own reason for being, and generate their own brand of happiness. If a tectonic shift in earthly possibilities shakes the cosmos turning perfect tense to present, wow. But that's like waiting for disaster to happen. Earthquakes, are notoriously unpredictable. Like love.

Those who are in the thick of the moment should thank their sponsors (capital G first of all). Millions of people sleepwalk through their days hardly feeling anything except hunger during lunchtime and withdrawal if they decide not to smoke during breaks.

But you, you're in love! It's a very personal thing. Much as we always associate it with an other, that other is simply an object. The rush downhill and soaring highs are all yours, and often your other has absolutely nothing to do with it except be there (or not there as the case may be). In fact, all they need to do is exist.

Treasure the moment.

I'm cynical so I'll say this. We now live in a retail-driven world, because some smart people figured out that the power of a product over the buyer is deprivation. And because we're all so faddish these days, our satiety levels are so shallow. Fash-fash Klum-klum says it all. One day you're in, next day you're out. So while waiting for the inevitable "out-of-love" moment, enjoy the pain of being in.

Review: Half-Blood Prince

2009-07-18T03:29:00.004+08:00

In one word: Lavender.

Lavender, Lavender, Lavender... what would the movie have been without you? I was the only one roaring with laughter inside iMax at the hospital bedside confrontation scene between Lavender and Hermione. But I couldn't care less.

Oh my Anito! They're borrowing Philippine cinema leitmotifs. We should sue them.

Ron's goofy moment was a fingernail's length away from being a total embarassment. But Harry was right on with his impersonation of Professor Snafalafagus the poison teacher. Second biggest laugh of the night.

Obviously, everyone was trying to heap entertainment value on a very dark and serious chapter. Of course it backfired grandly and will, for sure, ruin the stage it should have set for the Deathly Hallows climax and dénouement. Ouch. Even the death of Aragog was not spared. I had one clasp-hand-over-mouth moment there too!

But Snape's high camp was pure artistry. Snape at his very best. His non-speaking stiff-necked non-moving tour-de-force almost stole the hospital bedside scene from Lavender.

The movie was sooo campy! No gravitas at all. Like they were second-guessing people who would come to watch how gay Dumbledore really was. So they made everyone gay, even the girls and Minerva's costume. There were pure "poguey bait" dialogues between Dumbledore and Harry that, I'm sure, were calculated to incite the excitable Catholic Right to raise hell.

"If Professor Slughorn wants to collect me, shall I let him?" Hala.

If you're my crush and I happen to be outside looking in, I will seriously contemplate making a big haaaaa ha on the plate glass and etching my feelings for you on the fresh saliva mist right there and then, just because Lavender made the whole exercise such pure joy. But I have enough self respect to prevent myself from sending you a box of hexed chocolates.

Oh, well. I'm not qualified to be objective about all this. I'm a fanboy. But if there is one part that didn't live up to the rest of the series... this would be it. I guess they're tired already and are just waiting for Deathly Hallows to be over before everyone can go on leading normal lives and Harry and Draco finally kiss and make out in real life.

Brit Wit

2009-07-16T05:41:00.009+08:00

These are not my pics and I don't know where I got them. I was cleaning up my Documents folder and saw them in a Word document. Made my day.

FTP and Custom URLs

2009-07-13T02:08:00.002+08:00

Oh Lord!

I never knew this could be such a pain, this simple change of URL. No worries, I'll figure this all out.

Oh well. In high school there was a poster in my classmate's bedroom that said:

"Whenever I feel like studying, I lie down until the feeling goes away."

So I will.

Harry Up!

2009-07-04T23:09:00.009+08:00

I can't find my borrowed copy of Deathly Hallows, but I'll certainly find time on July 16 to be out from work early.

Kelangan ba talagang sa first day manood? Kelangan ba talagang sa iMax?

Sensory overload is overload. But whaddheck, I want to see the trip to the cave and how they fleshed out the Inferi in the pic. My benchmark would be those dead bodies under the water in the LOTR marshlands where Gollum first found the ring, or something. I think iMax is okay as long as you're not watching Transformers.

So it's gonna be a team outing. Me and four kiddielets almost half my age and barely three-fourths my height with their girlfriends and boyfriends. And I'm the one excited. Or maybe I'll watch it alone first, and then ruin their experience by doing a running commentary as events unfold. But they didn't do that to me in Twilight so I won't na lang.

I want to see how the Pensieve was imagined -- this magical version of the Blu-Ray player. One time I tried tracing a thin line one inch away from my forehead with a lit cigarette, imagining the smoke to be my thoughts. Don't try it if you love your eyebrows .

As always, I can't remember the last movie I watched inside a moviehouse. Underworld, Rise of the Lycans, I think. But Half-Blood Prince is something I will definitely watch and remember, and watch again and remember some more. Plus I now know that Dumbledore was written as a gay character so I'll watch Michael Gambon more closely now. I hope they do a flashback to the day when Dumbledore and Grinewald dueled with their wands (dirty thoughts flood my consciousness), or will that happen in Deathly Hallows? I'm not good at Potter lore. I sometimes get the chronology all mixed up.

The other thing I can't wait to see is Lukyanenko's Final Watch on film. I hope they remake the whole series with English dialogue this time and be truer to the book. Night Watch and Day Watch were too "divergent."

I'm rambling already, which means I'm very very excited. Ilang tulog na lang July 16 na. Tagal-tagal. Sana bukas na agad yun.

Crossover

2009-07-04T06:20:00.004+08:00

When I change careers I usually leave everything behind. The kitchen sink, the bathtub, and sometimes even the dirty laundry. It's never really intentional or premeditated, but I always avoid happy/unhappy returns of the day(s). The one thing that makes this extremely difficult is friends, treasured battle-tested true friends that you really can't leave behind because they'd kill you if they ever thought you thought you could.

But once in a while, some vestige of a left-behind career crosses over. In this particular instance I'm not sure which past career it is (journalism, or advertising, or public relations). My company is in the thick of developing a killer application that's light years (I'm exajjing here) ahead of the competition and the proof of concept is out. But it didn't have a name. And the bosses were looking for a name and asking around and my synapses did a quick rewire and voila... I had a name. And they liked it. And I got P1,000 in Starbucks GCs for condensing a concept with a kilometric description into a four-letter acronym that actually sounded like a real word.

Which should have made me extremely happy because I like Starbucks pastries. Well, I was happy but not extremely because right away I realized that in another industry I'd actually get a mega-bonus for that.

Sigh. I like the geeky world of software already, but I was this close to whipping out my little black book and pestering my agents (may agents talaga? hahaha) to find me freelance work. 'Chos. There are only 24 hours in a day.

----------------------------

A friend asked me to count all instances of "I", "me", "my" and all other instances of the first person in everything I write and for the record, in the post above, there were 18. So?

\t Dysfunctional \tAfter \tFibonacci

2009-06-28T23:10:00.011+08:00

now i think i really have it in me to learn a new language in midlife. french is too easy. perhaps parseltounge?

<<<<<<<<<<-------------------------------------->>>>>>>>>>

i actually attempted to do the Fibonacci assignment using functions, as in create a fibonacci function called from main() plus another function to print...and got a splitting headache so i stopped, and played around with code instead and dreamed of the day when to write code all i need to do would be to write a grammatically correct english sentence punctuated properly, like so...

"while there's hope, there's life; that's if i submit all of my four FMAs on time. then, my life will be happy. got it? (this is my English version for getch())."

i'm sure there's something wrong in my c.life code below, starbucks treat to the first one who finds it (i can't)... but you'll have to answer me back in c, and allow me creative license.

<<<<<<<<<<-------------------------------------->>>>>>>>>>

'#include"<"studio.lights">"

char hay (char heavy char sigh);
int life, hope, happy, fma;

main()
{
clrscr();
printf("how many fmas have you done? ");
scanf("%d \n", &fma);
while (life>0&&fma<4)
{
fma=1;
life=hope;
printf("yehey i'm done with %d, there is %d! /n", fma, life);
fma++;
}
life=happy;
printf("yehey i'm done with %d, i am %d! /n", fma, life);
getch()
}'

Obsessing

2009-06-26T05:53:00.004+08:00

I was reading McVie's post on obsession and felt the need to post a comment, and the comment grew into five paragraphs so I decided it deserved to be posted here. McVie said:

"Obsession is quite a powerful force. One’s sights are telephotoed into a singular object. But obsession, which is desire magnified, makes one blind to the bigger picture. And it does not take into consideration the feelings of the subject. The subject is objectified into a prized image, valued not for who they are but for what they mean to the ones aiming their sights at them. Perhaps it is when the subject is viewed not through one-sided, rose-colored lenses can a fuller picture of him emerge. Seen from all angles, the subject is not merely an image but a whole person, an individual imperfect with his human foibles and frailty as well as his strengths."

Well said, but the only problem I have with this line of thought is that we never really obsess about the people we have a chance to see the whole picture of. Yes? Familiarity breeds contempt for smelly feet and loud mouths. Or maybe you're nega-obsessing (as in wanting to believe that this person is the baddest person there is and you won't stop until you 'get' him) therefore familiarity becomes a pail of cold water.

Which makes obsession a really really bad thing. And badder still because when you have it, you're almost always blind to it. The only thing that makes you snap out of it is to see the bigger picture, but you rarely see it when it's painted for you by others.

If other people paint a picture and you buy it? You're not obsessed, no worries. If you simply refuse to listen to good advice and believe in something when evidence points to the contrary, maybe you're just pig-headed?

But if you start hacking email addresses, creating false FB accounts using his creds, stalking the places he frequents, talking to his friends and acquaintances and dentist and doctor and teacher and classmates to get more information, and all that weird stuff... stop. We have too many stalker stories already. Boring na. Obsess about non-people, like chocolate cake and white pointed leather shoes that look five sizes bigger.

But if you insist, then go ahead. But get a good lawyer. Or get a good bodyguard. Or get both. Some people will be flattered by your attention. Some will simply have an irresistible urge to flatten your nose until it meets your hypothalamus. Or the soles of your feet, even. Or earthworms.

May You Have Many?

2009-06-21T18:22:00.002+08:00

This made my day. SMS early in the morning...

"Hi Tito! Happy Father's Day! May you have many more fathers to come."

Maldito.

Seven A Month

2009-06-17T22:00:00.002+08:00

I'm not gonna meet my quota of 7 blog posts a month because of schoolwork. I think. I'm busy pushing around shapes in Visio, creating topologies. Or hopelessly flopping with Fibonacci. And that's just for Assignment #1. Three subjects, times four assignments each, plus three midterms and three finals. But I'm having fun so I'm not complaining. Three assignments all due this weekend. Yeah... fun.

Three make-or-break projects at work. Gargantellic, gigantuous, monolithian projects that could turn company fortunes around, and maybe stop the lay-offs and give us back our yearly salary increments. And my team is smack in the middle of these three raging tornadoes.

If we all come out in one piece when Q4 comes around, I'm picking three bloggers to have dinner with on three separate occasions, the only condition being that they agree to eat unhealthy food like crispy pata and garlic rice in excessive quantities. My treat. I swear I will break my anonymity. This, of course, will be a big problem because I do not know anyone. Zero. I haven't had the time to connect. But I will, if I make it out of Q3 alive.

Just A Little Bit

2009-06-11T04:16:00.003+08:00

Another one of those deceptively simple songs that pack a big wham. And don't we all want to be just a little bit? Ripped, thinner, bigger-dicked, taller, shorter... and it's not about things we have a good chance of being or getting.

Just a little bit stronger
Just a little bit wiser
Just a little less needy
And maybe I'd get there.

Just a little bit pretty
Just a little more aware
Just a little bit thinner
And maybe I'd get there...

Clearly, clearly I remember
Hiking up my skirt
Asking for your time

Clearly, clearly I remember
Nervous if ever confronted
And questioning myself

Perhaps, perhaps if I got better
Perhaps if I challenged myself
Perhaps if I was

Just a little bit stronger
Just a little bit wiser
Just a little less needy

Maybe I'd get there...

Clearly, clearly I remember
Pulling up my shirt
Staring blank ahead

Clearly, clearly I remember
Days of useless crying
Almost feeling dead

Perhaps, perhaps if I was smaller
Perhaps, I could control myself
Perhaps if I was

Not Gonna Write You a Blogsong

2009-06-10T04:26:00.005+08:00

Thumping piano intros always hook me. And lately I've been hooked by this artist and her ilk. I'm not sure if this song ever became a hit or was even popular, and I've never been fashion forward but I certainly know which pieces to keep.

An Unbecoming Death

2009-06-08T00:42:00.004+08:00

The past week, I’ve been receiving text messages from a friend, messages of despair.

He’s in love with a person (a classmate since elementary) who is also his best friend. They see each other every weekend, go shopping together, eat out together, have sex… but they’re not really… together. Know what I mean? This friend’s friend goes away on long vacations abroad and who does he leave to house-sit? My friend. They’re that close. Tito/Tita close. That’s what they call each other’s parents. So…

For two years now he’s been agonizing over whether to pop the question (tayo na ba?) or not because he’s afraid of upsetting the status quo. He won't because the status quo is good enough for him, but somehow he feels disenfranchised. There’s something lacking.

They go an having sex and seeing each other weekly and giggling over stuff like Kettle Chips and L’Oreal Men Expert but it’s not really “them” which was all fine until someone came along and turned the apple cart over. His BBF’s (best/boy friend’s) ka-opisina. This third party interloper who sees the BBF every day, while my friend can’t because he works several towns/cities away.

So now the ugly green monster is eating my friend up. Jealous, jealous, jealous as jealous can be.

Which is nothing new, is to be expected, and totally natural. What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger. Except that he started talking about death. He can’t kill the negative emotions even if he wanted to, and is contemplating on killing himself to make the pain go away. Flashing red sirens!

I gave my standard reply, which I hope was enough. “If you kill yourself, you will be reincarnated as an insect.” To make sure he got the point, I added, “you will live and die as a lower life form for a hundred thousand lifetimes before you become an erection in your future father’s loins.”

Now I’m thinking. What movies and books should he be steered away from? What music? What is this world coming to? Why would perfectly healthy people with thriving careers ever contemplate death? Chos… I think he just wants to chat over dinner. But I still want to wring his neck.

Story of My Life?

2009-06-05T05:21:00.001+08:00

Kibitzing Today

2009-05-30T02:15:00.005+08:00

Today I realized that if I tried reading all the blogs that seemed promising, enlightening, infuriating, in short interesting, I will need to fingercuff myself. This way my fingers will be limited only to moving the mouse around but won't have access to the keyboard therefore effectively preventing me from posting comments on other people’s voluntarily publicized private thoughts. In a moment of shameful epiphany, I realized that I might be (I still am not admitting this) a natural kibitzer. So Pinoy, no? "Para que ka pa naging Pilipino kung di ka tsismoso't usisero?"

Writing on my own blog doesn’t hold as much pleasure.

Oh well… Today, with much pleasure, I found out I was above shock from malignant narcissism. Is there a benign form of this?

Today I found out I couldn’t be a literary snob even if I tried. Not that I don’t have the time to read, but I’d rather be reading Marvel. Erudition and profundity are essential to the understanding of psi-blasts. I have no patience for anything less explicit.

Today I also realized that I’ve been living like days had 32 hours instead of 24. I’m sorely tempted to give blogging up. But I won’t. Maybe blogging will help me find my way back to a calling I’ve given up on. Plus, it's comforting to know that most bloggers have no respect for Spell Check, and even the best of them get their tenses all mixed up.

Personality Type

2009-05-24T04:23:00.006+08:00

The Analytical Thinker

Parang tutuo na parang hindi naman. Nakakatuwa na nakakainis din. Absent-Minded Professor na Mad Scientist na may pagka-maniac ng konti pero sandali lang... tapos manhid uli?

Mababaw lang ang kaligayahan sa materyal na aspeto, at mas enjoy sa pagtuos ng mga bagay-bagay at kadahilanan ng kung bakit ang ibang adobo masarap, ang iba masabaw lang. Pwede.

Hindi ma-reach ng mga kasamahan sa work, aloof-aloofan. At galit sa walang humpay na daldalan ng mga kaopisina na wala namang ka-kwenta kwenta. Pwede.

Parang DSLR and utak, walang karanasan o kaalamang nalilimutan, pwera na lang kung forgettable talaga. Pwede.

O sya sya, AT na kung AT.

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Happily Ever After

2009-05-21T04:37:00.006+08:00

And that should be, happily EVERY after.

After a great dinner cooked with special care by a special someone.

After two rounds of dark mocha consumed over four hours of senseless and non-meaningful but extremely fun powwows of bitching around with like-minded people.

After sex, most specially.

In between, it's an entirely different story.

The one thing my Papa taught that stuck (everything else was in one ear and out the other) is that we were not born to be happy. The bawling after coming out of that dark smelly place is ominous. Because life is sad and often scary. It sucks. It's unfair. So deal with it and get on. The upside, he said, is that whatever happiness comes our way is always memorable and will be treasured forever, and that I should seize the moment and make the most of it.

Of course it took me half a lifetime to learn that lesson, but I learned it anyway. And that was after years and years of trying to create, generate, and otherwise fabricate conditions for making happiness happen. Like the endless nights out, and cramp-inducing retail therapy. Like snob coffee and snobbier nosh. Like iPods and digicams and laptops. Like cars and condos (both of which I don't have, nyahaha). Like climbing up the corporate winding staircase (ladders are for laborers, 'chos!). And sometimes, like desperately seeking the ONE that completes me.

Futile. Because the happiest moments happen when I least expect them. Like while reporting on the elasticity coefficient in 4th-year HS Physics, my uhog ballooned and popped. So, okay, mucus has a high coefficient. Pure joy, ya? And boy did I seize that moment. And so did my classmates.

A little bit wiser now, whatever happiness comes my way I take. After, I thank the divine alignment of probability fields that made such moments happen. And when these alignments don't happen, I wait for the next. Maybe it will happen while I run up and down the winding staircase, or maybe when I buy a 150 ml Creed tester for less than two thousand pesos. Who knows? I don't.

Disowning Tristan

2009-05-18T10:43:00.007+08:00

Prompted by a confluence of a many things, I’ve been spending lots and lots of time lately reading blogs. Not the techie ones I usually read, which I mostly read in relation to work, but personal blogs. I used to not like them a lot, but one click led to another, and another, and another, and then I found myself reading the blog of BITC. I liked the posts so much that I think I read everything in his archives.

And because Tristan Tales was at the top of BITC’s Pozz-Friendly list, again I clicked. For reasons I still don’t understand I commented on Tristan’s posts and actually revisited to make sure he read them. I usually don’t.

I kept coming back, and my comments were getting longer and longer so against my better judgment I decided to make my own blog. All because one April day, I had so much fun disowning Tristan. And as he waits for the chance to disown me back and as a sign of my gratitude, I will give him all the chances to do so.

Thanks Tristan and BITC... sort of. =)

Blogs have stolen 10-12 hours a week of my time and I'm not entirely happy. But considering that I can't smoke while typing, you've already done me a lot of good. =)

Laptops and Libido

2009-05-16T05:01:00.003+08:00

Every day when on my home from work I never fail to get a raging hard on when I cross the border of Pasay and Paranaque, just before the SLEX tollgate. This erection would start the moment I descend from the Magallanes interchange.

I've never questioned the whys and wherefores of this event. It has nothing to do with whoever I was riding with at the moment, because when riding public transportation I'd still get the hard dick with or without visual stimulation. It has nothing to do with what I was thinking at that moment because I usually am too tired to do any thinking. Of course, the erection prompts erotic daydreams which I really don't classify as thinking. And the daydreams come during, not before.

My laptop backpack has given new meaning to the adjective multipurpose, and now includes hard dick concealer among its many uses.

The laptop, on the other hand, fulfills the opposite. For more than ten years now, computers have been the root of many erections.

So there's the bag, and there's the laptop and I have such a compartmentalized brain that while one carries the other, they are never mistaken for one and the same thing.

This is probably why I've never had problems navigating the corporate (sex) landmines, and also why I have two laptops. One for work, and one for anything other than.

FLOG

2009-05-14T04:34:00.006+08:00

I've spent endless, agonizing days (two days to be exact) thinking about what this blog should be, or become.

To my horror, it was becoming evident that if I don't stop myself, this will become a food blog and all my followers will be hands-on mothers who want to get their hands on my recipe for cinammon turon and twice-cooked lechon kawale. Not quite what I had in mind.

Wadahek, I'll write whatever I feel like writing on the day that I feel like writing it here. Except that given my bent for flagellation and self-flagellation (never physical, no worries), this thing here might become a FLOG.

But I like the concatenation so I'll go ahead and say FLOG when people ask me what kind of blog I write. Short for food blog. Or Fritong itlog. Or flaging tulog. The possibilities are endless.

Just Because

2009-05-09T20:56:00.005+08:00

Because I can, I will.

That's always been the story of my life.

I have no agenda, no special topics close to my heart, no worthy cause to advocate. Or maybe I have, who knows. And they might become evident as this blog grows.

But really, I'm doing this because I can. And if this blog dies because I don't take care of it, it's because i believe in the natural extension of my credo.

Because I can't, I won't.