Finally

After months of painful waiting, I finally got myself the DVD set of what is probably the best TV series in the planet (next to Lost, of course), Freaks and Geeks.



Yipee!!

Mga corny stuff

A new year for new peekaboos.
Don't get eaten by the bed monster!

*

It's just right to start the year with a good dose of excitement and therapy. So here are some ways to welcome 2006 with a bang. Channel your inner insane self, and spread the new year joy!

Disclaimer: Though there's a slight risk that you will be jailed and / or stoned to death after doing doing these deeds, don't frown. At least you had a fun new year's eve! Go rebellion!

1. Claim you're the real savior of the earth.
2. While on the dinner table, pretend you suddenly have amnesia.
3. Move to Chile and don't tell anyone.
4. Declare war to a foreign country.
5. Give all your belongings to your youngest family member, the one who probably needs it the least.
6. Invade another family's house, eat dinner there, and sleep in their beds. Very Goldilocks!
7. When the clock strikes twelve, release all the animals in the nearest zoo.
8. Speak extra loud to people with names beginning in C.
9. Kidnap a cockroach from your neighbor's kitchen and make it your new pet.
10. Perform exorcism on a random person walking in the street.
11. Call someone from a foreign-language speaking country and even if you don't understand a single thing, converse for six hours!
12. Go to the nearest police station and tell them you're the criminal they've been looking for.
13. At midnight, announce to everyone you've just won the lottery.
14. Sing everything today! Every word, sentence, and piece of conversation! Be a musical! Exclamation point!
15. Promote cannibalism. Screw the ham, and serve your younger brother.

Marvyn & RJ

It's 1:48 in the morning here and everyone's still up to celebrate my twin cousins Marvyn & RJ's birthday.

We call Marvyn the toughest fighter in the family, who's been facing everythin armed with a truckload of courage. He also has an ultra-big heart.

RJ's the smartest one in the clan. A while ago, while driving on the road, the younger kiddos kept on asking us the capitals of countries around the world, and he was the one who knew all the right answers.

And last week, the girl he's been going out with for two years finally answered him with a yes. It's just for formalities sake, since they've been together for a great deal of time, but still. Go RJ!

When both of them were still living back home in Pinas, the three of us were classmates in Prep. During recess, they'd always share with me their baon. Nice kids.

Randall

My cousin Randall bosses me around like crazy, and kicks me in the ass whenever I don't do chores.

When we were little kids, it was the total opposite.

I'd punch him in the face and make his lips bleed whenever he refuses to give me the remote control, and point the blame on him whenever I get caught doing somethin nasty.

What never changed is how much we secretly care for each other - so much that we'd literally kill anyone who gets in the way of the other.

Back then, when he was really small, I'd read comic books lying on my stomach on the bed, and he'd sit on top of me, on my back, and read over my shoulder. Most of the time we ended up dozing off to sleep. Recently I discovered that there are photos. But I'm shy.

Until now, we've kept our ties, partly 'cause of our all-time favorite piece of dialogue. Whenever I'd ask him, "How much do you care for me, cousin?" He'd reply, "One billion, five hundred twenty-seven trillion, four hundred thousand, six hundred thirty million dollars!"

Holy-weed

I, the cousins and some chums from way back in grade school went around Hollywood today. Strolled around Desperate Housewhatever's Whatever-tyria Lane, watched shows, ate loads of chow, scored free tickets to Universal Studios and kicked it off with four consecutive rides at Jurassic Park, and took loads of photos, and bought tons of candy.

Cute Kid of the Day Citation goes to my six-year-old cousin Marella, as she displayed utter honesty and sincerity of expression when she was called to be a volunteer in the Animal Planet Live show.

Animal Planet Lady Host blindfolds Marella, and then with the help of two assistants, places a snake on her lap. Then they let Marella feel the skin of the snake.

Animal Planet Lady Host: So, what does it feel like?
Marella: (immediately) It feels just like my mom's purse.
Animal Planet Lady Host: ...
Audience: ...
Animal Planet Lady Host: (clearly flustered) Let's give it up for Marella!

Check this out!

Hangover pa rin from my first lantern parade. Check out CJ's blog for great photos!

Monday Night Football

Christmas was loads of fun this year, and it's not just 'cause I was successfully able to cook the dishes assigned to me, and it's not just 'cause I got a Wicker Park DVD from my 14-year-old cousin.

It's 'cause although situations and atmospheres weren't close to perfect, things jived and everyone went to bed smiling. According to preachy books, and musical artist King Crimson, and Oprah, you gotta be happy with what you have. And what better time to apply that code of conduct than at Christmas. Jolly holy Christmas.

Aaand guidance counseling session over.

Gave The Mom an iPod, and the coolest Bang & Olufsen headphones and lots of other crapola used to fulfill the ultimate listening experience.

In true Parentals Gone Ballistic fashion, her first reaction after opening the gift was, "What crime did you do this time? Why are you bribing me?"

Love it.

Right now, I and The Cousins are watching NFL's Monday Night Football, which makes me dim the lights, sit quietly in the corner, reminisce, and shed a tear about missing the Rug league at home. Stephen, the team's El Capitano in Zobel's league, dubbed our Saturday Rug sessions as Monday Night Football in Alabang, which is rather puzzling. Hmmmm.

Meanwhile, it's pandemonium here. The Younger Cousins are sleeping here tonight and we've built a gigantic latag in the living room (where the Xbox is, of course) because we all have to get up early tomorrow. I and The Older Cousins maxed out our poor credit cards and chipped in to bring all the kiddos to Disneyland. Fun!

Holidaze

Two hours till Christmas here.

Woke up this morning relatively late after a night of drinks and catching up and confessions (aka telling each other every evil thing we've done ever since we last saw each other) with the titos and boy cousins and friends. Awesome. Haven't woken up that happy in a while.

Went straight to work when I got up. Tasked to do three dishes for the Christmas dinner, and got started in the kitchen with the Tray-baked Pork Chops with Herby Potatoes, Pears, Parsnips, which is a long name for a dish so my friend DJ nicked it "Herby Chops." Hookay.

Ran to the mall with the neighbor familia to get missing ingredients and last minute gifts. Then picked up my cousins and went back to the kitchen.

Second dish was Ravioli of Minted Asparagus with Potatoes and Mascarpone, which is dubbed as "Ravcarpone," a rather annoying-sounding nick. Much easier to do, and one of my favorites.

By 7:30pm, the doorbell wouldn't stop ringing. Family and friends galore. Was sorta panicking, tried to stay chill and rushed the third dish, Baked Ricotta and Mascarpone Tart with Chocolate And Orange, which DJ and his great mind named "Ricarpone." Mind-blowing, I know.

Wait! They're starting to watch Wicker Park and I have to stop this 'cause Wicker Park is, really, a film adaptation of the first half of my 18th year in this world. Cheesy!

Will get back at this later.

Merry Christmas everyone! Spread the love!

Development

Nagseselos ako. Pero konte lang a. 'Di ba Jay-Ar? Hahahaha.

Haaaaaayyyy.

eeeeeennnnnnOOOUUGGH.

I shall kwento more tomorrow.

Playdate

I shall get you when we return to class.

Breaktime

Tagged by Steboy.

Five Jobs You Dream To Have In The Future
1. Army / Navy / Marine officer. Gusto ko talaga lahat yan, para triple threat hahaha.
2. Astronaut
3. Chef
4. Pro-football player
5. FA28 Ultimate Crush's boyfriend hahaha

Five Short-Term Goals
1. Enjoy the break, catch up with family and friends
2. Sleep ... relax ... do nothing ... tumunganga
3. Drive WELL
4. Make FA28 Ultimate Crush happy
5. Buy Greg's expensive shat from A/X

Five Best TV Shows in the Universe
1. Lost
2. Takeshi's Castle
3. Oh Tokyo
4. Iron Chef
5. Jamie's Kitchen

One Thing That's Not Making You Happy
Credit card bills, and the fact that they're written in such a way that no one will be able to understand them.

One Thing That's Making You Happy
That I know I got a chance!

I tag everyone.

Like, random love

Dear UP,

I miss you like hell.

Especially you, Beach House, and your son barbecue and rice.

I love you so.

Waiting

I just sent FA28 Ultimate Crush an anonymous letter, and left clues so that she'd suspect it's me.

I'm crazy.

And now ... the pain of waiting.

(I just found out she used to be a cadet officer in high school, and is a part of the Judo team. How perfect can she get!!!)

crrrAAAAAZZZZYYYYYYYY.

Ernest, you know all about this, and I swear I'd let you know whatever turns out of this kabaliwan once she hits a reply.

P.S. Sagutin mo na si * hahaha. Hirap na hirap na siyang ligawan ka e. Hahaha.

Family values

It's always great to see your family members again after a long time.

After a year and a half, I'm back here in the land of The Mom Side - here in Christmas Island, este - L.A.

OK, shucks I just googled FA28 I'll Bring You The Moon And Do Everything You Want Me To Do Just For You I Will Ultimate Crush and found photos! Excuse me, I need to take a very important break.

And we're back. Grabe, na-high ako dun a.

What I wanted to say before FA28's photos disrupted is that the past four hours have been just beautiful.

Played Xbox with cousins.
Ate loads of food and chips and drinks with the fam.
Watched the new version of Takeshi's Castle which is extremely hilarious.
Had non-stop chats with everyone, the ones with my younger cousins were my favorites.

While watching Along Came Polly on the tube with eight-year-old cousin Paolo.

James: Close your eyes, they're doing something yucky.
Paolo: Eeeewwwww.
James: Close your eyes, Paolo!
Paolo: I am!
James: No, you're not!
Paolo: Eeeeewwww, why is the French weirdo on top of the lady?
James: Ummm ...
Paolo: EEEEEWWWWW!!!

While playing Tony Hawk in Game Cube with Kevin, who's six.

Kevin: Do you get to play video games any time you want?
James: Yes.
Kevin: Unfair! Why can I play only two hours a day?
James: 'Cause you're a small boy. Now quit bumping the skateboard!
Kevin: If I go and live with you in Manila, will you let me play any time I want?
James: Yeah, of course.
Kevin: Really? Ok, I'll ask dad for permission!
James: Ummm ...

Will write a few e-mails now, then will decide whether I should write FA28 Ultimate Crush a message and send it through her Friendster account. Can you believe I created an anonymous Friendster account just to search for her? Haaayyyyy.

Thursday is Thirst Day

That's the worst blog entry title in the world.

Thursday was a big whirlwind.

Packed my suitcase in Pque noong morning, dashed to Inquirer to write stuff and then observe kiddos in the screening, then literally FLEW to UP for the lantern parade. I was 30 minutes late but thank you Lord one of the floats got stuck on the tree kaya medyo na-delay. Haha, bad.

Met up with the group mates, and wore my totally rushed headdress and mask, then went on and walked the entire oval whilst (whilst!) carrying a 500-lb. backpack with clothes, shoes, and other evil heavy stuff like books, my cousin's PS2, and the laptop. Why did I bring all these all the way to school and didn't consider dumping them in the house? Because time ran too fast leche!

The lantern parade was, in TinTin's words, REALLY O-SOME! Man, that was one of the best moments I've had in school so far.

And ... I have to talk about FA28 Ultimate Crush.

Well, she was with her "friend," whom she's always with, so I have a big big gut they're together. The whole time we were parading, we would steal glances at each other and it was fun and all, but ... damn I had the 9pm flight so I had to leave early and we never got to talk.

Fast forward to Amazing Race moment of the day. It was 8:20, and I was still on the road to the airport. Got just in time, and was even able to change clothes and shat. Lucky bastard.

Texted and called the friends, and had a medyo OA yet enlightening chat with Jay-Ar. Feeling namin we'd never see each other again, to the point of telling each other random secrets, and bilins like, "Oi don't teach Greggy yosi a!"

Great flight, because of great someone. :)

Hahaha I know I'm getting pretty manyak, I mean - loving, 'cause every where I go I find someone I really really really like.

Okay, tired of typing. Time to eat!

Why I feel really happy right now

Woke up this morning in Ence's house, which put a smile on my face. Received messages and calls about our stuff in this week's Super! which really hyped me up a lot and set a pretty good mood for the day.

Ate tocino for breakfast, as always, along with Son who caught up. Son, who just broke up with her boyfriend an hour before that was sorta trying to control her tears as she blurted out stuff like, "I wanna go to his house, punch him in the face, and kill him!" Evil, but I understand. (I understand??)

Went home, and found a family member messing with my things in my room. I asked her what the heck she was doing and she said she was fixing my stuff. I know naman that she's just looking for my private stuff but my morning was too sunny that I just told her to leave and didn't went into the whole mind your own business fight sequence.

Slept for a bit, watched Chow Time Na and Wowowee which I'm starting to enjoy (after Dre' told me that it's actually kind of fun), slept again, then drove to Greenhills. Me and Pepe decided to treat our high school mates to dinner as we celebrate our first year in Super! this week. Food was awesome, and we ate around six servings of pasta, two servings of pizzas, loads of salads, appetizers, and desserts. And a fountain of dalandan juice. Saraaap.

Conversations with The friends were hilarious as usual, as we talked about who's dating/making out with whom, who's gonna win in all those crappy reality trash, personal "issues" hahaha and the usual latest cheese meese.

Full but still feelin scandalously gluttonous, we all moved to Promenade for dessert, and dropped by at Andrew's book launch in Fully Booked. Then went on to eat and talk about more personal "issues" hahaha, problemos which were creepily "pang-college kids" like flirting in class, and blockmates you'd love to kill.

Then went with Pep and The Tim to Magnet to hear awesome music and get drunk. I thought this would be a great end to this happo day but seemed like the tide loved me and decided to make things even better. Met someone, who's just way out of my league (awwww), and then an hour ago we were talking on the phone and it was nice (awwwwwwww). I'm a happy kid. Or I'm just tipsy and just blurting out things I'm not even thinking about.

On Monday is our last FA28 class before the Xmas break. I just want to say, special classmate, that if in some weird cosmic (cosmic?) reason, you're reading this: WATCH OUT. I am gonna approach you before the class ends, and introduce myself, and I don't care if you're TOTALLY out of my league (awwwwwwwwwwwwwww). You're driving me crazy. I just can't sleep. I'm so excited. I'm ... ay olats, tama na nga.

Basta FA28 special classmate, Monday is THE day. I'm even gonna bring Je for backup in case I faint. Ay pota torpe talaga.

Amazingly I feel

Saturday was spent playing Rug for an hour, then running to Zobel for league talks which was initiated by the village's team leader. Team leader loves to pepper his sentences with the word whilst, which in a strange way, kind of made me respect him more. I mean, there are like two people in the whole country who use the word whilst, the other one being Stef, who was one gifted with stares when she randomly blurted out, "I'm working so hard on this project whilst everyone's just lazy." Spectacular.

Caught Prime for the nth time with Je then met up with the Super! kiddos Milan, Gino, Pepe, plus Liz, gorged on dimsum in Gilmore, ate dessert in Promenade, laughed and drank at Fiamma, and then had great random talks at Embassy along with Tals, Lex, and Lex' students. Packed up at 4am, to the delight of my aching body.

Two hours of sleep later, found myself in UP running around the oval for two hours whilst chanting like crazy with the org, then commuted to Zobel, played Rug, got shouted out by TJ for being late and for missing a throw TWICE, then went to TJ's house to play PS2.

And now, I'm abusing the mall's Wi-Fi capabilities and still feeling energetic. And I feel like eating tocino. We're gonna take a bite then I'll see from there.

For Love or Bunny

Talked to Mikee last night.

James: I saw Brian’s dad in Metrowalk buying DVDs.
Mikee: Really?
James: Yeah, and in a way I wanted to approach him and give him a hug to comfort him since, you know, his son’s in another country. But I decided not to. Did I make the right decision?
Mikee: No.
James: ...
Mikee: Hug him now.

James: I also saw your kuya/ate that same day by the way.
Mikee: Really? Where?
James: He/she was buying DVDs too.
Mikee: He... she.... it....
James: In a way I also wanted to approach him and give him a hug to congratulate your being DL. But I decided not to. Did I make the right decision?
Mikee: Yes.
James: ...
Mikee: If you hugged him, he would have held extra tight. Extra tighter than the usual.

Mikee: I have an idea!
James: What?
Mikee: Let’s have this WeirdoMag Party where we distribute the new issue and get drunk and shit.
James: Wow, we’re getting older, using phrases like “get drunk and shit.”
Mikee: I don’t drink, btw. I just said that ‘cause I wanted to pretend like I’m a badass.
James: Great, we can have the party at Brian’s house!
Mikee: While he’s not in the country!
James: Yes!

Then we went on talking about random crazy stuff and playing normal games like “If you were a type of (insert random food), what kind of (random food) would you be and why?” and “Let’s Randomly Blurt Out Sentences.”

We also came up with new reality shows like, “For Love or Bunny” where one chooses either love or a random box that contains either a real bunny, a battery-operated toy bunny, or nothing at all.

After a few minutes...

Mikee: College is weird. Everyone’s normal. They’re, like, afraid I’m gonna eat them.
James: Yes I know! The normal atmosphere makes us miss our loud, crazy and pretentious high school class more.
Mikee: ...
James: ...
Mikee: ...
James: Let’s play a new game!
Mikee: Yay!

Brain freeze

Currently reading:



Watership Down by Richard Adams


Currently watching:



The Apprentice First Season DVD


Currently listening to:



The Cosmic Game by Thievery Corporation

Currently lusting over:

A Mango Brutus shake. And tacos. Lord.
And In-N-Out burgers and fries and milkshakes. And we're not talking about that funny silly fake stall in Pasig right Chino?

Fred's realization of the day

Was with Fred in the MRT going to Makati. Last saw each other grad day so it was all nice. Caught up with what's happening in each other's lives and roamed around for a while.

In the train, we stood up and gave our seats. Fred, who was feeling extra-sociable, decided to converse with one of the ladies.

Fred: Miss, you can take our seats right there.
Lady: Salamat.

After two seconds ...

Fred: I'm gonna go to heaven.

Soaking up and down

School in haikus.

FineArts28

My favorite class
Because of Prof Dakila
And “special classmate”

Geography

Sir Saguin rocks yo
He’s nice and quiet and cool
Plus easy homeworks

MalikhaingPagsulat

Astig si Ser Vlad
Siya ay nakakatawa
May blog pa ang class!

http://pinoynivlad.blogspot.com/

PoliticalSci

(HAIKU DELETED)

Philo

Prof Acuna aliw (Oh look I exceeded by a syllable)
He claims he’s the inventor
Of Philo, haha

Wow, I really do suck at haikus.


Two reasons why I think Lost is driving me nuts
1. I text the girl selling Lost DVDs in Metrowalk every day to check if they got new episodes.

Our last text conversation, which happened two hours ago:

James: Hi.
Girl selling Lost DVDs: Wala pa, sorry :)

2. I have a notebook filled with my theories on the end-game, and I bring it wherever I am, in case, you know, I suddenly think of a spectacular theory in the middle of the day.


I just have to let it out, Aya

While watching Harry for the nth time

Aya: Ang galing nung actor playing Viktor Krum.
James: Bakit?
Aya: Basta kuhang-kuha niya yung pagiging Bulgarian.
James: Ha?
Aya: He looks Bulgarian, his accent's Bulgarian. Basta, yung aura niya ay Bulgarian na Bulgarian. Ang galing.
James: ...
Aya: Bulgarian kaya siya in real life?

YOU THINK??

Visit! Now!

http://happytreefriends.com

Unruly

Just when things are sailing smoothly, a nice dear friend will come ruin it all.

Migo: O, ano tinext sayo?
Me: Sabi niya, "Basta you and I against the whole world." Kinikilig ako.
Migo: You and Me Against the World? 'Di ba movie ni Kris Aquino yun?

Leche. Panira ng moment.

Quote of the Day

After telling Liz that next time I'll tell her in full detail about that day I spent with Cueshe and how down-to-earth and simple the guys are, she says...

"Haha ok! But we should keep our voices down because people might think we're Cueshe fans! Gasp!"

Rarr

I am doing this because I'm a dork. And because Nina SWEARS she'll give me a box of cheesecake if I answer this.

10 Random Facts About You
-I know a little Hungarian ('cause my lovely prof required us to learn it, in case, you know, we go to Hungary anytime soon)
-I like to cuddle
-I like to sleep
-I like the song Achy-Breaky Heart by Billy Ray Cyrus
-I like furniture
-I'm saving up for a 1958 Corvette convertible
-I'm torpe
-I got kicked out in Prep
-I like eating the sizzling tocino meal at foodcourts
-I like to sleep

9 Places You Want To Go To
-Everywhere x9

8 Things You Want To Do Before You Die
-Go skinny-dipping at midnight in the South of France
-Spend a whole day eating junk food without feeling guilty
-Catch a ball in the stands of a major league baseball stadium
-At lunchtime, sit in a parked car w/ sunglasses on and point a flashlight at passing cars
-Be a pilot
-Be a chef and own a store
-Have a little kid scream "Daddy!" when I walk through my front door
-Ride a motorcycle cross-country

7 Ways To Win Your Heart
-Tumunganga with me the whole afternoon x7

6 Things You Believe In
-Power Rangers
-Backstreet Boys
-the Mighty Ducks
-that the TV series Lost is the best thing in the whole world
-"Viva Forever" by the Spice Girls
-Superbowl's lemon chicken

5 Things You're Afraid Of
-The dancing baby from Ally McBeal
-The Alchemist, and the people who become instantly deep after reading it
-That my head will fall off and it'll roll too fast that I won't be able to catch it
-Teachers who live to confuse
-People who encourage dogs that bite

4 Of Your Favorite Items In Your Bedroom
-bed
-3 pillows (haha andaya)

3 Things You Do Everyday
-lie down
-close my eyes
-sleep

2 Things You Are Doing Right Now
-breathing
-watching TV

1 Person You Want To See Right Now
-Nina, so she can give me my cheesecake!!!

Steboy

I remember when I was about eight, and I'd always hangout with my neighbor Steve who was then 14 and was in high school. He'd bully me all the time, teach me new things, let me try out stuff. We'd always do "criminal" acts that deserved us spots in juvi, and at the end of everything we'd end up laughing so hard. He was, well, the older brother that I never had.

And there was this time last year when I got into real trouble and when he found out, he beat me up, punching me in the face so hard, telling me how dumb I was, he didn't stop till I wasn't fighting back anymore, till I was on the floor. I didn't understand it at first, but now I seem to get it.

And the first few times we drank beer together when he would teach me how to tolerate bottles and bottles, to just go and drink.

And how we spent our summers going to his school's park, playing hacky sack, then taking a nap in the dirty grass. The guard would always try to wake us up, but we'd pretend we were in deep sleep.

Steve is moving to Australia tomorrow along with his whole family. 'Pag umaalis ako for vacation, maghahatid si Steve sa airport tapos bago umalis, may kukunin siya sa pocket niya tapos papakita niya sa 'kin. Peace sign. That sounds corny but I dunno, that's what I'm gonna miss the most.

Man, you come back or I'll kill you.

And we're back in the game

After a two-week whirlwind of Rug, going out, obsessing on figuring out the endgame of Lost, and sleeping in different couches, I started getting my act together today.

Spent the morning in the grass for two hours, played really bad, the rain didn't help, got more bruised than ever, including two cuts in the face. Right after taking a shower, Mico calls.

Mico: Saan ka?
Me: *Cough* *Cough* I'm sick.
Mico: Gago, luma na yan.
Me: Saan ka?
Mico: Sa school, tara kunin natin classcards.
Me: Sige, one hour.
Mico: Ano, bakit ang tagal?
Me: Nasa Alabang ako!
Mico: Ang tagal!
Me: Ano kita, girlfriend? Huwag kang demanding.
Mico: Sige, bilisan mo.

Oh man, University Scholar ako! A nice way to end a great fun sem.

But that's not important. These conversations are more essential.

Me: Nakita ko si Champ kahapon.
Kim: Yung hamburger na mascot sa Jollibee?
Me: Um, oo.

After five minutes.

Me: Si Champ, yung may banda.
Kim: May banda na ang mga mascot ng Jollibee?

After a few seconds.

Me: Oo drummer si Hetty, tapos si Chikee sa bass.
Kim: Ang galing nun, a!

And there's more.

Nina: You two wanna go with me to the museum?
Carlos: What's in there?
Me: The usual.
Nina: Not just the usual! They have this great archeology room with an interesting cartouche flewn in from another museum abroad.
Carlos: I don't even think I can spell cartouche.

In other news, I'm traveling next week, getting myself lost in a foreign place.

Gardener

We gave you a chance
To water the plants.
We didn't mean that way--
Now zip up your pants.

Qwerty

Went to Power with Dre' and Greg today, stopped by at Zara's launch, then left immediately after getting free drinks 'cause we're cheapos like that. Ate a ridiculously expensive Japanese dinner where we had to take off our shoes and sit on nice pillows wrapped in silk, forcing us to be proper well-mannered kids. On the road to Makati, the radio played "Sakayan ng Jeep" by Nikki Gil, prompting Dre' to blurt out, "Oh man! That's like super sucky!"

Met up with Kevin, Ina, Eddie and the rest of the YeahYeahs for a few drinks and almond jelly and buchi. The night wouldn't be complete without doing something significant for the world, so Rissa initiated a game called, "If you were a dessert, what dessert would you be and why?" As you all know, this is a game that is commonly played in most social circles around the world.

Ed dropped me off at Pammy's for her birthday, and I left my gift in his car. I realized this when Pammy was opening her gifts, so I texted Ed, "Left movies in your car. Don't mess with them. Will get them tom." The gift was two of Kris Aquino's chop-chop lady massacre films, so I was confident Ed wouldn't take interest in them since, well, he can't really understand Tagalog, except for a few essential phrases we taught him like "pahingi ako," "angas mo a" and "ako magbabayad." But alas, around 2am, he calls up, "What the f? This is nuts! Crazy! Blood all over! The villain's putting the lady inside a suitcase!"

Leche pinakialamanan ang regalo.

So Pammy's birthday was fun, played family computer and ate more goood food, including a brownie with gravy on top after losing a game.

I'm sleeping now at Ed's, tired, legs aching like hell. Been feeling like this for the past three days, after started playing in the grass again. Training tom. at 7am and I'm going to wake up 'cause Rug's the best thing in the world. I swear I'm not gonna stop till I get killed on the field.

Suddenly feeling like eating dumplings and taho in DEC, and bum around in Promenade.

Grass

And the quote of the day comes from Kevin, who, after Nic attacked him and threw him to the ground during Rug, said:

"I can't feel my back and legs. I'm bulag na."

Terrorista

An hour ago I was watching Insider on ABS-CBN and they were showing a scripted terrorist attack in Fort Bonifacio High School, supposedly aimed at educating society on how to act in case terrorists bombard the city.

At first it was hysterical, as kids and teachers were running, screaming for help in the corridors, some of whom were even limping, as if their hips and legs got shot.

Then they showed kids laying flat on the floor, splattered with fresh red blood all over their white uniforms, some were dead, some were still crying softly for help.

And that’s when I thought to myself, grabe sabog ‘tong mga olats na ‘to.

It's late but we're all awake

So it's 2:41 in the morning, and let's see what's happening in our living room!

There's the TV and look, it's my favorite show in the world, Jamie Oliver on BBC Food. Apart from glancing occassionally on the screen, I'm typing this right now, and I'm half-done building a piece of furniture called a lamp table.

Wait a sec, Jamie's explaining something interesting.

And we're back. So he talked about how he cooked his first meal for his wife and how he was so bent on pleasing the girl that he prepared seven of his best dishes and the wife was like, "Jamie, I can't finish all these." Oh look, he's now making a tossed salad. Classic Jamie. I bet he's gonna put salmon there.

I'M RIGHT! He's now cutting thin slices of salmon meat and putting it on the salad. And now he's tossing it.

Meanwhile, my younger cousin Kyle is playing with my PS, which he claims is his. At first, he tells this only to his playmates next door, then what do ya know his whole class in Zobel knows that he has one, and then now when he sees me playing with it, he comes up to me and says, "Kuya, did you ask permission from me?"

He has school tomorrow but the brat is still awake.

My Tita, Kyle's mom, is playing with her kid's Gameboy Advance. She's been doing that since after dinner, and is surprisingly good at it.

My mom is playing with Kyle's other Gameboy, the new one with two screens. She is the loudest Gameboy player in the world, as she screams, jumps for joy, and brags endlessly whenever she finishes a level.

My two neighbors, Steve and Nina, are on the couch playing online games in Steboy's laptop. I love this couple, although it's almost 3am and I'm sure they got houses and couches so I wonder why they're still here. I bet those lazy asses are gonna end up sleeping there in the couch.

Before dinner, we all went to the mall nearby and spent a good two hours in the arcade.

Late Monday evenings are usually spent like this in the house, where everyone's pretty busy with really important, significant things, like video games.

hhhooooOOORRAAAYY.

In other news, tomorrow I promise to kick ass. Game na talaga.

For now, I gotta get back on this lamp table. I swear am gonna finish this before the sun rises.

Let's Blow Together

This afternoon was the first birthday of Elki, Yam’s baby boy. Yam and his production designers built safari jungle sets all over the ballroom, with all kinds of animals and the works. Amaaazing. And oh wow they had overflowin' milkshakes, snowcones (snowcones!!), and ice cream. And they had those bubble girls that Tals once told us about. They called out kids in the audience and put them inside giant bubbles. Trippy.

What made the otherwise perfect party awkward was the program host who was annoyingly (yet amusingly) gay. He was in full tour guide attire a la Jeff “I go tally THE votes” Probst, with a giant button on his left vest pocket with his name on it. With his Britney lapel mic, he is unnecessarily over-perky to the kids, and evil to his production staff as he shouts out after every dramatic spiel, “Cut the music! Cut!” or “Up mic! Down music! Down!” or “I don’t want that song. Change!”

When it was time for Elki to blow the candles on his giant cake, Mr. Host repeatedly and cheerily shouted, “Let’s blow together! Let’s blow together! Let’s blow together!” to the amusement of the dads. He also has a whistle that he uses to hum along with a song (as a result, ruining it), or to shut up the screaming kids and the chatting adults. Nuts I tell you.

The highlight of my day was of course seeing little Ella finally in person. When they call for a volunteer, she’s the first to raise her hand. She’s also the first to run onstage to get cupcakes, first in line in the dancing part, and when everyone was called for a big souvenir photo, she ran to the center and posed, positioning herself like the star that she is.

And they gave iPod Nanos, and PS2s, and watches, and phones, and cameras, which of course brought the house down, proving once again the inevitable fact that the only sure fire way to liven up a group of people is by having a raffle.

Time to get back to what I was doing a while ago. Oh wait before that, here’s what I wrote in the card on my gift.

Ey Elki. Happy 1st bday, man. I promise that when you’re six, I’ll teach you how to play rugby. And when you’re eight, I’ll read with you your first comic book. And when you turn 12, I’ll take you to your first rock concert. And when you turn 18, well, ahem ahem... your mom and dad are reading this so I’ll tell you nalang someday. Go and be an awesome kid! Kuya/Tito James.

Okay, now I can go back to what I was doing a while ago, which was absolutely nothing.

Shaturday

Saturday was really grreat. I was able to sleep well, with a dream about living on a beautiful farm in Visayas with lots of trees and grass, and having a nipa hut, and having sun-kissed kids, and and and the wife who's just really awesome. And then suddenly these police guys go inside the nipa and arrest me and take me to Manila where they lock me in jail and the presos inside kill me and eat my body. I like this. Dreams that let you eat all the ice cream you want, and then slit you in the throat.

Woke up at 2pm to eat lunch then went back to sleep again. This time, without a fun dream.

Went with Wacky to that building beside I.S. in Fort, the one with those bright royal-blue glass windows. Was glad I came, 'cause wow it was tons of fun. The people were all college kids/young pros who've gathered to talk about their plans in their lives, and the private group talk with Wacks, Monique, and Anna somehow put a direction on what I wanna do in the coming months. Will surely go back next week.

Drove to Trio for Shari's 18th birthday, which was a blast. It was awesome to see everyone again, and it's funny when you think about the soiree days when everyone would be sweating of nervousness and the atmosphere is either pa-cute or desperate. A while ago we were all just having fun and celebrating Shari's day and catching up with each other's lives, without any sign of uneasiness. Really appreciate it that Shari gave us a chance to be a part of it.

Rode with Dre and Greg going to Ernest's place for his bday, which was equally awesome, seeing highschool classmates who I haven't seen in a loong time, drinking, and laughing endlessly, talking about how we're all in different places, but we've never really changed in terms of kalokohan.

I'm sleepy now.

Ern

Ernest, a best friend, celebrated his 17th birthday a while ago.

When we were in first year, he was the first friend that I had in class. After lunch, he'd try to annoy me by sitting on my chair and refusing to leave, until the teacher enters and there I am standing up, chairless. He loved the look of desperation on my face.

The year after, some funny force made me greet him "Happy Birthday" every single day for almost a whole month. He'd giddily say thank you every single day. And whenever I'd bully him, he'd say I can't do bad stuff to him 'cause it's his bday. Oo nga naman.

And he cracks the corniest jokes and you'll laugh because, well, it's Ernest.

And we never talk about negative things, for us it's always about enjoying being a kid.

Now whenever I see Ernest in school, being one of the great guys running his org, going home real late, and hanging out with tons of girls, I see that Ernest has grown up. And become a chickboy. Ha. And he's still pretty corny like in the past. Sometimes I think about that young Ernest who'd get my seat all the time and I miss that, 'cause now we talk about mature stuff, like things in the real world. But I'm glad to see Ernest like this now, from the looks of the people around him, I'm pretty sure he's got a long way to go.

Sweet Valium High

I love my cousin. He's seven but he thinks and acts like he's four and I like it 'cause we get to do dumb stupid stuff and end up with bruises and bleeding noses. He's asleep now beside me after our routine one hour of sakitan, patayan, and rambulan which involves throwing around and destroying my Hero Clix collection. His charm and cuteness (cuteness?) make me forget about the damage and demolition done by that awesome champ, but on days when I'm sane and normal and uncheesy and I see the heads and legs of my toys cut off, I scream in my head I'M GONNA GET THAT LITTLE MONSTER AND HUNT HIM DOWN AND NEVER LET HIM SEE THE LIGHT OF DAY AGAIN!!!

Here's our deep and pang-college discussion 20 minutes ago.

Little Monster: Kuya, let's destroy your things.
Me: Sure, if your promise that after that, we'll set to fire and burn all your little truck toys!
Little Monster: No! No! If you do that, I'm going to destroy your room and when you wake up, you'll be in the floor because I destroyed your bed!
Me: If you do that, I swear I'm gonna give your Euro train collection to your playmates next door!
Little Monster: I'm going to kill you and give your body to the salesladies so they can sell you in Podium!
(In my head: Pota ang cono ng batang 'to)
Me: Who owns a Euro train collection circa 12 A.D.? Ha? Ha? Ha? You're such a dork!
Little Monster: I'm going to kill you, you stupid poopoo head!
Me: Not if I flush you in the toilet first!
Little Monster: Not if I cook you in the oven!
Me: You arrogant cannibal! I'm gonna kill you right here right now and cut you into parts and deliver them in the houses of your girlfriends! Let's see if they'll still be in love with you!
Little Monster: I'm hungry, do you have Twix in your backpack?
Me: Yea, stay right there, I'll go get them for you.
Little Monster: Yey thank you Kuya.

I love.

Will stop rambling now. Have to be at Steboy's early morning.

Shramblings

I'm now pretty low on funds, a bad time since Oct. is the month where most of my friends are celebrating their bdays. Now I miss highschool days, where I had an allowance to spend on useless, crappy things. Now where did the moolah go?

1. A month ago, I bought an iBook. I was bent on buying a model half the price, but I got a great offer from someone based in Hong Kong, referred to me by a photographer who I met in a shoot... so there I told myself, screw it all, here's the money for my Germany trip and the money for my new school and the money for my future kids' education, now give me my Hunter! Yes, it's named Hunter, the name I baptize to every single gadget/pet that I own. Tals bought her kiddo too last Monday, which is awesome, 'cause you can just imagine us giggling and talking ever so passionately like parents do about their kids when they graduate from kindergarten.

2. Putting aside some cash for shat am planning to get, aside from saving up for a trip with the Luceros. Yes, I'm gonna treat the Familia to a trip back in our paradise, an Italian restaurant with an obnoxious bartender and which serves the most awesome food and is located in the deep end of a beach on some island. I love my friends.

3. Food. Trucks and trailers of. Now heeey with this I have no problems spending loads for.

4. Been going out a lot and this is quite bad 'cause sometimes when it's 4am and I feel sooo kind and giving, I pay for the bill, and easily blow off a month's paycheck. This I promise to stop by not bringing any credit card or excess cash whenever going out. Beware friends, I've turned selfish.

5. Keeping a small box inside one of the drawers in my desk which is labeled: Para Sa Iyong Kabutihan Ito. It's paper put aside for "Condo," the short film I'm making with The Pepe (originally titled "Ritwal" but I change my mind every three minutes, what do ya know, it might be called "Bopis" by tomorrow). I'm trying to save up for one main reason: I want to feed well the people I'm gonna be working with. I swear, I'm gonna keep your belly full as a way of saying thaaank you for working with us for free.

Will get my act up in a while. Have to play and wrestle with my seven-year-old cousin.

Stolen/On the Farm

V: You go to heaven, God's there, and he says what to you?
M: He says, "You got the wrong door."
V: And you say, "Boy, it's hot in here." So how ya doin'?
M: I'm pretty good.
V: And how's the girlfriend?
M: Came home and she had a tattoo of a cat on her arm. I go out of town for a couple of days and she gets tattooed.
V: Was it a real tattoo?
M: Well, that's what I wanted to know. But I inspected it, and it's just a wash-off thing. But they look like real tattoos now.

M: So what does (job) give you that nothing else can?
V: Work. A sense of community. A place in the world. Otherwise I'd be like the 7-Eleven bandit: I'd just be getting into trouble somewhere.

V: I remember when we were last working together and you'd say, "Was that creamy?" after accomplishing a certain task. How do you know if it's a creamy one?
M: It's when you get that kind of weird tingling up the back of your neck and something unexpected happens: You lose yourself, and it stops being about hitting your mark. It just has a natural rhythm all its own, it's a feeling of getting lost for a few seconds.

M: Basically, I'm just trying to go with stuff where I feel like if I take this journey, I'm going to grow in some way.
V: If it doesn't have that, we're back to robbing banks.

Sleep/Scoop/Slash

I identify completely with the desperation that obsessed my parents. I live with it myself daily: the fear that you will be thrown back to where you started. My dad taught it to me and my mom taught it to me, and I had my own lessons. I lie awake at night thinking about it, feeling exposed, vulnerable—but feeling again the gratitude that I have what some people missed in life—a way to be happy.

I sometimes think of the day I discovered it. In the backyard of Pre-Primary Growth Center I was a lion in the nursery play, a hit in a major role performed in front of a semicircle of chairs filled with grades pre-nursery to prep and teachers and parents. On my head was a fierce cool lion hat with orange felt ears. Afterwards, wanting to continue my happiness forever, I refused to take it off. I wore it home, wore it at dinner, and in my bath, and wore it in bed that night, sitting there feeling special.

I was waiting, very excitedly, for my dad to bring up guests from the dinner gathering downstairs. I knew they would make a fuss over me, saying, “Aren’t you a darling,” and be really impressed because on my black hair was my fierce cool lion hat.

I wanted to experience again the feeling of that afternoon in front of people—the ecstatic sense that I was a lion because grown-ups were accepting me as a lion—the sense that I could say, “I want to be somebody good and walk out on stage and be the fierce cool prince,” and the world would say, “Yes, you are the fierce cool prince.”

56K Access/Happy Days

After its demolition then short stint in Wilson St., DEC is finally back in Greenhills!!!

After going home at 5:30am a while ago from a tiring tiring but great night (filled with strange music, strange phone calls, seeing great friends, seeing friends from grade school (!) and finally seeing Tals!!), I found Migo and Kate and Erin inside my room watching Malcolm in the Middle. I thought I was just dreaming, till I woke up around 10am and they were still there. We found out DEC was open so we rushed there for early morning Sunday chow and the place looks a lot better and the food is still awesome.

And now I'm really happy because today I also got an e-mail that I've been nervously waiting for. And I finished writing my stuff for next week's issue. And someone sent in stuff from my favorite place in the world.

I'm missing La Salle a lot so I'm sitting in this week at Yky's and I.M.'s classes before I finally go in a month of relaxing/doing nothing/going to random places/commuting with Jay-Ar. Which means after the sit-ins, I can go straight to DEC which is a few streets away!

Fuzz, go and have fun! Dannylicious and Little Store and more "pang-dove" people when you come back! Competitive!

Everyone, go waste time asking a chicken to do whatever you please at SubservientChicken.com!

Vacation!

As I was eating awesome chinese chow with Pammy and Pepe last night in the office, I thought to myself that I can really genuinely say that the reason why I'm doing all these is because it's tons of fun, and it's making me really happy, and I get to spend time with these great, nice people.

*

And a while ago me and Ernest did our usual Friday roam-around-eat-anywhere-talk-about-everything and we were saying that as the sem ends this week (and even if we keep on saying how we want the sem break to start) and we're going to be gone for a month, we're gonna miss every single bit about UP that we have reaaaally loved these past months.

Two Days and the Next Ones

1. A conversation with The Bowling Coach.
Coach: O, Gabrillo, two weeks ka hindi pumasok, tapos hindi ka nag-finals. Ano gagawin ko sa 'yo?
Gabrillo: Umm.. Coach 'di ba ako naman favorite mo?
C: O, ito, 1.75.
G: Coach naman, ako best player sa lahat ng classes mo. (Hahahahahahahaha)
C: So?
G: E 'di i-pull up mo naman yung grade, sige na Coach kahit konti lang.
C: O sige. Ito, 1.0.
G: Wow, ayos!!!! The best ka talaga!!! (Hahahahahaha)
C: Pero hindi ko ibibigay sa 'yo ito ngayon. Bibigyan kita ng isang linggo simula sa Lunes--kailangan mahanap mo ako sa buong UP. Kung nagawa mo yun, ibibigay ko sa 'yo itong uno mo na class card.
G: ...

So yes, that's what I've been doing for the past two days. I've been harrassing guards, other coaches, and strangers to TELL ME WHERE DIZER IS!!!!! Migo and Abi have been tagging along in this search, and I'm really extremely thankful. Pepe said in his blog that UP has a way of kicking you in the ass. Haha I guess this is mine, and I wanna fight back!!

PLAN B is to find out his cellphone number and then Abi texts him that she need his help for an "emergency."

Tapos bigla palang he's on vacation.

2. Went inside the Big Brother house with Fuzz and the director, who's an awesome person. It was extremely surreal. Everything is set-up well, and the whole production's really great. It's cool how we're able to appreciate the show much more after seeing how it all works.

Sorry too lazy to resize right now.

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3.It's Tuesday night and I'm studying for a Thursday exam. Huwaw. That's a first this schoolyear.

4. Me and Anna are joining a quiz bee tomorrow. Hahahahaha oh wow. How nerdy can this week get.

5. Because this Friday is the last meeting for Math class, I'm forced to be brave and to finally approach someone in the class that I like. WATCH OUT! Hahahaha.

WEIRDOMAG

Mumball

Right now in here in Nina’s house is a small gathering of people that I really really love. Drinks, isaw, tapsilog, DVDs, cuddling and awesome conversations about diverse topics—and one of them’s still bugging me right now. Wacks told us a few minutes ago, “So I was reading Newsweek a while ago and apparently we live in a culture that values not only youth but also growth and development, and believes that this growth continues throughout life. Isn’t this all crap?”

Wacks, you’re right, it’s crap. The word “growth” is most accurately used to describe physical growth. To use it in the way that Newsweek suggests is an abstraction, not to mention a delusion. A construct grounded in wishful thinking, betraying the basest sort of longing. Physical growth is real. Children start out very short and get taller. They literally grow up. Their feet get bigger. Their arms get longer. Their teeth come out. New teeth come in.

Endless growth, like endless youth, is not to be found in nature. We live in an era enthralled by nature, obsessed by it, worshipful of it, yet at the same time entirely unwilling to accept its reality. If nature is not reality, then what is? Perhaps it is not really nature that people love. Perhaps it is not really love. Perhaps it is a myth. A canard, a fairytale, a lie.

You cannot kill an elephant. An elephant. We now value elephants very highly. Because we’re not allowed to kill them, we can’t use their ivory to make piano keys. We have to keep them, even though, in my opinion, for the elephant it could only be considered a step up to become a piano. You cannot make a piano out of an elephant anymore. To me it is testament to man’s ingenuity and inventiveness that we ever thought to make a piano out of an elephant to begin with. I personally know that if I had looked at an elephant I would not have seen a piano. I’m grateful to the person who did. This is what humans are for, to see an elephant and make a piano.

We now live in an era where you’re not allowed to make a piano out of an elephant. That we could ever could, I’m awe-struck. That we no longer do, I’m sunk in despair. An elephant should be happy that it can even be a piano. I personally do not think an elephant would ever have thought to make a piano out of man.

Do we prohibit the killing of elephants because we love elephants so much? Because we love nature so much? Because we loathe pianos? Or because when it comes to nature we have decided to make certain selections so unnatural that they come close to achieving the condition of art? We love elephants in their natural state, but abhor people in theirs.

People wholly unable to form a single coherent notion seem to have no trouble at all entertaining diametrically opposed points of view. Save the whales, get rid of the gray. Old-growth forests, new-growth hair. Organic tomatoes, silicone breasts.

Perhaps it is not really the elephant’s life span that concerns us. Perhaps we have decided that it is easier to deal with the elephant’s mortality than it is to deal with our own. It is, after all, easy enough not to kill an elephant. You simply have to not kill an elephant.

What could be simpler? What could be more humane? What could be a greater tribute to our empathy, our compassion? All of which we have for elephants, none of which we have for ourselves. Gray, wrinkled, hardly lithe, the elephant is a thing of beauty, the first wife, a thing of the past.

I’m just mumbling here, or I just really drank a little too much.

Time to watch the 10 Things I Hate About You DVD!

Heroes/Misfits

Have you ever wondered how yesterday’s heroes will move through today’s world?
I’m scattering ten of my one million favorite misfits/heroes of all time.
A new kind of soapbox for the historically thwarty.

Gertrude Stein
Always the hostess, cubist writer, and literary leading lady, turned her Paris home into a Mecca for experimental artists and writers, survived Nazi persecution

Nelson Mandela
Previously serving an indefinite jail sentence for his fight to end apartheid in South Africa, awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 1993, first democratically elected South African president

Kurt Cobain
Born in ’67, took adolescent angst and anguish to the bank after birthing the grunge-rock decade, swallowed lead and died at the mythical rock-star age of 27

Mahatma Gandhi
A misfit within today’s hyperactive, reactive, violent, and overactive society, separated himself from the masses through passive resistance and nonviolent force

Salvador Dali
Spanish painter of the surrealist movement, some questioned the soundness of his mind, but I completely think otherwise

Rosa Parks
Known as the “Mother of the Civil Rights Movement,” Parks paradoxically made a stand by sitting, refusing to move to the back of the then-segregated Birmingham, Alabama bus

Nina Simone
Musical misfit and diva, cannot be classified in one genre, used anti-racist energy to charge her voice into overdrive

Abbie Hoffman
Frequently rebelled against corporate culture and the Vietnam War, led 50,000 people to surround the Pentagon to try to make it levitate, later arrested for selling cocaine, went on the lam, had plastic surgery to evade capture, wrote a book designed to be stolen

Henry Miller
Author of Tropic of Cancer and Tropic of Capricorn, plus Sexus, Nexus, Plexus trilogy, his erotic works were banned in the US for nearly 30 years, but eventually hailed for their literary merit

Joe Strummer
Front man of the Clash, brought a political consciousness to punk, fused ska with hard rock, rocked against racism, was the White Man in Hammersmith Palais, will be greatly missed

I’ll Give You Hands-Free

Majority of the days of the past two weeks, I’ve intentionally left my cell phone in a drawer in that desk inside my room. And it felt incredibly relaxing—it was great to say, “I am not available.” No tone, buzzer, or bloody tinny rendition of a pop hit disturbed my serenity. When I was happily strolling through the school’s greens, watching a movie, or Sato crash into Schumacky’s Ferrari, taking the train or a bath, I was not available. When I was eating, drinking, cuddling, thinking, I was not disturbed by a random pal sending me a rainbow quote. I just realized that what can be so urgent that it cannot hold on until I have returned to base? And this isn’t about not wanting to be a technophobe: I’ve an e-mail address; I’ve recently started the Mac habit and a bunch of useful digital devices, but enough—I’ve decided I will resign from the 24-hour surveillance.

Were I to rob a few banks or mug a couple of pensioners in some First World bla, chances are a judge would decide that I am a menace to society and must have an electronic tag put around my leg to track me wherever I go. Well, a mobile phone is little more than a self-elected tracking device, for which you pay a bill at the end of the month. It’s easy—any time, anywhere, everybody’s got your number, you’re always on call. If you’re a call boy, doctor, drug dealer or drone, sure, you need a mobile. If not, then join me and let us declare our independence by cutting the string to our personal cocoa tin.

My main objection to mobiles is that they have become a shrill interjection into precious time off. But there are plenty of other reasons to feel superior for not succumbing to this tawdry invention. Do you know how silly we all look walking down the street mumbling to ourselves like lunatics? Do you know how rude it is when somebody interrupts a face-to-face conversation with a real person to talk to a machine?

Yes, there’s an off button, but do we ever use it? How much grief do we get for having our tracking device switched off when somebody “important” wants to contact us? I was telling all this to Sab a while ago and she asked me, “What about emergencies?” If I were planning to climb an untamed Andean peak, then I would take some kind of communication device with me. But a stroll along the street is not a threatening experience, where you have to report back every few minutes. I’m doing this because I think I’ve fallen into the trap. If the mobile is such a vital, life-saving tool, how were people able to get through life unscathed 15 years ago? Deep down, I know that my phone is just another way of making my work longer and harder, keeping me in touch and in line. Another buckle of the straitjacket.

So let’s screw it and be happy!

Slinky-Hipped, Sleazy-Poetic

I finished watching MYSTERIOUS SKIN with Carl, Lala, and Rain two hours ago. When the credits started rolling, you could not feel or hear anything inside the room. This went on for about 15 minutes, and even when Lala broke the silence with, “Oh my god! Oh my god!”—we still felt that it would take so much effort to get back to steady mode.

I cannot tell you really how much it has affected me. The best grabe. Try to get a copy and don’t miss it.

Ron The Tube

We did a rewording exercise a while ago in class. I know, exciting nu?

(Hearing Prof's voice in my head: "More Pinoy! I want it more Pinoy this time!")

This is what I chose. If you've read this already, then hop and go watch Chan.72. Enjoy!

How sitcom dads make all men look bad

I was watching a DVD of the third season of Malcolm in the Middle and in one episode, Malcolm's father dreads visiting his own family so much that he wets the bed. Dominated by both wife and children, the affable wuss has finally plucked up the courage to confront his own unapproachable father and demand that they have the first serious conversation of their lives. At this point, his father suggests that they consult "Mister Tickle" and begins working his fingers around his 40-something son's rib cage, until the "kid" collapses in paroxysms of laughter. The bed-wetting scene follows shortly thereafter.

Any man who identifies with this guy's plight is probably not going to enjoy reading this. Not today, not in the coming months, not ever. Fussbudgets, nerds, and men resembling Adam Sandler in Anger Management should look for their laughs elsewhere. This is aimed at boys who enjoy being boys, who do not apologize for being boys, and who are in full control of their urinary tracts. It is not aimed at Neanderthals, survivalists, or bullies. But it is certainly not aimed at guys who wear sun hats, carry walking sticks, and rent Meg Ryan movies to keep peace in the family. Men who have been domesticated, defanged, pacified, or gelded should read somebody else's work in some other class.

And that starts with the guys who write Malcolm in the Middle. Why do I make such a big deal of it? Because popular culture surreptitiously frames values and popularizes repugnant stereotypes. Gangsta rap fosters negative views of young black men, Christina Aguilera's videos present the slut as a positive female role model, and Malcolm in the Middle depicts fathers as castrated dinks who are emotionally unequipped for adult life. If Malcolm were the only enormously popular television program to do so, this incident would hardly be worth mentioning. Yet it is not the only one. It isn't the only enormously popular television program to depict fathers as castrated dinks in sitcoms available in Starworld, available for download or available in Metrowalk.

That same night I watched the knucklehead father in King of the Hill get forced to ride bitch by his overbearing wife as they motored out of the annual biker rally in Sturgis, South Dakota. Take that, Lorena Bobbitt! Meanwhile, Homer Simpson was making a fool of himself at rock 'n' roll fantasy camp, much to the amusement of his family. And over on The King of Queens, Jerry Stiller, playing a revolting father-in-law, was reviving his addiction to nasal sprays while his son-in-law was in therapy, dealing with his porcine eating habits. In each of these cases, the matriarchal figures came off as being strong, resourceful, and intelligent, while the fathers were pathetic schmos. The fact that most TV programs are written by young men suggests that a lot of TV writers have serious emotional issues. Or they have serious schmucks for fathers.

Let me make it clear right up front that I do not expect television to perfectly reflect society. I recognize that television, for purposes of entertainment, regularly showcases characters that are crude parodies of real human beings: the hideous monsters on Buffy, the venomous psychopaths on Arrested Development, Paris Hilton and Jessica Simpson.

Look at virtually any sitcom, drama, or animated feature on television today and you will find a dope, a dork, or a doofus vainly trying to run the family. On That '70s Show, Kurtwood Smith plays a brain-dead couch potato and all-purpose prick who takes every opportunity to make his son feel like an idiot. And on Everybody Loves Raymond, Ray Romano plays a slightly out-of-touch, ferociously passive father whose popularity is largely based on the fact that he does not seem terribly bright. Meanwhile, his father has spent 70 years on the planet without learning anything useful he can pass on to his son.

It is true that the useless, disoriented, or cretinous father has long been a fixture of prime-time television. But these failed fathers were not all on the airwaves at exactly the same moment. Today, whenever you turn on the television, some lard-ass numbskull is trying to extricate himself from some ridiculous predicament while his bright, unexpectedly gorgeous spouse looks on. Strongly suggesting that the only way to land a smart, beautiful wife is to be a fat, dopey loser. I thought the catchphrase was good in bed, not food in bed. And that was a very corny joke, yes.

In saying all this, I do not wish to create the impression that I pine for the days of yesteryear, when dreary, pious programs like The Brady Bunch disseminated their cornball homilies to an unsuspecting public. But what I do wish is that perhaps the solons who run the industry might adopt a gender-balancing policy stipulating that if every program has to portray the father as a ding-dong, the show should also depict the mother as a slut. Fair is fair.

Are there any prominent series that do not feature the father as fuck-up? Probably 7th Heaven, but I'd rather watch Oprah while the Taliban went to work on the crown jewels with electric prods than look at that creepy show.

Psyched!

Movies I Watch On a Bumday

Scoot and get copies too!

L4YER CAKE
After a thousand Lottery-funded disasters, a Brit gangster film you’d actually pay to see. Expect the usual—jaded drugs dealer takes on one last shot with energy and an unflinching eye. Great.

SHAOLIN SOCCER
High-energy football/martial arts silliness. Kung fu student trains up football team on Shaolin lines. Will they trash Team Evil (yes, really) in the Super Cup final? Amazingly, you’ll actually care.

SAW
Two men captured by a serial killer are told to fight to death or they both get the chop. Oh, and they’re manacled to the floor with nothing but handsaws for company. Sadistically brilliant.

THE FORGOTTEN
There’s barely enough plot to fill an episode of The X-Files, but if you’re missing Mulder and Scully and you’d like to kill 90 minutes with a mix of mind-games and fuck-me shocks, you’re in luck.

CONSTANTINE
Demons are loose and only Neo can cross between the real world and the hellish Matrix to stop them. Oh facuck, that’s another film. Not that Keanu noticed. Weisz is great; it looks amazing; makes no sense at all.


Club-by-Club Round Up of the Season Ahead

Up the Arse
Arsenal
It’ll be tough, but winning every game one-nil should bring a glorious quadruple while having their entire team banged up—apart from goodie two-shoes Henry. However, I expect Graham Poll would somehow contrive to send him off at Old Trafford, where we’ll have to make do with a nil-nil draw and a couple of slices of pizza.

The Liverpool Way
Liverpool
Will probably do a hell of a lot better than last season—they won’t allow finishing below Everton again. Mourinho needs bringing down a peg or two, and at least he won’t be able to keep calling himself the ‘European Champion.’

There’s Only One F in Fulham
Fulham
No one’s expecting ‘little old Fulham’ to take the Premiership by storm, but they underperformed badly last season. They should hold their own, if the talent isn’t sold off this summer. Because of the ridiculous financial clout and bullying, they’d probably love to see Chelsea self-implode.

Winner!
Chelsea
Will walk away with the title, probably win the European Cup, as well as the FA Cup and hold on to the League Cup. It would be nice to see Carlo Cudicini come on in the finals so he gets some winner’s medals. They’re not looking forward to Liverpool away—40,000 Scousers with high pitched voices screaming and bleating on about winning the Euro Cup five times (yawwwn).

Rad Red
Manchester United
They have the ability to go on lengthy unbeaten runs but they’re unpredictable these days. They need Roy Keane’s doppelganger now and Chelsea to go bankrupt.

A Love Supreme
Sunderland
Anything above 17th place will be like winning the league for them. Nobody is under any illusions that they’re going to have an easy ride in the Premiership, and the bookies are reflecting that by making them among the favorites to go down. They’ve got a decent squad, but they need new signings to improve for the top flight.

Who will win the FA Cup?
Chelsea
Man United
Arsenal
Liverpool
Everton
Man City

Which gaffer will get the chop first?
Graeme Souness
Alan Pardew
David O’Leary
Martin Jol
Sir Alex Ferguson

Smooth Rubber Sole

As a young boy, I had a shoe fetish. To cut myself some slack, my shoe thing wasn’t as bad as the crazy sex-fetishist, but getting a new pair of sneakers was so stimulating to me, so exciting, that I could barely contain myself. I would bring the new sneakers home, lock myself in my room, and for hours my hands would examine, like a crazed connoisseur, the unmarked soles—and all the while I’d be tingling madly.

Over the months to come, I would examine the soles, watching them as they degraded over time, their little crevices and swishes and jagged edges reduced to smooth flat rubber.

I guess I was so into it because of the tactile part: I loved the rubber, the feel of it. Why, I don’t know, but I may have been learning how to use my sense of touch, the way we learn what we like to eat by tasting different kinds of food. And I must have loved that bouquet, because I associated it with the tremendous feeling of hope that came with new sneakers—that with this pair I would run faster, have greater adventures, more fun.

Like most kids today, I took my identity from my sneakers, whether, depending on the year, they were Keds, Pumas, Adidas, or Nikes. With my “cool” sneakers, I could face the world. They were both my shield and—if I needed to flee—my means of escape. It is the childhood version of the way twentynothings judge themselves and others by the cars they drive.

But other people didn’t perceive my sneakers the way I did. I vividly remember one time when I was in Grade 5 playing tennis—one-on-one—with the best player in the batch. He was a brutish fellow and he was surprised at how well I played—I was in the honors class, despite all the hours I spent feeling sneakers—and he jockishly complimented me, “Hindi ko alam na ganito ka pala kagaling.”

I was surprised by his surprise. I thought he should have noted before we began playing that I was wearing my special Adidas sneakers with their green and white stripes, and that this should have indicated to him, despite my geek/nerd reputation, that only a good player would have such sneakers. In response to his backhanded compliment, I said, “Hindi mo ba nakita yung sneakers ko?”

He simply looked at me like I was nuts.

You’re a boy. You have hobbies and passions. Under no circumstances share them with women

The first time I took a girl to watch Rugby in Laguna, someone hit her hard at the back of her head. It was a horrible, hot, dry evening in late summer, one of those days when you wish you were born almost anywhere in the world except ‘Pinas. Even Syria. The opposition was ISM, the final score was 0-0 and, as I said, someone hit my love’s head. Worse than that, I think she expected me to do something about it—remonstrate or something. But at Rugby in Laguna you don’t remonstrate about anything. You just get on with life and all that it throws, or hits, at you. There’s no point to complaining.

The last time I took a friend to watch Rugby, there was no hitting. The club has changed its image. So we were hit-free. It was a viciously hot, horrible, dry afternoon in mid-November. The opposition was Xavier. And the score was, naturally, 0-0.

It almost wasn’t 0-0, though. Midway through the second half Xavier should have had a penalty, but the referee missed it. What happened was this. One of Xavier’s irritating, perky, little forwards (who’s now my seatmate during Linggwistiks class) burst through into the area and our lumbering hapless defender kicked the shit out of him, then took out a machete and flailed at his neck and then shot him three times in the back and spat upon his cold corpse.

OK, so I exaggerate. But not by much. Clearly the ref thought a penalty would spoil the thematic trope of cumulative, unrelieved, mind-numbing tedium. Or maybe he wasn’t watching the game but was instead transfixed by the girls seated on the side, pretending to be interested.

My older friends keep on telling me that it’s no use trying to get women interested in the things that matter to you. They won’t understand. No sexual deviation or perversion you might wish to inflict could possibly bamboozle or horrify them more than Rugby in Laguna. You could urge them to go with you in a rakrakan to the max mosh and they’d probably object but, even so, they would probably get the point, however repellent it might be. But our little interests, our little hobbies, our weird obsessions, our boy stuff: that’s private and should remain so. The best thing we can do is keep them hidden from view and even, at times, deny that they exist at all. But we blunder ahead regardless, certain that the very thing they find attractive about us is the very thing, in fact, they’d rather not know about. “Love me,” we whisper tenderly over the beer, “love my incipient autism.”

Here are some more consuming obsessions that I would personally not tell a girl about: membership in the local Dragon Boat team; addiction to Knoxville’s Jackass; anything to do with table tennis, or racecar driving, or rubber shoes, or pet fish, or the complex processes by which one might accumulate a large sum of money. Computers.

And of course the reverse is true, too. I read somewhere once that gender differences in the behavior of children as little as three weeks old have been detected. Baby boys will exhibit enthusiasm and excitement when shown what we might call things on a television screen: railway locomotives, airplanes, footballs, a PS2 running Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas etc. Whereas little baby girls become animated and beside themselves with interest when shown what we might call people. In other words, the sort of stuff that interests us in later life is hot-wired and very, very different for men and women. Your girlfriend’s equivalent to your Hero Clix collection is, in fact, her best friend—probably that sarcastic beeyatch who is forever sending your girlfriend text messages which she won’t show you. You should no more be expected to share to her affection, or interest, than she should be expected to watch Rugby in Laguna on a filthy afternoon in April. Or sit rapt to attention listening to Fat Boy Slim.

Way Ahead

Is Roger Federer the best player ever?



It’s the way he wins, as much as the fact that he keeps on doing it, which has earned Federer the awed respect he currently commands. At 23 his shot-making is flawless: his game has no obvious weaknesses. Coincidentally or not, he is the only ranking player who doesn’t use a coach, having fired Peter Lundgren in Dec 03, just before he won the Australian Open.

Federer’s is not a power game: he can’t match Roddick’s 150mph serve, he doesn’t bother with double-handed ground strokes and he says he feels a lack of killer instinct at the net. But as anybody who watched him obliterate Roddick in the Wimbledon final knows, Federer is the most gracefully aggressive player on the international circuit today.

His “inner game” has drawn as much praise recently as his precision stroke play. Big crowds, big matches, big points—nothing seems to faze the guy.

In GQ Sport he says, “The mental aspect of my game is a huge advantage and it used to be a huge disadvantage, because I used to be very impulsive on court, screaming, shouting, throwing the racquet. I had to figure that out. My low was very low. I knew I was losing too much energy acting that way. I had to take time, you know. Become a man.”

Screw it



I heard in a forum that was aimed towards educating first-time voters yesterday that one should vote for the Government and if not satisfied, march against it. They call it the big antiwar demo “democracy in action”—as if voting were not. But the truth is that both demonstrations and elections are definitive of modern democracy in that millions of people say what they want, and are ignored.

Everything now seems a long way from the dawn of democracy, when the heads of every Athenian household would walk down the marketplace to debate whether or not to build a theatre or go to war with Sparta. If they’d known that within 3,000 years the process would have been reduced to a system by which people vote for shit they don’t want and then grumble about it, I doubt they’d have bothered.

To be honest, I just wouldn’t vote. Not because there’s no one good out there, but because democracy is a lot of bollocks. Altruists whinge that it’s our duty to vote ‘cause most people aren’t lucky enough to live in a democracy and we have to support it, but that’s crap.

Democracy is a culturally loaded construct in whose name the worst evils have perpetrated. It is something America wants to foist on other countries against their will so as to implant friendly administrations that will provide cheap oil. Iraq doesn’t want democracy. It doesn’t know what it wants. That’s why 111 parties stood in its general election. The Sunnis, who didn’t bother to vote, are ahead of us in political thought because they knew they were a minority and couldn’t win—so why be implicated in a Shia hegemony that wants to slaughter them? They have no interest in our stupid system of elected dictatorships.

Communism is routinely assumed to have failed. But democracy has also failed, if a bit less spectacularly. As the man said (I forgot which man), “Marxism was too good an idea to be wasted on a lot of drunken Russians”—and democracy was too good an idea to be wasted on us.

Jesse and Celine is forever, even if love ain’t.

I remember watching Before Sunrise with someone who kept grabbing me in there. “You’re like dessert,” she whispered in my ear as Jesse tells Celine, “I don't know, I think that if I could just accept the fact that my life is supposed to be difficult. You know, that's what to be expected, then I might not get so pissed-off about it and I'll just be glad when something nice happens,” and I thought, “Hey, this is awesome but stop mashing it.” When Celine says the line, “I like to feel his eyes on me when I look away,” she suggested that we fool around. It made me furious. She had no notion of the gift I was opening up to her, a real window to my soul. Before Sunrise for Christ’s sake: one of the pop-culture cornerstones that make up my id. I could have played her Heart-Shaped Box by Nirvana, loaned her The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger, taken her to see The Sketch by Victorio Edades, which, as a little boy at the National Museum, I stood before, transfixed.

Some people fear that they are no more than the sum of their cultural reference points: the books read, films seen, the posters on the walls, and records on rotation. I am happy to admit this. What then remains for a Dracula of pop culture when love is over? What of the books loaned, the records recommended? What gets passed to the next lover, what gets sold for cash at a garage sale? When a relationship ends, I sell none of it, filing it all away for future reference, marveling at how the most dreadful person can turn you on to the most beautiful music or film. These gifts, given in ego—this is me, this is me, have some more of me—are like transferable tattoos. These books and videos, they are stronger than those ephemeral fights, even the ephemeral fucking.

Years after the grabber, I was with a girl younger than me, and I wanted her to see the film with me before we parted. I sat next to her and watched her face as she watched. We did part ways that week, as I sensed we would, and as sad as I was, I was never sorry that I had introduced her to that film. She was special enough and sensitive enough. She understood what I was giving her. When the Dalai Lama dies a new one is born the same day. She became, in my head, the Dalai Celine. It has been a year since it ended with the Dalai Celine. She gave me a lot of music, turning up on my doorstep flushed with excitement, carrying a Tower Records bag. For the first three months after the breakup I kept the CDs she gave me hidden in a cupboard, then moved them like a premature baby first to the nursery and then “home,” the shelves above my desk: More Parts Per Million by The Thermals. Guitar Romantic by Exploding Hearts. Fever to Tell by Yeah Yeah Yeahs.

It amazed me, as it always had, that there could be so much out there I had neither heard nor heard of before my lust introduced me to it. It can feel frightening at first—if there are so many records I didn’t know about, perhaps there are whole worlds out there, too—yet, when lust is over, it becomes comforting. Perhaps there are whole worlds out there.

Once upon a time my buddy Steve made the world’s most halfhearted attempt to kill himself over a girl: eight aspirin pills and a long sleep. When he woke up, me and our friend Diego, took him to Le Ching where he ate five platters of hakao. Steve introduced me and Diego to Bruce, the archetype of masculinity. We’d come to his house and we’d lie in the couch and watch Springsteen concert films and he’d sigh, “I love you, Bruce!” then turn to us: “Not in a gay way. I just want to hug him.”

The three of us were going to take a road trip, listening to Springsteen on repeat, but we ended up taking the trips alone. I have no idea what happened, but Darkness On The Edge of Town still makes frustration and sorrow turn, in my mouth, to a smooth beer, swirled, enjoyed, wallowed in. And on the cover of the record, which hangs in my bedroom, Bruce looks, with his dark curly hair and white V-neck T-shirt.

It feels very different when the parting is acrimonious. What I would give—a Shylock’s lump of flesh—to take back having played Darkness on the Edge of Town to that tart who squirmed during Before Sunrise.

When someone you love dies, it is common to take on some of their traits in order to keep them alive. The loss of love is like mourning, instead of tics you keep the records, books, movies.

The girl, who if such things exist, was the love of my life, gave me nothing. No books, no records, although she always promised to. I had no cultural help. All I had was her. I could not understand it when it ended. There was no Franz Ferdinand to help me, no Marillion, no unsung Altman movie. Well, there’s one thing: one night when we were about to watch Before Sunrise she ran out to pick up two tubs of FIC avocado ice cream at the convenience store that I had passed a hundred times but never entered. “You’ve never had a FIC avocado ice cream?” she gasped. When her sister was pregnant she became addicted to the stuff. She did midnight runs for her and now she was doing them for me, who was trying very hard not to fall but still grateful for ice cream in May. She brought it back and we watched Before Sunrise, at the end of which she turned to me and said, “I want to make love to you when you’re 80.” She had put her finger on my fixation with the movie, which is quite simply: “Isn't everything worth doing in life a way to be loved a little more?”

The last night we spent together she walked me from one stall of FIC to another, downing three cups in one hour. In her frozen frenzy she was painting herself as a girl who consumes, who takes what she wants when she wants it, who throws caution to the wind. She is none of these things. But here, in a tiny gesture, she offered a vision of how our relationship could have been.

Movies, books, and records, fixed, pinned like spiders, unchanging and serene, are never going to melt. Thinking of her I take just a few licks of a FIC—it is enough, it is too much—and then throw it in the trash. Jesse loves Celine. There. So I’ll always know where it is.

Saturday

After watchin' Bewitched and rummaging the streets in pursuit of, umm, a convenience store, Michael and I went to Twin Towers for Nic's despedida party before he leaves for Amsterdam on Wednesday. I’m glad I did—the crowd was the best, met a lot of friends, and the beer the beer!

Thanks to Joel for all the photos.

A Post-It

For two buddies: Thank you for making my life awesome these past few days. More adventures!


For you: Better be fo real. ;) (Subtitle: Please don’t mess with me.)

Totally Random

Last Saturday’s Super revelry was awesome. Check out the stories and photos of Fuzz and Pammy! Now!!

The last week has been incredibly amazing, exhausting, creepy, and unbelievably wild.

Friday was Film class midterms, which was four hours long! It was grueling and shaat but I enjoyed and learned loads of stuff. It was one funny sight when our class emerged from the basement classroom—with everyone looking so intoxicated yet relieved that it was all over.

I used up a total of two bluebooks, two pens, four long bond papers, and six pages of yellow pad for illustrations. It was a fun test to take, often blitzed by errant questions like, “Rewrite the ending of Ging (plot: young little girl, poor family, sings and dances, gets discovered by some lady, catapults to stardom, and blah-di-blah), with Ging turning out to be a lesbian kid and Michael Jackson flying in from the U.S. to kidnap her.” I’M NOT KIDDING. It was crazy.

That night went to Fuzz’ Mild Seven party in Manila DJ Club. I didn’t know what to expect, so imagine how hyped-up I was with what turned out to be a raaaaaad night with great people. Check out Manila’s Most Stylish’s blog for the photos and buzz. O ha.

Thank you to Gino, Lizette, Jenna, Vic, Celine, and Marco for the great stories, frenziedly random laughter, and dandy drinks.

So many discs, so little time

V.A.
The Agents of Impurity


Inside a package that looks like a 7’ single, I found a bootleg and a CD, both curated by Kenneth Goldsmith, creator of the online resource www.ubu.com. It’s about words, or non-words, maybe about poetry, although it seems to me that poetry has always been one of the most difficult things to define. Maybe ‘cause it’s not just about definition, too free to get stuck in some common form. So even typescript numbers on paper, or forming questions like “Did your ears pop?” “Who took my toothbrush?” “When is a question a form of order?” can seem new, when they’re handled carefully. About my ears, yeah, they popped, ‘cause they were tickled by people like Antonin Artaud, Vito Acconci, Dokaka, Niel Mills… Stoppin’ now, don’t want to give away too much.

Rusty Santos
The Heavens


Before I start talking about The Heavens, let me ask you this: what do you think about a fashion brand starting a music label? You might be thinking that it would be just too fashionable, that they should keep on doing clothes and not stick their noses into what is maybe not their cup of tea. But you need to know that United Bamboo (the NY fashion brand) is as good a diligent dilettante as they are at what they’re already famous for. The Heavens, a third album by Rusty Santos—mostly famous for his collaboration work with Animal Collective—is a dry, dusty, gently dizzying lo-fi/analog drift. A new kind of cowboy is born—the one who sat by the peyote.

Will update in a few with last night’s wickedly bang-up thump!

Passing By

I really really feel like writing a loooong entry about everything that's happening in the past week but it's 11:30pm and I have to do my Math homework! Rarr I'm such a good schoolboy.

Just came from Taft, interviewed Sandwich, Twisted Halo, omg Cambio, Silent Sanctuary, and omg omg Sugarfree. Tonight, more than any other, I felt like that kid in Almost Famous--following around those music gods with a recorder, pen and paper. In the next two nights, I'm gonna be doing the same thing and I'm just totally overwhelmed.

Everything has been pretty crazy these past weeks and I'm just really having loads of fun. Everyone has been so nice, every piece seems to fit just right.

Saturday was just awesome and I'm gonna try to write about it here next time.
Thank you thank you thank you for making that night memorable, you know who all of you are. Hope to see all of you soon!

Rush Update!

I'm so excited for Choco Factory tomorrow and last week was awesome 'cause I saw my batchmates and it was really great and some of those that I don’t even know started asking me how I was and it was just great and seeing all my classmates and signing each other’s yearbooks and chatting about the usual and seeing La Salle which still looks outrageously awesome and I got a new original DVD of Orange County and I was f-ing sick last week and I went to the office heavily drugged—ended up not writing anything but it was fun ‘cause we laughed so hard talking and eating Embassy food and I cut two classes because I wanted to watch Rockstar INXS and Southpark and last Sunday I was supposed to watch Wedding Crashers with the YeahYeahs but I didn’t ‘cause I stayed at home and watched Alonso die on the tracks (no championship points at all!!) and I just got a text from someone and now I’m really happy and today my Math teacher approached me after class and she gave me Nick Hornby’s 31 Songs which is the most awesome book in the world and now I have to run and walk outside and I wanna eat vanilla ice cream and WATCH CHARLIE AND THE CHOCOLATE FACTORY!!!!!! THAT’S SIX EXCLAMATION POINTS!!!

Geek Galore!

This morning, Steve, Gisa and I got dough for a work we sold in eBay. So after running to the bank to get our earned dinero, we divided to get our personal share and decided to spend all of it!

I spent most of the cabbage on books... (Geek!)


I lost my copy and I didn’t want to pass out on buying a discounted one—priced only at two hundred ninety-nine effing pesos! O ha!


Again, lost my first copy (a Bloomsbury!) just after passing the half-way mark. Because of this, I left Lorenz lining up alone for the 6th book last week—which he describes as “lining up kasama ang mga makukulit na may crush kay Harry.”


Awesome true story about Bono's school friend living in the shadows of superstardom.


Ha! Leisure reading at its best!


Palahniuk as tour guide in offbeat, historic Portland, the town he calls "the most cracked of the crackpots."


Also got the back issue of the German edition of GQ Cars for a hundred bucks!


...and a 2001 issue of F1!

Look what they sent me and Pepe in the office last Thursday!

Read it here.

Geek sketch!


Gotta run, we got to buy tickets to the last screening of Herbie: Fully Loaded haha!

I! Got! My! Copy! Today!

The book that was due out May but, umm, wasn't 'cause of printing machine ef-ups is finally here!



Joel drove by La Salle near midnight last Wednesday to steal his copy before his flight... and started texting us stuff that made us way giddy to see a copy.

So during break from classes today, I ran to La Salle and got my copies too!

The DVD is coming in a few weeks!
Why wait for it?
-more photos!
-all the class music videos featuring the original songs of each class!
-a great DVD case!
-an awesome selection of music, from Dave Matthews to Gwen Stefani! To Britney Spears! I'm not kidding!

Can Go W/Me Tha Mountain

I love Tokyo.
OK, I'm closing my eyes... What do I see?
In a totally random order:
Lights, more lights and even more lights, cars (plenty of them as well), superfriendly people, weird people, totally over-styled people, great food, crazy food, beautiful girls, mad architecture (copycats: NY's Empire State, Florida's Disneyworld, Paris' Eiffel Tower), baseball, TVs everywhere with mad TV shows, hurricanes, people with hi-tech gadgets, manga everywhere, and again lights, cars, people...
Hmmm...

Tokyo is also extreme solitude for those without the keys, and you see them wandering here and there, isolated, doubting that their heads were full of idiotic dreams; you see them hypnotized by their isolation, their hands firmly grasping their backpacks.

I prefer the forbidden, the small recesses in the shadows, the dead-ends along the train tracks, the tiny areas full of arrogance, where I couldn’t have gone alone because I couldn’t have made it back. Back there is a small footpath that makes its way around houses, and at four in the morning, it’s probably my favorite place in the world.

PAUSE
Ikebukuro, Tokyo


As with any café’ that’s worth hanging out in, it’s the atmosphere that makes you want to stay. The music usually hovers in the realm of electronica, and it’s where I discovered the sounds of Taichi (they were playing his I Am album), who—I was told—also happens to be a regular at the café. With custom-made furniture and revolving art showcases (some of it extending to the furniture), it’s a breath of fresh air in a somewhat sordid (‘cause of an old reputation that lives on) part of the city.



RANDOM TUNES

The Go! Team debut album, Thunder, Lightning, Strike, at first seems like it’s all over the place. A dash of hip-hop raps, some seventies era funk/pop, and some catchy melodies that remind you of classic eighties TV shows that never existed. But it all works, and it forms something that’s still unmarked.

Okay gotta run, off to catch a Cinemalaya film with Gino.
Check out his blog—it's a rather compelling random read!
O ha!