Dear Globe,

I know that this year, like the past two years, I am single. I have long accepted that it will take a while longer (or never, huhuhu) to find a new person who would be free to shred my heart into confetti and burst my ego into a million itsy bitsy pieces. Normally, I have no problems with being single and all, as I also know that the safest way to play the game is not to play at all and that it really isn’t advisable to play a game where the rules are fuckingcomplicated and subject to change without prior notice. I’m not sure anybody knows all the rules either; and I’ve seen people lie, steal and cheat through the game.

Now Globe, we’ve had a pretty solid working relationship for the past 8 or so years, and though we’ve had our spats (that stem primarily from your money grubbing ways), I’ve always stayed with you – with or without Unlitext. It has always pained me whenever you sent me those cold “Your Unlitext has expired” texts but the SMS I received this morning was far worse than anything you have ever sent or told me (yes, this is worse than you sarcastically telling me that I have no more load with which to make a call and those bitchy reminders that I have less than 20 pesos in my account). Here is the offending message:

FREE Globe Advisory: Wag maging miyembro ng samahan ng malalamig ang Pasko! Tawag na sa virtual boyfriend/girlfriend mo, just dial *033021 – BF or *033022 – GF. P5/min only. No Globe Advisories? Text STOP ALL to 2977 for FREE.

Globe. I do not know where to start. There’s just so many things wrong there on a gajillion levels (and about several thousand sublevels). First off, ‘virtual’? This tells me that what you will supply is either a robot with canned responses, or a person with canned responses. That is in itself, very disturbing. Next, these virtual BFs and GFs remind me somehow of instant noodles and instant coffee – Just add water. Somehow you’ll let us all cheat and jump right into the Tayo Na phase without ever going through the awkward dating phases and bases. Without these getting to know you stages, what are these virtual BFs and GFs going to discuss with callers? Virtual future plans? Virtual I Love You’s? Also, at five pesos per minute, I doubt anybody will be willing to pay for a virtual BF/GF for more than 60 minutes (other than those sad, rich people, the poor, sick bastards). And so do you only get a virtual BF/GF for those precious 5 minutes that your cellphone load allows? Or is there some contract saying that you’ll get the virtual BF/GF for the entire day, then Break Na Kayo? Does it expire like Unlitext?

I can imagine the heartbreak, Globe. Did you think about all the break ups that will occur in one hour? What happens when a person calls back and gets a different virtual BF/GF? Oh the insanity.

(I have a suggestion for this one, why not have all the virtual BFs and GFs share one name? One guy name and one girl name, though I realize that this may cause fights between friends who both called for a virtual GF. “What! You also have Lina as a virtual GF!? She said I was her only one!!!!” /wrists. Oh the hysteria that comes later when they have the final body count for all the suicides and murders and mad riots.)

Globe, I fervently hope that you know what you are doing. I will not demand an apology, I’m sure you are just trying to earn a living by advertising a service that borders dangerously close to “Ikaw ba ay nalolongkot, walang makausap at walang magawa?” territory.

Rio

PS. There may be some positive applications for this Globe. Off the top of my head, those living in the closet who need a BF/GF (virtual or contractual) to reassure mommy and daddy of their heterosexualness can definitely use this. Just make a convincing backstory that the BF/GF is abroad or outer space, whatever. I’m sure it’ll work.

Putangina naman Globe! Ganyan ka ba katigas?

Ang sakit-sakit, ang sakit-sakit na.

friday, oh friday, i thought you had come to save me, you two faced bastard.

maynila sa mga kuko ng traffic

There are days when like E.T., you just want to go home. Like our gnarly alien friend, you are unfortunately experiencing transportational difficulties. You’ve been stranded on EDSA Ayala for roughly 49 minutes and three yawns. Everywhere you look, there are more stranded people, presumably waiting for the same bus you’re dying to plant your behind on.

As your standoff with the universe and the god of buses nears the one hour mark, you feel that standing around is not going to do you any good. You are goaded on by the desire to get home, eat dinner, take a shower, and get your well deserved 8 hour shut eye. Suddenly, getting home takes a whole new different sense of urgency and at the same moment, you get a bright idea: Gee, why don’t I just cross EDSA and catch a bus before it makes a U-turn to southbound and before ten million people clog its doors and beat you to a seat?

You almost hop and skip up the stairs leading to the Ayala MRT station, until you reach the massive mass of meat puppets lined up for the train. Like a good solid cockblock to your bright idea, the mass of faceless henchmen are scrunched up so close to each other that you get a sudden irrational fear that somebody may get impregnated just standing there. Before the fear overtakes you, you plunge in and find yourself suddenly neck deep in a moving, breathing, sweating and subsequently stinking mass of bodies.

During this odyssey you find yourself examining all the things you’ve done in your life and what you could have possibly done to deserve being pressed tightly against a big guy whose last shower seems to have been last month and a scrawny lady who indulges in using her overlarge umbrella to stab people in the foot. Twenty feet from the stairs, you realize that there is a queue snaking from the said stairs to you. You first think this is a queue for a lotto stall, but upon closer inspection, no, it’s a queue for the STAIRS. If you want to take the stairs, you would need to line up. Ah, the night has turned into hell with fangs on and armed with knives.

Forty-five minutes later, you’ve made a circuit around the Ayala Avenue to Pasay Road stretch of EDSA exactly twice. You’ve also gone from Denial, Anger, and Bargaining and have finally accepted that you will be spending a night in Ayala. You heed the calls of your grumbling stomach and buy overpriced (squid) balls from a random street vendor. After paying for said overpriced balls, you see a bus. Not just any bus, but YOUR bus. It’s your bus, stopped by a red light at the EDSA-Ayala intersection. In the middle of your run toward it, the light changes to green.

If you hesitate, you risk being run over by a car, or worse a truck and a bus then several other cars. This is one of those circumstances when being slightly athletic pays off. Driven by the desire to get home and slightly energized by 5 overpriced squidballs, you sprint to the bus, cling to its side, and finally leap into it. (Disclaimer: Replicating this stunt is highly discouraged. This is not only dangerous; it is severely batshit insane as well. You do not do these types of stunts unless dying a painful and horrible death is on your To-Do list for the day.)

Finally, a note to the bus driver who may or may not have seen me but slowed down either way: I swear to Batman, when I start driving around, I will try my hardest not to swear at your brand of bus. Or at least, not for the first few weeks.

matamaan, sapul

This morning I woke up in a mood fouler than a garbage dump on collection day; this is usually accompanied by a screeching migraine and the grim realization that even though I don’t want to I have to get my sorry ass to the office. So while nursing said bitching migraine and said crippling and despairing thoughts, I naturally am annoyed at everything and anything in existence.

[digression] While on the topic of annoyances and “things to fuel your murderous rampage,” I’d just like to say that reading and seeing news about a balding 50 year old’s love life is not only annoying, but also highly disturbing. What makes these news networks and broadsheets think that everybody wants to be subjected to this type of torture? Don’t tell me it’s because this balding 50 year old is the first bachelor president, it’s impossible to care less about whom he (and his sisters) deems worthy to take out to dinner. Here, I’ll ask a sensible question: Did you ever wonder about Erap and Loi’s sex life? How about the Ramos’ adventures under the sheets? Did you? If you did, you may want to seek the help of a professional.

And you know what would make for more compelling news? The Maguindanao Massacre. The Hacienda Luisita Massacre and the “fair” deal they gave the farmers. The Pork Barrel (teka, pera ko yan ah). The recent Bus Strikes (I’ve never wished death upon anything harder than I wished for the death of Claire dela Fuente’s cuticles). The Hostage Taking (last I heard, everybody got a slap on the wrist and a lollipop). [/digression]

As I leave the house somebody asks me, “Meron ka nanaman ba? Ang sungit sungit mo nanaman.” (Are you PMSing? You’re grouchy.) At times like these, that is the wrongest thing you should ask especially if you are a. a guy and therefore is bereft of a uterus or b. not gay. When a guy asks this question I wish I had superpowers that would allow me to shrink gonads into non-existence and bestow the new eunuch with a spanking new vagina. That way, he shall then have the ability to menstruate, get pregnant, and experience the wonderful world of PMS.

Again, matamaan sapul.

kanya-kanyang sayad, kanya-kanyang katangs

Sabi ng kaibigan kong si Allen, uso daw ang pakikipagbalikan sa mga ex ngayon. Sa isip isip ko, “Nauuso pala ang pagpapagago.” Sabay nagpop out ang chat window ng isa ko pang kaibigan (na itatago natin sa pangalang Lareina Velasco) at nakwento nyang nakikipagbalikan sa kanya ang isang ungas na pumunit sa puso nya dalawang taon na ang nakalipas. Ang ungas in question ay naghahanap na daw ng babaeng magiging loyal sa kanya at hindi sya lolokohin. Ang nasambit ko lang ay ang mga katagang, “How can he expect to get a loyal girl when he himself is such a whore?” at ipinaliwanag ang Ber Rule.

Isinasaad sa Ber Rule na kahit kupal man ay nangangailangan ng warmth tuwing malamig, pero dahil kupal nga sila, hinahanap nila ang warmth na ito mula sa mga dating pinagkukunan (na ginago nila dati): ang mga ex nila. Awtomatikong naaactivate ang Ber Rule kapag –ber months, palakas ng palakas ang kagustuhang makipagbalikan habang palapit nang palapit ang Pasko at Bagong Taon. Ang mga madalas gamitin ay ang “I’ve Changed” card, ang “I’ve Realized You’re The Only One For Me” card, “I Shouldn’t Have Let You Go” card at ang “Ikaw Na Lang Talaga This Time, Promise, Mamatay Man Ako” card. Ang success rate ng mga ganitong banat ay depende sa katangahan (emotional vulnerability at kung gano na katagal ang katigangan) ng sinasabihan at sa galing pag-arte ng ungas (pangFAMAS Best Actor ba?), pero kadalasan, katangahan lang talaga ang pinapairal.

Isang magandang pangontra para dito ay “Kaya ka lang nya babalikan kasi nilalamig sya? Magkumot sya kamo. Or magkape sya, para kabahan naman sya sa mga pinagsasasabi nya.” Masama mang sabihin sa kahit ano mang konteksto, wala naman sigurong nangangarap maging panawid gutom. (Ikaw, kung nangangarap kang maging panawid gutom, una magkape ka para magising ka sa katotohanan, at pangalawa, eto pera, bumili ka ng Pride. Kung “masaya” ka, fine, pero pag pinaiyak ka ulit wag kang mag atubiling lumpuhin sya. Alalahanin mong 3 for 100 ang doormat, murang mura kaya hindi din sya mag aatubiling palitan ka.)

Pero kung natanga ka lang minsan (aminin nating nagyayari talaga yan kahit sa manunulat na ito) at wala kang balak magago ulit, magdiwang dahil mukhang inabutan na ng karma ang ungas mong ex. Ipraktis ang pagtawa ng Moo-hoo-ha-ha-ha dahil ito ang gagawin mo pag naghain ng Reconciliation Cake ang ex mo. (Hangga’t maaari ay durugin mo ang kanyang ego ng pinong pino at kung maaari ay kantahin and/or patugtugin ang I Told You So ni Carrie Underwood at Randy Travis. Be as smug as possible.) Tandaang maige ang kanyang reaksyon matapos mo syang tawanan sa mukha dahil ang alaalang iyon ang magagamit mong pampasaya sa susunod na abutan ka ng lungkot.

To recap: hindi mo matatakasan ang lamig ng -ber months, pero maiiwasan mong maging tanga (this includes whining about how you’re trying not to call him and shit). It’s just the weather. Sa simpleng pananalita, sa tingin mo ba magandang pundasyon ng relasyon ang lamig (or init, for that matter)?

I rest my case.

every time i look at my paycheck, i die a little.

Yap, just one of those days.

You leave for work 15 minutes early. You get on the bus and nab your most favorite seat. This is located right beside the bus door, the best place in your opinion especially in cases when immediate evacuation is required (see Rio’s Zombies on the Bus Contingency Plan). So anyway, while waiting for the rest of the bus to fill up, you distract yourself with thoughts of medical health plans and of writing the boringest, blandest pieces of sh- work you have written and will continue to write for the sake of sustaining your debilitating addiction to eating three times a day. When you tune back to reality, you glance at your cellphone and realize you’ve been sitting in a stationary bus for the past 15 or so minutes. Only then did the bus conductor realize that the passengers need to get to their respective destinations – in your case Ayala Avenue, hopefully by 8.30 and just so it’s clear, you need to get there today. The plodding creature (in retrospect, the guy looks like breathing is a conscious effort for him) calls the driver to get with the program.

The collective hostility turned from the conductor to the driver. To answer everybody’s hostile glares, the bus driver lets out a series of grunts which you take to mean in Earth language that the bus has refused to move its gigantic rusty ass and has blown a hose to punctuate its point. You calmly abandon your most favorite seat and actively restrain yourself from braining the bus conductor who was shaking his head and staring at the ragged pieces of hose and wires sticking out of the bus’ innards. You proceed to attempt to disintegrate the driver, the conductor, and the bus into a smoldering pit of refuse but you suddenly remember that you left your evil powers at home.

You make a mental note to never leave your laser beams of death at home and proceed to cross the street. This is fairly easy since traffic has been effectively blocked by the bus you were just on. Something cuts through the tempest in your head (and your path across the street), specifically a scooter. At this point in the story, you realize that you basically woke up this morning completely oblivious to the fact that the universe got out of bed today totally intent in methodically screwing with you.

Eventually, you find yourself in a shuttle service van on its way to Makati. A quarter into the trip you lose any sensation from the top of your head (bumbunan), cryogenic effect courtesy of the van’s exemplary subzero airconditioning system. You run the four blocks to your office and finally sit down to work.

Yap, just one of those days.

So somebody gave me an arcangeling today and now I want them all. 

mental constipation

Have you ever been constipated before? You want to poop but can’t, however hard you try? (Actually, if you tried hard enough you might get yourself hemorrhoids.) Anyway, bad bloody images aside, constipation is a bad, bad thing to have. Good things come to those who cannot shit though, as there are drugs available that can help you with your intestinal evacuation problem (nope, this is not an ad) whereas you can’t drink anything to cure constipation of the brain.

When one gets brain constipation, ideas refuse to be shat out and sentences that were there a second ago evaporate into thin air. I imagine they wave goodbye as they go. This is typically bad news for somebody like me, who like the girl in the Dulcolax commercial is left feeling terrible, out of sorts, and irritable. The difference between me and the girl in the commercial is that she doesn’t get paid to empty her bowels, I on the other hand, am paid to write.

(At this point in this post, all of the other sentences have happily jumped into a void of absolute nothingness and thus I am forced to shut the fuck up.)

So yeah, last Sunday I went and turned 27. I spent the day doing nothing but stare at the Manila Bay while sipping on a giant cup of coffee and generally enjoying Rem’s company (since Mabie pulled another Jerko on us). The day was nice and steady; the weather half-cooperating to give me a half-assed sunset that was nice nonetheless. On the commute home, I got on a kamikaze bus of doom (what better way to end your birthday than with a near death experience, right?) and contemplated being 27.

It certainly feels a lot like 26 (or 25 for that matter), though I know I’ll need to change a few things – like the age listed on my resume. Seriously though, wouldn’t it be nicer if growing one year older makes one feel the same way as Mario (theoretically) feels when he gets a 1UP? Or if you’re more into big budget stuff, why not get the same special effects as the electric bolts Duncan MacLeod (note: does not sparkle) gets when he levels up, i.e. after killing another immortal – is this a self contradictory phrase? Hmm.

Wait, as I was saying before I so rudely interrupted myself, it would be nice if one got some stat buffs (Congratulations! You get +1 Str, +1 Mag, +2 Vit, +2 Int, -1 Agi) after a birthday, wouldn’t it? That or maybe I’ve been playing video games I’m supposedly too old to play.

Anyway, the world continues its roundabout and I continue with my personal RPG. Thanks for playing.

19, 18, 17, 16, and 15 to 30

19, 18, 17, 16, and 15, Hell Week: I realize this is cheating since I’m lumping all five days together, though me ranting in 5 separate posts would be immensely annoying - for you and for me.

Some weeks are good, some bad, others are designed to make you wish for death. This was one of those weeks. Death obviously did not come for me, so I experienced a phenomenon that can only be referred to as: Meta-Sucky. Yap, I was pretty much feeling sucky for feeling sucky. Sucks.

Weeks like this cannot be helped, and I know that there will be more hell weeks in the coming years so I might as well accept that shit happens. Repeat after me, shit happens. It’ll pass. Friends (others don’t), happy food (Coke Float), and happy music (Vitamin String Quartet, I owe you fan mail) helps.

21 and 20 to 27

21, Two Weddings, One Weekend: The start of my odyssey of getting hung over. Got home at 3-ish, feeling buzzed but fully safe from the “kawatan.” It’s weird how safe I feel with bus mates during the unholy hours of madaling araw but not feel completely safe in broad daylight on the same bus. 

20, Two Weddings, One Weekend Part 2: The second part of the odyssey of getting double hung over over one weekend. Got to wondering why people get married on dates like 10.10.10. I can see the significance, for sure, but I’d rather have a wedding on a completely obscure date and have a meaningful marriage afterwards than the other way around.

22 to 27

22, Sighs: Sighs have that duality in them, surfacing both during relief and sadness. Some days, an audible exhalation of air can be heard either in relief or in sadness. Some days, you can’t tell the difference.

23 to 27

23, Sucking it up: You can do this, you know you can. You have done this kind of thing before and you can definitely do it again. Get off your ass, stop whining and let’s get this party started. You’re fine, you’re okay.

Repeat mantra when necessary or until it sounds true.

24 to 27

24, Hormones: Never be afraid to say that you are affected (emotionally, physically) by your hormones, but never use them as an excuse for stupidity.

25 to 30

25, Patience: Learn how to better deal with squalling brats and annoying people. At the moment, I only look at them, then shake my head in disgust or worse, I completely don’t acknowledge their existence. I know I was a squalling brat once, and I accept that I am obnoxious and annoying to other people so I really should learn how to deal. I accept that I can’t get along with everybody and I can’t make everybody like me either.

26 to 27

26, Waking Up: There are “those days,” those days when you just don’t want to wake up, when you want to pretend that if you sleep long enough, the day would go away and leave you alone. Too bad “those days” exist, and too bad that no amount of pretending to be asleep can make the alarm shut up.

27 to 27

27, Sleep: Sleeping late then sleeping in is something I particularly like doing during the weekends. Sleep is a guilty pleasure, the only truly private time you can spend with yourself and your subconscious. I like sleep because I like dreams and dreaming, though pulling a Rip Van Winkle isn’t really my style. I can only sleep so much, but sometimes I wonder about that too.

28 to 27

28, Idleness: One of the things I like about being single is that I still own my weekends. I can spend them lying on the couch like a piece of lint, doing nothing but watching DVDs or playing with my DS. On weekends, I can write, draw, sleep in, sleep late, or sing at the top of my lungs and my mother (or brother or father) won’t mind. I can spoil myself rotten on weekends, and believe me I plan to continue doing so even after 27.

29 to 27

29, Criticism: Welcome criticism, and welcome it not with an expression that looks as if you’re chewing shit. Being chastised once in a while means that you’re not nearly as mature as you thought you were and you’re not nearly as smart as you think you are. A reality check is a great teacher, especially when it is administered when you least expect it. I should learn to appreciate those quick kicks to my metaphorical balls, as the said kicks remind me that I have cognitive biases, and it’s not possible for me to accurately judge myself under any standards.

30: Don't forget thy mature pills.

Today, I was reminded of how immature (read: totally retarded) I can be when faced with some types of situations. I should not forget to take my mature pills, since they don’t only keep me from embarrassing myself, they also keep me level. I have yet to learn to shut up whenever necessary, when to keep my voice down, and when to have an opinion and meddle and when not to meddle but still have an opinion. Actually, I’d be able to fill several books on what I have yet to learn, so let’s not get ahead of Batman and the Universe.

I accept and acknowledge the fact that I’ll learn as I go, and I’m not more mature than the person sitting next to me on the bus this morning who was busying himself with probing the inside of his nostrils and smearing the results of his investigations upon the bus seats. I do not have the social license to judge because I’m not sure I was above doing that when I was his age (around three or four). My mother remains to be my moral compass, though on occasion I’ve told her, “Nay, ang mean mo.” She only laughs, of course.

I can only wish to be as cool as her when I’m 50-ish.

30 to 27

I’ve decided to do something this year: instead of a highly depressing and deeply distressing self-assessment, I’ll do a 30-day blog project. I swear I’ll finish this 30-day challenge, and since I always have a hell of a time finishing shit, I shall have to reward myself with something at the end of all this.

Anyway, 30 to 27. Wish me luck.

So yesterday I went to Quiapo with Kat and Ayee, and thus went home harassed and tired (story for another day). I arrived home to find not one, not two, but five squalling brats at Nanay’s house. I sat down on the dinner table, placed my head on my hands, turned to Nanay and said, “Nay, I now accept that all children are annoying, and I don’t think mine will be exceptions to the rule. Please take care of my kids when I have some.”

Nanay just replied, “Sige.”

A sudden thought occurred to me so I added, “Was I ever annoying as a kid?”

“No, sinuntok at pinaiyak mo lang yung nang-aaway sa kuya mo, pero hindi ka naman annoying.”

o_o

Good Point

Conversation at the Office (this can also be called my conversation with porn stars):

Me: Di nga, may boyfriend yun? Pakamatay na lang kaya ako?

Winter: Meron nga talaga.

Toots: Oh my god, saksakin mo na lang ako.

Winter: Kasi hindi naman siya mapili.

Me: Kahit na.

Winter: O sige nga, may boyfriend ka nga mukha namang swelas.

Toots: Sabi ko nga okay lang eh.

daisuki na hito ga tooi

Every night I drag my tired carcass along the Ayala walkway, and recently, I’ve been seeing a lot of couples in all manners of couple behavior. There are the hand-in-hand couples (also known as the HHWWHPSSP – Holding Hands While Walking Habang Pa-Sway Sway Pa), the arm around each other’s waist couples, and the murmuring sweet nothings (seriously, sweet nothings? Mga matamis na kawalan?) couples, among others.

They’re not completely conventional either; there are those hetero couples, with a smattering of girl-on-girl couples, in addition to the guys walking together who look completely normal except you could probably roast a chicken if you place it between them. (Come on guys, not only is it cold in Narnia, the White Witch Jadis could also catch you and strap you to her sled. Then again, leather straps and whips might be your thing, at which case I won’t judge. Moving on.)

Normally sights of such couple’s behaviors may have tempted me to approach random strangers to inform them that: a.) “Pwet, magbebreak din kayo.” b.) “Are you aware that your boyfriend is metro? As in isang metro na lang gay na?” c.) “Pag kasal na kayo, hindi ka na nya susunduin.” or d.) “Give the gene pool a favor, please don’t procreate.” Thankfully, I have been on a steady diet of mature pills and therefore haven’t been involved in any distasteful altercations. That’s always good news, because I don’t have money for bail and because I’m quite sure there is no WiFi behind bars.

Instead, I came to thinking, how suitable am I for a relationship anyway? My looks (face it, looks are always the first thing people look at) cannot be objectively quantified as cute or pretty; in fact, the last person to have called me cute in recent memory was legally blind. I am borderline bipolar (I’m actually in one of my manic moods at the moment) and hence people call me “Moody.” If I had to sit here and explain what manic-depressive behavior is until they understand the concept, we’d be here until the sun burns out.

Judging from the previous sentence, I am also excessively sarcastic. Most times, my mouth acts faster than my brain, and if I had to literally put my foot in my mouth every time I embarrass myself, I’d not only be shoeless, but toe-less as well.

My fashion sense consists completely of jeans, shirts, and Chucks. If my fashion speak is correct, this is commonly called the Rugged Look – except on me it can only be referred to as, the Dungis or Haggard Look.

I can list a thousand and more bad things about me and to preserve what little self confidence I have left, I’ll mosey onto the final point:

Like most other people in this universe, I have a great propensity for love (I have a great propensity for hate too, but let’s not get into that) and like most other people, I cling to the hope that maybe someday I’ll grab the leading role in my very own great love story. Maybe when that great love comes, I’ll be wiser and mostly not reliant on mature pills. I’ll be sure that I’m not just the evil girlfriend keeping the real leading lady from meeting her prince. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll get that happy ending.

Or maybe then I’ll be able to learn that walking by myself isn’t necessarily bad and then I won’t be terrified of being alone.

Last night on the bus I thought this up and got weird looks from my bus seatmate:

Allow me this sadness, because when it ends I’ll be new

Allow me this comfort, because when it ends I’ll be through

In the end, I’ll be stronger

In the end, I’ll be wise

So allow me this sadness, because in the end I’ll be fine

It may take a while to fix me

A while still to forget

Allow me this moment to remember

The me that was smarter, the me who stood tall

The me who had the courage and the IQ

To say, KTNXBAI, and oh yeah – screw you.

The Unbearable Patheticness of Being (Me)

So last Friday, I took out a few hours off my anti-social tendencies so I can join Mabie in celebrating a communal day of misery.

For purposes of setting a baseline, I am typically drunk halfway through one bottle of San Mig Light. That’s one fun Rio fact I openly propagate for purposes of not embarrassing myself – except openly divulging this tiny tidbit has caused me more embarrassment than anything else (it’s counterproductive, I know.). The thing is some of my friends can’t seem to wrap their minds around the “Rio has the alcohol tolerance of a two year old” rule and therefore express severe disgust at my liver’s inability to process alcoholic beverages. Don’t get me wrong though, I’ve been extremely inebriated (smashed, sloshed, and soused) before. As a general rule, I only get smashed drunk within a 50 meter radius of my house/Ayee’s or Kat’s house for safety reasons. My sanity’s safety. Because if there’s anything I believe about drinking, it’s In Vino Veritas. I’m not only loud, I become unforgivably tactless and very stupid.

Meanwhile, Mabie the Princess issued a Royal Princess Mandate and ordered me to down a tequila-based drink. It was nice enough to forget the nefarious alcohol hiding behind the pomelo liqueur and I finished it. Thirty minutes later, my head was going *tugs tugs tugs* and I was not only being louder, I was being loopier. The Princess bought me two more drinks, but I had to beg off of them since a.) I didn’t want to spill my guts on an unsuspecting gutter and/or an equally unsuspecting bus seatmate, and b.) I didn’t want to sleep on a random bangketa.

Anyway, Rem graciously drove me home with The Cardigans and The Beatles in the background (and Mabie in the backseat). It was a nice night, all things considered, though I know what Kat and Ayee would have said, “Chichan, bakit ka pa kasi uminom?”

Good question.

story of my life: misery loves company

Rio: you can probably imagine me rolling my eyes from where you’re sitting
Rio: totally selfish of me, i know
Rio: i therefore conclude, i should fix myself so as not to stress her
Rio: rawr
Mabie: hahha
Mabie: or
Mabie: you could be just more discreet about it
Rio: ayun nga eh
Rio: ang WTF nun for me
Rio: story of my life. i can’t even be miserable in some people’s presence
Mabie: hahahha
Mabie: you can miserable in mine
Mabie: hell we can be miserable together!!!
Rio: aww, that’s sweet mabs
Mabie: you do know thats the cue for peer pressuring you to take MORE than just coffee at spicy fingers, yes?
Rio: remember the last time we drank?
Rio: i only half finished the san mig LIGHT
Rio: an ode to my patheticness
Mabie: and your slump is so palpable i could feel it some 3 buildings away from you
Rio: ganun na pala kalala
Mabie: uhuh!
Rio: oh you should have seen me yesterday
Rio: itext mo na kaya si remicia
Rio: and ask her if she can come early
Mabie: ayan tinext ko na
Mabie: heheheheheeh
Mabie: “gbelt. inom. taraaa! faster. “
Rio: ayan, the three of us can be miserable together
Mabie: dont forget about elaine!
Rio: yep
Mabie: although she’s so steady she’s useless at this point

Anti-social Friday

It’s Friday and I should be celebrating for surviving yet another week. I’m not. Instead, I have Aru Ame no Hi (A Day in the Rain) on loop and I have no desire to do anything other than stare at the view my near-the-big-corpo-windows desk affords me.

Last night, I admired the lights and the stillness of the night. Halfway to the Ayala bus stop the rain pitter-pattered on the walkway’s roof. By Greenbelt, the rain was violent enough that people cowered under roofs and awnings. Somehow, it seemed fitting for my mood.

I like autopilot; it’s sad though when I think about it. It’s sad when your only solace is apathy, when the only comfort is in solitude.

killing you softly with my song

sometimes i feel sorry for those who have to be within four feet of me when i work. they have to be subjected to me suddenly bursting into song. in case you need an objective description of that, it’s a toneless droning made worse by wrong lyrics. have you ever heard hippos during mating season? you don’t need to fly to the african plains to hear it, just sit next to me whilst i write.

convos from the third degree

Rica and I leaving Jollibee with my Chickenjoy in tow…

Guard: *Turning to Rica* Thank you ma’am. *Turning to me* Thank you sir.

Me to Rica: Did he just call me sir?

Rica: I believe so, yes.

Me to traffic, pedestrians and the universe: MAY BOOBS AKO FOR HEAVEN’S SAKE!

—

Nanay and I watching TV show featuring Jiro Manio as a kid with a kid…

Me: Ano ba naman tong mga batang to, ambabata palang may anak na.

Nanay: Oo nga eh. Tsk.

Me: Okay lang naman ang sex, diba Nanay? *Nanay nods* Di man lang mag ingat. Condoms kids, condoms!

—

Me, fixing the neighbor’s computer…

Owner of the PC: Uy, gumana na, galing. San ka nagtatrabaho?

Me: Um, sa office po. *Quickly adding* Writer po ako, by the way.

[They let me steal their wifi in return, so it’s okay if they mistook me for the computer repairstress.]

Sisihan 101, when the whole world goes WTF

This morning before I left the house, I managed to catch some bits of the morning show debate. In that segment, they pitted two old dudes against each other and guess what? They played the game we all have played as children, the Did-Too-Did-Not or the sisihan game. On one hand, the KBP is saying that the media *cough* circus *cough* coverage was just journalists and newscasters doing what they are paid to do: report events (I can’t really say “news” because there is a thin line between news and sensationalist crap and I feel our journalists at some point started to not see this line.). The other side was for “responsible journalism,” urging that since there was no media blackout during Monday’s unfortunate series of events, the media should have used their own discretion as to what and what not to report.

Needless to say, the segment boiled down to pointing fingers. Everybody’s fingers are pointed at somebody else at the moment. I don’t have nearly enough fingers (and toes) to point at who I think is to blame, especially when I think everybody is to blame. Yep, that means you, you, you, me, and that other you at the back, we’re all to blame for this. I am to blame because I don’t nearly pay enough attention to the news, and because I and other normal Juan dela Cruzes like me have encouraged news outfits to give me half-baked news reports, or worse, sensationalist news. At some point, I realized that the big networks and broadsheets have ceased to give me interesting and compelling news, that at some point they started creating news straight from their asses. (Really, who gives a flying fuck if PNot doesn’t quit smoking? I’d cared more about why the DepEd secretary has a Brother in his name.) I am to blame because I know there are problems with budget and training, and a plethora of other things in this country but maybe I don’t speak about it often enough to be heard. I and everybody else is to blame because we cultivate the sense of morbid fascination, a culture of usiseros and usiseras that couldn’t be stopped from entering a danger zone just for the satisfaction of having been there. It’s everybody’s fault, and I’m afraid only a few people will realize that and own up to it.

In the end, it really isn’t a matter about whose fault it was; this is the two-days-after folks. We’re all reeling from the damage: the people of China are furious with us in general (the fact that they are in possession of bigger missiles and outnumber us 100 to one seem to have escaped some people); our president’s PNot; our media just televised our police force shitting in front of an international audience live; trust in the police force is at an all time low; our overseas workers won’t be so popular with their employers; and we as a nation are feeling the polar opposite of national pride at the moment.

Hopefully, all of us learns… Wait, no. I’m not even finishing that sentence.

Of Chucks, Alone, and Divorce

Of Chucks (Part 2)

Okay, I know I’ve written about this before but my wet Chucks of Doom have struck again. Earlier today I was standing on the bus (I feel I spend half of my commute hanging off of buses. I use “hanging off” as opposed to “hanging out” which suggests I enjoy having half of my body outside the bus, hanging on for dear life and watching the pavement rush past at 60 or so kilometers per hour. Anyway, I digress.) and my Chucks contrived to throw me off the bus after the driver performed a maneuver worthy of a Jeric Raval flick. My tractionless Chucks slid on the bus floor and almost threw me into the windshield.

Perhaps dismayed by my lack of deadness, my wet Chucks of Doom slid on the escalator as a parting shot.
——
Of Alone
This morning I was being thoroughly productive (I maintain that I was being productive until they decided to move the computers around) and I found this.

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k7X7sZzSXYs&color1=0xb1b1b1&color2=0xd0d0d0&hl=en_US&feature=player_embedded&fs=1]

Recently, I’ve been having weekly coffee dates with James (my cigarette case). This can be attributed to a. my lack of friends, b. a lack of friends who are willing to go out on a Friday night, and c. a complete lack of non-imaginary friends. I’m calling it an exercise in being alone. Coffee shop, with me, my cigs, my pen and paper, plus a “Kopi with Milk” and I’m good. I need to learn how to be more alone, I guess, at lunch, at the library and everywhere else. I dunno about dancing though; I operate on the idea that I should only dance WHEN alone.
—-

Of Divorce

This morning, the morning show’s debate was about divorce. As a person who grew up with a marriage that regularly featured itaks and death threats, I’m all for it. I’m sure though that people will be against it for their own reasons; I’ve got more of mine and when I get my head on straight again maybe I’ll tell you about it.

good morning, monday

So you innocently wake up at 6:30 this morning and peel yourself off bed at 6:40 thinking confidently that you have more than enough time. Your cell phone time is specifically set 20 minutes advanced to counteract your lazy ass tendencies during most if not all mornings and you think 20 minutes is enough to counter that final written warning that’s going to mean your termination.

While having your morning coffee, you take a tentative glance at the morning TV show, with the time conveniently displayed at the lower right of the screen. You realize in horror that you had changed your phone’s battery two nights prior, and you had forgotten to reset it. Your 20-minute buffer dissipates before your eyes and another unfortunate realization dawns: you are now running 10 minutes late. You clamber up the stairs, grab your towel, and rush to the bathroom. In 5 minutes, you’re out again, clambering back up the stairs and attempting to teleport into your clothes.

As soon as you step out of the house, you’re right on the dot. The spring in your step is back and you are immensely pleased with yourself for salvaging your Monday morning. It is not completely ruined. Your phone vibrates and your read the message from your officemate: “Dude, don’t forget. It’s business casual today.” You unconsciously utter your first train of profanities for the week; you are wearing your Chucks, jeans, and a shirt. You’re as far from “business casual” as a llama wearing a tie in the Himalayas. Actually, the llama would have been more formal. Your officemate helpfully suggests that you change your clothes, but then you remember that your leather shoes are in your closet, at home, in Las Piñas. Your current location is Sucat.

In your murderous irritation, you briefly consider strangling the person nearest you or your officemate when you get to the office but you let your PO dissipate in the bus. You briefly entertain the notion of the bus crashing into the car immediately in front as it seems to be powered by 4 frantic hamsters running on wheels. Two seconds later, the bus almost plows into the hamster mobile and you swear to be more careful when considering notions since the Cosmos has a sense of humor, but sometimes it fails to recognize sarcasm.

You run to the office, you get there on time and by the way, you’ve been transferred to an office on the highest floor of the building. Your desk faces the glorious, smoggy Makati skyline. Good thing you’re not afraid of heights yes? …no, wait.

Happy Monday to you, too.

To all my Exes: Goddammit

I say it again. Goddammit - I was right, you messed me up and now I have scientific evidence to back me up. According to Cracked (arguably one of the best places to learn practical science in the history of forever), our breakup messed me up. Or in Agua Maldita logic, YOU messed me up.

I went into withdrawal, went more than a “tad bit” crazy, got poorer and lonelier for years after, and got sicker. Why bother dating new people when in the end, I’ll probably be batshit insane, penniless, depressed, dead from a broken heart or dying from cancer? (No, seriously, read the article.) Oh right, this. So yeah, I’m dead if I date and I’m dead if I don’t. Goddammit Universe.

PS. I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again. There are things called irony and exaggeration, you see, and I use them mainly for humor. Some people take everything I say and believe me to be thoroughly bitter and I can’t blame them because they were probably rendered numb by a humorless childhood. So there, I may or may not be bitter. Wait, what were we talking about again?

Bring your own background music

This morning my headphones croaked once then expired on me. After tearfully screaming “WAG MO MUNA AKONG IWAN!” and sheer force of will failed to bring them back to life, I heaved a heavy sigh and trudged into my morning, destitute and music-less.

Actually, I don’t listen to music during the commute because I’m an audiophile; I, in fact, am the polar opposite: an audiotard. Under certain standards, my taste in music can be classified under “epileptic,” which is as close to eclectic as I can manage. I listen to music at times simply because I don’t want to be subjected to other people’s tastes (in the morning commute’s case, the driver’s or kunduktor’s) in music.

Of course, this morning I was treated to the bus’ sound system – which just had to be equipped with no less than two amplifiers – and was immediately greeted by Justin Bieber’s melodious crooning in the terrific (as in terrify) song Baby. Thankfully, the nightmare was almost over when I got into the bus and the song changed into Moonstar 88’s Migraine (my internal soundtrack most days when the lights are too bright in the office). The driver apparently didn’t agree with it and switched from FM radio to the CD player (a curious setup of a computer CD ROM wired to the input jack of a mobile radio). The CD player immediately launched into the perfect song for a Friday the 13th. At first I was afraid, I was petrified. Kept thinking I could never live without you by my side~ I could have sworn the manly guy next to me was doing a little jig in his seat.

So yeah, Gloria Gaynor’s I Will Survive put me in a supernaturally good mood, especially since it was followed by Funky Town. To keep this good mood rolling, I’m playing Disney soundtracks (Something There, A Whole New World, I’ll Make a Man Out of You, So Close, Kiss the Girl, I Won’t Say I’m in Love, and Belle) the whole day today.

Dear Chuck Taylor,

Those who own Chucks (the shoes) know this for a fact: Chucks don’t offer much in the stick-to-the-wet-pavement department. On rainy days, my Chucks mutate into the tools of Satan and thus getting from Point A to Point B becomes a perilous slip and slide over sidewalks lined with small evil pebbles intent on getting my ass to painfully contact the ground. Slipping and sliding isn’t a very practical form of locomotion, as evidenced by this morning walk’s shenanigans:

 

I slid on the bus steps and thankfully did not recreate my falling off the bus (and into the path of a dumbass scooter) memory. I slid on one of the stripes of a pedestrian lane (the one smack in the middle), I almost careened off a curb and into traffic, and I saved myself from accidentally throwing myself off stairs.

I know I should be more careful, since the perils of slippery pavement can be exacerbated by slippery footwear, poor coordination, and a clumsy disposition but when it’s 8:46 and the office is 15 minutes away, one tends to walk very fast despite conditions when even walking is out of the question.

rainy days and wailsdays

dear universe,

derailed, again. seriously, if i were counting how many times this has happened to me over the last few weeks, i’d be more depressed than i already am. we can’t keep doing this. i start climbing out of the pit, you throw a curve and i go freefalling back down, landing with an unceremonious splat. i can’t keep doing this.

and i feel i can’t keep doing this to tumblr either. XD

say anything

|Last night at Mercury Drug|

Cashier after I hand her a bill: May piso kayo sir?

Me: Miss, wag po kayong ganyan. Nanay ko po naggupit sakin.

Cashier (visibly mortified): Ay naku, sorry po ma’am. Sorry po talaga.

*Now I just have to figure out if she was sorry for my haircut or for calling me sir.*

|Status messages|

The other day, I was trying to make up an excuse for using “Is this your Mangina speaking? Please tell me when your Balls are available for comment.” but found none.

|This morning while walking to work, this line was in my head|

“No, I don’t like tuyo,” he said, his epileptic intensity flinging drops of saliva that hit my face with as much violence as his words.

*I may have been sitting around my mom watching Magkaribal for far too long.*

|While watching a morning show|

I wonder why the daily horoscope person’s daily horoscopes always involve low or high points. (Always “You’ll fall into an open manhole today, be vigilant.” or “You’ll be lucky since the Moon has moved into Virgo and will gallivant into the former planet Pluto.” but not “Today will be blah.”)

|One of those days|

It’s one of those days when there are no reasons, no excuses, no nothing. Things aren’t bad, but they aren’t good either. Things are just there, sitting in front of you like 50 pounds of raw meat you don’t care about. You don’t know where it came from and how it came to rest on the seat in front of you either. In all that bewildered surrealism, you can’t even bring yourself to wonder if it’s a dimension crossing sack of meat that can magically manifest itself anywhere in the cosmos. In your head, it doesn’t matter if it’s imbued with the powers of the universe. It’s still just a sack of meat.

*Wait, what?*

|One day|

One day, I’ll look back at all of these things and kick myself in the face. I don’t know how I’ll manage that but I’m sure I’ll find a way.

|On the bus, on the way to work|

You know what, one day I’ll look back at all of this and laugh my head off because seriously, it’s been a retarded couple of years. Then I’ll burn that bridge when I get there, bitch.

letting it rip

i started writing this post yesterday:

some people think it’s easier to make up stories than compose an article. in some cases it is, though personally, my stories don’t necessarily take longer to write - the problem lies in letting it out. it’s like farting in a way; sometimes you just can’t let it rip for the sake of social etiquette or what not. it’s like constipation, shit builds up inside and you find that you can’t shit it out like you normally can.

then thought, why the fuck am i sharing this shit to the world? bah. i’m in one of those it’s-impossible-to-care-less moods once again, and whenever i’m in one of these phases it really is impossible to care less, or do anything for that matter. i hate this kind of feeling, especially when there are things i actually need to care about.

like the alternative alamat thing, for example. i’ve found a good story to write about, though everything’s so hazy i can’t find the right flow or rhythm to it. anyway, sigh. this is getting annoying. you know you’ve got to do something when you’re starting to annoy yourself.

note to self!

note to self!

WHERE WOULD YOU MOST LIKE TO VISIT ON YOUR PLANET?

hmm. too many places. wait, on MY planet? wtf is that supposed to mean? i’ve been found out!

walking with a voiceover

in an effort to overtake my threatening middle bulge and near-pathetic stamina, I’ve been walking to work every morning. (it’s 900 meters, more or less. my best time so far is 13 minutes.) so far, my legs don’t threaten a sit down strike anymore and my lungs don’t start sitting up and begging for mercy every end of the walk so i guess that brings that pathetic exercise phase to an end.

the other day, i told mabie about it and she said, “malayo.” i don’t really notice the near-kilometer walk. every morning when i walk to work i get a voice over. yes. sometimes it’s a really snooty one lifestyles of the rich and famous-y when i walk past the ayala museum. sometimes it’s a fitness trainer from slimmers world. the rest of the time, it’s cory monteith singing i can’t fight this feeling and i can’t help but smile (yes, that i look stupid smiling to myself grin. i should follow up the song with “i just haven’t [fucking] met you yet”).

hmm. over the course of the rambling i’ve forgotten what my point was. oh right: you’re never really lonely when you’re crazy.

karma strikes back

Rio: may overheard nadin kami dito
Rio: lakas kasi ng boses eh
Mabie: hahahah
Rio: no ma’am, financial. finan, finan… faynan… FINANCE
Rio: hahahaa
Mabie: wuht.
Mabie: hahahhahahahahah
Rio: hahahaha
Rio: she was trying for the root word
Rio: ngayon ko lang nalaman na finan ang root ng financial
Mabie: maldita ka!!!
Mabie: hahahah
Mabie: but ohsotrue!
Mabie: whatta revelation
Rio: hindi ako maldita
Rio: masyado lang malakas boses nya
Mabie: hahahah
Mabie: korek
Mabie: erm…
Mabie: chochi…
Mabie: this link…
Mabie: http://mendokusai.tumblr.com/
Mabie: are you sure it’s yours???
Mabie: cos
Mabie: a) it’s in japanese
Mabie: and b) it’s got pics of naked girls on it
Mabie: T_T
Rio: wtf
Mabie: my thoughts exactly
Rio: aw fuck
Rio: i mispelled
Rio: medokusai
Rio: wait
Mabie: :))
Rio: imma change it again
Mabie: wtf
Mabie: hahahahahhahahahaha
Rio: i deleted it
Rio: ulit ulit XD
Mabie: LOL!
Rio: did it over
Rio: XD
Rio: mendokusai means troublesome in nihonggo
Rio: medokusai doesn’t mean crap
Rio: hahaha
Mabie: i swear! that’s the funniest thing i’ve seen all week!!!
Rio: glad to have been of service (at my expense)
Rio: hahahaha
Mabie: buti na lang chineck ko agad noh
Rio: XD
Mabie: wait
Mabie: so ano palang tumblr mo? medokusai?
Rio: aoitensai na
Mabie: hahaha
Rio: i might change it again if i change my mind
Rio: hahaha
Mabie: tumble tumbled tumbling tumblr?
Rio: yep
Mabie: hahaha
Mabie: yay!
Rio: hahaha
Mabie: and with a panda to boot!

tumble tumbled tumbling tumblr

again again again. goddamnit, apparently i don’t know how to spell. XD

soo, first post, lalalala~

Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The Lightning Thief Movie review

Caveat: This is not going be pretty. Faint of heart, turn away now.

I understand that book to movie translations are rarely ever going to turn out great, and I don't expect movies to be completely loyal to its original medium. What I do expect is for adaptations to at least have a slight resemblance to the book/novel/short story they were based upon.

I feel I need to ask the writers of Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The Lighting Thief: did you find the original story lacking?

I mean, I know this movie adaptation exists a. to cater to the young adult demographic, b. to kick start a promising new franchise, c. to lure new fans into the fold, and d. to see whether director Chris Columbus can lend his Harry Potter magic to Percy Jackson. I won't even go to the Harry Potter-Percy Jackson comparison because they are not the same book, you would just find them in the same section in your local bookstore. There is no point in pitting them against each other.

Anyway, I watched The Lightning Thief with several of the my multiple personalities and three of them had different opinions of the movie:

The Percy Jackson and the Olympians fan: SACRILEGE! They smote off all the good parts and replaced them with different hacked off body parts. Why cut off a perfectly good arm and replace it with a bat wing?

The Inner Kid: Wow, Hydra! Wow, Medusa! Wait, how come Hades looks like a washed up rockstar?

The One Who was Asleep while I was Reading the Book Series: Is it just me or does this movie feel like they just made shit up as they went along? It's a Frankenmovie.

I'm sure some of you liked it, but then again, some people liked Eragon too.

We're after the same rainbow's end

Moon River, wider than a mile,
I'm crossing you in style some day.
Oh, dream maker, you heart breaker,
wherever you're going I'm going your way.
Two drifters off to see the world.
There's such a lot of world to see.
We're after the same rainbow's end--
waiting 'round the bend,
my huckleberry friend,
Moon River and me.

It's Valentine's Day, and I decided to be completely non-sappy this year - and failed miserably. I wrote Love according to Disney, an idea that came to me while discussing Beauty and the Beast with Lei. The original idea was, I'll pillory and decimate the Disney idea of fairy tale-ish love. I couldn't. Karl says that maybe I've mellowed out.In case you're curious, here's the real reason why I couldn't pull off the entire place-100lbs-of-C4-into-Disney-movies-and-blow-them-into-smithereens plan:

Rio: actually, di talaga yan yung article
Rio: the original one was completely sarcastic
Karl: awwww
Karl: nag-mellow out ka yata
Rio: not really, it's just that i felt i really did learn some important stuff there
Karl: ayos
Karl: pwede yan pang-follow up dun sa published romcom article
Rio: pero just like a kid learning for the first time that santa claus isn't real
Rio: there are dirty realizations in between, and i didn't want to ruin Valentine's with that
Rio: kasi just like the kid, i still want to believe in santa claus
Karl: awww
Rio: it's the date, it's making me trite
Karl: baka naman in love ka
Rio: with whooooom?

Yep, I told you I failed miserably. It's the movie marathon, I tell you. I'm writing this in between Breakfast at Tiffany's and Whisper of the Heart (which Karl notes is a heart condition, heart murmur). By the way, I'll never, ever doubt Karl's chick flick recommendations ever again. I loved Definitely, Maybe and I've fallen madly in love with Isla Fisher.

Lei says it's Singles Awareness Month, and I agree. It's that time of year when a highly commercialized non-holiday makes singles think that there's something wrong with their lives because they are not attached (I was tempted to say, "tethered in a relationship" but that sounds spectacularly bitter). You know, my mom told me one of her love stories once and I'd love to share it, but Whisper of the Heart awaits.

Anyway, Happy Valentine's Day folks.

updates, updates

updates, updates usually means link barrage and this is what it is. by the way, i'll take this chance to say, thank you QJ. i say that without the usual sarcasm because QJ taught me the importance of branding. i'm trying it out right now, so i probably won't see the results until next year. XD

New article series(es?) are:

The Yuppie Guide to Conquering the Universe

Elections 2010

Yuppie Journals

and Yuppie Replay (which you will see in a couple of days)

another post worthy of note is Yuppie Travels: Lobo, Batangas (will everybody please give me a confirmation of who's coming with?) and lastly, Stories in 160 words or less: proverbs, poetry and prose in SMS.

i'm sleepy and it's too bloody hot to think, so i'll end this right here. XD i promise i'll write something that makes sense next time.

tv spots, advertisements, commercials

i've been out of internet loop for a little over three months and i really can't say i missed it (being online all the time, i mean). while i was in hibernation mode, i learned a couple of things, listened to more stories from the parental units, made peace with some issues, and did some writing exercises. it may be good or bad depending on how you look at it, especially when all my criticizing powers have all been concentrated upon the current race - the 2010 elections.

i have been watching more TV than i used to, so i know a few of Manny Villar's commercials and jingles, i've seen the Christmas-y advertisement for Richard Gordon, Gilbert Teodoro's galing at talino spiel, Noynoy Aquino's "let's sit down and talk" commercial, and Eddie "Tayo" Villanueva's TV spot. it's impossible to sit down and watch TV these days and not have a conversation about politics - do you know how much a TV spot costs? where did they find that kind of money? are the seats in the Senate lined with cash?

also, i must say that i find Enrile's cellphone load ad catchy, if not horribly annoying. i'm planning to write something more indepth about the contenders, though right now i do not have the resources to do it. i think that would be interesting, especially when my bet is currently at number 4... in the swimsuit division, i think.