aaaaarrrgggh!

barnes&noble, the national bookstore of the united istayts is indeed the heaven of douchebaggery and idiocy.

while 10% discount alerts and britney’s recent releases continue to spam the email, nary a word was dropped about really, really important matters (and even their website sucks. try searching a title, try, i dare you).

really important matters such a reading by china mieville at their union square branch, one subway ride away (i have to search NYTimes to belatedly know about this missed event).

see?

this is the day, i will never enter that tourist bathroom except to piss.

summer reading

this i found at the thrift shop. the cover is too beautiful to put to waste (got the first edition in mass market ppb). was able to re-read an old work after all. still kicks ass after all these years. i think china mieville is just testing the genre waters here at the young age of 25. got read in a day.

the amazon order finally arrives just in time. it’s china summer. from the earliest to the latest. read it today at the park over wine and nachos and burger and fries and hotdog and rootbeer. weird as always although i am a bit suspicious of the trend of shifting to detective stories — jeff vandermeer’s *finch* comes to mind — whether this is some kind of macho bullshit or the hollywood syndrome of doing what the other studio is doing has finally arrived at the publication world. the limited edition even has a gun in the cover — the same gun as vandermeer’s. now that is weird. still, a great read.

 

another find at the thrift shop. just because the title and the tagline is cool. “i, lucifer. finally, the other side of the story.” how can i resist.

finally, this one from the library. sf/f but with neither elves nor orcs. the second sequel of “the gentlemen bastards” septoulogy (i don’t know if that’s the term for a series of seven installments). by scott lynch, a fireman. heroes can indeed write.

hope to devour these two by mid next week because the oven is getting cantankerous as shit. after reading, time for smorgaswording.

the island in words

• the sand is on the pink side. not as powedry as boracay, more like palawan. since this is a volcanic landmass spawned by nature’s fire, having white beaches is mind blogging.

• the sun sets at 9 PM. on any given weekday, this means that local folks have 4 hours of beach time as offices shut down by 5PM.

• on sundays and holidays, only the hospital is open. the gasoline shops to pharmacies to the island’s lone cinema is closed so the employees can enjoy the beach.

• there are no beach front restaurants and bars and hotels (i admire this brilliant move. the beaches are always quiet and calm). but there are clean toilets and shower stalls and changing rooms in every beach. and lifeguards complete with neon red trunks and bikinis.

• men, women, and kids are called as “man”. as in “hey man! i saw you down the road.”

• every one is saying “hi” to neighbors and visitors alike. on the road, they honk to one another. people take offense and are concerned should someone not hi nor honk back.

• zero unemployment except for the village idiot. high school boys and girls in harry potter uniforms (bermuda is a british protectorate) man the groceries.

• the central business district is just a block.

• there are only two industries: 1-reinsurance and 2-banking. as these are off-shore industries to the clients, client meetings are unheard of. hence, the shorts and flip-flops as corporate attire.

• should the government decide to just fuck it and give the annual budget to every local and be done with the paperwork, each person would be 200 million US$ richer. just like that.

• there are zero franchise stores except for louie vittons and the like. mcdos and starbucks are against the law (the former US military base was told to pack up the mcdo together with their nuclear warhead).

• there official drink rum swizzle. rum mixed with a fruit or something. i passed and stuck with stella and rum coke. 

• food is very expensive (12 US$ appetizers!).

• alcohol is very cheap (23 US$ a liter of jack daniel’s!). bars have this ticketing method of buy a 5 dollar ticket at the door for ANY drink at the bar from coke to cocktails to firebombs.

• the wait staff aim to please without angling for a tip. courteous, accommodating, smiling. and they won’t give the check unless asked for.

• the mix of cuisine influences from portuguese to british shows. i’ve tasted one of the best steaks ever.

• there exists a 151 proof rum. jack sparrow would be proud.

• bars are around 10 years behind, music wise. i’ve discovered that the soundtrack of the island is pepper’s blood sugar sex magic played very, very low.

• there are a lot of pinoys. and only one korean –  a fake one at that  (he is canadian-born and -bred who’s never been to korea and knows only one korean word: kimchi.) i also met an irish who knows bicol more than i do.

• there are many religions, rastafarian one among them. there are also a lot of churches. and golf courses.

• the mode of transportation are vespas and peugeots. 

• oh, kirk douglas was on the same flight as we.

the island in pictures

bone tired from soaking in brine and barley. the words, tomorrow.

you feed it once and now it stays

saw the trailer. found a poster. the fucking b-movie to end all b-movies, this obra by jennifer lynch, the fruit of david lynch’ loins. i wish i could watch this with sunny.

if harry potter smokes cigarettes and actually gets laid

presenting the candidate for both new author discovery and book report study (all 544 pages).

the “literary” choice is *the road* by cormac mccarthy.

____________

 

just finished *money shot*. marvelous pulp porn and what stuck to me was the line: “the truth is, the biggest, hardest dick in the world is useless if you don’t know how to eat pussy.” touche.

and:

“i hate malls. they’re like strip clubs for women. all tease and sparkle and the empty promise that if you drop enough cash, somehow you’ll be fulfilled.” nothing could be truer.

book report

it’s the time of the year again to 1) re-read the classics, 2) discover a new author (in my contrarian ways, someone i’ve never, ever heard before regardless of genre), 3) read “bestsellers” and “award winners” and this would only fall on the “literary” genre. quotations are in the stead of emotical contempt.

i chose number 2. number 3 will happen, inevitably at the shores of bermuda.

but aside from discovering a new author i’m also doing something that only happens once in a blue moon: taking a 500+ pages book apart and doing a full report. taking the book apart means a scene by scene dissection, mapping the arc, graphing the acts, the whole fucking shit that i used to do in college since *gone with the wind* was assigned to be torn asunder and rearranged. the book report will be nothing short of a dissertation proposal.

last time time i did this was with china mieville’s *the scar* back when i was in mccann and i go home at precisely 5.01 PM and has never, ever reported for work on a weekend.

this will be fun.

glasses

saw an interesting ad inside the latest newsweek. having a fucked up eyesight has never looked so good.

then there’s the mainpage of kgb bar. incidentally, “money shot” by christa faust has a review. can’t wait for my copy.

the great randomizer and the throw away game

weeks into spring and the rain and the cold won’t let up. perfect for cleaning and throwing away accumulated stuff. from the bathroom to the kitchen to the closets. from shampoo bottles to dog vitamins to bacon briefs. and then there’s the mail and joy’s work files. a week into this and i’m not even sure i’m halfway through. and then there’s the macfiles. tabs and downloads and drafts. so much to do. on the one hand, i am a believer that an organized desk is needed to make the mind wander and mess around – a messy desk just blocks the mind from thinking as it is too busy mentally arranging the clutter. i just want this to be over with so that the super secret ninja assassination assignment could begin already. another step towards world domination complete with evil laughter.

***

we watched *let the right one in* on DVD, the controversial subtitle fuck-up. we opted on the dubbed version which did a great job as it retained the theatrical dialogues. awesome is the word, if one is thinking of the real meaning of the word “awe” and not some line thrown by hollywood bimbos. i am too scared to freeze the frame when eli changed into a red sweater that revealed for the briefest of moments her vagina. that sawed up, mutilated vagina. what nightmares are made of. think of the line “what if i’am not a girl?” and imagine that vagina. lords! to quote metallica, the cunning stunt was a stunning cunt. and of course there’s the ending. the “maybe” ending that was so masterfully done to rival *the catcher and the rye*.

***

went to the library and borrowed these:

with the cover alone, how can i resist? then there’s the blurb by guillermo del toro who has already bought the film rights. the author’s name tipped off the nom-de-plume meter (the way lilith st. crow or john twelvehawkes do) but there’s a pic at the back cover so who knows.

it’s been awhile. this is the man who can write sex scenes into action sequences without any effort and awkwardness – what david morrel avoids like the plague. this alone is worth the time to rush through the pages.

***

speaking of sex and pseudonyms, this is one book i will gladly liberate a few beer money to order from amazon:

i can feel my dick moving already. i’ve found a hardback of her first novel “control freak” ages ago and have been a fan ever since. she even collaborated with poppy z brite before that legit goth became a catholic and a food writer. anyway, from publisher’s weekly:

Retired from her life as a porn star, Angel Dare now owns Daring Angels, a high-class adult modeling agency. Life as a desk jockey is pretty predictable until an underfed foreign girl named Lia shows up asking to contact one of Angel’s models. Before Angel can figure out what the girl really wants, Lia makes a hasty exit through the bathroom window. Next thing she knows, Angel herself is locked in the trunk of a battered blue Honda Civic—beaten, raped, shot up and left for dead. Recovering and resolving to exact justice and clear her name of the frame job she’s also been left with, Angel turns to the only person who can help, her part-time agency security guy, ex-cop Lalo Malloy. Feisty Angel wises up to the rancid underbelly of the sex trade as she and Malloy take down the hoods one by one.

time to clean the ref.

materializmo

saw a canon digicam over the weekend. its the matte black and the glorious curves (totally devoid of corners) that got me. later, more the sooner, designers awake to the beauty of black.

249 dolyares lang. 

excuse me, i have to “accidentally” drop the old camera down the toilet.

the good thing about rhymes…

…is that a collection of words with the same phonemes hide the utter lack of reason or logic or intelligence.

ladies and gents, mayweather, sr.

this rhyming monkey is the one to thank for manny’s victory and whatever good that it may bring to the country.

after the fight, i immediately went to the ref for another beer and then proceeded to the websites of the guardian and the telegraph to get a glimpse of what they have to say about their poster boy.

it turns out the fingerpointing went to hatton, to his coach, and even to themselves – the media.

the highlights of what i read:

• hatton – not a boxer but a browler, an alcoholic, did not do his homework – does not know that pacquiao cuts down coconut trees by boxing it with bare hands.

• mayweather, sr.  - a fool, who in the right mind would insist on using the term “senior” except for a has-been trying to make the fame of his son somehow rub off on him, comes to the gym late – as late as lunchtime, eats fake burritos and drinks kool-aid – very professional choices, both. did not do his job of being a trainer – hatton’s undoing of taking his hands down should have been drilled to him on the training until it became second nature, not as a reminder before he went up the ring.

• the media – we made this make-believe fighter until he started believing in himself, he’s nothing but an entertainer who, when he finally stepped into the ring facing real boxers, we expected to win.

my take is that hatton should not be blamed. he maybe a drunkard but the nigger and the media are the enablers.

Give us this day

In half an hour the filipino pride– what’s left of it anyway–could be crushed.

I am praying to my gods that pacquiao remains victorious. Too much is at stake already.

still pushing the words away