(non-)sex, blogs, and alcohol.

I know who I want to take me home on a robot uprising.

2009-10-15T19:28:28Z

According to Wikipedia, my current man-crush Daniel H. Wilson "earned his B.S. in computer science at the University of Tulsa. He completed an M.S. in robotics, another M.S. in Machine Learning, and his Ph.D. in robotics in 2005 at Carnegie Mellon University's Robotics Institute in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania."

He is called the "Resident Roboticist" of Popular Mechanics and wrote a book called How to Survive a Robot Uprising whose cover he turned into a tattoo in one episode of The Works (where I first saw him). Too bad I couldn't catch the replays of his show at the History Channel. He also wrote a children's book called Bro-Jitsu: The Martial Art of Sibling Rivalry.

Appropriately, he also has a rather squeaky, boyish voice of a true-blue geek. Aaah, I am smitten.

Tonight, and for the rest of the nights before payday, I will be bringing packed lunch to work.

2009-10-05T14:32:21Z

I am nearly out of money and it's still more than a week before payday.

I kinda saw this situation coming so I took with me about 600 pesos on Saturday morning and bought various ingredients from the local wet market after my shift. Saturday morning found me in my kitchen cleaning fish, slicing meat, and marinating chicken and liver, so I could cook them later in small rations for packed lunch.

Cleaning fish is one of my favorite processes in food preparation. Not having to think of anything else while you gut, remove gill and scales, and slice fish is very relaxing -- even more so than washing dishes. Even if the fish was scaly like tilapia, or bony like milkfish. The only fish I'd prolly give up on are catfish and mudfish because of the slime. Anyways, I've missed eating mackerel scad (galunggong, to us locals) fried to a crisp, so I had some stored in the fridge so I could fry them later this week.

Yesterday, I had a guy come over at the apartment; after doing the deed, I had him stay over while I cooked lunch for both of us. I took out the marinated liver steak and the bean sprouts I bought for stir-fried vegetables; it was a good thing I still had butter left in the fridge. I asked him to help me remove the root tips of the bean sprouts while I told him of the various crazy ideas I have about how I select kitchen stuff, the cooking methods I acquired from my parents, what I know about food photography. After lunch, he insisted on helping me do the dishes.

This morning, I fried some of the marinated chicken but it didn't turn out too well. One of the best fried chicken I had was from an inn me and a friend stayed in in Pakil, Laguna. The chicken surface was fried to a golden crisp and it smelled of butter. It took the girl who prepared it nearly half an hour to serve the fried chicken but it was well worth the wait. My fried chicken cannot compare to it at all. I sent this text message to another friend: It's funny how I could cook pasta sauces, stews and soups, but I don't know how to fry chicken properly. He replied that he doesn't even know how to fry, so I shouldn't feel miserable.

the black paint is peeling away from my nails. my nails are actually quite dirty.

2009-05-31T14:15:27Z

some time back, i received this text message: it sucks how i'm only a footnote in someone else's love story.

it reminded me of another person i dumped, not too long ago. so here i was feeling post-break-up blues, only to be rudely reminded how i was a nasty bastard myself to someone else. not that the guy who dumped me was a nasty bastard; i didn't even know what he thought.

i still don't know what he thinks.

later this week i'll start working in ortigas. after nearly thirty years, it feels like i'm finally cutting off my ties from makati: first, by moving out of my parents' and second, by not working within the central business district. i still live less than a mile from the city i grew up in but it's a distance that further insists on separation.

i don't feel like looking forward to the next few months. the last two years to me have been gloomy and marked by a lot of separations. what i want to do now is curl up in a soft bed until i fall asleep. and i feel like i could sleep for a long, long time.

i really am tired.

the opposite of funny is not funny. the opposite of serious is not serious.

2009-05-25T17:36:30Z

in between hacking through the codes for drupal and figuring out how to fix some database problems (that means i have to figure out how the code works using code that doesn't work, find out what exactly doesn't work, and -- by some miracle -- maybe fix it), and thinking of how to raise money for the upkeep of the side-project website, there were other things i had to think of: renewing the apartment lease. pre-employment medical exams and job requirements. a missing person case. somehow, i still managed to keep a conversation with the recent ex.

we will be working for the same company and the same building. it's an odd coincidence: i'm moving there because the client i work for decided to move to another outsourcing company and the client wanted to bring in the tenured agents to the new location. i managed to get a satisfactory deal out of it, too. the ex applied for a post and was accepted.

and then the ex told me this other guy will join that company, too. that gave me a sudden sinking feeling in my stomach. this other guy is one person whom i don't wish too see again. i have one team-mate whom i refer to as anti-soulmate: i don't like him but it seems i'm destined to be stuck with him through several agonizing lifetimes. but anti-soulmate has not yet achieved that i-don't-want-to-share-an-elevator-with-you-i'd-rather-go-out-and-take-the-stairs level of dislike that i have with the other guy.

so like a lot of awkward things that could happen when talking to former lovers that you remained friends with, my conversation with the ex ended on that note.

but there's more.

ten minutes later, another ex sent me a message. oh great, a day of the exes. he found out about me transferring to ortigas from the more recent ex. no surprises there. i said it's okay, but the other guy will also be joining the company so that (to put it mildly) is a bummer.

talking about the other guy wore me out worse than working on 5 websites, so i decided to end that conversation. i half-thought that maybe another ex (i.e., the ex i don't speak to anymore) would suddenly surprise me. anything could happen.

that night, while waiting for the collaborators in the website side-project, the boyfriend said we shouldn't be seeing each other anymore. he doesn't think he's cut out to be a boyfriend. well, that is just a GREAT way to end a very surreal day.

so i've been dumped. again. we didn't even last two months. life is just wonderful.

puppy-wabbit.

2009-04-04T21:29:14Z

the other night, while we were walking along dela rosa on my way to work, he compared himself to the dog-turned-human in happy ghost 5 (known to us as magic to win, the one that starred kris aquino). for the last 2 hours, he had been sniffing at me every couple of minutes, trying to recall how i smelled when we first met 3 days ago.

the day before that, he told me how, as he was about to fall asleep, he suddenly recalled my scent: "as if you were standing before me." scents are often difficult to describe precisely and he couldn't say what exactly the scent was like. was i musky or sweaty or damp? well, he made it appear like it seemed like a pleasant smell so i didn't feel too conscious about it.

i told him i'm not really a "smell" person.

i told him about his toes, how i noticed it was painted with clear nail polish because it shone with reflected light while we were lying on his bed, trying to sleep. when he said he frequents forums, i told him i knew that already: he had this manner of moving his fingers in the air while he talked, imitating using the keyboards. his fingers were long and delicate; i joked he probably doesn't do a lot of house chores.

he would frequently pout deliberately and grin to show his dimples.

we've been observing each other, you see.

i wish pride was more edible.

2009-03-20T06:09:13Z

so the world screws you up so slowly in all directions and it's easy to see yourself as a victim and blame everybody else for not doing anything. and why am i writing like i'm going to a begin a self-affirming and inspirational essay?

i say fuck you world.

i'm not going down easy.

Motorcycle ride.

2009-01-23T09:30:01Z

I bought 2 oranges on my way to work last night. I put them in my bag before I took a motorcycle from Fort Bonifacio to Ayala.

The driver I had was familiar. I used to get him often, when I still stayed at the parents'. He drove his bike like the wind: fast, effortless and exhilarating. He wore his hair long -- longer than mine -- which fell into soft curls to the middle of his back.

Recently he had his hair cut really short. Before I moved to Mandaluyong, we've become familiar to each other to the point of casual conversation and I commented on the new hair.

He asked me how long I've been keeping my hair and I said four years. He kept his for 15 years; at one point it even reached his buttocks.

"But I grew out of it," he said. "That was when I was still a bum." I didn't tell him I liked his hair.

Work ends at 5 in the morning but I stayed until mid-afternoon to fix some decors in the office. I finally went to the apartment to shower and change clothes. As I'm writing this, I'm in cab on my way back to the office.

Before I left the apartment, I emptied my bag, and guess what? The oranges were still inside.

I finally got the camera I deposited at the office.

2008-12-12T08:45:10Z

12-12-2008

Uploaded by crazyangelblue on 12 Dec '08, 4.05pm CST PST.

---
That took a few days after I deposited it Sunday morning (after I came from Pride). I left it, forgot about it, went on a two-day off, remembered I still had the camera with the guards all this time, forgot about it again, only to finally get it back this morning. That's the reason I have posted any of the Pride photos.

After I left the office, I waited for a bus in the usual stop I go to along Ayala, only to realize that buses were not passing by Ayala today because of traffice rerouting. Disgusted for not remembering it sooner, I went to two thrift shops near our building, found a pair of pants in one, then found out that I forgot my metal card holder which I left on a counter while rummaging my pockets for the camera's claim tag.

My Dog, when will it end?!

Of course I had to go back again to the office, ask if the guards saw my card holder (they did, happily, and kept it among the deposited items) so I was able to get it back.

Ladies and gentlemen: Blonde moment number 4 in twenty-fucking-hour bloody hours. Was there multiple interstellar collision in my star chart since yesterday that's causing my fate lines to go all wonky?

Too tired to take a bus, I first passed by an eatery and bought lunch as JV requested, took a cab and snoozed on my way back home.

Daryl dropped by the flat last night for some beer.

2008-12-10T00:07:08Z

He messaged me the other day, asking if he could drop by The Chairless Apartment and if I'd want to have drinks with him. I said, "Sure." I don't work on Tuesday nights and drinking would be better than doing nothing. I hardly have any money until Wednesday morning, and I wouldn't say no to someone offering to bring alcohol to my apartment. Well. I wouldn't say no to very nearly anybody.

Dar arrived with two liter-bottles of Red Horse. I had enough money to buy some ice so we're good with cold beer. We'd already started when Anton came; he finally met the "Daryll" written on the blue post-it note still stuck on the bedroom door. JV woke up from comatose some time later; it was a reunion of the original three guys who occupied The Chairless Apartment.

I guessed Dar was initially hesitant to see me. The last time I saw him, I delivered his things to his parents' house. It ended up with me storming out. Was that three months ago?

But I was not angry at Dar. I couldn't stay angry with that bastard for long; and by long, I meant longer than 10 minutes. "You went here when you learned I was ill," I told him. This was sometime after we broke up, and he surprised me by going to the apartment unannounced to give me meds. "I couldn't stay angry with you after that."

So we talked and drank our beer. He recounted how I played footsies with him that first night I stayed over at his place. "Right under my grandma's nose!" he pointed out. We went well beyond footsies that night. "Well, you let me!" I countered. "You could have stopped me but you didn't."

In the end, he spent the night in the apartment; he still had work in the morning and it'll take too long for him to get home. We slept next to each other. It was like the old days, except it's not like the old days. There were times things were a bit awkward, the way old lovers could be awkward when with each other's company. And three years of being together left a lot of marks and hidden compartments in various places in one's mind. Three years that ended like that could bring nasty surprises if one wasn't careful. But we had beer, we had fun and there wasn't drama from me or him. It was a good night for both of us.

He wanted us to stay friends. I could settle for friends, I guess.

'Well listen, it's science.'

2008-11-03T06:06:03Z

"It was inspired by a situation I saw a lot of my friends get in to. I really like reading magazines about science, you see, and when people fall in love, they make this kind of drug in their bodies so they become addicted to each other physically.

"Nature makes things so that the drug lasts for three years, so if they're together they're just on a natural high. Nature makes sure that people get three years to sort out if they want to be together for life or not; that three years is a try out time. Then they wake up and it's a 'Whoops, what am I doing here?' kind of thing? Then they are forced to sort out if they love the person, like real love, or if it was just a trick.

"I just read this article and I looked at all my friends since I was a kid, and I saw that it always happened after three years, it's so strange. You think you've never seen people so much in love and then after three years, like precisely, they ring the phone in the middle of the night and it's , 'Bjork, I'm coming over' and they come over and say 'I don't love him, what is it? I don't look forward to coming home anymore. What's wrong?' Then at that point I could actually say, 'Well listen, it's science.'

"They get really hurt of course, it's this David Attenborough dilemma I've got, I really want to be him. Another completely different angle on the same thing is when you fall in love with a person, you think that might be the last time, that maybe you will never ever fall in love again, so it becomes a very precious thing to you. So you start showing the person you're in love with you're best side only and you keep all your bad parts in the bag behind your back.

"For some terrible reason, for which I'm actually a bit pissed off with, is when you fall in love with a person you start to separate into two sides and you're only sweet with them.

"So basically, 'Hyper-ballad' is about having this kind of bag going on and three years have passed and you're not high anymore. You have to make an effort consciously and nature's not helping you anymore. So you wake up early in the morning and you sneak outside and you do something horrible and destructive, break whatever you can find, watch a horrible film, read a bit of William Burroughs, something really gross and come home and be like, 'Hi honey, how are you?'"

Bjork, on writing Hyperballad
Feedback, February 1996

will you marry me, schroeder?

2008-11-01T22:06:17Z

found in jessica zafra's blog:

Japanese man petitions to marry comic-book character

TOKYO (AFP) — A Japanese man has enlisted hundreds of people in a campaign to allow marriages between humans and cartoon characters, saying he feels more at ease in the "two-dimensional world."

Comic books are immensely popular in Japan, with some fictional characters becoming celebrities or even sex symbols. Marriage is meanwhile on the decline as many young Japanese find it difficult to find life partners.

Taichi Takashita launched an online petition aiming for one million signatures to present to the government to establish a law on marriages with cartoon characters.

Within a week he has gathered more than 1,000 signatures through the Internet.

of course my first thought wasn't "what a loony!" but rather "where would i hold the reception?" -- you could have an idea of what my thoughts on these things would be. if only it could happen.

but the thing many readers tend to overlook on comicbook characters is that they are just that: made up characters that came to life in the mind of another writer or illustrator. a character, no matter how many faults the writer infuses in it, would always be perfect because it is meant to drive a story to a predetermined conclusion.

unless we're talking about american superhero comics here, where a succession of writers would sometimes have various takes on an existing character without minding continuity.

but i digress.

the most difficult thing about marrying a comicbook character wouldn't be how it will sign the marriage contract, although that would be a challenge. it would be whether the characters' authors should also be there on your honeymoon night.

since wearing flip flops is still fashionable...

2008-10-15T18:09:53Z

... i wish those who'd wear them would make sure they keep their feet presentable.

i was checking out this guy on the train the other day: he had an okay face. clean haircut. relatively good choice in clothes. i looked at his feet and he was wearing flip flops.

nothing ruins a fashionable pair of havaianas more than dirty toenails.

i am still undecided on what i think about the whole fashionable flip flops thing; i'm more into sandals rather than slippers, and at any rate i almost always wear shoes when i go out. but if one will be showing one's feet in public, one might as well exert some effort in ensuring that one's feet are clean and well taken care of.

sky rockets in flight! afternoon delight!

2008-10-03T10:27:54Z

01. it's called typecasting.

rustom padilla's decision to come in drag at a recent awards night seems to be a significant topic of discussion among followers of local show business (and since this is the 'pines, that means practically everybody).

i found this entry in a local website particularly striking:

Rustom Padilla in drag.

Rustom Padilla showed up in the Gawad Urian Awards all made up and dressed as a girl. Rustom Padilla said he dressed up as a girl to also prepare for a role. Of course, that is only a pretense, Rustom Padilla is out and proud to be gay, so i'm sure he relished his girl outfit!

really now?

i must admit i considered the idea of dressing up an girl. it's more in the spirit of androgyny, of fucking up gender stereotypes and poking fun at conventional ideas on behaviour. it's not because (as jamaica would put it) i'm wanted to have me a vajayjay. i thought about dressing up girl friend in guy wear while dressing up guy friends in girl get-ups, regardless of everyone's bed preference, just to shake things up and laugh ourselves silly over those little rules that we allow to dictate the way we look and out behaviour.

on one hand, i applaud rustom for stirring things up with his latest stunt. getting made up like that probably required hours of work; even if i'm suspecting it's all for publicity, at least he took some effort to pull it off.

on the other hand, i don't know if it helped in anyway on the acceptance of gay people in this country. public perception sees gay men as either the loud, slang-talking tranny or the horny, closeted girly boys as depicted in local media.

then there's the fashionable malate fags who all look alike with their attempts at designer clothes, shemagh and skinny jeans. incidentally, a good number of them would like people to believe they're "straight-acting" (i.e., they look "straight" in public); i guess they are the only people who believe that they look straight. most straight men don't try to make any efforts on appearing "straight".

rustom coming out in drag reinforces the idea that all gay men eventually aspire to be like women. sadly, like the writer for getitfromboy.net, they are some gay men who would perpetuate the idea of polar gender roles: the masculine and the feminine.

i can't say out and proud gay men should act because i can't claim myself to be one. i just let the gay thing be another facet of myself, along with the geek, the bookish, the angry and the pretentious. but i've seen gay men who are out and proud of themselves without putting on a dress -- the gay thing is the least interesting thing about them.

02. afternoon insanity.

a group of women were chatting near my workstation. i want to throw a bomb at them because:

they are standing in the middle of an aisle intersection, therefore they are blocking 4 aisles.
they wouldn't bother lowering their voices, like i'd be interested in hearing their boring weekend plans.

glaring at them while i have a book open in my lap had no effect whatsoever. oh yeah, i was reading a book, taking advantage of the otherwise quiet afternoon to catch up on my reading so for sure they're fucking disturbing me.

the companion they're waiting for finally joined them from the wash room. they spent another three minutes of so chatting about nothing in particular before walking behind my station and towards the door. a meter from the door, they stopped and started talking again for five bleeding minutes before finally remembering that they have to get out.

dog, this place is insane during afternoons.

03. don't stand too close to me.

my personal space could extend to an area with a five-meter radius away from me.

it used to be that i disliked going to work because of some teammates that i didn't get along with. well, we're more civil to each other now and i no longer find them disagreeable like i did before. i could actually talk to some of them and share pleasantries -- which is a good thing, i think. but there's a new bane to my corporate existence: women who hang out near the washrooms.

and then there are those people who would inexplicable stand behind me for no apparent reason.

imagine a row of empty workstations, probably 12 to 15 of them on one side, each computer locked after the users leaves in the morning. by midday, there is only one station left occupied: mine.

i sit three chairs away from an aisle intersection, and maybe 6 chairs away from the door leading to the lobby. the fact that behind me is the main aisle people will have to pass through if they're going to the pantry, washroom or lobby is something i've long accepted as part of the particular position we were assigned to use. it's like accepting that if you live in dubai, you can't get away from being in a dessert.

but why would people choose to stand so close to me during the afternoons, if they have other workstations they could stand next to?

earlier, i became aware of this woman who was carrying a stack of papers standing behind me. it's not like she was spying on my screen; at that time, my screen was locked and i was reading a book.

there would be times when a pair of people talking while walking would halt close behind me and talk for a minute before walking again. call me paranoid, but couldn't they stop five stations away, where it's empty and i couldn't be bothered overhearing their conversations?

yesterday, a group of four people stood behind me discussing various work-related complaints and even sharing juicy gossip about some managers and company executives.

after 10 minutes of overhearing the little group, i saw a supervisor i'm friendly with and asked her to join me in the pantry for some snacks. i relayed a skinny of the talk behind my station. "i found their little group discussion depressing," i told her. couldn't they discuss company dirt someplace more private where it won't be heard by everybody?

not quite a hallmark moment.

2008-09-24T11:23:54Z

We all have the potential to fall in love a thousand times in our lifetime. It’s easy. The first girl I ever loved was someone I knew in sixth grade. Her name was Missy; we talked about horses. The last girl I love will be someone I haven’t even met yet, probably. They all count. But there are certain people you love who do something else; they define how you classify what love is supposed to feel like. These are the most important people in your life, and you’ll meet maybe four or five of these people over the span of 80 years. But there’s still one more tier to all this;

there is always one person you love who becomes that definition.

It usually happens retrospectively, but it happens eventually. This is the person who unknowingly sets the template for what you will always love about other people, even if some of these loveable qualities are self-destructive and unreasonable. The person who defines your understanding of love is not inherently different than anyone else, and they’re often just the person you happen to meet the first time you really, really, want to love someone. But that person still wins. They win, and you lose. Because

for the rest of your life, they will control how you feel about everyone else.

- Chuck Klosterman, Killing Yourself to Live: 85% of a True Story

(much thanks to yves for reposting this.)

pink ideas.

2008-09-19T10:52:40Z

i've come across blogs and message board entries re-posting an essay by john lapuz on the plight of the filipino bakla. it was insightful, often constrasting most filipinos attitudes on effeminate gay men vs butchy gay women. i'd like to think that metro manila people's attitude towards homosexuality and bisexuality are now changing, what with the increasing number of gay men and women in schools and among the workforce, but some social attitudes take a long time to change and could cross generations.

in one gay site i go to, somebody reposted an earlier forum entry of another member:

Original posting: Scott Dolph
12 Oct 2006, 20:18

I am 23 years old and have no doubt that I am gay. Ever since I can remember, males have appealed to me. I check guys out, I think about guys when I masturbate, and I dream about guys. The opposite sex has no appeal to me whatsoever. Nobody knows that I am gay; I have kept it very secret. You can't tell that I am gay by the way I walk, talk, or act. Nobody has any idea that I am gay, and it would be an absolute shock to anybody who knows me.

Now that you know a little about me, I first want to tell you that I did not choose to be gay. Do you really think that when a boy is 13 or 14, he decides to be gay? You're wrong. Ask yourself: Why would somebody choose to sacrifice a wife and a family — and all the other things heterosexual people have — to have sex with a member of the same sex? I did not mean to be like this.

Do you have any idea what goes through a gay person's mind? Every day and every night, I go to bed knowing that my brother is extremely anti-gay, my grandma would never speak to me again, my father would be crushed, my mother would feel awkward around me, my sister would classify me as an extreme gay-rights activist, and a good friend of mine would shoot me if I were to reveal that I am gay. Not only that, I have a strong faith in God — but I am confused. If God created me as a unique individual, how can He condemn me for being gay?

I am tired of listening to straight people who are paranoid about gays. If you are in the shower bending over to pick up your soap, do you really think a gay person is going to try anything? Not all, but most, people who are gay aren't going to let the whole locker-room know they are gay and therefore get the crap beat out of them by everybody who is in there. Don't worry about a gay guy being behind you. If we wanted to stick our penises up something, don't you think we'd choose women? I hope some of you see what I am getting at now.

I will conclude by stressing to you that I did not choose to be gay, but I cannot change what I am, so I must accept myself. I want to love somebody, and I want to be loved just like all heterosexual people. To stress that more, I have a sexual drive as strong as any heterosexual person, but in a different way; a way I cannot explain. I personally do not see what heterosexual people find so appealing about the opposite sex — but if I had been born heterosexual, I probably would know, and I am sure if you heterosexual people were born homosexual, you would understand what we see in people of the same sex.

I am not trying to get sympathy from anyone, but I am trying to get your respect. Most homosexuals are hardworking, caring people, but in any group, there is always that person who has to ruin things for everybody else in that certain group. Unfortunately, those people are the ones who get all the publicity, and people make decisions and form opinions from all of the negative stuff. Please do not judge me because of those few people who ruin it for everybody else.

I want to thank anybody in this site who may have read this with even a half-open mind. Please do not stereotype gay people. We are only humans, and we have the right to live upon this earth happily — just like everybody else.

i never really thought much about whether my being gay was a "natural" tendency or a conscious decision. when i think about it now, it felt like a long series of steps i took while growing up and my being gay has been woven into the rest of who i am, brought about the values i chose to adopt.

scott dolph's post still rings true, two years later and, even though though i never come across this guy in g4m, i thank him for sharing his insights.

House cleaning.

2008-09-18T08:03:03Z

It used to be that I don't give a flying fork on the tidiness of my room. Despite adopting a nearest-available-space filing method, I know where my stuff are provided nobody moves them. Which is why I hate it when the parents clean my room: the landscape becomes unfamiliar.

But now I have my own place and I've become increasingly irritable over mess to the point that I will postpone sleeping just to clean up the mess. I made a joke to a friend about: You'd think 3 gay guys living together would have a tidy apartment. But it seems we're more "guy" than "gay."

The difference may be that unlike the parent's house, this is my apartment. With that sense of ownership comes the awareness of the state of the place: I own this place, and I will maintain.

I spent part of the morning and the rest of the afternoon tidying up the shared bedroom and the living area. No doubt about it being a chore. I'm not done yet and already I feel like collapsing. What a way to spend my leave from work. Still, I will not be defeated by this apartment and the accumulated mess of 3 untidy men.

did i say before that i dislike leather shoes?

2008-08-29T11:50:07Z

01.
maybe dislike is already too strong a word. what i have is a conscious and active avoidance of tanned cow hide used as formal wear.

people may have different reasons for not wanting leather dress shoes. a common and lofty reason (which i have much respect for but i don't share) would be that it's their protest against cruelty to animals. mine's more a matter of aesthetics: i find it very difficult to find a design that i actually like.

some time back, me and the then-boyfriend were looking at bed frames and i told him that i'd rather we just get us a mattress. bed frames come in all sorts of shapes with various headboard ornaments, but it's rare that i find a bed frame that i genuinely find appealing. if i find one, it's probably a frame with very little ornamentation.

i follow similar aesthetics when picking dress shoes: i prefer minimal cuts and stitching and hardly any decorative elements like tabs and such. i'm also particular about the shape of the shoe (i don't like my shoes too pointy or too square-tipped).

and of course, as with other formal wear for men, minor differences in design in dress shoes could make a lot of difference, just as a inch or less could make a difference in cuffs or ties. it annoys me to no end, how these trivial details could nonetheless weigh so much when picking dress shoes. plus i couldn't wear dress shoes all the time, like say, if i suddenly had an urge to trek to divisoria on a rainy day (which i already did before). but you never know when you will need to wear them, friends told me when i tried to worm myself out of wearing dress shoes. but the thing is, i hardly do.

02.
the other day, i was with two co-workers on the way to the pantry. us two guys were discussing the difference between men and women's clothes with the other girl and us guys pointed out men's wear could be so limited.

"you have shirts," (t-shirts) "and polos." (dress shirts)

"and polo-shirts" (collared shirts), the girl added.

and that men's clothes tend to be more expensive than women's clothes despite the lack of variety. a decent shirt for a guy could cost around 400 pesos and above. women could get decent blouses at 100 pesos. i think it's a good enough argument to support the fight for better gender equality. or at least for better men's wear.

03.
somebody was selling a copy of alan moore's lost girls in ebay.ph. i was tempted to buy it but i realized that i could order the same thing to online comic book stores and have them delivered to US-based relative and not spend as much money. granted, it'll take months before i could get my copy but that's just a minor hassle.

and anyways, i still have a long reading list to trim down.

on the other hand, i'm attending a wedding tomorrow where i will be part of the entourage. i still don't have a decent pair of slacks and shoes and i'm more concerned with gorgeously wrapped pornography from the alan fucking moore. why am i not panicking?

Bad feng shui.

2008-08-16T08:11:12Z

May's a long way off. The thing to keep in mind is that every day brings me closer to May and then I could decide if I will be keeping the apartment or not.

There are days when I think moving to Mandaluyong was a mistake -- my mistake. Lately there are more and more days like that occupying my mind except that what could I do? PhP 17K is not a small amount of money to just throw away should I decide to leave before the lease ends. But I don't think I'm the only person in our queer little household who feels the same way about the place where we sleep and eat our meals.

Don't get me wrong: I enjoy the company of my flatmates very much. But the flat seems to emit an air of slight malevolence affecting all of us. The apartment would not love us back. Next summer, it's likely that I'll be scouting for another apartment, hopefully one which would be more welcoming.

take a picture.

2008-08-15T12:31:09Z

let's revive an old meme.

( ask me to take a photo of anything. )

not 'til i can read by the moon am i going anywhere.

2008-08-13T10:26:48Z

i feel like turning my back from the world for at least a month. go someone without anyone knowing where i went. no communication with anyone from manila. no phone communication, maybe just some internet access every three days to assure people i'm still alive and haven't decided to throw myself off the top of a mountain. hell, if i could do it for a year, i'd travel to europe and maybe pick grapes in a vineyard to support myself. or sleep inside phone booths. or meditate in temple full of rats.

and yet, considering how much it'll cost me (money spent + money lost + money for other expenses moved to make room for others) and probably the state of the house and the mother once i get back (the battle for entropy never ends, or ever pauses), i know my disappearance fantasy won't be happening.

of course i could always say FUCK ALL OF THIS, quit my job and run away from the mess i am right now but i know that's just me thinking.

it will never happen.

i will always stay and sort out the mess.
i will always stick to what i think are my responsibilities.
i will always choose constancy over abrupt changes.

i once lost someone because the person thought i will always choose stagnation and i can't say that person was wrong. but i doubt even that would have changed me.

i am angry at myself.

i am angry for foresight which i don't follow.
i am angry at hindsight which i cannot appreciate.
i am angry at responsibility which is a lie i cannot disbelieve.
i am angry at awareness which i cannot turn my back to.
i am angry at circumstance which i cannot control as it happens but whose mess i still bother cleaning up after.

but mostly, i am angry at myself being angry for the illusion it gives that i could be able to do something. in the big picture, very few things could be changed. we can't stop the world ending because it already did; what we have now and everything else is just a final, overdrawn dream.

It'll take a while before I could completely let go.

2008-08-06T05:55:47Z

And I pretend it doesn't affect me too much because I don't want to admit that it does.

gay ears, christian hankies.

2008-07-31T00:09:46Z

i seem to have lost my last hoop earring. in the last 3 weeks, i've lost all the earrings/studs on my left: starting with the stud, followed by a hoop, and now even the second hoop seems to be missing. the last one may have slipped while i was showering or sleeping but a cursory check of the living room, shower and bedroom didn't show a missing earring. all i have left are are the 3 studs on my right ear.

80s lore states that if your left ear is pierced, you're straight; if it's the right ear, you're gay. the first time i heard that, i found it difficult to believe how straight and gay men agreed to determine which ear is the gay ear. the idea alone is rather ridiculous. it does seem to have some subcultural basis though, when there was a time when a pierced left ear meant one is a sexually dominant gay man, right meant sexually submissive. some other stories say it's the other way around.

so i wonder: what does my ears say now, considering only my right ears have studs? what about then, when i have studs and earrings in both ears?

(gay) identification by the placement of accessories is also associated with how someone wears bandanas in one's pants' back pocket. i've heard stories of how innocent men were dissuaded from putting bandanas in their back pockets because they could be mistakenly identified as something-or-the-other. strangely enough, this also has basis among leather fetishists: certain colors of bandanas worn either on the left or right pant back-pocket meant something, ranging from latino bottom-loving tops to bottoms who get off with carpenter sex.

stranger still, a similar bandana identification has been "adopted" from queer leather culture by some christian practinioners.

okay, so it's really just a joke poking fun at various christian subgroups, but it's still amusing going through the christian hanky code and finding out the appropriate hankies for the believes in a little sprinkle for baptism, literal creationism, or a flat earth.

and no, that's not my ear in the photo.

philosophy is the talk on a cereal box. religion is the smile on a dog.

2008-07-28T00:47:13Z

05022008114 by crazyangelblue.

01.
going back to night shift is a shock to my circadian rhythm. i forgot how cold and sleep-inducing the office is on sunday nights. i'm fighting to keep myself awake.

02.
i said my real hair color was blonde after this instance when kiko had to transfer money to my bank account. i gave him my account number and he transferred the money, but it was not credited to my account. a few hours later, i called the bank and reported the issue; typical for phone-in customer support, i did not get the answer i needed and for a fews kiko and i didn't know where the money went.

some time later i realized that the account number i gave kiko was incorrect. it was, in fact, vanny's account number.

03.
actually, a friend voted me to be "most likely to have blonde moments" in facebook, months back. no surprises there.

04.
jayvee mentioned over supper how he missed daryl. we were a household of three talkative (in various degrees) gay dorks, and those times we were together eating or hanging out in the living room were filed with geeky banter. there was a time daryl and i caught jayvee on our way to the elevator and we were talking along the hallway in a certain way that the neighbors from nearby units were staring at us, mildly amused.

05.
daryl dropped by the apartment when he learned i was ill. someone knocked at my bedroom door and i was pleasantly surprised when i saw who was knocking. i spent the day sleeping and was actually feeling better (the meds finally were working), but it was still good to know he went to mandaluyong to take care of me. a gesture like that will really make you feel loved, wouldn't you?

i wish i could do the same thing. drop whatever i'm doing and see him again if he needed me. i've always joked that my preferred superpower would be teleportation. sometimes, though, i really wish that was attainable.

My real hair color is actually sandy blonde.

2008-07-25T09:21:31Z

I'm still deciding whether it was a blonde moment or not. Who am I kidding? I've been known to have these lapses of unbelievable stupidity.

I lost all of my keys. That included keys to all doors in the apartment and the keys to the gate and back door of my parent's house. They're all lumped in a hook that I usually attach to a belt holder on my pants. People at work especially know me because of the jangly sound my keys make when I walk.

It must've been caught in between the gaps of a bus seat and got stuck. It happened before, tearing the belt holder from one of my shorts. One would think I'd've learned my lesson then. Ha-ha.

I've always meant to have those keys better organized but I never got around to doing so. And now, I have to deal with duplicating my flatmate's keys. It might be for the better though as new flatmates are moving in to the apartment soon and they needed copies of the house and room keys.

The other day, the current flatmate mentioned how he misses Daryl's company and the three-way banter we used to have when we eat together. By the end of the month, two guys will be moving in with us and I could tell we have a reality comedy on its way: Welcome to the Pinoy Gay Brother house.

On the bright side, I'll prolly have plenty of things to blog about by then.

i always thought we'll grow old together.

2008-07-11T04:01:57Z

and if you call, i will answer
and if you fall, i'll pick you up
and if you court this disaster
i'll point you home

come to think of it, call and answer is a very angry song. but it was while listening to it that the entire weight of our situation hit me and i finally broke down.

i was in my room, listening to some songs we shared some affinity with; five songs later, i was still crying. it was the first time i cried since monday night. no, it was the first time i cried since june, two days after my birthday, when i called daryl on the phone and i ended up sobbing and he rushed from his mom's place to comfort me.

at some point i stopped, then ray charles started singing i can't stop loving you and i started crying all over again. daryl sang that song to me one month before, hugging me while i sobbed on his shoulder. i kept thinking if he had been doing the same thing in his room; neither of us could hold each other now.

i miss my monkey.