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.