Wednesday, July 29, 2009

Observing the Non-Code

If noise were radiation and I'm an instrument measuring radiation (what are they called anyway?) the noise level here at Krispy Kreme is reaching red alert status. This is the level of radiation that produce three-headed fishes and birds with one leg. The toxicity level is making me want to scream, scream so loud just to prevent myself from throwing up.

It doesn't help that there are three very giggly girls beside me, but at least they already stopped a while ago. But they're still jumping up and down on their seats for some reason, and because we're essentially sitting on the same long bench I want to thump them. This is a busy branch and quite small, so the comings and goings are expected to be heavy. However. And I'm saying this not only because he didn't stop talking ever since he got here. There is an old man yakking continuously on his cellphone, in a very shrill voice unbecoming of old people. It wasn't loud per se, but his voice carries up and above every other voice in the restaurant.

From the conversation, he's conducting some shady business in the province that (i) he wants to avoid getting the requisite papers, (ii) he doesn't want to pay taxes, and (iii) he's willing to dole out cash to the right people just so they can start right away.

God, if you're conducting illegal stuff don't do it in public, with a very loud speaking voice at that. Don't you bad guys have a code of conduct or something? They really should kick him out of their underground organization.

My Snuffleapagus

It's so hard to react when to the rest of the world there's nothing to react to. There's a party inside me but I had to keep a straight face because let's face it, no one would believe it anyway. Sometimes I wish it was indeed the product of my imagination, so I can feel justified not telling people. But I'm not even sure I want the world to know.

Maybe not.

Monday, July 27, 2009

Textbook Bitchery

Going by my definition, I therefore conclude that my poor country's president is an effing Orphan. Now, who will volunteer to kick her into the frozen pond, so that once and for all she would just shut the fuck up and stop inventing things and feeding us major bullshit. I would, but I doubt she'd go near me. Why is the president's seat such a loser magnet?

I know I said I don't touch politics and religion, but it's more than a source of annoyance now. It's like the country has a raging tumor on the forehead, but everyone goes around pretending it's not there because it's rude to stare. You know what, let's all remove it without anesthesia.

I wanted to totally ignore the SONA (State of Nation whatever) but everyone's at it on Plurk and Facebook. Someone said she's dressed like a pastillas, and that her french fry bodice covered up the boob job. I wasn't able to take a peek as I was busy learning (in my head) how to steam milk properly so I can make a good cappuccino.

But they didn't let me touch the scoop-like thing that goes into the machine thing to make coffee. I wonder why.

Sunday, July 26, 2009

Giant Bugs Underwater

They had an all-consuming desire to take over the world, and it was all good and fine, until one of them got her mask fogged and forgot how to defog them.

Then she panicked and they panicked and they all swallowed extremely chlorinated pool water and they all got their gills confiscated.

Hot New Site

Stoked - Slang. [stokt]. adjective. to be completely and intensely enthusiastic, exhilarated, or excited about something.

I agreed to share my travel stories with these guys a long time ago, and I kept procrastinating about it until last night when I drank Dark Mocha Coffee Jelly Frappuccino (why do name their products that long?) at 11 pm and couldn't sleep. Might as well make use of the time, so I tinkered a bit. Now it's 7 am and I'm stoked about sleeping.

In the future, the website will be a one-stop shop for every hobby and activity you can think of. For now it mostly contains information about diving and class schedules, and also my travel articles. Yes, he is my diving instructor. The one who bullied me into swimming 300 meters and taking off my mask underwater. He also surfs, wakeboards, plays underwater hockey, and will soon be a full-fledged water creature with gills and scales probably. He jumped out of a plane. He also climbs walls and rocks. For fun. Yeah, I don't know why either.

I want to suggest a page about being stoked on sleeping and lying around and DVD marathons, but I'm guessing they wouldn't take it kindly.

Please spread the word,

Friday, July 24, 2009

I Shall Be Afraid of Esthers

Orphan - a movie about some deluded bitch who thinks that people who say I love you mean it the way she wanted it to mean, or that once she removes all obstacles to her love, that beloved will love her back. She's also never heard of the idiom "the past catches up with you" and "digital na ang karma".

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

Tick Tocking my Time

Quick, quick post.

I'm now back from all the busy lying around time and the tediousness of growing my hair, while reading a book on a lounge chair facing the sea. We ate and slept until late (or just me) and ate and walked and swam and watched dogs pee on sand castles and played frisbee until it broke in two. Not kidding about the frisbee breaking. But, as it was free and therefore not of Olympic standards, we weren't so offended.

I managed to finish two books, exhaust my playlist, and eat food like you wouldn't believe. I managed to get predictably drunk by our last night. I suck at playing cards, and I suck at drinking, therefore I SHOULD not play card drinking games. Right? You would think I'd realize that, but still I kept telling myself it was a game of chances and what are the chances I'd lose like, 70 percent of the games played? By the time I was kneeling inside the bathroom waiting for the next wave of nausea, I concluded it was a very big probability. Fuck rum and Coke.

I'm posting pictures as soon as I can (meaning no definite timeline), but if you're in Boracay check out Sea Wind at Station 1. Best buffet ever, and nice villas. And they have the most amazing stretch of white sand at the island, it's the best venue for Boracay weddings.

Now I just have to face some responsibilities so I can keep on calling myself a responsible adult. Tally-ho!

Friday, July 17, 2009

Professional Packers Wanted


Are you an organized individual who loves to travel? But can't? For some reason or another? Do you love to envision things or plan ahead?

This is your chance to apply those organizational skills and a taste for traveling without actually leaving the metro! I am looking for a professional luggage packer who will come to my house whenever I have a trip, sort through the mess that is my room, and plan my outfits depending on the location and duration of the trip.

You should be able to distinguish what kind of lotion I should bring, or which sunglasses, and the variety of portable entertainment to pack to keep my ADD self happy and distracted. You should also have a sixth sense about how much the packed luggage weighs, because I don't want to pay extra.

For your services I will bring home a magnet especially for you. For those interested, drop an anvil through my head. Maybe I'll snap out of it.

I hate packing.

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

WiFi Kills the Buzz

Here we all are gathered in a table with beers and drinks, a band is playing, and people are having a merry good time. Except their version of a good time is talking and laughing and watching the band. Our table is having a good time because there's wifi. We're all online and huddled on each of our phones, checking emails, Facebooking, Plurking, and now, blogging.

What is up with the world? Here we are, face to face, but unfortunately everybody's a techie and have wifi-enabled phones and now we choose to message each other on Plurk even if it makes perfect sense to just talk like normal people.

The Internet is sypposed to enhance relationships, maybe complement it, and now it's become the way people live. It's inevitable in some ways, the way the Internet had become so integrated in our lives and almost all aspects of it, but real, live people in the flesh trumps avatars anytime.

Excuse me while I go talk to my friends.

Tuesday, July 14, 2009

Pain, Pain, Pain

"My ear hurts."
"My sprained foot still hurts."
"I have a cramp."
"I swallowed some pool water."
"The chlorine stings when I open my eyes."
"I'm tired."
"My mouth is dry."
"My hair is not tied back."
"The air tastes like rust."
"I can't swim that far."
"The fins hurt."
"I can't take off my booties."
"I'm scared of falling."
"This tank is heavy."
"I can't do that."
"I will drown and I will die."

Then the boys I was with at the pool proceeded to just grant my wish and drown me, but didn't succeed. But karma is now digital (read: fast) so now I have swimmer's ear. It's hurting more significantly now than it did two hours ago, and I'm thinking it's time to visit the doctor. And I still have the ghost of the sprained foot and the memory of the cramp when I walk a certain way. And my back hurts from all the swimming around with the tank and I have a bruise on my nose from being squished by the mask. Whine whine whine. I know you want to slap me right now, because if I were in your place I would, too.

I read about swimmer's ear online and found out that sometimes it paralyzes half the face. Ok, I'm exaggerating, and that's what I get from reading about my symptoms online which all but sentenced me to death, but I think I would choose paralyzed over ear discharge. That's a big fat NO. I'd rather drop cold liquid inside my ear for a week. But then again we're going to Boracay for the weekend and crap piled upon crap, does that mean I can't swim?

Fortunately, I am bringing books. Behold, my reading pile.

Should keep me occupied for four days. Bottoms up: Snuff by Chuck Palahniuk, Diary of a Wimpy Kid, - Do It Yourself, - Rodrick Rules, - The Last Straw by Kinney, Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist by Cohn and Levithan, Every Boy's Got One by Meg Cabot, Politically Correct Bedtime Stories by Garner, Air Babylon by Imogen Edwards-Jones and Anonymous, Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason by Helen Fielding, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by J.K. Rowling, and Twenties Girl by Sophie Kinsella.

Some of them I've read, some of them I'm reading again. Perfect for lounging beside the pool, and I hope THERE WILL BE NO RAIN YOU PMS-ing WEATHER.

Monday, July 13, 2009

This is How You Signal for Are-You-Freaking-Kidding-Me

I finally gave in and took the diving class, which I somekinda started last Valentine's Day. It's an open water diving certification course, so I can enjoy underwater scenes when I go to places. Imagine the things I would have seen if only I dived then -- Coron, Balicasag, Apo Island, Bahura, Puerto Galera, and a lot more.

Yesterday we had a pool session so I can learn the skills. I was outnumbered; two instructors for one student. I don't want to say they bullied me into some of it, but yeah, they sort of did. They made me swim 300m, tow a tired diver, take off my mask underwater, and they turned off my air source without warning.

But the hardest thing for me was to swim upwards without inhaling, only exhaling for 30 seconds. This is for when... I don't remember. I'll check the book (which I haven't entirely read) and the video (which I haven't seen). I have smoker's lungs and there is only so much air it can hold. I know, I know.

I really have to learn how to tread water because this is getting ridiculous. The only reason I can't participate in some water sports even if I wanted to, is because I can't tread. Well, actually I can, for two seconds. One of the exercises was to float for 10 minutes, and even though I can float, the paranoia of drifting to the deep end of the pool paralyzes me with fear. I kept shouting at my instructors to push me back to the edge, please. And can they please dive for my lost hair band.

There's also a lot of hand signals to remember, like OK, up, down, not OK, dead, can I breathe your air, cramps, can we please go down that way, and how much air do you have. The answer to that last signal is not a shrug.

We spent more than five hours soaking in the pool, and when I came out I was shriveled like a prune. Until now I reek of chlorine and all I want to do is lie in a bathtub full of moisturizer with only my eyes and nostrils left uncovered. Now I can't wait for the graduation dive.

Sunday, July 12, 2009

Skeletons in the Closet

I have a lot of stuff. A real lot that spills off the table, drawers, closet and storage bins. My closet won't even close properly, so I might have to call it slightly-open. Did you see the joke I made there? Did you see? Slightly-open as opposed to close-t? Eh.

When I quit my day job I planned to do a spring cleaning of sorts because I'm fast running out of space. My room is not that big, and with the wardrobe and table and TV I really don't have much room to pace. Not that I pace. When I first moved into the apartment I had shelves installed on a wall to keep my paper -- files, folders, books -- and CDs and DVDs, and other odds and ends that I just kept piling.

Years pass by and I'm afraid to look up. I'm afraid one day the bolts would just give up and the stuff would just bury me alive. I always lock my door and nobody knows when I come and go so if that accident happens it might be days before my corpse is discovered, rotting, with my Regine Velasquez CD beside me.

But then life picked up and I'm always off to some place, and when I'd get back from trips I would rather loll on the bed and look up Wikipedia entries for various body parts. The unlimited Internet connection also didn't help.

I'm hoping to still do that spring cleaning, but I have a problem with big tasks. I don't break it up into smaller tasks, as logic would dictate, rather I like to attack the big mess in one go. I do that because I have a short attention span, and I like to keep my momentum. Well,this task is my Goliath, and as David I am that thin, sickly boy who can get blown off when someone sneezes, and has zero hand-eye coordination that I couldn't even hold my slingshot properly.

But I know I would have to do it soon, because I can't find things anymore. I have half-unpacked suitcases and books piled up high on the table. Old eyeglass cases are still there, expired cold medicines, and I think I see old sandals from 2005. It's my own personal junkyard.

Before I start, I would need more stackable storage bins that are actually drawers, garbage bags, filing boxes, and Bridget. I'm thinking I can bribe him with food and films. Hmmm. Anyone knows where I can get those stackable drawers that are relatively cheap? I don't like multicolored ones, just plain white and semi-transparent. And now I have the perfect excuse to get a Dymo Label Blaster.

Wednesday, July 08, 2009


Paris Michael Jackson gets on the mic for a few seconds and manages to bring the house down. I hope she and her siblings grow up normally.

Amazing service. Amazing amazing. I don't care what the others say. With John Mayer playing Human Nature, and Brooke's speech, and Jermaine singing. Amazing. Michael Jackson deserves all of those and more.

To one of the greatest entertainers the world has ever known.

I'm Sorry But Please STFU

As i sit here trying to formulate the ten commandments with this white goo on my nose (it's supposed to remove whiteheads, let's see), I realize this is what happens when people continue to procrastinate about seemingly unimportant errands until they really, really need it.

I was too lazy to go to the hardware store to buy cable wires, because my existing ones kept falling off. And now, I am forced to suffer Ces Drilon and Gary V. butting in on the live feed from Staples Center in Los Angeles. Earlier I kept reading articles about Michael Jackson and clips on YouTube. I don't know if this is hormones, but I genuinely feel sad about his death. Reading the ex-Manila Hotel PR's account of her interaction with MJ back in 1996, I actually cried.

So what if he died of drug overdose? I don't really care. I believe famous people are somewhat robbed of a life. They get so much when it comes to material things and public adoration, but most of them misses out on the little things that life is made of. Their relationships are fleeting, their children are usually screwed up as adults, and they almost have no real friends to speak of. When a star falls down, everybody leaves. It's a fact of life.

I felt sad for MJ, that he didn't really experience how it was to be loved. Everything was fake, or a setup. (Stupid ABSCBN, the tribute is starting and Ces is still interviewing Gary V. Fuckity fuck.) It didn't help that his own parents are also screwed up, especially his father. Recently, we have personally experienced child abuse, and believe me when I say witnessing it made me feel I can really kill a person. Like actually kill. Dead and not breathing kind of killing.

He was called Peter Pan -- he didn't want to grow up. He so desperately wanted to be a child, because his father's physical and emotional abuse and the subsequent fame never let him have one. It's so sad, really. He had given the world his self in his music, and the world ridiculed him in return. Farewell, Michael. I agree with Madonna -- Long Live the King!

UPDATE: Watching it now on CNN Live on Facebook instead. Can't stand ABSCBN's captions.

Monday, July 06, 2009

Rainy Day on a Weird Monday

You can plan and plan and plan, but there are days when nothing goes according to schedule. I was supposed to hang out with my artista friend Ian the Bitch on her tapings but she was called for naught.

Because I was up and ready anyway, I had lunch with a friend to catch up on things. I was thinking maybe I can hang around the mall to get errands done like pick up a lightbulb (yes, I still light my room with a desklamp), cable wires for the cable TV, new batteries for my two dead watches, and some others. Then the stupid rain came and killed all hopes of that happening, because as soon as the skies darkened a humongous traffic jam happened almost instantly. It's like there was a switch I didn't know of.

My day is now seeing some semblance of productivity -- there's a shoot at Intramuros in a few hours and thank the L0rd God I was able to get me a photographer.


In other news, our country's president had a boob job. Isn't she a delight?


I saw Transformers and now I have a beard. Pure testosterone from Michael Bay. When the robots fight all I see are scraps of metal -- I don't know where Megatron ends and the Decepticon begins. And I almost cried when they destroyed the pyramids.

Megan Fox is a hoot. Who poses like that on a motorcycle in the middle of a talyer? Good thing she looks like a bimbo, because she is a bimbo.

Wednesday, July 01, 2009

Big Ass Burger

We just ate this badass burger earlier, and I'm still burping pickles and sesame seeds. I hadn't even finished my slice. Dubbed as the Big Bun Burger, it's available for P850++ at Bar One, Holiday Inn Galleria.

Not bad if divided among eight people.

Earlier in the evening I attended the opening of Heavy Mental, an art exhibit of Joey de Leon (the actor/comedian/TV host) and Igan d'Bayan (the writer) at the Crucible Gallery in Megamall. Because of the showbiz factor, there were a handful of showbiz personalities in attendance, and that means a lot of gawkers. I hate gawkers.

And because of the showbiz people, I got my picture taken with Dingdong Dantes, he with the unfortunate name but a face without pores. Seriously, he's like...ceramic. But I don't have a copy yet, remind me to pester that photographer who owes me food pictures from a restaurant review in Boracay.

It's a nice evening. For once.