Watch Out For Falling Debris

Is It November Already?

2005-11-21T22:19:00.000-08:00

No man alive can ever lick his elbows. I tell you, absolutely no one. Many have lost life and limb bringing me this piece of information. Same goes for the poor souls who discovered too late that Caymans can not stick their tongues out. I'm quite sure their moment of epiphany was rather short-lived. Ahh, such is the price of wisdom.

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Now, Isn't She A Beauty

2005-09-15T22:13:00.000-07:00

Isn't she? Isn't she? Isn't she? I do not gloat when I say I could rattle off this mantra with the perseverance of Sisyphus and the stamina of ... of ... of ... of a tomcat in heat. The Aston Martin DB9 is just the sort of thing that would unhinge me from ESPN's coverage of Lingerie Football League. Or Meerkat Manor on Animal Planet. Any man unaffected by the passing apparition of the DB9 must either be thoroughly emasculated or has long since left the land of the living.

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So, What's New?

2005-09-12T21:46:00.000-07:00

As a brief reprieve to launching mung beans at random earth-bound trajectories, and for my own peace of mind, I undertook the pleasure of this mouse-clickfest with shameless relish, personality disorder test, courtesy of compulsive eater. The test result indicated the likelihood of a schizotypal disorder. "Lies! Lies! Lies!" a voice cried out in fervid objection, followed by a chorus of assent. Suppressing an impending uprising, I assured them I'd no sooner believe a meme than feast on Fear Factor gourmet. Once more, a chorus of approvals. See? I am a democracy.

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Goblins, Rascals, Every Single One Of Them

2005-09-02T03:28:00.000-07:00

I'm very particular about the goblins I meet. Real goblins. Not those simpering fools you see on MTV. One goblin at home has developed an unhealthy interest in shower heaters. If there's one thing I can not stand next to a drivelling Harry Potter fanboy, it's a cold morning shower. The electrician suspected a gremlin. Otherwise, he found nothing wrong. Taking matters into my own hands, I gave the odious scoundrel an alternative tinker-toy, one I would gladly part with at a moment's notice. To the concerned reader whose household goblins have gone rogue in the same fashion, I am happy to report that the Rubick's Cube works. But, just in case, I have Leo Tolstoy's War and Peace on standby.

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The Anatomy Of A Rant

2005-08-30T02:36:00.000-07:00

I will rape, pillage and plunder for an Aston Martin Vantage. But just the same, I will rape, pillage and plunder for premiere movie tickets to The Lion, The Witch And The Wardrobe. With each passing day, my frustration mounts. And if I don't get my Aston Martin or my tickets soon, I'd start pelting innocent bystanders at random with mung bean projectiles.

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Spamblogger, A Word Or Two...

2005-08-22T09:01:00.000-07:00

The wandering spamblogger would find me wearing a long-sleeved rugby shirt today. Just like yesterday. And the day before that. Seeing a pattern emerging, the spamblogger would ask why. Faced with such disarming earnestness, I'd tell him it takes a real man to go without a hanky. Failing to see the wisdom in that, the baffled vagrant leaves, and his chances of spamming vastly improve that very instant. Now that that's off my chest, I now turn to more pressing matters, like the pursuit of truth, justice and breakfast cereal freebies.

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Garlic, All Is Not Lost.

2005-08-17T22:54:00.000-07:00

My sympathies go out to the unfortunate sod who got transmogrified, of all things, into garlic. But compared to the other guy (a lichen, can you believe that?), things certainly could've been worse. Besides, I know this really hot chick who would make Allium vineale a strange bedfellow. Her blog, compulsive eater, says it all. And, if you two hit it off, you know, hand in clove and all things Pablo Nerudaesque, then that's one for the history books. Garlic, the godsend, the proverbial silver lining ...

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Gaiman versus Caiman

2005-08-12T02:11:00.000-07:00

I know fait accompli when I see one. Case in point: Brit versus brute. The Caiman has all the bragging rights any muscle-brain would die for. Among these, besides speed and raw power, is the conspicuous absence of social redeeming skills. Mr. Gaiman, on the otherhand, only has his Brit wit going for him. And about a million fans. While it is given that the Caiman will make short work of Mr. Gaiman, little does the Caiman know that among man's throttlehold on superiority as a species is his ability to stick his tongue out as effortlessly as breathing. Or cussing. For the Caiman, inspite of its gormandising talents, this is an anatomical impossibility. True. CNN online says so, and whatever CNN online says, goes.

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Roadkill

2005-08-10T23:13:00.000-07:00

Oh what fate awaits the poor soul who rear-ends a police patrol? The scenario is rife with plots and sub-plots, but leads to only one ending. This blog originally began with the story of one miserable schmuck who got sideswiped by a school bus but lived to tell his tale. The juicier details of his misfortune gave me a deeper appreciation of the optometrist's role in civil society.

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Busy ... Busy ... Busy ...

2005-08-10T21:48:00.000-07:00

Sadly, sad as in Nutra Sweet and lycra, yes, Lycra, there's no room for idealism in the world of mesmers and hypnotists by profession -- Advertising. Not a scrawny inch. But it is not in my nature to fret and bemoan the extinction of one of man's most winning qualities, teeth gnashing and all that, in certain industries. To take my mind off this heart-rending sense of loss, I busy myself unraveling the shady feminist elements who had a hand in the development of the brand name "Hershey's".

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Relax. Watch A Movie.

2005-08-02T20:41:00.000-07:00

My kind of guffaw, courtesy of my kind of bastard, the erstwhile blogger Shlingkeeshiyopaw. He's all buoyant and all heart, I know, but I'm certainly glad to know not everyone is into this fitness thing.

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And, speaking of Fornicate Under Command of King, here's a most sincere and heartfelt fuckyeah to all the powers that be who made my step up the corporate ladder as vertigo-free as possible. Today's upgraded paycheck, which, I confess, is slightly less lean and lard-free, brings me no closer to my singular, unoriginal and elusive raison d'etre -- that of being filthy rich. But before I am wrongly accused of being a brazen ingrate, thank you once again, and fuckyeah to you and yours.

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A Sneaky Monday Prelude

2005-07-10T21:18:00.000-07:00

Sunday was a day of blissful catatonia for everyone. Even the typical, chronically agit street demonstrator, who make an uneasy living raising heck, hell and an armed militia over something as trivial as a stray grammatical error, stayed home, focusing their hostile energies on afternoon showbiz talk shows instead. Such was Sunday for everyone, except mine. For my blog has caught the attention of the Open Minds, Open Chakra Worldwide and has invited me as a guest speaker in their upcoming convention in a seedy resettlement area nearby, which they claim is "rich in good vibes". I tersely declined the offer, explaining to them that my hands are full assisting in a soup kitchen for Falun Gong refugees. They never called again.

In reality, I spend the most of my Sunday attempting to breed a pair of red-eared turtles. A foolish enterprise, my next door neighbor keeps on telling me, insisting that both Danny and Shmee are female. Being the good sport that I am, I let him natter on until his lungs collapse and his B.P. shoots up to hazardous levels. Let me breed in peace, I say!

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Hiatus My Shorts

2005-07-06T00:06:00.000-07:00

Very few things can be a sorrier sight than a blog gone derelict, take Marilyn Manson for instance. Now, that would make the rare, perpetually cheery individual immune even to Mondays depressed. Just to prove that my faith in ye ole blogdom has not dimmed nor ebbed nor eroded in the course of a month in absentia, allow me to share this gender-specific nugget of wisdom to all my fellow men, in true debris-hurling fashion...

"Man is a useless piece of skin attached to his penis." - quoth anonymous

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I Should Watch Out For Falling Debris

2005-06-14T20:17:00.000-07:00

The biggest scourge to poultry-kind, bigger than the avian flu ever was and ever will be, my dearly beloved Grandma, passed away quietly, in stark contrast to the violent ends of her leghorns, last June 11, at exactly 5:15 in the afternoon. She was 87. Though, her poultry farm now reverberates with cackling, crowing, and shrill squawking characteristic of the riotous revelry following the suspension of a death sentence, I will miss her so, her World War II stories, and her gourmet treats which were all, needless to say, poultry-based. Suddenly liberated from the proverbial mortal coil, I know she is carousing somewhere beyond the Pearly Gates, though never really straying far from it. Specially if tales about Saint Peter actually having a rooster companion prove true.

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Off The Beaten Track

2005-06-01T20:09:00.000-07:00

Meet cocky little Boris. He is a scavenger by nature and by profession and we share the same desk. He is, before I forget, a German Cockroach. He has reluctantly taken up residence in the labyrinthine rubber contacts beneath my keyboard. Occasionally, he would venture out and traverse my computer keyboard coast to coast, from A to +, the brave little cur. Now, the default reaction to critters like my tenant Boris is a mixture of the triumph of the English language, the verbs scream and bludgeon, and nouns like makeshift cudgel and umbrella. But little Boris is innocent of such things. For as long as the novelty of Kings of Convenience in my MP3 player does not wear off, he has very little to fear.

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I Know A Good Point When I See One

2005-05-30T22:07:00.000-07:00

I browsed, I saw, I borrowed, eyes squinting, a nervous tic perhaps, from Chockwit.

"What's the greatest sexual fantasy of men? That's right, 2 women. Now here's what I wanna know. If you can't even please one woman, why you gonna risk pissing off another one?" -- Wanda Sykes

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Friday, Thank God.

2005-05-27T01:25:00.000-07:00

Three elevators up, all under maintenance. All three. Must have been announced in a memo floating around the office somewhere. But having it posted in a bulletin board would've made little difference to me. For I have selective blindness to memos. Such is my sad lot in life. The last memo I've seen and read and tore to a hundred jigsaw pieces was years ago. Toothache no longer qualifies as an excuse to go on leave was the long and short of it. I haven't seen another memo since. My life has never been the same. Merde.

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The Dark Side Is The New Black

2005-05-24T21:22:00.000-07:00

Here at Watch Out For Falling Debris, we love cheese. Our love of cheese defies the natural order of things, the law of diminishing returns, and most especially, natural selection. Our appetite knows no peer, not the ravenous little shrew. Not even the French. That's why Star Wars Episode III will always have a special place in our hearts. We rate it a lip-smacking bon apetit, complete with reverb, decay and echo. The title Revenge of the Sith could use a thorough massage though. If we had our way, it would be aptly titled Star Wars Episode III: Sith Happens.

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Some Days Will Be Radish

2005-05-19T20:14:00.000-07:00

Radish holds little appeal to me. Radish should be diced, braised, cooked or pickled on remote islands that remain uncharted, virgin territories to this day. This day would make a fine, robust radish dish. But because today is a Friday, absolute apathy and absolute joy negate each other. I'd write about my plunder of Vietnam, but I have radish in mind and I can't think and write and feel about anything else. My metahuman effort at a happy thought made me think of the apocalyptic extinction of radish. But, let's face it, that's still about radish.

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Fear Factor Retail

2005-05-12T04:41:00.000-07:00

Spurred into activity by fear of growing roots where I sit and living the rest of my days as an aviary exclusive to sparrows, I braved the afternoon heat with the fortitude of a customer relations officer of a tobacco company. Seeing valor was no substitute to Coppertone, I made way for the nearest convenience store, leaving a cloud of dust and asthmatic seizures in my wake. And what a treasure trove of mass consumption grotesquerie it holds. Mussel chips. Low calorie, less sugar Red Bull Light (that's like Simon being Paula Abdul). Canned Silkworm Pupa. And last, definitely not the least, vibrating condoms.

Though I am impressed by the entrepreneural, no, make that pioneering, spirit behind these over-the-counter curiosities, I chose to defer my purchase of the canned Silkworm Pupa on a later date, when dreaded, I mean, dear cousin Lorie makes an unannounced red carpet visit. It could come in handy.

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Unbreakable

2005-05-11T21:17:00.000-07:00

(Fresh from CNN) FORT LAUDERDALE, Fla. (AP) - A 70-year-old woman survived a nine-story fall from a condominium tower wednesday

Nine floors? Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch.

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I'd Rather Be In Alaska

2005-05-05T23:31:00.000-07:00

This is the biggest body of water I'd probably come into contact with, in a proactive way, for the whole duration of this tropical inferno...

The typical, heliotropic beachcomber, who has an innate aversion to things that require inflation, would most likely ridicule my piece of paradise for its glaring lack of sophistication and the absence of phlog-perfect vistas. But do not be deceived by the austere simplicity of my inflatable oasis. It fits perfectly in my garage. Civilization is merely a remote control distance away. There are no long picket lines to the shower room. It's everything I ever wanted in a dip sans jellyfish sans falling coconuts.

I have things to be vigilant about, though. One is the certainty of kids to relieve their bladders on water. The other is the inevitability of evaporation.

If this heat spell lasts any longer, I'd grow gills and soft leathery membranes between my fingers and toes.

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Heat-Dazed Purging

2005-05-05T21:24:00.000-07:00

If there's one song I'd ban in this heat spell, it would be Glenn Frey's "The Heat Is On." Not just on air, but anywhere. If I were president of the republic, I would declare Glenn Frey persona non-grata in a snap. I'd make a blitz inventory of all Tower Records stores, confiscate his CDs, and raze all of them on primetime TV. But my loathing does not stop there. I would go to the U.N. and lobby for Glenn Frey's exile to Alaska, never to leave its shores as long as he draws breath, where he would live a monastic life in an igloo, sing "The Heat Is On" every single day, and compete with orcas for walrus steak.

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Not All Blogs Will Be A Good Blog

2005-04-27T21:17:00.000-07:00

A couple of days ago, I took my dog to the vet for his annual anti-rabies shot. Next day, my dog decided to take his immunization for a spin...on a hapless 8-year old boy. This mini-travesty got me thinking, not one, but three thoughts simultaneously: 1) Had I succumbed to procrastinating any further, I could have a rabid 8-year old guest clawing at my gate that very minute; 2) This was premeditated, the furry bastard's trying to get even; and, 3) What's for dinner. The reprisal from the aggrieved party was not a long time coming. Cruella de Vil saunters up to our gate and, right before my finely-honed instinct for self-preservation could kick in, launches a volley of admonition in excess of the Recommended Daily Allowance.

Grateful that I survived a sparring match with an ogress, that the kid is ok, that there are no lawsuits coming my way, I made up my mind that the next time my four-legged mischief maker fancies another human test subject, the next syringe up his rump would be a trip ticket to dog heaven.

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From Moviegoers to Proofreaders

2005-04-25T20:41:00.000-07:00

Sahara and Samara. Both showing at a theater near you. To the uncautious dyslexic who looks forward to seeing Penelope Cruz in an adventure flick with salivary anticipation, you may be ruefully disappointed with the baffling appearance of another kind of brunette -- hot-oiled, vengeful, and clinically dead.

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I Agree With The Smiths

2005-04-20T05:01:00.000-07:00

"Work is a four letter word."

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Herr Pope

2005-04-19T22:34:00.000-07:00

Ratzinger. AKA Pope Benedict XVI. Teutonic to the core. So is Volkswagen. And Mercedez Benz. And Albert Einstein. And Rutger Hauer. German Franks, on the otherhand, might be French.

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Dan Brown fans, before you get ahead of yourselves, here's a centuries-spanning skinny of almost all the Benedicts, beginning with Pope Benedict IV, that came, saw and excommunicated...

Benedict IV excommunicated Baldwin II, and started the decline of the Merovingians, alleged bloodline of King David.

Benedict V, "the most iniquitous of all the monsters of ungodliness", raped a hapless waif. The rest is history.

Benedict VI was strangled to death.

Benedict VII used the taxpayer's money to wage war against an antipope. So, what else is new?

So did Benedict VIII, who was eventually driven from Rome.

Benedict IX resigned to marry. He sold the papal office for 650kg of gold. Must be some very hot victorian broad.

Benedict X excommunicated an antipope and got a dose of his own medicine, and then some... was excommunicated, imprisoned, freed, imprisoned.

Benedict XI was poisoned.

Benedict XII went witch-hunting. Not sated, he went against a Catholic pillar of belief, the Immaculate Concepcion. Obviously, he lost.

Benedict XIII, initially called himself Benedict XIV, purely on superstitious grounds.

Now, the true Benedict XIV promulgated many laws which caused many converts to leave the church.

Benedict XV, humanitarian in many ways, but extremely allergic to modernism.

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Then, here's Cardinal Ratzinger as Benedict XVI. This could be proof that there's room for sense of humor at the Vatican. Or something else entirely that my IQ can not adequately handle.

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It's A Monday Alright

2005-04-17T22:31:00.000-07:00

On the way to work. Running late. As usual. Traffic. As usual. I was mentally sorting through my database of unused alibis, when a radio plug for a theme park goes "... And a spectacular pyro-technics display. See this once-in-a-lifetime show every Saturday, 9p.m."

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I Want My MTV

2005-04-17T20:02:00.000-07:00

Honestly, when was the last time you actually saw a music video on MTV Channel?

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Two Weeks In Deep Freeze

2005-04-14T00:55:00.000-07:00

"When it rains, it pours" ... and when it pours, it pours like there's no tomorrow, fills up the floodplain, and makes you wish you bought that reconditioned U-Boat instead of the Coca-Cola vendo machine that does not give change. Now, once knee-deep in goo, you're not going anywhere. You stand there, wallowing in misery and pondweed, and wait for a pack of emaciated African Wild Dogs to have their way with you in a most harrowing way. Sushi. To go.

The past two weeks hotwired to work quartered, compressed and nutshelled.

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Last I heard, cloaking technology is still centuries away from being mass-produced and bundled with your favorite breakfast cereal. Que horor!

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Garbage Bin Writing

2005-04-14T00:30:00.000-07:00

To make up for lost time, I was about to post quotes from Nikos Kazantzakis' "Zorba The Greek", which would make even the most impenitent uber-sexist blush and lure the most conservative feminists out of their cubbyholes in search of blood. But because I have no wish to live life in a bunker ala Salman Rushdie, I dropped it, and went back to watching a pair of sea cucumbers securing the future of the species on Discovery Channel.

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A couple of days after the junked blog attempt, I received an email from a rocker chick from down under who, in her spare time, reforms sexist bigots into mild-mannered choirboys with a pair of footlong sticks. She believes cussing occasionally like a vintage BB gun is therapeutic. I usually reserve that for Mondays. Or when nobody's looking.

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She admits to frequenting this blog like a neuter-spared tomcat would frequent a certain corner of the house. Or something like that. Bottomline is, she awaits my first published book with "feverish anticipation", no matter how long it takes. Lady, if patience is a virtue, prepare for sainthood.

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If I were to write a book right now, the first chapter alone would probably give any prospective publishers such a bad case of entritis stomatitis that they will all whither and perish with indigestion.

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Monday Hiccup

2005-03-21T01:29:00.000-08:00

It's a Monday. I have heightened senses on a Monday. It's a mystery to me. Anyway, from the corner of my eye, I see the Job Order factory right across the room a-buzz, like most bees go, with a flurry of high-heeled comings and goings, J.O. manufacturing without doubt, which would eventually make mercy killing this day more an aspiration than a possibility.

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Verminator

2005-03-14T01:51:00.000-08:00

Okay. There's this office clown who's been constantly hovering about me, like fly on... err... creme broule. As if life isn't short enough, he's making a dangerous habit of peeking over my shoulder every time I blog. Asking him to buzz off is proving to be quite the undertaking. He is denser than a brick wall and impervious to even the most virulent forms of slander.

Now, I'm two minds split about this minor disturbance in the force. Should I drop him 26 storeys below like a bad idea? (How apt -- watch out for falling debris. I will revel in the irony.) Or, should I emotionally maim him, the sort that scars for life, rehabs on the spot, and makes you turn to religion.

Which makes finding my copy of "Idiot's Guide To Hypnotism" a tad more urgent.

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The Itch Of Ages Strikes Back

2005-03-13T21:31:00.000-08:00

I should be quarantined. I should be boxed in a sterile environment. Instead, I am running amuck mass railway transits, cabs, and rush hour lifts. You see, little brats (I mean it) living with me are playing gracious hosts to the viral blight on vanity, the chicken pox. Which leads me to suspect there may be viral pathogens clinging on the fabric of my shirt, my jeans. The hair, however, poses no real threat to even the most poorly immunized bystander. No virus can possibly escape the tenuous hold of Dep. Now, if you think I have a history of pox running in my veins, you are wrong. But worry not, chicken pox virgins. If my antibodies prove no match against these microscopic miscreants that could infect even a bacteria, then I will lock myself in solitude and meditate on the complexities of life, like how the microwave oven works, or how they put the graphite in pencils, or how Nicole Richie can stand being herself.

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Cranial Constipation

2005-03-10T22:29:00.000-08:00

That's it. I think I've just had enough of pointless (and idiotic) pain-peddling, mental retardation inspired no doubt by Jackass Of The Highest Order, Johnny Knoxville, in Big Boys.com (there, on the sidebar) and Triumph the Insult Comic Dog (also on the sidebar), video clips courtesy of Limewire (again, on the side bar). Any more of this and I'd turn into a drooling candidate for major lobotomy. (Observe. The side-effects of this double whammy of vague mindlessness must be the obsessive use of parenthesis, like they were seasoning on blanched cabbage. Keen.)

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Mind Of A Married Man

2005-03-08T21:04:00.000-08:00

In celebration (somewhat) of International Women's Day (which explains the female glyph on the March 8 Google.com logo)...

A purty young nubile thing once asked me, once and never again, if man is a walking timebomb, an infernal creature inevitably destined to stew in Dante's depths for being the unrepentant vandal to the sacrament of matrimony. The answer was yes. Man is naturally polygamous. What followed was an impressive endless stream of cusses the likes of which may never be seen on this blog. Or anywhere else. Ah... the exquisite pain of validation. Tsk.

Blame biology, sistas, the root of man's philandering ways. Physiological difference. Man can pass on his genes and surname (ok, in illegit cases, only the former, minus the latter) even in the twilight years of his life, viagra-aided or no. On the otherhand, his sexual counterpart goes through menopause, and once through the threshold, her fertility makes like a banana and split. There. The biological mismatch is my first, last and only salvo at polygamy.

A man denying his genetic hand-me-down urges is a man constantly besieged. So, to the rare, stalwart, monogamous il castrati in heart and mind ... err... may your genes prevail.

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Run For Your Lives

2005-03-08T18:54:00.000-08:00

I have a new toy. It has the stamp of Hollywood cliche "if it fell in the wrong hands ... etc, etc." all over it. It's a modest 4 plus megapixel digicam that could elevate any visual moron into an art genius. It's really a no-brainer to use. Just train the cam on a subject, press the shutter, viola! -- Art! But, there is hardly any profit to be made shooting zen-picturesque waterfalls, sunsets and your mixed-breed canine best friend nowadays. Besides, where's the thrill in that?

I, on the otherhand, would rain paparazzi hell on unwitting twosomes concealed in the cover of darkness. Parking lots. Fire exits. ATM booths. Condemned buildings. Memorial parks. Public restrooms. From garden-variety liaisons to the perverse. The list goes on. The potential for antecedent exposes and the consequential extortion is nearly boundless.

Not bad.

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Cryptic Crap

2005-03-06T23:08:00.000-08:00

"Do not blog about your blog." says one site on blogging. Watch me.

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I've been busily pouring over all the online notes, cryptic codes and everything that sounds, looks and feels absolutely greek to a man of my age and temperament, HTML codes and all its ilk, in the attempt to bend the limited functionality of this blog to my will, other than just to parade around my extreme dislike for radish, hype, Mickey Mouse, doodads that don't really work, and the word "denied".

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But, in the next few days, there will be some changes around here. Guaranteed. Or your money back.

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But progress, in quotes, heaves and crawls at a snail's pace. Touching base with HTML, and the many aliases it goes by, without the required stock know-how, is like cracking the shell of a walnut with verbal abuse.

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WMD Rumsfeld's Behind

2005-03-01T22:15:00.000-08:00

Dissing time.

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From CNN online.

"Rumsfeld Sued Over War Crimes."

About fucking time.

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News over a month ago, again from CNN, correspondence from Rumsfeld.

"Iraq Years Away From Nuclear Capability."

Who's dumb? Who's dumber? Rumsfeld for stating the obvious? Or CNN for treating it as headline news? And check out the oxymorons, the news is practically oozing with it: dumb intelligence and old news.

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Limewire Anonymous

2005-03-01T19:49:00.000-08:00

I thank you, Limewire, for being the online download nexus hack that you are, of any file extension deemed possible: MP3s, Mpegs, Jpegs, WMVs, etc.

I thank you, Limewire anonymous, whoever you guys are, for sharing your music, your MP3s, your WAV files, so that I could relish once more the songs that I thought were beyond resurrecting. The Beat's "Mirror In The Bathroom", Tones On Tail's "Lions" and "Real Life", Joy Division's "Isolation" (and Smashing Pumpkins' cover of the same title), even the days of strut's Kraftwork's "Tour de France". Your concerted efforts have made compiling such lost treasures into a CD I now tap my feet to and lip-synch shamelessly.

I thank you for making nostalgic sound-tripping dramatically less financially prohibitive.

Because of you, I'm just a few tracks short of collecting into a CD all the music tracks of Need For Speed Underground 2: Capone, Terror Squad, Felix da Housecat, heck, even Paul Van Dyk.

In gratitude and in return, I offer you, through Limewire, the forlorn MP3s in my hard-drive, pathetic dial-up connection notwithstanding. So go ahead, grab a copy of the MP3s you like, they're free, and all worth the download, and while I'm online.

To all the limewire hosts generous enough to offer their boy band music, because you understandably don't have the slightest clue, and because I'm in a benevolent mood, I spare you your lives.

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March It Is.

2005-03-01T19:14:00.000-08:00

What a shamefully lame title for the first blog of March. Even after a suspenseful few days in absentia. It reeks of Star Wars Episode I and Jar Jar Binx. Lame. And when I say lame, I mean vanilla. Flavor of the month theme? As early as now, it sure is shaping up that way. But still, totally lame is not as bad as, nor as trauma-inducing as, totally boring, which is, in a way, its own special redeeming value. So, lame it is. March it is.

Now, we can all get on with our lives.

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Dirty Harry Does Oscar

2005-02-27T23:31:00.000-08:00

I'd ask Clint Eastwood to go for a couple of beers and congratulate him for winning his second Oscar for directing, but because that would be like asking a septuagenarian to climb the Alps, or an amputee giving me a piece of his mind via his middle finger, or asking David Blaine to raise the dea... nevermind that..., I'd blog about it instead. Clint Eastwood films are, inspite of the usual tragic undertow, distinctly quiet. No post-effects flamboyance. No sweeping score. Just honest storytelling. I'll leave the blow-by-blow skinny to the bonafide cineastes.

So here's to you, Mr. Eastwood, Oscar or no Oscar. You are living proof that so many good things can come from doing things in the last minute.

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Rigor Mortician

2005-02-24T04:41:00.000-08:00

Bored. Bored. Bored. To death. It is possible. But before that, the death-rattle prelude. Well, at least, that's doing something. Better than this wretched stiffening, restless vegetating. Which brings to mind a quotable quote from an old college buddy ...

"If misery loves company, then we're a corporation."

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Geek TV

2005-02-24T02:53:00.000-08:00

My desk would be the arson's oasis. A stranger would mistake me for a workaholic. There's so much flotsam, layers upon layers of it, an ecological system is taking root I could tell. But work really has been piling up in earnest, my desk lilts and groans in sheer gravitational agony. During that one brief instance I had to surface for air, that rare weekday downtime, I found myself glued to the couchpotato's altar of worship. It's on Discovery Channel. I realized I've been missing out on my daily dose of the proverbial fact-stranger-than-fiction staple.

The Discovery program featured an ethnic tribe teetering on the edge of extinction. But what makes this particular tribe worthy of distinction, therefore, blog-worthy, is their off-tangent sense of fashion. What little remains of it anyway. The men of their tribe have their manthings casually concealed in footlong cylindrical wooden poles.

There. Fact is stranger than fiction.

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The Dog Blog

2005-02-23T20:40:00.000-08:00

The Jonathan Carroll blog quote epidemia. It's a pseudo-meme. It's a semi-meme. Soon, it will have thumbprints in everyone's blog. Resistance is futile. Bow down to superior wisdom.

And so,

"Be the person your dog thinks you are."

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Everyday Is 4th Of July

2005-02-23T19:42:00.000-08:00

Japanese pop femme chimpmunks heard over a hundred times already I'm starting to see MTVs of it in my dreams, that's playing in an endless loop on my left.

Behind me, artificial strings, slow and bereft of percussions, typical pretentious new age music that hover above you as you lie flat and limp and whincing as a spa masseur treats you like dough in desperate need of more yeast. Again, that's playing in a loop.

And somewhere north-west of me, an angry mob of rappers dishing out their trademark hatred of the world. Also playing in a loop. And still, thankfully somewhere beyond that, is mainstream pop. It's an appliance expo in here, where everyday's a dismal musical abomination.

You must now realize, my power of focus is so finely tuned it's scary.

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February Post Script

2005-02-22T20:35:00.000-08:00

Is there any way to euthanasia February? It's an awfully short month, as the lifespans of months go, which should make it a big boon to salary-men everywhere. But February is a scoundrel. It hopscotches to the 29th. Please, give me a baseball bat and I'll make February sprint like it was leap year.

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Failed relationships. Failed marriages. Happens. A lot. Nowadays. Joseph Campbell, in his opus The Power Of Myth, offers a theory. He thinks myth, well, at least the spiritual part of it, is an elixir of longevity to marriage. When living went from dial-up to broadband, the spiritual facet of our lives grew suddenly bulimic. He goes to the second largest population on earth to illustrate his point. In India, weddings take three days. That's a lot of curry. Anyway, after 3 days, nothing on earth could possibly rend the newly wed's union apart. "Cemented", according to Campbell.

3 days. Britney Spears got her numbers right. But got the idea all wrong.

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Blog For Rent

2005-02-18T02:32:00.000-08:00

The problem with a career in writing is it reduces your social life to zero, zombifies, petrifies, and it really gets in the way of serious blogging action. That's why I'm now considering getting in touch with the right kind of nutjob, preferrably in and out of the asylum, and with a real knack for ruining appetites, and giving him my username and password, to wear the highly-prized mantle of anti-static. Temporarily, anyway. Until I land a career selling pots and pans door-to-door. Or a sales clerk in a 24-hour convenience store and do graveyard shifts. With so much time to kill it would be a massacre. I would blog like mad and post episodic sagas of epic lengths. And, yes, lots of my brand of war-mongering, conspiracy theories, alien sightings, cosmic anomalies and Nippon fetish updates in between.

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Mein Gott

2005-02-18T01:14:00.000-08:00

Some days, fate conspires against you. Normally, that would be Mondays. But there are exceptions. Today is a shining example of that exception. Think of all the synonyms of boring, string them together in a straight line, read, and you'll get the picture. HDTV sharp. Anyway, just an eternity ago, I was drumming my keyboard, when Le Muse cometh.

She's a miserable frau of impossible proportions. Spit-shiny boots, starch-stiff salt and peppers, and a swagger stick worn-out with abuse. She points her vicious stick at me and orders me to write. Imagining the consequential welts and hematoma of disobedience, I write.

She pulls out her PDA from her breast pocket, rubs her chin, then vanishes, leaving a fading trail of laughter and Richard Wagner's "Ride of the Valkyries" score. Off to inspire the next blogger stuck in a rut.

But little does she know, Anti-Static is a scheming bastard who's instinct of self-preservation is somewhat in the same league as breathing. I'll publish this entry. Then, resume drumming my keyboard until the clock strikes six.

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Apollo Mission: "Houston, we have a problem..."

Command : "What's the problem, Eagle 1?"

Apollo Mission : "Err... Command? Uhrm... watch out for falling debris... "

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Immortality Formula

2005-02-16T20:49:00.000-08:00

The day I actually meet a person who loved "Battlefield Earth" would be the day I die.

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Watch My Rear

2005-02-16T19:16:00.000-08:00

More and more bumper stickers are getting more and more inane, vacuous, mindless and, worst of all, sponsored. Here's second-hand wisdom on the fly, in the tradition of "shit happens", but with the instantaneous efficacy of dinitrogen monoxide. Without further ado, go knock yourselves out...

4 out of 5 voices in my head say Go For It!

As a matter of fact, I do own the road.

Cover me! I'm changing lanes.

Get off my ass before I start to like it!

Horn Broken Watch for Finger

I'm a nice guy. My car is evil.

I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to work.

I'm Out of Estrogen And I Have a Gun

I don't care, I don't have to.

I have a nice body. It's in my trunk.

I may be slow but I'm ahead of you!

If everything is coming your way, you’re in the wrong lane!

Pissing off the whole planet one person at a time

So Many Cats, So Few Recipes

I gave up drinking, smoking and sex - Worst 15 minutes of my life

A bartender is just a pharmacist with a limited inventory.

Always remember you're unique, just like everyone else.

Boldly Going Nowhere

Eagles may soar, but weasels don't get sucked into jet engines.

Few women admit their age, few men act it.

Go On, I will See You At The Next Light.

I intend to live forever - so far, so good.

If you can read this I can deploy your air bag!!!

If you can't dazzle them with brilliance, baffle them with bullshit.

Never eat more than you can lift.

Never underestimate the power of stupid people in large groups.

There is no shortcut to anywhere worth going.

When all else fails, lower your standards.

You’re Just Jealous Because The Voices Only Speak To Me

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Leather Straps, Please

2005-02-15T19:15:00.000-08:00

This blog entry began with my secret plan of world domination and launching a new world order. One that would last a millenia. But, seeing the danger in this, I turn my thoughts to world peace, tantric pursuits, and that french fries go best with mayonnaise than ketchup.

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V.D. For Two

2005-02-14T00:59:00.000-08:00

Casanovas of the world, unite. Valentines Day. Chocolates. Roses. Chloroform. Come November, OBs and their nurses make busy, as the world gets repopulated anew.

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The Pause That Refreshes

2005-02-14T00:16:00.000-08:00

30 grand is manna from heaven. To split it with 15 other people is madness. To use it for some leisurely pursuits, really lame ones, is conspiracy. To bet part of it in lotto, well, now, that is pure brilliance. Anybody lands the jackpot, we split it to 15, too. That's 5 million each. The chances are skrewey as far as fat chances are concerned, but since we're all screwed anyway, off we went, elbowing, muscling our way through throngs of sweat-stained millionaire hopefuls to get our lotto tickets. We shot off with our bundles of luck, giggling like school girls all the way back to the office.

That was friday, the draw was Saturday. To make a long story absurdly short, we all lost.

Good thing too, actually. I kept hearing voices in my head all the time. Lord of the Flies, they said.

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Honey-Glazed Kryptonite

2005-02-10T23:13:00.000-08:00

During the last corplan, at one point, the facilitator, her smile a perpetual facial landmark, think the Joker, minus the genocidal urge and the slim physique that's to die for, asked us to mill around and tell each other's secret passion. Rendering "secret" rather moot, doesn't it? Anyway, with the company chairman hovering just within earshot, we all perfunctorily did as told, unloading secret passions with meta-human effort. I told all the profusely perspiring, vulnerable souls unfortunate enough to cross my path of unburdening my best kept secret.

And that is, I love donuts.

Grateful to hear a secret passion that's wholesome, maybe for the first time in their lives, and with a sigh of relief drawn from anywhere but the lungs, they moved on to the next shrinking violet without having told me theirs. Comfortable with this naturally-evolved symbiotic arrangement - I'll tell you my secret, nevermind yours - I went around with the renewed vigor of a man losing his marbles.

I love donuts. I must've been a cop in my previous life.

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DVD Wishlist

2005-02-09T04:29:00.000-08:00

Santa ain't for real. That's a bitter pill to swallow. But the umbilical that linked my calloused wish-generating faculties to the concept of a jolly fat philantrophist was tougher to excise than I originally assumed. The last Christmas, the last straw. The details as to this rude awakening of sorts I dare not disclose here, for it would be an open invitation to bored shrinks who frequent this blog, or life insurance agents. Anyhoo, I have digressed far too long. Now, on to the real deal.

Not in any particular order. And definitely, not final.

Le Roi Danse (The King Is Dancing)
Wherever Louis XIV goes, the whole symphonic orchestra goes. The 17th century version of Steve Jobs' iPod.

Omega Man
Starring Charlton Heston. The last man without the cheeky, glow-in-the-dark eyes.

Flight Of Dragons
Animation. It's science versus fantasy! Supreme Warlock versus Math professor! The professor wins!

Lord Of The Rings: Return Of The King (4-disc)
Why the hell not.

The City Of Lost Children
Just to see if my salivary glands are in perfect working condition. Directed by Marc Caro and Jean-Pierre Jeunet.

Wheels On Meals
I did get the title right. Jackie Chan, Yuen Biao, Samo Hung kung fu action. Nevermind the big bump in the title.

Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch.

2005-02-09T02:52:00.000-08:00

Life hurts a lot more than death. -- Jim Morrison

The seat of pain is the knee. It's loyalty is to gravity. Not the mind. It's the first to go, the rest just comes tumbling down. The knee is a rouge.

There is no pain so great as the memory of joy in present grief. -- Aurelius

Science has no cure to emotional hurt, heartbreak. Loss. Prozac is but an anesthesia. In the long run, it is an expensive placebo. The cure is amnesia. Cauterize pain where it throbs and smarts. Amnesia, making the world a better place.

It's a real primal thing, watching someone get hurt. It's funny and accessible. -- Johnny Knoxville

I bet he hurts, too. Sometimes.

Band Of Bloggers

2005-02-08T18:16:00.000-08:00

He who watches dusk meets he who watches out for falling debris. The reunion is not, by any means, to pat each other's backs for a-blogging done well, but we patted each others backs just the same. His reason for coming is migratory. Two words, mainly "pastures" and "greener". Oh, plus "sanity". The brief visit concluded with a couple of realizations. First, that there are deviants even among deviants. And, sometimes, the rare psycho can get in the way of a pink and supple career health. Second, smokers are a dying breed.

Oi! Duskwatcher! I'll see what I can do for you.

Now, where's that book, "Hypnotism ... For Dummies."

Ygolortsa

2005-02-07T22:31:00.000-08:00

Curiosity is one of my finer traits which might, someday but not hopefully soon, lead me prematurely to the pearly gates. Anyway, for the time being, apocalyptic conclusions aside, here's my latest jaunt into the cave of the unknown. Took a Reverse Astrology test online, one of those hordes of meme that's been proliferating en masse lately. Okay, Astrology I can appreciate, the Reverse part, I don't have the foggiest idea. Anyway, reverse or no, the test engine yielded this result,

"According to our analysis, you are a Scorpio, Oct 23 to Nov 21. But you are certainly not a Libra, Sep 23 to Oct 22. You claim to be a Leo, but you are simply in error. Please consult your parents as to your actual birth date."

Which I intend to do ASAP. I can probably stand being Scorpio, paranoid snobs that they are, but I am immensely grateful, to the nth degree, not to be Libra. For many reasons. Here's one ...

"I'm a scorpion!", "I'm a ram!", "I'm a lion!", "I'm a weighing scale."

The Software Pirate's Motto

2005-02-06T20:08:00.000-08:00

Burn 'em all!

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Word to the wise, or something to that effect, courtesy of Cris Villanueva, barfly extraordinaire, and then some. Here's to you!

Fumbling About

2005-02-06T19:02:00.000-08:00

And really good at it, too. There's a nagging itch to Queer Eye, again, the blog interface. But this very Frank Sinatra's way of DIY is easier said than done. I am with-holding the urge to issue forth the SOS to all the King's men and their horses until Humpty Dumpty, poor, poor doomed bastard, has had a great fall. Which is most likely to be soon. Real soon. The links are appearing in the hotzone hinterlands of my blog, which mandates the use of a very efficient optic mouse with scroll and a modicum of fortitude.

Ahh... another Sinatra song coming ... "Let Me Try Again" ...

I need a drink.

Monday Then

2005-02-06T18:41:00.000-08:00

So soon. So, so soon.

WeekEnd ... Blog Ends

2005-02-04T02:06:00.000-08:00

Fridays usually signal an end to blogging. Because domestic life is the usual, same old, same old. Not that that is a bad thing. Au contraire. Just that there isn't much to blog about, you know, the wife still thinks I'm corny, I still can't beat Mark my boy in King Of Fighters, whatever edition, my little Jiro, 5 months old that he is, thinks I'm always up to no good (in gibberish). And the maids, well, they think I'll bring my slovenly domestic habits to the grave. Though, my little dachsund is a little partial to me, I think. Those little scraps of leftover bribes still work their charm. And then, there's the nearby mall. And DVDs. And cable surfing. And the lost art of lounging around. Couchpotato heaven.

As a parting shot, before I ran off to pursue my weekend bliss, Milan Kundera sums up "Unbearable Lightness Of Being" in a few words: Routine is salvation. Not that that's my excuse. But it does make sense.

Monday, then...

Scratching The Surface

2005-02-03T19:26:00.000-08:00

An officemate, yes, that's you, dear daydreamer, who's into this fine craft of blogging, gave me a nod to surface scan her blogspace, albeit, with the post-script fair-weather warning that it's not ... ehrm ... deep.

Welcome to the club... MY club. Please leave your shoes at the door.

I know "deep" when it stares me in the face, being its close personal acquaintance, but given the choice between a foray into the Marianas Trench or the absurdities in and of life, I'd go surface-tanning any day.

I'd plunge into the depths of the soul when there's enough vitamin D to go around, though. Makes living a tad more rich. Not necessarily more bearable. Nor, where practicalities are concerned, more convenient, remote control-convenient.

Just the same, everybody has a capacity to dig deep, beat Pablo Neruda in his own game, congressmen and senators included, and maybe, one or two celebrity stars.

So, blog away like there's no tomorrow. Here, we are beings of pure magic and visceral awe. Here, we are bullet-proof, heck, make that nuclear bomb-proof. Here, we are the laws of physics and fashion reality in compliance to our whims.

Someday, you'll say "Fuckit. Anti-static was right. Bless him."

I say, kneel, knave, kneel!

Divine Paradox

2005-02-03T19:04:00.000-08:00

The infamous Arcbishop of Manila, the title, the name and his decades-spanning career is the (insert superlative here) paradox, I believe, of this age. Fate apparently had both left and right hands in it. Cardinal Sin. I still can't get over it.

Online Meanderings

2005-02-02T23:54:00.000-08:00

Your mouse, in collaboration with your itchy digits, has lead you here. Conscious choice has nothing to do with it. You wish, no, you hope, fingers and toes crossed, to get the benefit of a quick seratonin-boost as dear ole anti-static continues his rampage of sarcasm and loathing. Wrong. This site is currently undergoing fumigation. So, while I attend to these hapless arthropods, I'll leave you with this one thought...

In New Order's Bizarre Love Triangle, where's the love triangle? And what's so bizarre about it?

Nonsense Archive

2005-02-01T22:11:00.000-08:00

I've seen this list a couple of years ago. I stored this in my old email. Old means it's now a defunct 0 kilobyte. Fortunately, an officemate emailed me this list quite recently, under the title New Words. Not so new now, is it? And not a real help to anyone anyway. It will not ease your chronic fits of psychosis. Beer still works better. Now, where was I? Oh yes, the crap archive... Here goes...

Bozone (n.):
The substance surrounding stupid people that stops bright ideas from penetrating. The bozone layer, unfortunately, shows little sign of breaking down in the near future.

Foreploy (v):
Any misrepresentation about yourself for the purpose of getting laid.

Cashtration (n.):
The act of buying a house, which renders the subject financially impotent for an indefinite period.

Sarchasm (n):
The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and the person who doesn't get it.

Inoculatte (v):
To take coffee intravenously when you are running late.

Osteopornosis (n):
A degenerate disease. (This one got extra credit.)

Karmageddon (n):
It's like, when everybody is sending off all these really bad vibes, right? And then, like, the Earth explodes and it's like, a serious bummer.

Decafalon (n.):
The grueling event of getting through the day consuming only things that are good for you.

Glibido (v):
All talk and no action.

Dopeler effect (n):
The tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter when they come very quickly.

Arachnoleptic fit (n.):
The frantic dance performed just after you've accidentally walked through a spider web.

Beelzebug (n.):
Satan in the form of a mosquito that gets into your bedroom at three in the morning and cannot be cast out.

Caterpallor (n.):
The color you turn after finding half a grub in the fruit you're eating.

Ignoranus (n):
A person who's both stupid and an asshole.

Mouse, Take Me Away!

2005-02-01T19:33:00.000-08:00

1,000 synonyms to ... jacking off ... you know, choking the bishop, the blue baseball bat (998 more to go), etc. Yes, there is such a site. "worldwidewank". Things you find on the net ...

Yet, here's another ...

... The blog "evilsciencechick". No science. No chick. Just pure evil.

Then, there's

"Watch Out For Falling Debris".

Is there any point to this blog, you ask. Absolutely none. Which is the point exactly.

Allow me to illustrate with today's Food For Thought special:

This is not a good time to be a brand man for mayonnaise.

Ciao!

Whazzap?

2005-01-31T21:32:00.000-08:00

After Abarat Book 2, reading "A Tale Of Two Cities" by Charles Dickens. The pages are yellow, brittle, and a bit hesitant to turn. Reading's a crawl, though in a saccharine-good way, like a 100kph cruise out of town.

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Been listening to Cold Play's "God Put A Smile Upon Your Face" for the nth time. For no reason at all really. Just sounds ... cool, you know, all attitude and all that. Whatever. Ahh... there it goes again.

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Just happened on "A Day In The Night Of A Stripper" (seriously), the blog of a teacher by day, a mother of four in the afternoon, and a strip entertainer by night. Her husband is fine by it, though he can't stand the private lap-dancing ministrations. If I were in his shoes, the joint would probably be levelled by now. Err... I'd pick the cash register clean first.

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I still think Mazda 3 is the hottest thing around. Err... next to the wife. I really hope she lets me buy a Playstation 2. Strictly for Saturday downtime only. Promise.

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The new year's resolution is fast faltering. Drastic measures required. Like lobotomy ... or a surgery of the same sort.

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Today's message tone is from the Adam West's Batman. The cliffhanger announer goes "Tune in next time ... same bat time ... same bat channel." I get a kick everytime. And yes, I admit to sending SMS messages to myself when I'm bored. Or when nobody's looking.

I Should Make A Fool Of Myself More Often

2005-01-31T21:01:00.000-08:00

I must've made such a frickin' freak show of myself at the corplan, my boss' boss, with thumbs up all the way up to her boss' bosses and their bosses, promised to give me a raise starting this month, instead of August, which is an eternity away. Hmmm... Did I close my eyes singing "Whatever We Imagine"?...

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(On a side note, with another bonus being pipelined to our ATM accounts ... err ... as we speak, if I were any more addled, I'd mistake this company as a charitable institution.)

Crucified Without Nails

2005-01-31T19:03:00.000-08:00

I survived my second company corplan. Set against an inviting backdrop of bayview serenity, we all, well, most of us anyway, made fools of ourselves to last us a lifetime. All the way to the next. Survived, yes, but definitely not unscathed, as far as ego plus scarring plus bruising is concerned. For example, singing James Ingram's "Whatever We Imagine" at the top of our voices, arms linked, swaying to and fro as the musical cheese lolled by (believe me, some fucking dared close their eyes as they sung. Yes, you guessed it, the guys in the accounting department). Yup, whatever Leonine pride I had those two days starved and sulked and pined to brooding dark, nefarious thoughts.

Friday night happened. Migraine happened. The six pack pair of San Miguel Light brewskies grew forlorn and desperate as they waited, almost in vain, in suspended animation in cold storage. I unpacked my hammock and hoisted it between two coconut trees, which, next day later, became the buzz among the lame and the outdoor-allergic amongst us. Yeah. Like I give a damn.

My roommate proved my salvation, apothecary to the rest of us who cannot take anymore cheese served wholesale. He brought his Playstation 2, the bastard of bastards, the serum to my migraine cum malaise. My feeding mosquito companions buzzed their regret as I traded the hammock for a PS joypad.

The beer flowed, the brandy too, Snoop Dogg rapping in a loop. Friday night ended on a Saturday morning, sober, but game over-dazed, the master of ceremonies obliterated by alcohol of varying proofs, escorted the girls, gravity and beer and brandy colliding, back to their rooms, slept soundly, soundly courtesy of a roommate who brought empty beer cans to animation just by snoring.

Saturday. Saturday I got home, travel-weary but bulalo-filled and fulfilled, a little past 10. I survived a voluminous serving of cheese only a man can endure.

Deus Ex Machina

2005-01-30T19:04:00.000-08:00

Got this from He Who Sings, Neil Gaiman is coming over to the Philippines. This is big. This is major. As in, a blimp, an airstrip, as in Richard Chamberlain admitting he's gay. Yea. That big.

Monday Antidote

2005-01-30T18:54:00.000-08:00

Weather-faded, black straight cut levi's jeans. Navajo boots. White shirt with the dramatis personae of Alex Ross' amped mojo Kingdom Come printed on it. A Greenpeace sack-cloth napsack. Chemical Brothers churning out ye ole big beats into my ears. Zero fad.

Damn, I feel good.

Heads Will Roll

2005-01-27T13:16:00.000-08:00

Off to Punta Fuego for a little company powwow. Frankly, I wouldn't really give a damn. But I do. Because I had to drag my butt out of bed all the way to work at five this Friday morning. Then hop on the bus that would take us miles away from civilization, even the nearest trace of it. Then leave tomorrow afternoon. My favorite days, irrevocably denied. This is borderline human rights violation. Someday, I will have my revenge. And, yes, heads will roll. Hmmm... mental note ... Heads ... will ... roll.

Ahhh... I feel better already.

Fantastic Farce

2005-01-26T18:29:00.000-08:00

Jessica Alba as the Invisible Woman. And three third-stringers from Hollywood's third-stringer pool of talents to complete the cast of the upcoming comics-flick Fantastic Four. What gives? The suck-o-meter just went ballistic.

Which reminds me, the Kingpin may love all that bling, and black may be in, but black he is not.

Put Your Brand Name Here...

2005-01-25T21:56:00.000-08:00

If you've seen that TV Commercial where the celebrity endorser zealously, yes zealously, mentions the 3-syllabled product name like a vinyl record recently liberated from a nasty pre-pubescent, 8 times FengShui-compliant in a span of 30 seconds, minus the oh-so many times the product label actually appears on screen, then you've just seen a glimpse, 30 seconds of it, into my bleak, hair-raising dark side.

Brand name.
Brand name.
Repeat six more times.

Then, some of the really poor souls who can't imagine life outside the newsprint, the 30 second spot on radio and TV, who think an ad award is an achievement over and beyond the pyramids of Cairo, ask me where my creative integrity hid during the conceptual stage when this brand name mantra/monstrosity came into being. Err... What creative integrity? I must've missed that one way back in college.

But the mercenary in me flips and does cartwheels to near-vomitting with glee in this particular instance. How so? One Chinese proverb I've seen on a shirt (Ha! The t-shirt can be quite the repository of wisdom), steeped in profundity, comes to mind -- "Double Happiness."

The client must be extremely delighted, close to peeing his pajamas, oh ok, make that close to tears, whenever his 30 second cure to brand recall anemia airs everytime on TV. I, on the otherhand, get to frolic and cavort in sheer monetary abundance every 15 days when my ATM account gets replenished yet again.

My sign is Leo. And I choose my battles wisely.

If it's any consolation, I didn't really buy my dear endorser's polyanna act.

Abaratian Aberration

2005-01-25T20:48:00.000-08:00

Clive Barker, spookster of the highest order in my book, does Disney. They bought the rights to everything Abarat they could possibly lay their hands on, the movie, theme park, the multimedia rights, the kitchen sink. For $8 million grand. And no Pixar magic in sight. These are strange times.

(I wonder how "The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe" is shaping up in the gloved hands of Mickey Mouse? Screwed. Without doubt.)

Tsunami Aftershocks

2005-01-24T18:24:00.000-08:00

Snatched from BBC News online, link courtesy of Warren Ellis' dotcom.

Lek looks nervously at the Patong sea shore as he describes the passengers who climbed into his tuk tuk minivan late at night on 6 January.

"Go to Kata Beach", the seven foreign tourists told him, after agreeing on a 200 baht fee.

He drove a while, but then felt numb all over his body.

Looking around he saw the cab was empty. He had had what he thinks was an encounter with the ghosts that many say are haunting the beaches and resorts on Thailand's Andaman coast.

And the religious charms he wears around his neck are not helping him overcome his fears.

"I can't get over this. I'm going to have to get a new job. I have a daughter to support, but I'm too scared to go out driving at night," he said.

Lek's experiences are by no means unique.

Other apparitions which have been reported include a foreign woman, whose screams echo through the night from the wreckage of a hotel that was particularly badly hit.

A security guard on the site has already left his job because he could not bear it anymore."

Supersized Me

2005-01-21T07:03:00.000-08:00

A leisurely cruise on two legs along HV dela Costa street. A little way off, a lone cigarette vendor unpacking his carcinogenic wares. His eyes suddenly affixed, in a trance, drawn to the nether-region right between my torso and the groin. Too much lard there. Lactobacilli-Shirota strain and company.

That's it. That's it for striped shirts ... horizontally striped shirts.

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Remote past. Before Athkins Diet became a buzzword among overweight hopefuls. Or the Subway Sandwich guy testimonials. There was tuna. One can a day. In vegetable oil. Nothing but. Nothing else. The smaller the milligram content on the label, the better. And gallons of coffee in between. I lost 20 pounds in a little over a month. Everyone suspected the use of substances that would put me behind bars for good.

Wrong. It's just tuna. Yeah. It's pretty hardcore.

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Officemate : Whoa. You're getting fat!

Alexis : Err... I have a figure to keep.

Officemate : And what figure is that, aver?

Alexis : Father figure.

Officemate walks out.

Oh, joy.

Happiness, according to...

2005-01-19T22:32:00.000-08:00

Franz Kafka:

"Happiness consists in having a goal,
but not advancing towards it."

I concur.

Sinfully Good

2005-01-19T21:18:00.000-08:00

A fanboy's wet dream holy grail DVDlicious uncontrollable saliva dribbling synaptic whoop ass heartache special bladder bursting infanticipation. No. It's a lot better than that. Sin City. Absolutely faithful to the illustrated original. Too faithful. Like the t-shirt print says, "so good, it hurts." Yeah. Or something like that.

Stuff Of The Moment

2005-01-17T21:26:00.000-08:00

Currently listening to Prodigy's latest, which has retained its I.D.-slash-signature as an adrenaline-propelled audal joy ride from first to last track. The very few electronica that has saber-tooth fangs.

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Currently listening to a sort of best of album of Tori Amos. Piano and a little irreverence never really go out of style. And I still think her music video of "Boys For Pele" is beautiful. And drop the Delirium-of-the-Endless cum goth thing already, please.

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Currently listening to Rush Hour, a compendium of street driving music, the CD cover says, but more like, the Queer Eye CD on steroids. To the garbage bin of memory this CD shall go. Not like Gwen Stefani's new album. She may not be as high-flying as Bjork, but the versatility of one song to the next is as varied as the local adobo. To those who have moolah to spare, I recommend it.

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Currently reading Abarat Book Two, Days of Magic, Night of War. Half-way finished. The slow pace of reading is deliberate.

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Currently following Superman-Batman, comics by Jeph Loeb and Carlos Pacheco. Bear with me. Batman and Superman, due to a major overhaul with the time continuum, the world's finest, as these two are often referred to, rule the planet. Tinkering with the time-space continuum is a tired old idea and becoming pretty lame real fast. But Pacheco's art is still one of the best out there.

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Currently trying to understand the concept of Bit Torrent. Question is, where do I begin?

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Currently, keeping tabs on the NASA space expedition to Titan, one of Saturn's moons. The Huygens satellite pictures are coming in. And they look a bit like pictures of Mars. Which is, in a way, anti-climatic.

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Currently reading Time's People of the Year. And it's not some eminent pulitzer, nobel-prize winning genius. The award goes to ... bloggers.

Cheers.

Weapons Of Mass Distraction

2005-01-17T19:56:00.000-08:00

Fresh from the net, late breaking news from the heavily commercialized news center of the world, CNN. The banner headline reads : "U.S. PLANNING POSSIBLE ATTACK ON IRAQ."

Er ... What else is new?

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News from the hallowed, hushed halls of CIA HQ, the Pentagon. This one's delivered fresh to you by the venerable news agency Reuters.

"U.S. Mulled Gay Sex Weapon." is how the headline goes, followed by "The Pentagon proposal called for drug to spur homosexual activity among the enemy." Adding that, "the proposal called for developing chemicals affecting human behavior 'so that discipline and morale in enemy units is adversely affected.'"

Fortunately, or unfortunately, whatever comes first, depends on where you stand actually, gender sensitivity, open mindedness and all that, this sooo American G.I. response to chemical warfare has been rejected.

Because this news practically sells itself, we move on to...

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Another attempt at non-lethal weapons, US Military-style, one that won't see the light of day, sadly, because ...

"it involved creating 'severe and lasting halitosis' to help sniff out fighters trying to blend with civilians."

I think CIA lab rats will do well as moonlighting guests in "Who's Line Is It Anyway?"

Passion In Turbo Boost

2005-01-13T22:36:00.000-08:00

There's obsession on one hand, and fetish frickin' weirdness on the other. I don't know where dot-dot-dot-philia falls, or if it belongs in a special category all to its own, but anyway, here's a whatever-the-hell-for list of the more peculiar ones I find rather unusual and generally unhealthy. Err... be warned, though ... watch out for falling debris.

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acrotomophilia - Love of amputees

apotemnophilia - Desire to amputate a healthy limb

cacophonophilia - Love of harsh sounds

canidaephilia - Sexual attraction/orientation to canines

chasmophilia - Love of small places

coprophilia - Sexual pleasure from feces

ecdysiophilia - Love of watching people strip

ergophilia - Love of work

gerontophilia - Sexual attraction towards the elderly

Hoplophilia - Sexual arousal from firearms and weaponry

klismaphilia - Sexual pleasure from enemas

lygophilia - Love of darkness

Macrophilia - Sexual attraction to Giants or large thing

Mysophilia - Love of feces

necropedophilia - Love of young dead people

Scopophilia - Sexual pleasure from seeing things

xyrophilia - Love or attraction to blades and razors

zoophilia - Love of non-human animals

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Footnote. There is a site out there in the net where macrophiliacs regularly chat, interact and announce garage sales. They exchange bowel-loosening fantasies of fornicating some dinosaur fossil or a museum replica of it. The depths of human sickness can be bottomless.

The Fear Of Blank

2005-01-13T18:25:00.000-08:00

Of infinity. Of sprawling space. This empty blog space stares back at me, reflecting its bareness, a vertigo not unlike Nietzche's quotable quote about our personal and private abyss. The blankness is utterly mind-wiping. A tide of words keyed-in in frantic haste should diminish this blazing clinical purity.

Leukophobic bastard is what I am today.

Agoraphobic, too.

Paranormal Bits

2005-01-12T05:08:00.000-08:00

I have always wondered why it is we of Christian faith, rock solid or otherwise, who are almost always afflicted by bodily trespasses of the supernatural kind. Given today's super evolved media, from cable TV to broadband net telecasts, I have never heard or seen any of our Asian brothers who believe Allah, Krishna or Buddha to be the ultimate good ever hijacked of their mental and physical faculties by rouge paranormal entities of ill-intent. Should I research more on this? Er ... I think not.

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Malays living on the precarious gap that lie between urban and forest wilderness dread a malevolent being who prey mostly on child-bearing women. They believe this being originates from a stillborn child or women who die while giving birth. After such a death, certain precautions are taken to prevent it's victims from ... rising again.

One site recommends the following: Put glass beads in the corpse's mouth so that it can't shriek. Place eggs under the corpse's armpits or pierce the palms with needles so that it can't fly.

The cries of a baby is its death-dirge signature. Malays call it the Pontianak.

Any relation to Tianak?

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Oh, a new job order. Que horor!

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Supernatural ... not so super.

Xzibit, yes, the rapper dude of MTV Pimp My Ride fame, had this to say about things that go bump in the night ...

"Black people don't really see ghosts or aliens. People who see aliens and shit, they never see them in urban settings. Aliens don't fuck with the hood, you never see some brother saying, Oh man, and then there were some lights, and it just came down.'

"Niggers don't see aliens, niggers don't never see ghosts, either. Black people are dealing with too much shit.

"It's always somebody living in a trailer park with three teeth, a trucker hat, howling, 'We seen the light.' I lived in South Central (Los Angeles) and none of them motherfuckers dare come this way."

...And the shortest word is...

2005-01-12T05:05:00.000-08:00

"a"

Random Ramblings

2005-01-06T23:59:00.000-08:00

Palooka-Loco
Saw the music video of Fat Boy Slim's The Joker, featuring little feline furball city with its little feline furball denizens. Fresh from divorce, and in spite of it, Norman Cook hasn't lost his off-tangent taste for making great music and their video counterparts. Thank God.

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Pro-Pork
Pro-Pork advocates defend the much-maligned pig. Versus all the vegans and pesco-vegetarians of the world. Dieticians and nutritionists challenged to come up with prima facie evidence that pork actually causes stroke. After all, has there ever been a pig that died of heart attack?

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Tom-Fetish
Infanticipation of Spielberg's take on War Of The Worlds. Drooling, involuntary shaking, perspiration and all that. The Jules Verne flick stars one of the two Toms that's becoming staple on Steven Spielberg films, Tom Cruise. The other is not Tom Arnold.

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A Giant Returns
Hayao Miyazaki returns with Howl's Moving Castle. A runaway young girl in an old woman's body finds refuge in a castle that moves about on insect-like legs powered by a demon. It has must-have all over it.

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Comics Come-Back
Thanks to the gravitational pull of the uncanny comics scribe el paborito, Warren Ellis, the finest form of literature is back on my menu of cursory monthly purchases. Starting with Iron Man and Quit City. Yup, the comicsphiliac is back in the fold. Oh, goodie.

January Showers

2005-01-05T20:08:00.000-08:00

6th of January.

Best and worst of 2K4 here and there.

2005. Year of the wooden rooster (will have to do research on that ... and yes, I am hardcore superstitious). The year el nino drops in for an unwanted visit ... again.

And its raining pretty hard outside. Strong enough to obscure the Makati skyline in the middle of the day. Strange.

What will the weather prophets and doom-mongers say this time.

Clean Air Act

2005-01-05T19:51:00.000-08:00

Yes. The coach threw the towel down the canvass the moment year 2005 became a reality. I am in a current sorry state of nicotine deprivation. But, fortunately, a tag team of fever and a root canal, with the possibility of another, is making the umbilical transition a whole lot easier. Here's one new year's resolution I hope holds up. Beyond 2K5. Fingers and toes crossed.

Memetics Fix

2004-12-22T19:13:00.000-08:00

A fresh catch from the meme pool.
This one's snatched from versuswords' Is It Safe? space.
With SMS consent, of course.

Here goes...

1. What did you do in 2004 that you'd never done before?
Let an art director present my radio scripts.
Err... get a root canal?
And, share the bed with the woman of my dreams.

2. Did you keep your New Years' resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
Last year's new year's resolution is the same for next year. No more ... nicotine ... Must ... ready ... leather ... straps ...

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
Yeah. The same person I share the bed with.

4. Did anyone close to you die?
Close call. Aneurysm is almost always fatal. Fortunately, nipped at the bud when he had an encounter with hernia. Im talking about my father.

5. What countries did you visit?
The ones in my dreams. Otherwise, zero.

6. What would you like to have in 2005 that you lacked in 2004?
The root of all evil.

7. What dates from 2004 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?
March -- A beautiful wedding. Mine.
April -- resignation after 8 years of living on junk and lies.
August -- Baby Jiro

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
Finally embracing the erstwhile dreaded concept of domestication.

9. What was your biggest failure?
Thinking small.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
The common cold is really all too common.

11. What was the best thing you bought?
A miniature christmas lantern, the one you hang on the car's rear view mirror.

12. Whose behavior merited celebration?
The cab driver who gave me an exact change ...

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?
Insurgent bastards who hijacked the truck carrying relief goods for typhoon victims

14. Where did most of your money go?
Baby's milk, Baby's diapers and a couple of spiffy Gundam figures now fixed on my shelf.

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?
Fatherhood.

16. What song will always remind you of 2004?
D'Sound's People Are People.

17. Compared to this time last year, you are:
Actually working.

18. What do you wish you'd done more of?
Save. Yeah.

19. What do you wish you'd done less of?
Hating politicians. Such a damn waste of energy.

20. How will you be spending Christmas?
With family. Lounge on the bed. Til the time comes we pop into gift-wrapper ripping action.

22. Did you fall in love in 2004?
Yep. Married her, too.

23. How many one-night stands?
Dipstick zero.

24. What was your favorite TV program?
Used to be CSI. But I'd stay up late nights for America's Funniest Videos. And as much as I am reluctant to admit it, I actually enjoyed watching Kapuso's Extra Challenge.

25. Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate this time last year?
Yeah, the bastard behind Levi's mandatory waistline limit of 34".

26. What was the best book you read?
Peter Mayle's My Life As A Dog had me laughing real hard during lone MRT trips. Other MRT passengers maintain their distance.

27. What was your greatest musical discovery?
Not a CD album actually, but a store. A bootleg CD shop at Greenhills. Somewhere across Shoppesville. My nocturnal online MP3 and WAV hunts end.

28. What did you want and get?
An exit plan. A crystal clear WAV copy of Tears For Fears' elusive "The Way You Are", an aquarium, real freaky salamanders, Doom 3, Warcraft via Lan. Abarat book 2. A CD/MP3 player, and yes, a couple of spiffy Gundam figures. And cotton candy too.

29. What did you want and not get?
A portable MP3 player. A new digicam. An original WindowsXP for the principled geek in me. The 4-disc LOTR: Return Of The King DVD.

30. What was your favorite film of this year?
Virtual Reality actually tops my list, though hardly Cannes material, I had a real kick with the Incredibles and Shrek 2. Kill Bill volume 2 too, Gogo in absentia, notwithstanding.

31. What did you do on your birthday. And how old were you?
A riotous dinner with the wife. Turned 32.

32.What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
More and longer vacation leaves.

33. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2004?
Paradigm shift. The retro's getting to me. I have two pairs of shoes and shirts my dad would love to wear.

34. What kept you sane?
Catching up on old CSI episodes with the wife.

35. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
Steve Jobs.

36. What political issue stirred you the most?
George Bush re-election.

37. Who did you miss?
A little boy who's been taken away from me. Ouch.

38. Who was the best new person you met?
The new boss. Reminds me why I still work in advertising.

39. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2004
Smoking is dangerous to your health.

Just Hindu It!

2004-12-22T18:42:00.000-08:00

Bollywood inspired Christmas party. Everyone came in Kutra, their turbans, their bindis, their Pashmina, their Hindi best. Someone came as Shiva, four arms, blue skin and half-nekkid. Only to be outdone by a larger-than-life all-styro fashioned elephant god of hedonistic pursuits, Ganesh. An art director uttered this hair-raising one-liner once during a presentation, I borrow it now -- "A cornucopia of colors."

The party title's the title of this blog, courtesy of yours truly.

An art director won the raffle grand prize of P85K in cash. He also won P80K grand prize last year. And the raffle grand prize the year before that. Good karma is such an understatement. Merry Christmas, lucky, lucky bastich.

Yuletide Paralysis

2004-12-21T19:36:00.000-08:00

Shopaholic dysentry. Ameobic impulse buying pseudoplasts reaching into every corner of Makati where there's a price tag. Inflammation of traffic arteries, side street capilliaries clogged, cerebral palsy time bomb.

Choke point. Inside and out the mall. Shopaholics swarm. One mind. Hive mentality. There is, however, order in the chaos. Everyone moves counter-clockwise. Spurred on by the undearable itch to relieve the excess fat in their suddenly obese backpockets and handbags. There are no muscular peristalsis contractions to regulate the flow of shopaholics. Only desensitized security guards, numbed by sheer numbers of baggages. Entrance and exit diarrhea.

And they say, these are hard times.

MRT. Carting hordes of shopaholics to and fro. One night, one train got bogged down by the weight of shopaholics, now multiplied by two courtesy of Yuletide commerce. MRT, can withstand 90kph gusts of wind, paralyzed by a legion of shopaholics in heat.

This is Makati. Greenhills, on the other hand, is borderline cardiac arrest.

Anatomical Gag

2004-12-16T22:25:00.000-08:00

There's ooze leaking out of your schnooze, drying up upon contact with air. Breathing through a bottle-necked air way. Hands impaired by premature nerves, rendering them useless. You begin to panic. You breath twice as hard, difficulty multiplied twice. You gasp for air, but there are frogs leaping out in a steady cadence through your mouth. You are innocent of the concept of expectoration. You choke as your own physiology does a Gringo Honasan. And there's absolutely nothing you can do. Zilch.

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My Baby Jiro is barely 4 months old. Right now, he's weakened and cranky with asthma. Poor guy.

Circus Republic

2004-12-15T21:43:00.000-08:00

Da King goes belly up from thrombosis, a lethal kin to aneurysim. US of A sends an envoy of sympathy. Flags raised half-mast. Millions across the country mourn. Thousands, bleeding hearts and merely-curious alike, view his remains. Hundreds of automobile side mirrors go missing. Funeral circus. It's true. It's all over the news.

Suck-O-Meter

2004-12-13T02:02:00.000-08:00

Every company has its micro-culture and codicils to live by. We do. But because life is no longer as clear-cut as bad or good, there are gradations to the area that lie between an idea that can get you fired and the concept that could bowl anyone over.

Right below is the score chart (more like reality check), "borrowed" from a multi-national advertising agency. It hangs on our wall, yeah, just like a noose. 10 gets you a fatter paycheck. Consistently scoring 1 means you should think of an alternative career ... pronto.

The bobo-proof headline reads:

"How's our creative work?"

10 Best in the world bar none
9 New standard in advertising
8 New standard in category
7 Excellence in craft
6 Fresh idea
5 Innovative strategy
4 Cliche
3 Not competitive
2 Destructive
1 Appaling

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Honestly, number 2 appeals to me most.

E=MC squared Week

2004-12-12T20:33:00.000-08:00

Slow burn. Quick burn. The week that was. Work. Domestic affairs. And everything else in between.

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Google-Head for a week. Been busy doing a major fuzzy science over the company-issued mobile phone. The one with a bad press and an equally bad rep, the mobile phone with Bill Gates all over it. Stuffing it with Jap-inspired jpeg wallpaper files grabbed from Hyung Tae Kim art galleries. Look him up.

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The phone is also WAV thirsty. After a week of scouring the net for wave files, it now belches out loud with every SMS message received.

The ringtone is a homage to one of Stanley Kubric's finest: "What's your major malfunction, numbnuts!", an invective sampler from Full Metal Jacket's Drill Instructor Gunnery Sgt. Hartman.

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It still hangs a lot though.

Suddenly Monday

2004-12-12T19:02:00.000-08:00

Monday happens. Yikes.

An Obit For Yoyoy

2004-12-02T21:08:00.000-08:00

"Here Comes The Sun" playing in a loop. Courtesy of an Art Director enraptured with a storm-free Friday. George Harrison must beaming a wide grin from high above, halo and all. "Here Comes The Sun". Everybody now...

And Then God Sneezed

2004-12-02T07:20:00.000-08:00

Rain drops sideways. Left to right. Rendering hooded rain coats useless. Umbrellas vanish into the air. Storm signal number 4, incoming. Makati holds its breath. Skirts fly, men trip. Work stops. Cab drivers call it a day 2 hours before six. AM stations on every tuner. Local TV news channels get higher ratings. The train quits. Trees undergo labor-free trimming. Those with weaker constitutions, return to nature ASAP. Crikets take the night off. The white leghorn in the backyard go silent.

All because a butterfly flapped its wings at the other side of the globe. Chaos theory are for the seriously fucked up.

In times like these, they should ... watch out for falling debris.