Confessions on a dance floor

Disc One: NEGA and BITCHY

OMG the ledge gave way! Some of its legs buckled, cracked and broke (seemingly) at the nailed joints, its floor board wavered then gracelessly fell much like a weakened, exploited beast-of-OVER-burden. Many of the guys on it never thought of dismounting before it gave: some were either too drunk to care or feel its wavering, maybe some too horny sniffing sweat or dancing-slash-chancing on other people's buffy-humpy body parts. As it fell, some guys fell off-balance but were cushioned by even more buffy-humpy bodies, the lucky bastards! An exception was BFF eon who leapt off early on, went over to where I was, told me of what was about to inevitably happen, pointed to where it was about to break, and said that he even begged the other guys to stay off/get off the ledge already (but of course, to be heeded by none).

I remember screaming "OMG!" and pointing, pleading anybody within earshot to look, someone beside me just seemed to be irritated because of my shrieking, not even considered the reason why I panicked. I remember searching for waiters or managers who might be near enough to call their attention. I had difficulty looking for people who wore red BED crew "uniform", stupid me, so many of us were wearing red, us the faithful party announcer reading attendees. I remember when it did break, a muffled thud was heard over the boom-boom-boom din of the guest DJ's oeuvre, followed by a jubilant roar -- jubilant roar? Yup, kinda strange for an accident to be received that way, not unlike a UAAP basketball game victory roar. In fact, someone behind me screamed "Animo! La Salle! Wooohhhh!" And I thought "Nyeh! Bakit? Is La Salle into slipshod carpentry now?" And being beside the DJ's booth, even saw one of the deejays pointing at the wreck much to his amusement and humor. I was annoyed, unblinking, unbelieving.

In fairness, that accident however absurd it all turned out, was actually the turning point of my night at the "Queen Sized" grand re-launch party of BED last Saturday, but I'm not gonna talk about that now. Before this accident, I was a complete NEGA. The day -- and early night -- didn't quite turn out nicely for me, not enough to set me in high spirits as party time approached. Actually, I think I wasn't too "psyched up" to party... I was experiencing ill effects of partying too much the past two weeks. I developed colds early this week, then the expected complicating phlegmy cough few days after (luckily didn't develop fevers in between -- as yet), classic stressed out, toxicity to the max. I was nursing myself back to health so I couldn't smoke, which was supposed to be just okay, but not when I've some writing deadlines to beat at work. Argh! My "thoughtful smoking" cut off, couldn't think enough to write sensibly and missed deadlines piled up. Couldn't even blog -- this one entry was a hefty struggle, I had like ten false-starts in almost three days running. (Actually, care ko naman if I delay a bit more from blogging, but my one solid fan eon for days had been terrorizing me like a crazed cyber-stalker... couldn't disappoint fans daw, then images from "Misery" flashed in my mind.)

As the hours approached party time, Queen Sized was still not figuring into my gettop, code-red I.T. I depleted the remains of my salary (hora de peligro a.k.a. antes a treinta financial situation) by getting hooked on pirated music CD's (defense to follow later) and second-hand books. Then my underground economy co-conspirator eon announced we're going to Queen Sized no matter how spare the finances. (In fairness, there was actually reason for us to celebrate.) Then after days of not having my hunny home because he had some workload grinding him into sleep-depriving labor exploitation, he came home-- with an attitude. I was ecstatic he was back in my arms, but he was too tired, too irritated by seemingly insane people he was forever tolerating, and a tad too touchy (no issue too small to cause some scary unnerving). Having been together for almost six years, I knew well enough to keep away, let him be, re-compose and re-focus my energies elsewhere. To the party I shall be. "Well. Magbibihis na ko," I declared... then later, "Pengeng pera, ubos na ko eh..." Humbling moment.

But we had to make a supposed quick stopover at eon's "pad" for his party threads, which turned out to be almost futile attempt to waken the gatekeepers -- literally, people who were supposed to open up for tenants. With what racket and effort we were already producing, I swear even Zuul the Gatekeeper could have awakened. But no... until one more humbling moment, not mine but eon's -- calling and waking up a neighbor-tenant for a favor, something he considered utang na loob. I, with glam and vigor deflating, just sighed, shrugged and mussed an imaginary long wavy, parang pina-salon hair.

Then the financial moralizing. If they're going to ask me like 400 or 500 to enter, they could forget it, even that kind of party should not be worth so much: no not more than 300 and that's final. Poor man's pride. (BED, since it's soft opening weekend was 300, fifty bucks more pre-Queen-sizing.) We could always go to GOV if it's too much, the penny-pinching gruesome two-some agreed. After a long queue, entrance fee was found out 350. What shrewd SOB's they are, I thought, 350 was over my poor-man's pride rule but not too much to be obscene. To turn back then was to waste the almost 30 minutes investment on queue, and a cab fare to GOV would cost actually much more. Kainez, lafangin na nga ang pride.

Once inside, I saw one of my pet peeves: the go-go boys. In my bitchy moments (which includes this very one moment), my snottiness/prissiness/divanesqueness really fly off the meter. I don't make ugly scenes, but I could be quick-witted, sharp-tongued and spew acid blabber like this. >:-) I had this suspicion that many (if not all) of these go-go boys were paid (or however materially compensated) to show off their worked-on bods. They strut and grind on pedestals like they're Devil's meat trying to hypnotize neophyte vegans to backslide. Not that it fails (like it fails on me and I'm not even vegan); I've noticed that it did work for some ("Honey, here's a ladle, scoop back your drool, you'll drown in your own pool soon-- no, your drowning now, here's a lifesaver"). Not that it's totally wrong under some puritanical notion. Their tired routines could be partially wrong under some aesthetic notion. But also, not that my suspicion was totally baseless. I know one of them personally, and in the past he asked for moolah for his appearance, any kind of appearance, like when I invited him to join the Pride March -- not for his what-talent-question-mark performance but just like I'd ask anybody who'd might be interested and shared the cause. If I'm not mistaken, I think he also feigned straightness/gay-for-pay on me back then.

I thought BED did not need the go-go-for-dinero if they discerned their choices more: so many boys want to be on those pedestals -- customers, partyholics, eon wouldn't pass a chance. And other partyboys of every shade of persuasion appreciated them, like totally "dig" them. The partyboy-ledgies I thought had more to show, many exceedingly talented, inventive and most importantly, spirited as much as the rest of partygoers, maybe more, regardless of high (natural, alcohol or chemical). Much later, I would notice that some of these presumed-paid-for guys even had girls that they barked at for cigarettes and some-stuff-or-other. One had the gall to grind lazily off-off-beat while smoking, acting it up like he's oh-so-desired but that he's oh-so-bored-of-it-all. Was it just his drama, or did I just misread some form of poorly acted drama? Care ko, I was feeling biatch majeure: hoy, I paid 350 so your lazy ass could live another day! I remember another one was joined by a big buffy "self-actualized" gay/bi/whatever-guy on the pedestal, who started dancing with a bit of a tease. I thought I noticed some homophobic reaction. And I thought I saw a go-go compadre who offered his hand to save the poor paid guy's homophobic soul. Imagined dialogue: "Pare, lipat ka na dito..." "Hindi, pare, okay lang ako..." but then jumped over anyway. The ugly thing about being in this mood was that it seemed that only I noticed these things. Worse, perhaps only I cared for shit like this. Iba na talaga kapag may sapi ni Lola Darkness.

Lola Darkness also sweats the small stuff, so to speak. The zany things that were happening around seemed to tiff me almost instantaneously. In the middle of the dance floor, while eon was on a pedestal having a showdown of sorts with a certain hunky former-"enemy"-turned-ghetto-confidante, I was dancing directly below them, surrounded by -- uh -- KIDS (really, I think they're on Globe gizmos and Smart kids) trying to cook some match-up for their friend. Almost actual dialogue, from my left: "Uy, di ba naghahanap ka ng yosi... meron s'ya oh... di ba meron ka... uy!" From my right: [Eyes opened from seemingly drugged/drunk stupor, smiled lazily back at friends.] From my left: [Repeated dialogue, this time, with more pronounced emphases to attempt surfacing sub-text]. Now it was my turn: "Ano ba? Get on with it!"

Then having transferred some place else on the dance floor, beside the deejay's booth to be precise, I never expected to encounter yet another dysfunctional barkada. A scrawny kid was strutting around me like he's one heck of a stunning Paris Hilton: to me he looked like Cher if she was Karen Carpenter anorexia days, playing the role of a cleaning lady at the Hilton (thanks to that bandanna on his head). He had a teapot friend who was like bopping, shaking and writhing like Mrs. Potts learning to dance Beyonce. The two of them had this tandem fetish on the wall decor that was actually two sets of door curtains made up of strings of off-white, round, plastic chips. They swung with it like jitterbug partners, shaked it like palaspas, whipped it around like feather boas, wriggled through it like eels in murky water. A waiter asked them to stop: "Sir, baka masira po yung display namin..." One of them just laughed. (Actually, he sould have said decor not display, then again, how can you butch up a word like decor?) With every tinkling sound of the plastic chips being cavorted, I felt my sanity chipping away.

Then, oh Lordy, another friend swooped in. Eto for sure, may sapi na ito ng kaaway ni Lord. It was Emily Rose learning the pleasures of techno and house. I belatedly noticed that they also had a friend who was not too subtle showing he's not amused; he was in front of me, looking stoic (or stoned?). Emily Rose pinned his friend, with hips in corkscrewing motion he conjured the harem of the One with Many Names. Deadpan friend showed Emily Rose the time. Wa epek. Emily continued grinding, clutching support from my arm and the fiber-glass enclosure of the deejay's booth. He was pulling the fiber-glass madly (also, never knew that fiber glass could be so pliant either), I had to tell deadpan friend to help Emily to get hold of himself-- maybe, while I get the rites of exorcism approved. "Pasensya ka na ha, lasing na kasi eh..." Then BLAG! No, it's not the ledge floor yet. It's Mrs. Potts finally out-Beyonce'd himself, fell back to wall, butt slapped on floor, legs spread, a plumped up and blacked out Raggedy Ann.

I thought, "will I ever get to enjoy this night at all?" (Or was I gonna drain my 350 pesos with bitching around?) But eventually salvation came. My night was redeemed by the very reason why I started hanging out in BED in the first place. Keep posted for Disc Two.

Soul testing...

You are naturally born with a gift, whether it be
poetry, writing or song. You love beauty and
creativity, and usually are highly intelligent.
Others view you as mysterious and dreamy, yet
also bold since you hold firm in your beliefs.

What Type of Soul Do You Have ?
brought to you by Quizilla

Attempting a comeback, discerning the check-out and brief youth revivals

Dear Bloggie: I feel like an ass whenever I drop by and see you. You seem to be stone-cold, silently staring me back from the monitor, and with what I must have imagined a slight pout on you, you remind me how much I have been amiss adding into our supposedly colorful history in the making. In fact, I myself feel stupid whenever I make those visits -- why was I doing it (and doing nothing much else), when I know for sure that nothing could happen just by looking, that my continued committed participation in this blogging crazy virtual world is essentially your life?

Oh, I do wanted to tell you so many things that happened to me... many good, but just as much saddening, or at least melancholy. I wanted to tell you, first and foremost, how much fun it is writing on you. That sharing my thoughts with you has in fact helped me think things through my life more sharply. God knows we need much more skill and commitment to discernment. Much, much more to discern in face of things like a friend deciding to call it quits struggling in this mediocre economy, but that his exhaustion is more pronounced and articulated because of failed love. And yet, in his remaining days as a struggling compatriot, he spends boundless fun in the company of his ex and his ex's newfound love. (Not that that was totally absurd, I've met the guy myself, and he's totally likable.)

I wanted to tell you how much I was saddened at a growing common sentiment that many a friends' loved ones are -- uh -- "checking out." First it was someone's father, then someone's mother, then another one's father. Then us friends coming to a consensus that we are witnessing one generation pass on, and that life and lineage and legacy shall have to go on now with us ever growing nearer to the frontlines. But at every reunion at someone's relative's wake we find ourselves reliving happy times together, and sharing heart rending anecdotes of family, with seemingly boundless humor, sometimes a bit of embittered diva dry wit, but generally wholesome and wholehearted laugh. It was even a cultural exchange program in the making in one wake: during our Chinese friend's father's wake, our friend taught us the finer qualities of Chinoy bereavement and ceremony. Oh, we had such a grand time rolling those monies for the departed and then burning them, depositing them to the world hereafter! That and some of the most delicious sungsong I've tasted in ages! "Why all the bother with these bill rolling when you could just shove them as is into the fire?" asked one friend. And I said, "Kapatid, you should appreciate the Chinese attention to fine detail; their civilization haven't survived hundreds of generations for nothing..."

But most importantly I wanted to tell you, Bloggie, how much my heart broke when another friend wrote on her blog about knowing to be on the express of the check-out lane, but pondering out loud when is she really due. She is in Vietnam now, and I never had the chance yet to tell her how much I really, really love her -- that it breaks my heart to hear her this way. But that I also understand I should let her be because, because I love her. * * * :~( * * * Sorry Bloggie, my sight fogged up and my chest heaved heavy for awhile as I wrote that last line.

On the periphery I think of another friend whose suffering -- at the moment, inexplicably -- of back pain; one says it's the signs of the times for him, and I thought, for us too. On yet another periphery I think of us, hunny and I, who have been learning to live by the day, but remaining committed (rather vaguely still) of supporting each for as long as long could ever be, from time to time, noticing also how we're growing much further away from lusty, expedient youth. (Oh wow, even OPM Myx has dedicated a song to a recently departed but loved comrade, just now as I am writing.) And further still on a tangent, I remember trying to support a friend just a week ago, in his process of concluding his relationship, though slightly gapped by a generation was still filled with intimacy and intense friendship -- I being one of those appreciative witnesses to their endearment now stood to help in supporting renewal of faith in, and hope for a future love.

Yet youth was all I felt as I went through the "hallowed" holidays (redundant term actually).... Literally fresh from a bus trip from Lucena (after a whirlwind tour of the project sites, and a short 30-minute meeting back in Manila in the middle), BFF eon helped me dust off the career drudgeries with the music of the Salvation Party, then of Government, then of the Malate halloween street party, then back at Government, and then just last weekend, of the newly expanded BED. Thump, thump, thump, stomp, stomp, sway and sway, got myself all sweaty and spirited. It's a good thing that eon and I are almost always getting high on endorphin rush while many, many others almost always with hefty helpings of alcohol and chemical.

Last Saturday, though, while getting high with the beat of the music and the mute admiration for a ledge boy, while trying to match the boy's moves and vigor, my knees and ankles shrieked ache... short, abrupt but sharp flash of pain, the best of woeful reminders: "Hey gramps, you can go on staring at that youth for hours on end, but getting into the beat with him is totally out of the question..." Hay naku, the next day was spent walking aimlessly in antiseptic Greenbelt mall with aching joints and lots of method-acting-like-nothing's-rusty-in-me. Whenever there's a need to revive my self-esteem being nursed in intensive care, I recalled visions of the denimmed, shirtless ledge boy and feelings of how much I admired his grace, his confidence, his eyes frenzied with here-and-now euphoria (even behind those spectacles), his skin glistened and appropriately sparse chest hair slicked with sweat, and his belt buckle... my memories almost always starting and ending with that belt buckle; him being on the ledge and me on the dance floor, it was what I saw for most of the time, being aware then that looking up at him for longer lengths will make me too obvious... and maybe thought of as downright dirty, troll-like oldie...

I remember eon asked me if I still have self-esteem problems, well, dearie, I still do have them, here is one.

Now, a word from my sponsors...

Wanna get your holy sponsorships? Get them here.

Hollywood, public health threat?

And yet another remarkable story cited by World Sex News. Highlights as follows: "Hollywood might be bad for your health... Blockbuster movies paint a consequence-free view of sex and drugs. "Dr. Hasantha Gunasekera, the study's lead author... said the findings are troubling, 'given the HIV and illicit drug pandemics in developing and industrialized countries'. "...Researchers studied a September 2003 list of the 200 biggest box-offices successes of all time... [and] of the 87 movies in the study, 28 contained sex scenes, a total of 53 scenes in all. Only one film 1990's 'Pretty Woman'... contained a 'suggestion of condom use, which was the only reference to any form of birth control'. "Most movies contained episodes of unprotected sex in which the 'only consequences were social embarrassment'. "'Basic Instinct' had six sex scenes, no birth control and no 'public health consequences' although death by ice pick was a threat... 'Die Another Day' contained three episodes of sex 'all new partners, no condoms, no birth control, no consequences at all' but at least no drug use. "Eight percent of the films contained depictions of marijuana use, and 7 percent other non-injected drugs... Characters smoked tobacco in 68 percent of the films and got drunk in 32 percent. "Only a quarter of the movies were entirely free of behavior such as unprotected sex, drug use, smoking and drinking..."

Stupid smile plastered on the closet door

Okay, I was smiling stupid and was beside myself while reading through text messages from someone unexpected. My BFF hastydevil was with me... BFF? Best friend forever, according to hasty, already enshrined in some online dictionary... he had to say something about how I became blissfully moronic looking all of a sudden, egged me to spill whatever-it-is... I had to prepare myself for another Lola Basyang moment, all potential fabulism included, but then, I actually didn't want to. Sometimes memories are best relished when it's a mess of disjoints, probably what causes the stupid smile in the first place. To organize into some cohesive narrative sometimes kills the pleasure.

The lucky texter was someone in my past when I thought I could make a complete turnaround of my dreary, too-sudden-to-plateau career path (thanks to the 1998 Asian-whatever financial crisis). I enrolled in a short certificate course on Internet "programming" sometime back, before becoming fully entrenched in NGO work -- please mind the quotes. There I met... uhmm... him -- god, I'm still having closet issues, I'm 32! The guy wasn't really hard to like -- not excessively geneticized for the Hollywood walk of fame, but really, really -- uh -- nice (?) He had this smile that made me appreciate what affective meant. A manner about himself that suggested he's really proud of his fitness, confident to be moving in his own skin. When he turned his attention on you, it's as if he's been anticipating your chatter. He's really sooo likable.

Eto na si Crush... that's what I usually told myself when he arrived in class... imagine that, I was pushing into the thirtysomethings and I get this high-schoolish, gurlish crush... But here is something of the more adult nature, one that I fondly remember. It was a rainy day, many of us came late, he came in much later (which wasn't usually the case between him and I). He was teased by the office-attire-wearing majority for looking very sporty -- I was in my usual jeans, sneakers and comfy cotton tee-shirt, no questions asked from them, I was cast as somehow a techie slacker. While the rest I think continued to regard him for his sporty jogging pants, matching jacket and shoes, I spied on his revealing, suggestive crotch-shape and damn-yer-so-fine firm ass. That was it, I was distracted for the rest of the time... what did CGI mean? For all I cared, the visual was burning in my mind... for all I cared, CGI meant crotch-grab-it (and grab it now!). And that was one moment that I could now really, really swear I'm a person of simple pleasures. That was it for me: wild, graphic imaginings almost commensurate to sexual orgasm -- and please mind the almost-word.

We became somewhat good friends afterwards. Together with other classmates, we even thought of forming some kind of consultancy consortium for web development. Until of course some of us had other career concerns -- some went abroad, mine went on to community work. With the indulgence of some other friends, I even got onto one of the favorite pasttimes of gayhood, the "is-he-isn't-he" mind-fuck game. Which really started with his one unguarded moment in class: while doing some classroom exercise, he was humming beside himself and damn, he sings like he was a madrigal in the past life. We benefited from the same tertiary schooling, likewise in liberal arts, and he was a choirboy. So what? The activist alterego in me was crying foul: no stereotyping! Then the grouping of the wildly imagined consortium; in tow were some of the better looking guys, and then me -- please mind the segregation (the better-lookings, then me). Again, so what? Then accidentally meeting him in a mall, him in the company of friends, coming out of a theatre -- turns out he also has distinct taste for theater. Again and again, so what? Then later on him learning I was doing condom use promotion in gay hedonna (a.k.a. White Beach, Puerto Galera), with a twist of increased curiosity in what I really do. Then accidentally meeting him again at a gathering of guys of "presumably similar/same persuasions" but his association was mainly because of some sport. The mind-fuck never reached an authoritative conclusion... damn, this game, but then again, I think the bigger issue here was honesty; in any kind of relationship, it's a Big-H issue.

I was never really honest with him about who I am. We exchanged text messages with sometimes slight innuendos but never faced our -- no word for this that I know at the moment -- relativities with our identities, sexual identities. Nothing too forward on text, e-mail, face-to-face. It's a closet issue, I know... I wanted to be honest, I swear, but somehow stifled the idea back into the closet. Why it should matter between us? If we were on friendly terms because of some lofty career/entrepreneurial purpose, why should identity disclosure become a biggie? Maybe because I wanted to know, but feared for the likelihood of losing our friendship, the potential damage to the infantile consortium was not even part of the equation. It's almost a cliche...

In the end, at least on this chapter where I relived my memories of him and discussed my feelings with hasty, he was not someone for me who would potentially be the one that will tear apart my stabilizing-over-the-years relationship with hunny. But he was and still is Crush, someone I really want to continue to admire, grow old with as a friend, in a relationship no longer snagged by untold truths/unspoken lies, under the terms of full honesty and openness, regardless whether we're guys of same/similar persuasions or poles apart sexual-relativity-wise. Now, if only life's circumstances could continue opening opportunities, the first one being tonight, him and I finding ourselves re-connected once more...

Diatribes: Grey Matter vs. Glenn Cruz

Do you get one of those days when nothing really comes out right? I've had a few. Can't remember exactly when they happened, but I feel that they did happen. The human mind - at least mine - can be frustrating sometimes... just can't remember everything, cull them out from dusty bookshelves of memory on demand, or for a better analogy, scan backups with a few bits of search criteria, select then download. What's even more frustrating is when you get to remember things from the past at the most unexpected of times, or when you'd rather just forget. But I digress. Today nothing came out right. I was supposed to attend a workshop; I misplaced the advisory letter, had to search for it, only finding out that because of this pawing through seemingly a ream's worth of fax letters, the friggin' letter announced I was already late for the workshop. Then of course, there was a pre-workshop homework to be done (some questionnaire to be filled up for the UNGASS report). I opened my inbox to finally check it out... wow, ang hirap ng tinatanong, major data crunching! I remembered as I read this e-mail containing the questionnaires that I've skimmed through it days earlier; it made my head hurt then, and it surely made my head hurt now. Long story short, first task of the day? Dedma. Then there's this peer educator in Lucena who is doing his thesis in college. He really sounded desperate on text. Several text messages since last night. I helped him come up with his topic at the start. And I swore to help him through... but I knew I should be busy today with my own stuff at work... I couldn't help but help him out... it took me the whole day thinking about his concerns. Darn! Even if I tried, the thesis wouldn't leave me. I dunno, but this is the fourth time I'm helping out "kids" with their theses. I dunno, maybe I just know better now how to do it right... maybe I'm just atoning for treating my own thesis like crap... well, it really was crap. Then there's this cellphone line application at Smart Wireless. I need to get one for official purposes at the Lucena office. They were raking in quite a profit for PLDT with all those landline-to-cellphone call charges! I researched the Smart website for info, which was essentially nil. I called the sales hotline, which I thought was very informative until later. Then I went to the business center, armed with all of what I thought were the proper documents needed, per hotline advice. Well? You guessed it, more unpleasant surprises! Turns out my document for proof of financial whatever (stability?) wasn't enough... I brought my credit card bill as proof. And being the struggling lower B-classed citizen, my financial capacity proof was zilch. Turns out I needed to have like available credit worth 50% of my total credit allowance. I'm a revolver, so you know, I just pay my minimum due, consistency and perseverance not worth the virtue. Vipers! My mind was screaming, while trying to keep my cool, probably as tribute na rin to our country's recent Miss International gain (I personally knew her way, way back my "racket" days). Then there's the thing with the manual typewriter. I needed to buy one for the office... and I saw a good deal at Abensons for a portable Olympia, three-k-plus-plus. Just saw it last Sunday, would you believe it, the salesperson just said the last unit was sold just a few hours ago... grrrrrr!!! But I can place an order daw and they can get it for me... hay salamat, in fairness! To be delivered in three to five days - "next Tuesday" - ha?? Next Tuesday is already a week - "Sir, hindi po counted ang Saturday at Sunday." More inis! I needed that typewriter because of some flukey at SEC, where I'm trying to get our new incorporation papers accepted. SEC had this uber-convenient online application, where they just ask for the info to be pasted on template forms, then voila! PDF files of Articles of Incorporation, SEC Registration and By-Laws... instant Lucky-Me Soww-tanghon! Some schoolmarmy examiner informed us that our info were not enough... but that's what their online processing system coughed up di ba naman... "hindi pa kasi perfect yung system eh, kaya nga may examiners..." Ay juice ko! Easy lang naman daw, just type over the additional info needed. "Don't worry, mabilis na yan..." Don't blame me for not believing ha. And now, I first intended to write some nice things I experienced while I was doing our "roadshow" of the project sites. Now my mind, it's playing hide-and-seek with me, nice tidbits of anecdotes in tow. It's telling me, purge, purge, purge... I've to blog my frustrations for purging. So I apologize for indigestions this entry may cause. "Don't worry, mabilis na yan..." Ang alin?! Inis pa rin ako...

For lite blogging, a blogthing...

How You Are In Love

You take a while to fall in love with someone. Trust takes time. You tend to give more than take in relationships. You need your space and privacy. You don't like to be smothered. You love your partner unconditionally and don't try to make them change. You stay in love for a long time, even if you aren't loved back. When you fall, you fall hard.

How Are You In Love?

The schlong and the schlort

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Acid bath spells end of the world

Discovered a cool site today -- http://www.fark.com -- if you're like me on the Internet, ceaselessly in search of weird, funny stuff, this one site helps you lay off a bit on the search engines... this Drew Curtis guy would do it for you.

This article would scare your pants off... it's even on Yahoo! News (duh, what does that mean, Yahoo! is authoritative??)... until of course you realize it's a news content service from Weekly World News. What? Don't know what Weekly World News is? You should go and get groceries for mom more often... he he he

The headline: "PLANET-DISSOLVING DUST CLOUD IS HEADED TOWARD EARTH!" The exclamation point and the all caps should be a dead giveaway: tabloid ito, my dear friends. The lead: "Scared-stiff astronomers have detected a mysterious mass they've dubbed a 'chaos cloud' that dissolves everything in its path, including comets, asteroids, planets and entire stars -- and it's headed directly toward Earth!"

Usual trappings -- citations of use of some high-tech stuff ("NASA's Chandra X-ray Observatory"), theoretical mumbo-jumbo ("Hawking Radiation," "electron-positron pair"), and of course, the quotes! Scientists galore! And here's the penultimate punchline: "Some scientists say mankind's best hope would be to build a 'space ark' and hightail it to the Andromeda Galaxy, 2.1 million light-years away." Right. Now, that is high tech science, di ba naman?! At siyempre pa, in true Men in Black/Conspiracy Theory fashion, this was what the US government said: "This is a lot like global warming, where the jury is still out on whether it's real or not. The existence of this so called chaos cloud is only a theory. Americans shouldn't panic until all the facts are in." Even in jest, the political characterizations are still in -- and I think Weekly World News is British.

Oh alam n'yo na: boys, girls, baklas and tomboys, calendar this down: "...the swirling, 10 million-mile-wide cosmic dust cloud has been likened to an 'acid nebula' and is hurtling toward us at close to the speed of light -- making its estimated time of arrival 9:15 a.m. EDT on June 1, 2014." Okay, bring out your biology textbooks, let's start reviewing and pairing the species -- teka, paano na lang ang mga asexuals, hermaphrodites, and uh, what do you call those animals that change sex depending on the weather (or is it water)? O di ba, Noah had an heterosexist god.

For the cineastes, better watch out for some silly storyline like this coming in theaters soon... I could predict at least a B-movie grade or a "summer Hollywood blockbuster" pitch would... teka muna, it's been some time, better check out http://www.chud.com na rin... laterz, peeps!

Someone, boost my confidence puh-leez

Just in the nick of time. I had to submit a project proposal today, deadest deadline, 5:00PM, and was able to submit it 4:30PM. For days now, I've been struggling with it. Why couldn't I write when I really needed the skill? Kainis, it's like one of life's cruelest jokes. I was in my puta-writer mode for days, sleeping for most of the day time and wide, wide awake with so many ideas I couldn't even string together cohesively at night. In the early afternoons, when I usually have time to think over and write, nothing came. Just more addiction to the 'Net... staring at a blank MSWord document, then the browser icons just there on the taskbar tempting me "c'mon, you know the URL -- w-w-w-dot-" -- ay kainis talaga! After submission, just after the initial euphoria (usually attributed to beating-the-odds college students with bad study habits), I read my receiving copy, ay jusko, kakahiya, ang daming typo errors. I was feeling all fidgety, while successfully wolfing down a double patty, bacon mushroom melt... then much later, actually, right now, this very moment, I begin to doubt, was it the typo? Could I really be such a nerd to be bothered so much with mere typos?? Or maybe, I'm a different kind of nerd. While having late dinner of sinigang, rice and sprite (yes, trying to maintain just one cup of rice), an evil thought came to me: "you know, you've never really succeeded in getting approved your own damn proposals..." That's not true, I defended, there was Positive Learning, then Positive Lives II... "Oh yeah, Positive Learning, the one you never gotten paid? Positive Lives II?? Jeezus, they asked you to fill in a matrix of blanks... and in both cases, the funders were desperate to get rid of their money..." I could see myself being verbally battered by an evil nemesis-version, I crouching, no! no! no! *cover ears* la-la-la-la... Evil-me is pushing it: "Remember Pan Asia? Remember how much time and effort you put on that one? Remember almost cursing that name? Naaaan-diii-thaaa..." Stop it! "How about the TS/TG sex worker proposal? Wasn't that the first of many??" Stop it! I got the GFATM -- that's our biggest project, that's MY biggest project! "Are you sure it's really yours??" All these things were happening -- but just inside my mind... arghh! If you could have seen me that time, blank faced, a bit bored looking, glassy eyed, legs doing that jog allegedly associated with unconscious masturbation. You wouldn't have guessed the war that was tearing me inside. Maybe a blog confession could help... hmmm, let's try... so here I am -- and I'm stopping now, gotta check if it worked...

Real, hard issues -- I'm stirred profoundly

Aug. 17th, 2005 01:17 am - HOMOPHOBIA IS WRONG

I AM ONE OF THE MANY.

I am the girl kicked out of her home because I confided in my mother that I am a lesbian.

I am the prostitute working the streets because nobody will hire a transsexual woman.

I am the sister who holds her gay brother tight through the painful, tear-filled nights.

We are the parents who buried our daughter long before her time.

I am the man who died alone in the hospital because they would not let my partner of twenty-seven years into the room.

I am the foster child who wakes up with nightmares of being taken away from the two fathers who are the only loving family I have ever had. I wish they could adopt me.

I am one of the lucky ones, I guess. I survived the attack that left me in a coma for three weeks, and in another year I will probably be able to walk again.

I am not one of the lucky ones. I killed myself just weeks before graduating high school. It was simply too much to bear.

We are the couple who had the realtor hang up on us when she found out we wanted to rent a one-bedroom for two men.

I am the person who never knows which bathroom I should use if I want to avoid getting the management called on me.

I am the mother who is not allowed to even visit the children I bore, nursed, and raised. The court says I am an unfit mother because I now live with another woman.

I am the domestic-violence survivor who found the support system grow suddenly cold and distant when they found out my abusive partner is also a woman.

I am the domestic-violence survivor who has no support system to turn to because I am male.

I am the father who has never hugged his son because I grew up afraid to show affection to other men.

I am the home-economics teacher who always wanted to teach gym until someone told me that only lesbians do that.

I am the man who died when the paramedics stopped treating me as soon as they realized I was transsexual.

I am the person who feels guilty because I think I could be a much better person if I didn't have to always deal with society hating me.

I am the man who stopped attending church, not because I don't believe, but because they closed their doors to my kind.

I am the person who has to hide what this world needs most, love.

Repost this if you believe homophobia is wrong

(Found on this site -- http://www.livejournal.com/users/mosscake/)

From my e-mail: State of UP Education

Doing what this blog was intended in the first place: to "clip" out things that pass my way in the Internet... this one I found from our UP Baguio Yahoo! Group... I had my freshman year there, which included an unexpected vacation after July 16, 1990... Message: article from the Philippine Comedian (annual spoof of the Phiippine Collegian (yung jaryo ng peyups) It's so hirap talaga to study in UP, the University of the Poor. You know, I never wanted to study here.But my parents kasi, they both went to UP andthey said na it was the best school talaga. Eh 'di I went. But no! When I got here, Holy horrors! I was ready to make himatay after the first day pa lang. Would you believe, there's no aircon na nga in the classrooms, the fan doesn't work pa. And then this guy who was like, wearing a sando, shorts and tsinelas lang made tabi next to me. He made pakilala pa! The nerve! So I made takbo to the CR to make tago. But I couldn't make hugas my hands that were so pawis from escaping such a near-death experience. There was no liquid soap! Not even a couch where I could sit to make kikay. Do you feel my pain na ba? But wait, there's more. Last Thursday kasi Daddy's Volvo was bawal, ehthe Eclipse was being repaired, so I had to make sakay with my yaya in the Ikot jeep. It was so siksik! I could like, smell the putok of the girl next to me. Like, it was sobrang mabaho talaga. Kasi naman, the Ikot jeeps are old na nga, they're mainit pa! Sana they make palit na the jeeps with a shuttle system. Okey lang naman even if there's an increase in pamasahe di ba? So when the car is bawal, I can use my credit card na to make bayad. Isa pa, you know the Shopping Center? It's so kadiri talaga. I'm forced na nga to make Xerox there, (as if naman I would be caught in that place otherwise) pero I'm so inis because it's so madilim and maliit, and most of the stalls don't have aircon. They should tear it down na and build a mall na lang.Then I wouldn't have to go to Katipunan pa to get my Starbucks fix. My gosh, this place is so bulok I don't know nga why anyone would bother making turo here pa. Just yesterday, my professor was kinda inis kasi her whiteboard marker had no more tinta! Then she tried to make hanap a matino whiteboard marker but of course there was none. Duh! Kasi naman if we had laptops instead of desks in every classroom there would be no more need for whiteboards di ba? But you know even if there were laptops na, the seats are so tigas sometimes I find it mahirap to concentrate. Dapat may cushioning para malambot sa butt, like Downy. Now I'm in my fourth year na. I don't want to stay in this place anymore. I don't give a paki if UP's the best university here. I'm going to transfer to LaSalle, where the CRs have liquid soap. Now na.

Exploration continues...

Just a quick application of yet another curiosity in this blogging thingie -- hey, how appropriate, this "thingie" actually comes from a site called BLOGTHINGS.

Your Blogging Type Is Thoughtful and Considerate

You're a well liked, though underrated, blogger. You have a heart of gold, and are likely to blog for a cause. You're a peaceful blogger - no drama for you! A good listener and friend, you tend to leave thoughtful comments for others.

What's Your Blogging Personality?

Getting some happy 80's feeling

Oh look! A third blogpost... I hope this won't become an addiction, but I hope this won't be ningas cogon either. Then again, I'd expect myself to be really quite diligent at first -- getting the hang of it, baga. Today, I try the mail-to-blog feature -- the wysiwig interface isn't quite working fast enough for my thoughts.

For a change, I'm happy with my last song syndrome... Absolute Reality by Alarm, heard over Powerbooks in Megamall while digging into the discounted books rack. The music reminded me of positive memories of bygone youthful, worry-free days. Positive must be qualified though: even those creepy, juvenile, embarrassing situations back in high school are just now plain corny and naive, good for chuckle. Kasi naman di ba, compared to tribulations of my thirtysomething life, walang wala ang mga yun talaga (couldn't even remember why some of those "bad moments" were worth the anxiety).

Absolute Reality is one of those songs that really trigger back those feel-good vibes... struggling with a complete, sane set of volleyball with classmates (wasn't much of a sportie)... fussing over hair, zits, cheekbones, shoulders... practicing cool, disaffected moves for classroom-to-corridor-to-canteen seeing and being seen... accessories, accessories, accessories... of course, laughing with friends as sun went down and bus services giving up waiting...

Then ang mga nakakahiyang mga kakornihan: fighting with my gay English teacher for getting overly dramatic on us because we were noisy and disrespectful (we're friends now, and we used to see each other as usual suspects in usual Malate hangouts, until the teacher brain-drain thanks to the US)... moping over feeling used and left out after helping classmates as "bridge" (alam nyo na yun, being the funny, friendly, sexless guy who's everybody's friend -- and access to the coolest girls and hottest guys)... getting all hurt and anti-social after being chided to try courting some girl, only to be treated like a joke... hay jusko, kinikilabutan ako... and oh, of course, getting physical and violent and hurting and regretful -- and being taunted for "hitting like a girl." These were the REAL ISSUES of my "spirited" youth.

Then just like now, I will feel all misty, somewhat saddened... some classmates died, some had unwanted pregnancies, some had more than his share of panganays, several single parents, some lost and forever pining for their love of their lives (lost to college and career)... and some finally came out of the closet, started living for real, trying hard not to look back in regret and focus on the now, and hope for better things in the future... haaaayyy buuuhhaaay... mine's not too bad though -- I think -- loving devotedly (and loved back I'm sure) for more than five years, not that rich but getting by, respected for my talents... and the last song syndrome revives me again...

"Hoooohhh, yeah, yeah... hey now, now... hey now, now..." (hey, and I don't sing too bad, either)

My first and last post -- July 23, 2003 -- I said I was about to start with something new in my life. And here's my second posting, more than two years after... I'm pathetic! Actually, due to circumstances that would probably unfold little by little if I persevere this time around, I've essentially forgotten that I've started this blog. Regaining consciousness of this itty-bitty space on the Internet began early this year... including all anxieties that came with the "should I/shouldn't I" a.k.a. konsensya/kontra-konsensya mind-fuck debate-a-thon. A dear, dear friend graduates college; him having nothing to do on the interim, he got dragged to some activities that I manage at work. With the mini rackets he was getting from me, he literally lived with me for awhile. I saw him being quite prolific with the blogging thing. A slight tinge of envy; how does he do it? Then later on, finding out that my hunny (term of endearment for my "mate") also maintains one and is also quite the blogger. "Bakit hindi ko alam yan?" "blah-blah... and you won't understand these things anyway..." "Ganun?" (Isyu! Isyu!) Then finally, braving a visit to my blogger account -- spotless, spiritless, thoughtless -- like a clean room with a "dirty secret," a closet full of incomprehensible junk. Fast foward months later, on the verge of another burnout, feeling emotionally exhausted with work-related issues, discovered an addictive pill -- G4M. Edit profile, bluetooth images from mobile phone, tweak images with Photoshop, upload images, search, search, search (hottie, buddy, hottie, hottie, SUPER-ULTRA-MEGA hottie, *swoon!*)... day in, day out. Then a witty, funny guy on the boards (a hottie also in my book), cites his blog for his sexcapades... shameless self-promoting ploy, it's a blog of his day-to-days with a twist, stupendous volumes of wit and humor. He has found a fan in me. Promised him, as feedback, to build a fans club for him. He he he. Then just tonight, on the comp darth sanro visits the blog of a friend from his former office. Also my friend, and I miss her TERRIBLY (missing you, astrobrat, and it really hurts, promise). Darth sanro shows me one of the linked blogs -- an ultra sports guy/artist/and yes, prolific blogger. "Hey! That's a guy on one of my buddy lists! (friendster? DL? can't remember)" Hmmm... I do remember he doesn't have anything much on his profile linked on my buddy list... I also do remember having averred to another friend that his profile is not your usual "hottie posing/packaging" (I need a better word for this!) but there's something definitely incredibly sexy about him -- after looking over his blog, I knew what it was finally, his brain. And because of these precedents, and due to the fact that I'm your ordinary human specimen, thinking but not quite rational, I've made a decision to at least try again to revive this blog. If my next entry will again be two years after, at least, I'd already sense a pattern -- a pathetic one, at that. And I'm supposed to be the one of the "real writers" among my friends! Sheesh!