readings and glasses and other occurences

supposed to be analog but the oven is driving me crazy.

so.

the barnes package finally arrived. plus the ray-ban glasses that were said to have come from italy after it was sourced out from china. he-de-he.

the books. i don’t really have the time to read anything (three rollingstone issues plus the latest of weird tales are already gathering dust) but i’ve read *let the right the one in* in a day before katheeeeya moved in just to be safe, then watched the film adaptation at bleecker. soho is getting awsomer and awsomer. the film was brilliant being screenplayed by the author and shot without a breath of hollywood, although some studio has already brought the rights as to compete with twilight. i hear that one of the olsens will star as the 12 year old vampyr, how could it go wrong?

the frame is no different except that it is branded and new. i can’t wait to have it lensed this december in manila for some transition glasses. now it’s a sunglass, now it’s not. small happiness, that. but i hope to get another spare. muji and uniqlo soho both have no frames so i guess i need to visit a hole-in-the-wall optical shop in the province for a spare. black, plastic, and antediluvian as hunter s. thompson.

***

metallica’s *death magnetic* is growing into me although shards of *st. anger* can still be heard. nothing like ten-minuter thrash metal to keep the words flowing.

and of course, who knew that 2008 would be the year that guns ‘n roses, the 90s purveyor of anger and authenticity, would be the year of *chinese democracy*. i recall joe klein’s the awesome column: chinese democracy has become an idiom as in “after the engagement, the wedding is becoming a chinese democracy. move on, girl”. finally, 14 new tracks of love gone wrong to end the year.

going analog until the first of december

schedules are really turning to fuck.

so no net and no YM.

there’s email on the iPhone for emergencies and stuff.

“the emperor is evil, no?” and “kung ang ulan ay puro titi”

kathyeeeea will soon be on the way and icel is already in pittsburgh.

finally, a chance to drag my ass out of the house in the morning.

meeting the vandermeers

all the dive guides from the web says one thing. if you go to the KGB bar, don’t expect to get laid. what you can expect instead, is to enjoy your solitude or the company of your friends in a bar with music so low (the kinds of brian eno) that it is actually possible to read and write or carry a conversation. beers are strong and so are the martinis. this is russia, after all.

so i went and saw the literary crowd of the city (at least the fantasy crowd). half the people have thick glasses and i bet my left nut that those without have contacts on. most are in tees, a few are in suits and one have a funeral director uniform complete with the requisite stitched nameplate that says “funeral director”.

the beer was named baltika, strong as red horse but sweeter so i shifted to stella as i still have to navigate towards the subway after.

the readings followed after a few chitchat, just enough time to have everyone grab a drink. ann vandermeer acted as emcee throughout the reading (2 authors, one of which was jeffrey ford and a rep from weird tales read winners of a web contest about stories written from spam mail titles like: canadean pharmacy enlarge.)

then i did the the fanboy routine of shaking ann and jeff’s hands followed immediately by pimping the philippine spec fic scene. surprisingly, ann vandermeer was proud to say that the latest issue of weird tales have 2 pinoy authors (i did a mental note that being published in the US of A is something possible) and jeff vandermeer wondered how he can have a copy of the anthos.

the fanboy has pimped. duty done.

next month is caitlin r. kiernan and i hope the book i wanted her to sign arrives here.

 

a smidgen of regret

when we packed up our bags last february, i brought only 4 books, excluding 3 city guides. it pained me to leave the orphans behind but the missus reminded me that new york is a city of books.

now, i just found this bar called KGB (commie themed with hammer and sickle and all things red) where they have readings 6 nights a week and whose reading guests have included china mieville among other living greats.

wednesdays are for fantastic fiction and tomorrow the bar will have jeff and ann vardemeer, arguably weird fiction’s starred general, live and reading. with no cover charge. and drinking, while encouraged, is not mandatory. motherfuck indeed. i just wish that i’ve brough all of their books with me to sign.

next month’s guest is caitlin r. kiernan, my favorite living writer evah. we all have the one book that changed how we view the world and live our life. for most, it’s harry potter har-de-fucking-har, a few have salinger’s *the catcher in the rye*, and i have her *silk*. while i’ve got all her first edition books already signed when i ordered it through amazon (the philippine post was still dependable those years of this century) this book was not signed as it is her first and was released as a paperback. so doublefuck as it would have been cool to have her sign a tattered, well thumbed, first ed book and bought at a philippine bookstore at that. well…at least i get to see and hear her in person.

(this is just me, but instead of investing in gold, it is better to invest in signed first edition books. the way the universe is being digitized, this analog piece of information, knowledge and wisdom will be worth its weight in gold in the not so distant future. trust me.)

i’ve never thought my sa guijo would be like this. now practicing to hold my drink starts this minute. where is that cold stella?

about the concert

after a video that showed mccain with the supers *get stupid!* but ended with obama all smiles at the crowd.

madonna:   (to someone in the bleachers)

                   i still see someone sitting down.

                   what? are you friends with sarah palin?

                   get your fat ass up!

premadonna

the weather has returned to normal-back to the 60s-and the sun has even shone, adding perplexity to us born of the tropics: how can it be cold when the sun is out in its full glory?

so we did things best done in fall, walking around the city in the most comfortable walking shoes-a pair of running shoes. we walked brooklyn bridge, that obligatory cliche of all movies set in new york where the protagonist must be shot cruising in the his car, or better yet a yellow cab as it rips towards manhattan.

in the sunset, the financial district almost looked peaceful and the waters below seemed inviting-if you’re an investment broker just gotten burned.

amazing race as usual at the subway – to chinatown for some noodles and duck and porkchop – and back to times square for books being hunted down (i might just break the vampire novel hiatus – this swede teen vampyr novel is a killer, we shall see).

now, i have to find my feather boa.

a thought on a retrospective

i have this thing when every few years or so, i do a marathon of a couple of novels/works of certain authors, something that just developed into a habit when i finally purged myself of all the required readings of being an english major (aside: avenue q is right to ask the question – what will you do with a degree in english?). i think i started with poe, then yeats, then keats, then bacon, then back to homer and so on and so forth until it went to modern lit but stopped at harry potter.

the trick is not to pressure one’s self in remembering but to rediscover what made it cool in the first place. in recent years, it progressed to stephen king and peter straub and even shirley jackson and robert silverberg being read back to back to back to back (mccann years where a print ad revision takes all of two weeks). but since not remembering is totally impossible, stories read a second time aren’t anticlimactic. it reveals technique and all the nasty bits authors try to conceal (the secret in the universe being: make it as effortless as possible-if you don’t believe it, remember that god made everything in six days and still managed a day off on the seventh.) 

these days, when i get some days off, i think it’s time for anne rice’s the mayfair witches trilogy. let’s see.

silencing the alarm

while the the financial crisis are wreaking havoc on the rest of the globe (don’t we all love america: when it’s their problem, the rest of the world feels it, and when it’s not their problem, they make it their problem so that the rest of the world can feel it too) and politicians are getting down in dirty in the campaign trail, the only thing that broke the SSDD-ness of the week was an aberrant fire alarm, which sounded without provocation. the window was a bit open, no candles were lighted and nothing was on the stove. the motherfucker just bleeped like a motherfucker, scaring my guest and brainstorm buddy, bubbles. if it sounds piercing to human ears, imagine it’s effect on canines. thankfully it’s easy to disassemble and the thing is now lying on the table like an upended carcass of a robot jellyfish.

the oven calleth. one more story for submission before the end of the year so that i can move on to other things. if this gets accepted for publication, even better. but submission is the goal.

farewell summer

the 70s and the 60s were totally disregarded and tomorrow will be in the low 50s with hints of thin layers of ice. so sayeth the weatherman. so it shall be done. 

while it best to walk in the cold, the things necessary to really walk in comfort are always a pain: lipbalm and sweats and scarves (bearable) and the need to piss (always pisses me off). the only solution to the second concern is to memorize starbucks and barnes and macdo stores along the way (and the only thing that beats these is the apple store at 5th ave).

there’s also one of the best part of cold weather which is sleeping. after every meal. on weekdays. if only the writing isn’t getting in the way, the cold will be bearable

bulb woes and book joys

i’m a solid incandescent light fan. aside from the fact that it doesn’t look like office, fastfood and hospital lighting, it is also easy on my astigmatic eyes. and even before the energy-saving incandescent alternative came in, i would rather let my wallet be damned than my already deteriorating eyes, with my wattage of choice which is 100W.

recently, i need to change some bulbs in the apartment, incandescent all, but the bulb and the choices at costco were dubious. 100 W brilliance for the energy consumption of 25 W. i smelled bull but really has no choice as the only other bulbs were coiled and florescent. and so when i plugged it in and turned it on, it greeted me with all the brilliance and luminance that only a 25 W can. motherfuck. it’s as sleepy as a 3 ayem on a stormy sunday.

the only thing that saved my blood from boiling was an amazon package with gaiman’s latest and three other books found around the corner, all uncorrected books. can’t wait to read the litcrit non-fiction, *from demons to dracula*. if only i’m not so sleepy.

colder

the temperatura has started to drop and drip by the degree and joy’s got the flu for two days now. which means she’s been working at home for the same number of days which begs me the question: what’s the point of working from home if you are really working from home? it would be like nej taking a sick leave because she is really in the hospital. har de fucking har. but again, the joke wasn’t amusing to someone doing telecon for most the time. technology. thanks to it, you can hate your job wherever you are.

when i went out to get some chicken noodle soup (and discovered that the grocery store now carry’s nathan’s famous dogs – of the coney island fame) i think i was the only one in shorts. i call this jologizing new york. or up yours, credit infested city folks. the air was crisp and cold enough to freeze nipples and i know that the soundtrack would be lycia’s cold and the cure’s disintegration throughout the rest of the week.

the oven calleth for some words while the microwave just dinged to indicate that the campbell’s is now hot.