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 Labe Blaster.

Crap

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.

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.

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

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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.

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.

The Dog Ate my Entry

Previously on this blog...

The LC-A 25th Anniversary Party (Philippines) was held in Baguio last June 13, and this is the awesome awesome video courtesy of luisandthepolice. Thanks again Liana and family for hosting the party.




Currently showing:

I'm too lazy to write anything as the free time I've had over the weekend has crept over to Monday, and I'm still catatonic. I just want to read, sleep, eat, and repeat the whole cycle. But of course life's a bitch like that and I'm forced to snap out of it.

I went to a gig of Gab and Friends (known to the public as Parokya ni Edgar) at the 70's Bistro and it was jampacked with people, people who are so starstruck with them they even had their pictures taken with the band WHILE they were playing. I guess it's just another day for them. For the band, I mean. Sometimes I have a hard time reconciling the friend vs. the celebrity when I see them being mugged by fans. One even had his neck autographed. Really.

I think I have to sleep soon because the sun rises early and I can't sleep if it's too hot in the room, and I have a spa appointment (I have waited so long for this). It's summer again -- the weather didn't get the memo that it's already rainy season. Well, fine, sometimes it rains especially when I'm about to leave the house, but not when I need to sleep. I wake up feeling suffocated because of the heat.

This is a weird day, but ended in a high note.

P.S.: Hey you. I take back what I said about the Nike Dunks. I kinda want it now.

Nuggets

I am taking an Internet break for a few days, as I've found myself to suddenly have a chunk of free time. I'm spending it with friends and a book. Oh god, a book. Or several. I missed reading so much I've schlepped a buttload of borrowed titles from Pam (she who got to spend ten grand on books).

So, I'm making a playlist, packing my things, and going to a birthday party. I hope I don't just sleep when we get to where we're going. Speaking of playlists, I'm trying to cram my Michael Jackson albums into my overloaded iPod last night, then I went to sleep and when I woke up my Facebook was drowning in "RIP Michael Jackson". I can't believe it. He cannot die. He's beyond being human now. A freak maybe but with a preternatural talent for music that made him an icon (I hate using this word but there's no other word for it) and have been imitated by many, whose dance steps were the foundation for all things Gary V and Justin Timberlake, and a lot more down the years.

(Trivia: MJ's Dirty Diana is Whitney Houston's Queen of the Night. Yes, I have just learned that because I find bliss in ignorance.)

And of course a Charlie's Angel is now an angel. Farrah Fawcett finally said goodbye to the world. She with the shag haircut, the bathingsuit picture, and an incredible smile. I don't know much about Ms. Fawcett as I do about MJ but nevertheless, may both their souls rest in peace. They won't be forgotten, that's for sure. Not when "Man in the Mirror" is on repeat.

I wonder what people would remember me for when I die.

Uhm, No.

I am currently obsessed with watching episodes upon episodes of that reality TV called Jon and Kate Plus 8. Jon and Kate is this couple who, after Kate was diagnosed with infertility, went ahead and had IVF procedure done. First they had twin girls, so yay. They wanted more children so they did IVF again, and oh my god did the universe ever grant their wish. Their second set of multiples was a six-child litter. They wanted value for money and effort and just after two pregnancies, they got eight children.

Watching them with eight kids makes my ovaries fold inward -- I don't know how they do it. I guess being parents they really have no choice, but attention-whores or not, it's a really difficult job. I know kids are wonderful and a blessing from God and all that jazz, but I'd prefer if they were doled one at a time. I mean, I've never been even left alone with either Abby or Joaquin for more than 10 minutes, except when they're asleep. My siblings know I freak out and they joke that would leave both kids in my care for a whole day.

Then you imagine 8 children under the age of 7 all running around screaming and fighting and making a mess. To me that's the equivalent of stuffing your face inside a blender then pressing Purify. Yes, the Gosselin kids are cute, but that's not the point.

I don't know how I would entertain Abby, or God forbid, calm her down when she throws a hissy fit for some trivial thing like her clothes touching her body. I can manage Joaquin for two hours tops, probably, he's easier to entertain like that. The main thing with him is he likes to hit people, get them to say ouch or any kind of sound that says "I am in pain". I made him face a wall once, but I get distracted when he calls me ever so sweetly.

I love them, but thank the Lord Almighty they have parents. I'll just be their Tita Ninang who regularly hands them date money.

Cabin Fever

Since arriving from Baguio I hadn't had a chance to get out of the house until today. I camped out at the living room to work, and for four days I did everything on that couch -- work, eat, sleep, smoke, work, sleep -- until I was done. Now that couch has a permanent imprint of my ass and I can't say my roommate is happy about it.

I was going crazy inside the house. I faced my laptop for 16 hours at a time, and only saw my roommate and New Yaya during those four days. My other human interactions were done virtually, i.e. Facebook, Plurk, Twitter, Google Talk, and Yahoo Messenger. I was supposed to go out last night and finally see other human beings but I had to do revisions, then when I was done I was just too tired to go out. 

(Bruce is tired too, he wouldn't turn on this morning. My Sun broadband also wanted to rest, it's soooooo slow I was forced to [gasp] go to an internet cafe to send emails.)

So now I'm out of the house and chose the busiest coffee shop in the entire mall. I love people. Although strangers are not allowed to touch me.

Daddy, Papa, Dada, Father, Itay

One for the Books

By Ruby de Vera
Philippine Daily Inquirer

Last updated 21:17:00 06/19/2009

MANILA, Philippines – There is one vivid memory I had of my childhood. I was probably six years old then, and we lived in Tagaytay before it was the tourist trap that it is now. I woke up disoriented, as it was dark inside the house. I remember I was about to cry for attention because I was alone in bed, but then I heard some music.

Read the whole article here, or on Saturday's issue of the Inquirer.

The Something's Birthday

happy birthday LCA!, originally uploaded by mey0r.

Over the long weekend Lomomanila trooped to Baguio for the 25th Anniversary of the LC-A, the flagship camera of the Lomo movement. It was a fun fun weekend, marred only by my injury, some ghosts, and a little rain.

We ate cake from LC-A plates and drank from LC-A cups, even had Lomo vodka shots in film canisters. For a place in Baguio, try PNKY along Leonard Wood road, it's a quaint place and you'll like the travel theme of the boutique hotel.

The party at VOCAS was awesome too, and another lomowall is up there like last year, but this time 8x10 pictures are mounted. Thanks to Tuesday and Liana for spearheading this event.


Photo by Jonas.

When I Drank a Snake's Essence

I am so tired these past couple of days, because a deadline looms at me and threatens to shoot me between the eyes. I fall asleep everywhere - the couch, the dining table, on my laptop. I even fell asleep while Joaquin and I were watching Yo Gabba Gabba. I remember him shouting "Ninang!" a couple of times to wake me, and when that didn't prove effective he threw a bunch of flash cards on my face. I woke up an hour later with a card on my forehead.

I ran out of Berocca (my upper of choice) and resorted to strong cups of coffee every 2 hours but it's wreaking havoc on my stomach acids. The heartburns I suffer from drinking too much caffeine are enough to singe my eyebrows.

I was dozing off on the couch again, with my fingers still on the Delete button, when my ever perky roommate waltzed in asking me about the keys. Somewhere between wakefulness and sleep my brain tried to process it. Keys? What keys? It's tied to a snitch and it's flying and you have to use that broom to catch the keys. Then a little kitten appeared and kicked me on my sprained ankle (which has begun to swell belatedly) and I woke up.

She's asking whether I had the house keys duplicated, and of course I haven't yet and my god I have a deadline and isn't it more important than the house keys? Of course I didn't say all these aloud because she might confiscate my key. I just told her no, not yet. Then she just made conversation while drinking this strange liquid from a bottle with a straw.

"What's that?"
"It's Cobra, an energy drink."
"Can it wake me up?"
"Definitely."

So I sent New Yaya to get me three bottles of the stuff because I'm looking at a straight 24-hour workday. It was cold and urine-colored, then I took a sip.

And it was like drinking bottled hell. If any of you remember Esvimin, that multivitamin syrup in the 80s, the one that my parents made me take every single night and made me think I was swallowing liquified Disgust -- mix it with some carbonated water and you get Cobra.

It woke me up all right. I'm still trying not to throw up, and I think my stomach is also protesting. I am going to the toilet right about now.