rehydrating

and so we are no into a week in manila. tomorrow we fly to bicol, mayon volcano permitting.

in seven days i have:

• met the dentist

• got a massage (not yolly though, some korean spa near the house)

• got a haircut (some korean salon, at the ground floor of the spa)

• read 5 pinoy books and 1 pinoy graphic novel

• finished a first draft of a graphic script

• ate a lot (from restos to the finds at q-mart)

• drank a lot (from sunny’s house to bars to the house)

• met almost of all of the people i want to meet and then some.

tonight, more beer at a bar in tomas morato for another perspective in life. some packing to do for our flight, and then maybe start hammering another script for my self-appointed january 5 deadline.

onwards, bravely to twenty ten.

the bests of zero nine

no listing of finalists. here goes:

book:        ”the city and the city” by china mieville

album:      ”black gives way to blue” by alice in chains

film:            district 9

things that rocked:

•camerabag iphone app

•metallica live

•jude law as hamlet

•another story published (on actual, combustible paper)

and…

•ICU-free for two years straight.

onwards bravely to twenty ten.

things thought at 2.44 ayem

i’m so excited of coming home i’ve been on melatonin for a week now. i don’t know if, aside from the weird dreams, this is good. because if i can correct my circadian cycle this early, this would mean that i’ll be asleep at the normal time without any jet lag. think about the wasted beer time. as of now it’s near 3 AM already and i am still awake. in a while, i am trying its effect with rum and cranberry and lime. sleep is good, the packing is not yet done and the house needs to be kept as we have guests staying over the holidays. time to hide the tentacles.

* * *

one thing i know to be true but can not prove. people in the creative business (which doesn’t really mean that they are creative, only that they are in the business) turn to photography to showcase their creativity that just couldn’t be unleashed in the business setting. i wonder why.

* * *

another thing i know to be true but can never prove. the only way to get published in rogue magazine is to submit a story oozing with puns. preferably one that starts right in the title. like “pun de sal”. this could work on so many levels.

* * *

okay, the blank page says enough of the tomfoolery, time to nail page 24.

the other x in xmas

so right after the rockettes and the picture-picture and the sight and smell of halal food and sabrett, we decided to find some hot chocolate. starbucks closes at 8 PM like the pussies that they are and magnolia bakery was loaded like jfk airport, all that’s needed was an x-ray machine , maybe a public address system and, to use a lousy pun, lalarga na.

we made it to metro cafe. while waiting for our food, here comes a mom and child with the child asking for a cup of soup. the mother asked her if she really, really wants the soup (this at 10.25 PM over freezing temperature) because they really, really have no money to afford the $ 1.25. i don’t know what’s sadder: the lack of money for a cup of warm soup or the kid who understood it. they went away with none of the whining and pestering so typical of spoiled rotten little bitches of new york.

of course, there is no attempting at philanthropy in these situations lest the mom tell me how to raise my own kid. there is also the thing called litigation for infringing on her parenting and impugning on her moral rectitude.

and that night. as we were ready to sleep, the main door buzzed. on the phone/viewer thingy is a man dressed like The Father as played by viggo mortensen in the film “the road.” he buzzed maybe three times. joy and i debated whether to open the door. he is visibly shivering. then he went away. then two chicks from upstairs went down and then they ran screaming inside again. i just heard someone from outside telling the homeless to “get out of here and go somewhere else.” he went away. thankfully and sadly. the space between the maindoor and the hallway would have been heaven to him but cowardice, mostly from litigation and other manmade armors of civility keep him out in the cold. at any other time, this wouldn’t have any bother on me, on us, but the cold can really, really fuck up your sanity.

i hate this fucking place already.

* * *

it is so cold now. i forgot the lip balm when i went to CVS for my meds and 5 blocks gave me bloody lips. did i say i hate this place already?

the x in xmas

it snowed last saturday. the big, wet kind, too big and too wet to accumulate on the ground. just another layer of cold. being the first snow of the year, it is still too much of a novelty to be irritating. or dangerous. so we went out to jologize the center of christmas in new york – rockefeller center.

it turns out that them americans are more jologs than us.

picture dito, picture doon. at least a couple of public displays of proposals, ring and bended knee and all (although the best proposal ever that i witnessed was still at the strawberry fields at central park with the band playing “all you need is love” segueing to “let it be” when there was a bit of hesitation from the girl, due to, i could only hope, surprise.). a lot of couples kissing.

we wandered the area then on impulse, bought tickets to rockettes. just to celebrate our own little christmas in new york. but with the weather, the lights, the beautiful people combined, it still couldn’t even come close to how we celebrate christmas in bicol. i just want to go home. lords.

the ginormous pine, chopped, lit, and pentagramed. snowflakes as unique and evil as you and me descending.

same tree, full frontal shot.

30 rock a.k.a. wayne enterprises h.q.

same building, wider shot. somehow this reminds me of ayn rand. and howard roark.

coppers deployed to keep the peace. and the jologs like us on the sidewalk.

art deco splendor at the main lobby.

the stage and the acoustics.

walls and seats. radio city is maybe one-eight (or even smaller) of madison square garden. must be divine hearing sigor rus here.

the rockettes. it has been reported that adding the length of the legs of the rockettes can get you to the moon and back.

making a living and making a killing.

same food, different street.

same food, different mustafa.

fifth avenue with all the trapping and trimmings.

park avenue on the way to the subway station.

same street. near the waldorf-astoria where, as a child, i have dreams of accepting a gold pencil from the one show at a gala ceremony. such innocent dreams.

the real feel is i wanna go home

it snowed last week in upstate new york. we might get some tonight. i just want to go somewhere warm.

but because i’m only 99% cynical, there’s the upside to the cold. hybernating inside the house with books. and i’ve also got my footing on the writing, new stories and old, especially that much dreaded novel. there is no excuse.

losers

i’m all for losers. losers have humanity. like boromir. the rest are poster boys of the good vs. evil plot but this man is well, a man.

which brings me to a new loser that i have the major hots for. jennifer carroll of top chef. the only real contestant of the show that really labors for the dish. and it shows. she could be all smiles one second, all frowns the next. gracefully plating one scene, morosely panicking the next. she could emerged on top at the quick-fire and drop at the bottom during the elims.

what’s bothering me is that this is one reality show that really has a semblance of reality (unlike say, iron chef where the contestants have a week to prepare the dishes and the duel at the kitchen stadium is just for taping. ha, there is no santa claus either). when the contestants were trimmed to half the original size, the elimination drifted to the predictable. right down to jennifer. the only thing that would pick this up is if one of the brothers got eliminated, although that would be very unlikely. IMHO, the show took pains to scout two brothers who happened to be great chefs so they can be the stars. we shall see. kevin is amazing and it would be sad if he gets booted.

last week, we passed 10 arts  where jennifer mans the kitchen at philadelphia right after i stuffed myself with two cheese steaks. it was a sin not dining there.

arrivals before departures

a hefty book like an old-school bible heavy. much has been written comparing it to “the stand.” and the ending is said to be superb. that alone is worth spending precious dollars for.

set in the upper east side. who am i to resist?

two books in two weeks plus the writing to be done. winter is here and there is nothing much to do but read and write.

but i can’t wait to go home for some san miguel.

december

slept around 10.30 PM and woke up at 5 AM. it’s been years since that happened so go! me! i can feel optimism in the air. or it could just be the thought of waking up in the month of december.

* * *

for two days now, a big caucasian, like tim robbins big, has been sleeping right outside our window just where the heater exhaust is. blankets and cart to complete the scene. just another event when i am clueless as to what to do.

* * *

dinner with basic advertising friends before we go home. gods, it’s been ages. most are now married and kids. again what to do, what to do? we don’t have any gay bosses to bash.

* * *

just waiting for both “chronic city” by jonathan lethem (from the library) and “under the dome” by stephen king (from amazon.com). then i’ll be a happy bastard.

mommy, i wanna go home!

we went to jersey for the long holiday (i don’t understand why they call the celebration of the rape of the land of the american indians “thanksgiving”. and while we’re at it, why did pocahontas and co. not make a scene? at least we have lapu-lapu who circumcised the neck of the spaniard who almost circumnavigated the globe).

the peeps were joy’s batchmates from e&y manila in jersey assigned to e&y philadelpia. beer, vodka, and food. to the tune of dinuguan at puto, crabs, fried chicken, tokneneng, kilawing tuna, pancit, bistek, sinigang na salmon, bbq, inihaw na liempo. leche flan and cassava cake for dessert. i devoured them all and still have the space for the philly cheesesteaks from the two stores that are literally competing against each other.

the usual laid back long weekend with booze and stories and gripe. the gripes were mostly about the emperor of this great empire, the king of rhetoric and nothing more (there are now anti-o buttons in central park, if we are feeling this disappointed, how much more the locals). they are already settled on the life maybe because of the jersey atmosphere and the jersey cost of living. they are really worried as to what the future may bring, with kids and cars and all. me, i just hated new york and all its artifice and its con all the more. blinding lights indeed. i can’t wait to go home where there’s real beer and real smiles and real problems.

winter snuck up on us and it was freezing when we grabbed some famed cheesesteaks after a mini tour of downtown philly – benjamin franklin’s grave, the liberty bell, a real quaker meeting hall. the whole touristy shit. at least the cheesesteaks where superb. this alone made the weather warmer.

pat’s. for me this is the real deal. brimming beef slices and better bread. the staff were very nice and easy going too. the atmosphere was a lamon one – no attempts at gimmickry and attitude. you come here for the steak, you get the steak of your life.

geno’s. screams like a challenger brand, behaves like a challenger brand. as if for lack of any other worthwhile claim to pat’s king of steak, they just surrounded the place with neon. very american. the redneck kind. signs are all over the place about supporting the police force. there are even names and pictures of policemen as if it would somehow add what the flavor lacks. the best part: the sign that says “you are in america, speak in english”. ayos. yes, sir redneck nazi sir! now how about improving your grammar and diction first? if not for my scientific motives, i would have walked past this primitive place.

* * *

if by any chance, i become the president of the republic…

the first thing that i will do is form a 12 man covert hit squad. each will be housed and paid handsomely. all they have to do is to make sure that anyone putting the country in a bad light (massacres, scams, corruption) will get what they deserve: dead and disappeared. down to the last apo of the second degree of affinity and consanguinity. no media coverage, no police involvement, no nothing never.

tingnan natin.

 

headline

the one habit that i can never seem to shake off is reading the papers (alcohol too, although there are days when i can make it through without a single drop. quitting cigarettes out of lack of choice because i am not yet prepared to die, is one of the best things that i’ve ever done).

i prefer the physical kind where ink is impressed on the fingers, and opinions, on the mind. this is how i read the papers, the way my father reads it too: first go to the opinions, then the sports, then the comics, then the news. in that order.

nowadays, due to geographic divide, i settle for my fix from the internet. and, because TODAY folded, i am left with no choice but to go to the philippine daily inquirer. while that particular paper’s news reporting cannot be questioned, its taste on aesthetics is shit. everyday, the way the masthead intrudes in the layout sends my blood pressure upwards with around 50 points. the good side is that i am reminded to take my meds daily. also, its website is still on the web 1.o. there are no comments and the link “contact us” doesn’t work. i’ve tried 3 times contacting them, first, an opinion, then a plea, then a godsdamn insult about the shitheads manning the websites. all 3 messages bounced back.

anyway.

the headline this week is easily one of the worst ever printed. suddenly, all the euphoria from pacquiao’s victory is forgotten. perspective: when you are out of the country, any news does something to your pride a hundredfold. imagine making small talk and when someone asks you where you’re from and then they “educate” you about the latest news they’ve read from the new york times. motherfucking shit indeed.

the headline came with a supporting picture and the cut did its duty of telling a thousand words. as usual i went to the opinion pages and agreed with the editorial 100%. the picture needed to be there to show how horrible and horrifying the what happened was.

and now the question that is on my mind is: who should the public hang?

there are the cowards who pulled the triggers.

and there are the motherfuckers who gave these cowards the false sense of security to pull the triggers.

i suggest we start with the second.

headbanging my way to manila

this month and the next should be about a jethro tull retrospective. then some the cure and lycia. a sprinkle of tom waits. but no. i am enjoying the better albums of slayer (reign in blood and diabulos en musica) and death (leprosy and individual thought patterns). nothing like overspeeding grindcore and growl vocals to mime the cold. it’s college days revisited once again. i just want to go home and stay put in manila. i have had it with this weather.

i am counting the days and listing ways to go about my beer offensive. pale, redhorse, premium, and maybe super dry if i can find one. there’s also food of course that are too many to mention.

yesterday, louie dropped by and we walked and talked at the park. three bands are jamming at strawberry fields. hey jude was played and some women literally cried (john lennon contemporaries, i presume).

tomorrow, maia might drop by. momofuku and brother jimmy’s time.

these are the little things that provide much needed warmth.

time for laundry.

atonements

there is no escaping “new moon” so earlier in the week, i also watched “broken embraces” by pedro almodovar at angelika after “mammoth” by lukas moodysson.

and this afternoon, i also watched “bad lieutenant: port of call new orleans” by herr werner herzog right before pluging into the tween movie. just to steady my nerves as there are no alcohol in the vendo.

of course these atonements could never be enough for spending precious dolyares and even priceless time on the atrocity that is “new moon”.

turns out that this is even laughable than the previous installment. even the chicks are laughing. maybe it’s because of the hairless werewolves in human worm. did anybody say metrolycans?

things and thoughts at 2.23 ayem

just finished a little gun-for-hire writing. my mind needs to slow down. the rhum is helping, of course, but the book is making it wake up with every sentence. cory doctorow is becoming the william gibson of YA.

also, i am recognizing a pettern here. is the chapterless novel making a comeback? this is the second in a month. “sandman slim” was the first.

next, elizabeth hand’s “generation loss”. there’s still a lot of other books that must be read and i think this will become a marathon if i am to finish every book before we fly home.

* * *

times square is no wi-fied for free by yahoo.

* * *

saw “mammoth” written and directed by a swede film maker starring gael garcia bernal. set in new york, thailand, and manila. a theme of personal sacrifices corporate demons. very interesting. and the pinoy cast were superb. i hope it gets to be shown in manila (here, it’s only running in one cinema, the IFC theater at the village–maybe the US have no time for guilt tripping during this troubling times, yes?). also, the weird thing is that it took a foreigner to do outdoor shots the right way (the only other time i’ve seen it was HBO’s 24/7 but that’s a docu). maybe it’s a pinoy thing, ang karpentero walang bahay, ang nanay na teacher, out of school youth ang mga anak, and our filmmakers can’t shoot location shots right in their own backyard. quick, name me a pinoy film that happened outdoors, and by outdoors i don’t mean the lahar area or some undecipherable warehouse.

* * *

praying to goods for one email. just this one, quick and painless please.

patapos na ang taon, may humirit pa

cory doctorow’s latest. 30% off through borders’ membership, even cheaper than the strand. i can wait for stephen king and jonathan lethem from the library but cory doctorow–the brain behind boing-boing and the creative commons license and the author of one of the weirdest shit i have evah read (think a boy with a mountain for a dad and a washing machine for a mum, i shit ye not)–must be read. pronto. geekgasm na ito!

the concert

i’m having too much of a boner to think of cute titles like “shamen” or “worship” or even “men in black”.

so.

metallica in bullets.

• if the band can be reduced in a song, that would be “master of puppets”. the song that comes very close is “seek and destroy”. the rest just pales away.

• i think i am the only one not wearing a concert tee when i came in. at least i was in an all black ensemble.

• *volbeat*, a danish band, opened. heavy and trashy.

• *lamb of god* came next. very pantera of the year 2009 with the usual growl and speed. of course, the attire should match the sound. camo cut-offs and boots and wifebeater tees. i understood zero words from the lyrics except the word “motherfucker”.

• this was the most expensive 4 hours of my life. counting the ticket, the expense would come around 260 dolyares. hotdog, stella (11 per fucking glass, times 7 – and this was when i lost count), taxi, and concert tee.

• got the best seat in the house. one storey away from the moshpit. to my right and behind me are aisles so no trouble taking a piss and buying a beer. the way ticketmaster seats its customer is beyond beyond. the french chick one seat ahead of me, also alone by herself (feeling romantic to the tune “…as i wish for dead?” perhaps?) is also, of course, seated near the isle. how very considerate not to seat single ticket holders smack in the middle of groups. bravo!

• to my left was a hardcore fan who’s seen metallica around 9 times. this tour alone. the last time he’s seen them was last night. big man, long hair, tattoos, wifebeater shirt, mustache. muscle. “go wild, man, and sing to the songs,” he said to me. that was just before he checked his blackberry for an email this sunday night.

• metallica knew how to work an audience. the pauses were as loud as the noise. the blackouts were as blinding as the pryotechnics.

• the setlist were half classics, half “death magnetic”.

• they gave away drumsticks and picks almost every time a song ends. maybe it’s because tonight was the last night of the north american tour.

• they acknowledged the old ones (like my seatmate) and the virgins (like me).

• they took the time to thank everyone after the show spending some 15 minutes onstage just expressing their personal gratitude. also, the last song was rendered with the house and stage lights in full force so that “we could see each other”.

* * *

just when i thought that the blind morons pretending to be art directors at the philippine daily inquirer can’t outdo themselves, they just did.

today’s cover was the worst ever that i have ever seen. an idiot with a stick and a piece of mud could do so much better. PDI is like the windows of newspapers, they just don’t fucking care how things look.

t-minus 1 day and counting: all nightmare long

2012. a big, dumb movie that’s fit for a friday. it’s so refreshing to find a summer movie in the fall, the bait season of oscar wannabes.

woody harrelson was hilarious. the girl that’s supposed to be john cusack’s daughter looked like golum’s bastard child–she’s even creepier than esther.

*  *  *

okay, pacquaio time. stella, wings, pizza, rum. for the first time, we are hosting manny’s fight at the house over pay-per-view.

please manny, win this one. then retire.

* * *

tomorrow is metallica time! more beer!

 

t-minus 3 days and counting: sad but true

i wish i saw this inside a theater. with sunny.

based on a teleplay by david j. schow (author of the seminal “black leather required” and the sublime “rock breaks scissors cut”) this is a kick in the ass of horror movies.

three cinephiles set out to find a rare horror film. as students of the cinema arts, they know the tropes of horror flicks and as such, make sure that they have a cellphone (even checking for reception), gun (with bullets) and flares (plural). but everything goes down a bloody hill anyway.

what’s really cool is how the cliches are turned upside down. like the sex scenes and the nudity are shown 1/8 into the film and not as a preclimax obligatory scene, although there is that too. also the  the girl puts on her jeans first instead of running into the woods in her panties.

qoutes:

“you know the only thing i hate more than bad timing is actors who think they can direct.”

and

“that’s the worst form of transition —  a cliche — you blacked out! a time cut. how boring.”

and my favorite:

“nobody cares about that subtextual bullshit. get to the kill!”

* * *

cold. and now rain. lots of rain until the weekend. time to do some gun-for-hire writing.

still at t-minus 4 days…

just saw this piece of genius, a week and a half late.

praying rob zombie doesn’t do a remake, or a reboot, whatever.

t-minus 4 days and counting: the end of the line

“the sound of building coffins” would be one of the best, if not the very best, reads of the year. the kind that requires to be read way past bedtime as you crawl underneath a comforter with a maglite. aside from early poppy z. brite and caitlin r. kiernan, the last time i did that was with “the house of leaves”. maybe “the terror”. if there is only one book to be read this year, this would be it. although i am looking forward to stephen king’s “under the dome”, partially to see if he has gone catholic on us, constant readers.

* * *

the temperatura is hitting the low 40s and will be dropping to around low 30s come the afternoon. this, after a sunny and warm weekend. i am officially hating the weather. there is no more escaping the 12 pounder coats and doc martens.

* * *

the thought that in a month’s time i’ll be swimming in san miguel and shoveling panga ng tuna is failing to comfort me. i want to get out of new york, maybe for good. one can never get enough of this place and one shouldn’t even try. also, why not quit before you hit the hard concrete, har-de-fucking har. i just feel that this city is built on superficiality of the evil kind, the lovecraftian kind. at least vegas and LA, IMfuckingHO are not hiding their superficiality and aloofness and ostentatious display of shallowness. you get manicured lawns and bright lights and fake smiles and you know it to be true, even the fake smiles. here, it is impossible to tell.

last night i told my wife that i am tired of this city.

“you will miss new york”, was her only reply as she went back to here take-home work.

we have this code that when spoken by either of us, we will just pack our shit and go, no questions asked.

i very nearly came to using that word.

if only her firm has an office in new orleans or rhode island.

but of course, there is always manila.

i give myself one more year. so help me gods.

t-minus 7 days and counting: fight fire with fire

yesterday was “freezing”. that’s the word used by them meteorologists on tv. we decided to take a walk in the park anyway to catch the last yellowing leaves before they all fall. the squirrels are now frantically doing their best to secure some nuts against a background of trees starting to show skeletal trunks. a few greens ones are soldiering one. most are yellow, although there’s the occasional fiery red. the walk took about three hours which is a good thing, maybe the daily 13-block walk from times square to penn station (23 blocks of daily footsoldiering) is actually doing some good. no shortness of breath, no palpitations. which could only bring more beer.

* * *

today the sun is having its final show. temperatura is at the 60s. most restaurants are full, spilling to the sidewalk of sun and food worshippers.

* * *

speaking of restaurants, the nytimes blog has one of the most commented entry ever:

http://boss.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/10/29/one-hundred-things-restaurant-staffers-should-never-do-part-one/

 

 

t-minus 9 days and counting: broken, beat and scarred

in t-minus 8 days, it would be the pacquaio-cotto match, one of the most anticipated event in boxing history. pacquiao has a lot to gain. and also a lot to lose which makes the match doubly exciting. and factor in the fact that this is the only thing that will put the philippine flag in the world’s headlines not related to corruption, beheadings, kidnappings, and natural disasters and there you go.

we don’t have nobel peace prize winners but we have a boxer.

who’s also a singer.

and actor.

and a politician.

if am his PR machine, i only have three words for the man.

be a recluse. the jd salinger kind.

slaughter the enemy in the ring then hide without talking to anyone. ever. until the next fight.

mystery breeds fear. but that’s just me.

* * *

there is a lot of crap in the internet. especially the scam about “the copywriting that sells”.  we all know the drill: promise, long copy, testimonial, discount, another discount, a time-sensitive offer. i always wonder if ever anyone falls into this bullshit.

i remember the day when the iPhone was launched.

it only has a single piece of copy. “hello”. it’s not even a one-word pun.

judging by the way it is selling, one word is enough to survive the economic crash.

* * *

winter is here.

it was cold this morning when we cabbed it to penn station. the kind of cold that fries your ears.

and it was windy like a batman cartoon – newpapers and new york filth are being blown by the wind as a gazillion coppers are getting ready for the yankees parade.

in a week, gloves, muffs, and all other shit would be necessary to go outside.

i just want to have a good book and a good film and tinola inside the house.

fuck veterans day and thanksgiving.

* * *

i’m doing my damnedest to find this film:

t-minus 11 days and counting: enter sandman

i have seen the future of air travel and it is not funny. we will be flying our own shit.

so we finally booked the flights from NY to MLA to BKL and back to NY. it turned out that when buying our tickets, we also have to choose out seats, check out luggages, and of course pay for everything. even the fucking fuel. my prediction is that in the near future, we will also pay the salary of the pilots and the stewards/ess with every ticket we buy. or we fly the plane ourselves.

checking in from NY is a techo nightmare as there are zero human interaction, unless of course, you yell “bomb”, in which case the form of interaction will be a dick up your ass.

checking in from MLA is a human nightmare. there are lots of people who are as useless as a machine. the last time we flew, we checked in online and when we gave the receipt to the person at the counter, we got delayed for more than 20 minutes because, “kasi nag online check-in po kayo”. ayus.

so basically we buy the fuel, we pay to bring luggages, we do everything our very selves. with northwest airline pilots sleeping on the job, we are going to fly the planes someday…believe you me.

* * *

the dirty finger is returning to normal size. pain is almost gone and i can use it to type.

* * *

“sandman slim” is rocking like hell.

t-minus 13 days and counting: last caress

turned out i was number 1 on the hold for anne rice’s latest tome. so i got the book (very thin compared to her previous works) and then read it.

after 12 pages, i don’t know whether i should save my sanity and return the book.

example (from page 44):

the breath went out of me. the breath just left me. i looked directly into his eyes and i saw the love again, the pure unadulterated love, and acceptance, and then very gently, cautiously, he laid his hand on my left arm.

now, if only i have read “twilight” to compare.

UPDATE: i am definitely returning the book tomorrow a-s-fucking-p. the next three pages made me throw up my dinner. at least there’s “sandman slim” ready for pick up.

* * *

the dirty finger is now itchy as hell. most of the nail is black and i can feel it being pushed upwards by it version 2.o. it doesn’t send electric chills whenever i accidentally bump it against something. and the lack of pus is something to be thankful for.

* * *

tv scheds are being fucked by the world series. i am rooting for phillies because the yankees are living up to their name and are so full of themselves. at least V starts tomorrow. i have stopped following heroes, flashforward, and CSI. i’m down to top chef, house, fringe, and californication.

t-minus 14 days and counting: …and justice for all

the day after all hallow’s eve.

the day daylight savings time starts.

the day of the annual NY marathon.

14 days before the metallica concert.

this morning, i got an email alert from ticketmaster. as if i would ever forget. all i wish is that they’d play “harvester of sorrow”, “fuel”, and “seek and destroy”.

* * *

halloween.

after kare-kare and pork bbq from bayan cafe, we watched “the boondock saints: all saints’ day” at times square. i loved the movie. there’s nothing like violent men with blazing guns to pump the day with adrenaline. especially a sequel of the movie that the pundits (“as a child, nobody ever wanted to be a critic someday”) loathed. i hope it gets an international release.

then we killed time in soho (+J new stock at uniqlo this tuesday, i might get a new winter coat after all) and then we watched as throngs of revelers start to trickle one by one. the usual gory stuff, the usual cops and criminals, the gothic slut, the superheroes. it started to rain and a group of people as jellyfishes ruled: they have transparent umbrellas with tendrils and tentacles and they still paraded with dignity.

what we did is take a joyride, just going to and fro on the six train looking at people as they come and go. and this year’s best costume IMHO is a japanese school girl in a school girl outfit with blood pouring out of her eyes as she carries a pair of nunchuks. beat that superman.

thank you maia

so i’m doing some gunning for hire at maia’s shop. mostly print and posters and advertorials that require 3 or less studies, something that can be done while watching “glee”.

they’re happy.

i’m happy.

and with the moolah that is fair for the exchange, i can buy some stuff with what remains after i give it to my wife (every bit helps when one is trying to find a ticket to manila this december).

what i buy is mostly beer and books.

and then i decided to do some vanity shopping.

the first one is a cheap-ass military watch.

smith&wesson. how military can you get?

matte black dial and bezel. the only color that makes sense for me.

black canvas straps. interchangeable with 2 other colors: fatigue and khaki.

this unnerved me at first. and then i googled military watch straps and found out that this strap is known as the NATO strap. very world war 2. this really makes sense the way the strap is one continuous thingy and just inserted at the watch’ lug. somewhere, this is discussed at length in a manual of arms.

my third pair of docs. the first made it from my goth phase in college through basic advertising. then i got a replacement from basic to mcann, tbwa, new york. and then after retiring my glasses, i also retired the DMs. now, i have another replacement and am very ready for the winter. and also this halloween.

black greasy, the matte black of leather.

still the same shit even after the brits relinquished the reins to the chinese. i heard that some DMs are from thailand. but then again, isn’t china the new west?

let’s see how long this one will last. year 2020?

* * *

time to bake the words. but first there’s the dishes to be conquered. at least it’s friday, delivery day.

* * *

tomorrow is halloween. we hope to catch “the boondoock saints 2: all saints’ day” before heading to the village parade for more gheyness.

so here’s a thought from the crow soundtrack: it can’t rain all the time/the sky won’t fall forever.

happy halloween.

october weather

i took a walk to the park to not to feel romantic by my lonesome self but to clear my head about things that need to be written. i brought a book and the iPhone of course, set on flight mode. and it’s not trio los panchos on the headphones but helmet (played very low) and sun o))) (played very loud).

the first thing i have noticed is that there is no point of denying it. fall has arrived and will leave very soon. trees are dying and shedding their leaves in the fall palette of autumn. the grass is still green as are some resilient trees but mostly, the park is covered with brittle leaves.

there were a couple of newly weds for their post-nuptial shoots (both asian couples), one amateur film shoot (no director’s chair), one professional film shoot (a director chair plus the RVs and shit), two family portraits photo shoots (girl photog), and three fashion shoots (gay photogs).

there were no more games at the great lawn nor where there P.E. classes. the jogging path has been cordoned off for the upcoming annual NYC marathon.

only a few squirrels were gathering their stash. there were still lots of dogs though. as well as tourists.

i somehow managed to find a spot under the sun and was able to read a couple of short stories which, while extremely good, did nothing for my current plotting problem.

so i walked some more and took some pics.

tonight, the agony of the blank piece of paper and red pen. time for wrestling. i promised myself not to do this before the 15th but fuck it, the itch needs to be scratched.

 

it’s time for anne rice

this hit the bookshelves today. i rushed to the library website and reserved a copy and managed to be the 10th on the queue. not bad.

after passing on her work aside from the witches and the vampires, i think it’s time to read rice again.

let’s get the war between the mormons and catholics going.

the shortened days

in 5 days, daylight saving times will take effect, making official the unnerving phenomenon of late sunrises and early sunsets. it is 7.14 ayem and the sun is still hiding. it also does not help that god’s little demons are having a pissing contest to end all pissing contests. at least, the temperatura is at the 50s. i can still survive on a hoodie.

* * *

i’ve created a folder entitled “stories 2010″ with subfolders inside, and inside these, empty documents save for one-sentence idea lists. the time to let it rip is on the 16th of november. the day after the metallica concert.  before that date, nothing else matters. except maybe halloween, as if everyday isn’t halloween.

* * *

i hurt my right hand’s dirty finger as i did the laundry yesterday. the fingernail is 50 percent black and blue and the tip is throbbing like hell. there is a very slight swelling but at least the joint is OK (at least i hope so, there is neither a crack nor a dislocation when the laundry door slammed it). this is partly my fault and partly my neighbor’s – the cute one with a dog named maya –  who decided to do small talk. believe me, small talk over laundry is very different from small talk at the subway, the deli, the cafe. it is beyond beyond.

* * *

facebook fuckery. i always check out stati (the plural of status?) messages and and always get a kick out of cretinous comments. like: status – dante: wants more ink. comment: just came from office warehouse. status: jimmo: hates summer. comment: have you seen the movie 5oo days? whoever: is sick. comment: of what? facebook is now becoming an epidemic that it should come with a mental health warning. finally, the american fuckers have outdid themselves. i used to think that boy abunda and kris aquino are the only ones responsible for the dumbing down of the masses (of which i certainly belong). now it looks like the throne belongs to the fuckers at facebook. let’s go unleash the pixelated kraken!

addendum:

i used to think that the pictures of chicks in bikinis sipping their watered down vodka in boracay (always termed as bora, wtf? does it sound cooler, eh?) are the things that screws with my brain. it turns out that it is the stati messages. always. from people who are STILL using “epic”, “fail”, “awesome”, and “douche-whatever” in the year of the lord 2009. lords.

my inner geek

who needs an “S” on one’s chest when one could get an iron man on one’s cajones?

not only am i the king of the world, now, i am invincible.

magic and all that jazz

lev grossman’s “the magician” another novel that would kick harry potter in his well-sodomized ass, is one of those books that is best read when everyone is asleep. the magic of words.

“mind the gap” a collab between tim lebbon and christopher golden features a character named jazz who fell between the cracks of the london underground. all i know is that this isn’t going to be your garden-variety neverwhere.

and there’s louis maistros’ tome, peddled as his first novel (not, there’s “the big punch”) titled “the sound of building coffins” about new orleans during the period of the invention of jazz. there are curses and coffins, of course, and some real magic called vodou. can’t wait.

one of the best of the year

after “deadgirl”, this is fucking it.

oh, there’s also “pontypool”, ye doubters of the power of words.

live readings

maybe it’s time for KGB bar. it has been ages since i set foot in that red room.

tomorrow is fantastic fiction where michael cisco, the author that nobody has ever read, will be reading. two books (that maia bought for me during her trip, lords, the universe might really have a sense of humor) that were my plane reading two years ago on the way to nueva york is still with me and if weather permits, i might get them signed. baltica beer, here i come.

and on the 27ht, 3 days before halloween–as if everyday isn’t halloween–the anthology “lovecraft unbound” will be launched at a SoHo gallery. my favorite lesbian writer will be there to read her contribution to the collection. i hope to have her latest book, “the red tree” signed as well. if only i brought all of her books. all. of. her. books. that’s how much i worship her. this is one regret i have to live with. never mind that most of it were already signed due to a small press promo to generate more moolah (i remember paying over 50 dolyares for her first ever novel. it came signed and hardbound, but without my name). i need to make both readings small victories.

itchin’

the sun is shining today thank gods. it somehow takes the weirdness of seeing green leaves away. and in the comfort of being indoors in a fleece jacket and woolen sweat pants, i could almost forget that winter is just around the corner.

halfway into stephen king’s “just after sunset” and then it would be lev grossman’s (the only person, IMHO, that makes time magazine worthwhile) “the magicians”.

the itch to open a blank document continues but i promised myself not to touch it until all unread books are read or november 15 arrives, whichever comes first.

meanwhile, there’s some gun-for-hire writing to attend to. more money means more booze. and we all know what a drink it hand would mean during winter.

weathered

the cold continues its assault with its incestuous sister, the wind.

half the people in the neighborhood has been wearing winter gear. gloves, beanies, scarves and boots. and, i’m not making this shit up, ear mufflers.

i’m still on my hoodie and rubber shoes.

right now, the plan is to stay indoors and find some summer pics and print them via aperture and hang the fuckers on the wall.

there’s not much to do but hope.

the weather sites say that wednesday might bring the sun and the temp just might climb up to the 50s.

meanwhile, looking at bermuda and rhode island pics are small victories.

empty bottles and equally empty pages

the weather is not helping. 28 degrees of real feel without the wind. yet. and this weekend, it’s about to get worse as rain will be descending. everything is gray.

sunny and rica just left, taking the summer with them. two weeks filled with broadway and food and alcohol and shopping (at least for them) and there’s the unforgettable fire that is U2 (which i saw for free because they are the bestest of friends) and now it’s me and the empty bottles and the equally empty pages. i wanted to spend the rest of my summer, what everyone calls fall, reading and drinking outside except that winter basically crashed the party with the cold and the wind and the flurry of flakes in the early morning. it’s too early for long coats and doc martens and layered shirts. it’s also too early to create a folder and label it “fiction 2010″. and gods of gods, there’s the unfinished novel.

i feel awful. thank gods for the empty bottle of wine. a sip and i know i’ll be crying like a girl.

maia just called to say goodbye to sunny and rica. she missed by around 5 minutes but it’s good to know that the sun is up at her side of the universe.

i need to sleep and maintain some semblance of domesticity. laundry and dishes and cooking dinner.

the unread books, about a dozen of them, awaits. that will be the goal for the next few weeks until the next guests arrive. and i hope the sun comes too.

now more than ever, i am very grateful to my wife, who, aside from being very cool about the whole thing, got me into this city in the first place.

mastodons

if ever any other piece of writing gets printed and requires an author photo, i am so ready, with two to choose from.

(shot by rica l. yulo)

(shot by sunny lucero)

Nothing could go wrong today

One of the rareties where the day started perfectly and ended the same way.

We scored tickets to “a steady rain” without any hassle. Got myself two books i have been hunting for the longest time-a phenomenon these days as i’m a library patron-after having beer at bryant park.

In the end, the play was brilliant. Sunny and Rica, by the principle of divide and conquer and the inevitable learning curve, were able to get shots of daniel craig and hugh jackman unlike what happened with jude law.

I hope the play gets a tony next year.

sublime

that’s the one and the only word to describe “hamlet” portrayed by jude law.

aside from the gazillion english expressions that were birthed by that play, i even rediscovered the phrases “tears seven times salt” and “a dream itself is but a shadow”.

the art direction and the production and of course, the acting, were superb.

and did i tell you that he has no alternate and that he is doing both matinee and gala six times a week?

ibang level.

us 3

tampa was hot. hotter than manila if one factors in the humidity.

first night, rica’s friends treated us to a steak dinner and some sangria, which made a good pair and then me and sunny beered and slept and then waffled the morning after.

we had the presence of mind as only a good night’s rest can give to do a recon of the stadium, home of the tampa buchaneers.

and then the waiting began to rival pilipino time. the most that i could do is to control my breathing to avoid collapsing. thankfully, there’s beer as soon as the gates opened.

U2 proved to be a once-in-a-lifetime event and just like sunny missing portia, i really wish joy was there.

i cried when “one” was played.

the last night was spent on more beer and wine and doritos and cash cab and i read sunny’s esquire in the bathroom with what was left of the bottle of wine for about until 4 ayem. i fell in love with their fiction and their articles all over again though i am not sure the editorial board was given an overhaul – there wasn’t even a hint that they attempted to do a GQ way back before the year 2000. it’s time to subscribe.

tonight, a jazz club and maybe a strip bar.

i hope my 20 dollars multiply. but it all depends on rica.

quick bytes

• at&t OK’d VOIP for the iPhone. it seems that mobile airtime will be come free way ahead of the internet.

• nothing like a quick cynicism check to be happier. there are still people who have never been hurt. and then there are those who have been fucked and kicked in the teeth but refuses to make whatever has happened as an excuse to be evil.

• can’t wait for “hamlet”.

• can’t wait for U2.

• loved god of “carnage”.

Untitled pics

Augmented Reality

Scenes from the iPhone as I checked out the neighborhood.

10 years ago this would have been a sci-fi idea.

things that are making me happy

my sleep and as a consequence, my bp,  finally normalized thanks to the melatonin.

it’s time to do some list of things that are making me happy, to restore the vibes on this blog lest it becomes another letras_o.

without farther ado:

1. the weather. i did a walk of dickensian proportion to the park and after about a two-month absence, the cold in a truly open space felt comforting. that there were no PE classes and less runners and bikers also helped. on the way back from the walk, i saw pumpkins on stores getting bigger and bigger by the block.

2. augmented reality app on the iPhone. a subway map that uses the camera to point you to the subway. how cool is that? i hope to take a pic in action tomorrow.

3. “black gives way to blue” by alice in chains and “brand new eyes” by paramore. it makes the commute to penn station and back worth it. come halloween time and it would be lycia and metallica. on a side note, pearl jam, the band that never went away, launched its comeback album “backspacer” via target. complete with TV ads. okay, let’s keep this happy.

4. “californication”. not yet “six feet under” but close. very close.

5. friends arriving this week and more friends spending halloween in NY.

let’s do more optimism tomorrow. and the day after.

untitled (about the unpublished)

a couple of nights ago, when i awoke at the unholy hour of 2+ ayem, i opened a blank page and just stared at it because i don’t want to write just yet. 2 unsubmitted, unpublished stories are still in the folder and in the same folder is a page containing titles and story ideas. but i just don’t want to fuck my fall because i am basically useless when a story needs to finished. so i resisted like a jedi.

and then the wife told me that i am cranky as hell so i better start writing again. soon.

my defense was that i just need to sleep.

she countered that it is what is not making me sleep in the first place.

and for that, i have no more words.

ramblings on melatonin

joy went back to work today and because of the weight caution that the doctor ordered, i have to bring her to penn station and carry her laptop trolley all way to the coach. all is good except that it is screwing my sleeping pattern into pieces. i slept around 11 peyem last night drunk on a bottle of red wine and awoke at 2.45 ayem like an old man. so by the time she was ready to go, i was ready to sleep. we cabbed it but the subway on the way back on a rush hour monday was epic.

my only hope is this melatonin supplement, all these little white pills with no FDA approved claims. already got my siesta loaded on it. let’s see what happens later. i really need to sleep. waking up early and not writing is a bad, bad thing.

***

we went to jollibee queens over the weekend and i devoured a two-piece chicken joy. isteyts-side serving but the breading and the gravy feels and tastes wrong for a jollibee. it was weird seeing all pinoys specially the ones with accents, affected or not. the kicker is the mandatory token white girl on the counter (NY state law, no all-insert race here employees in a business establishement). and yes, pinoys, even in the new york still order their jollibee by combo numbers.

***

the biggest small victory was finding frozen (frozen, not freeze dried) dahon ng sili and malunggay leaves at the hong kong supermarket. finally, i can have a real tinola. especially now the weather is dipping into the mid 50s. the veggies come in ziplock sandwich size-packets that are brick heavy due to ice inside. it felt solid. had they reduced the size, it would be something akin to the technology in aliens 3, that cubed whiskey.

***

californication is the shit. i almost fell off my seat on episode 2.

***

with the rebuilding, heroism and all, i hope we pinoys get to anger before we get to acceptance. this is something totally preventable. these last few weeks, i have been having thoughts about how smiles, like the air, are free in the philippines. unlike here in new york where you have to tip somebody to receive a smile. but then again, because you are paying, you are getting the service that you deserve and you have the right to a full accounting for every cent. this is a very bad comparison but the more i think about it, all the more it seems that the only thing we are good for are smiling. not only that, we are smiling while others are robbing us in broad daylight by smiling robbers. please. get angry. get very angry. or else this will happen again next year.

“you feed it once and now it stays”

gray skies and grey earth and grey buildings all around. the trees have not yet turned their color. a few stores have pumpkins on display and at times square, a demon can be seen here and there.

all around me, melodrama is happening without the help of the cure.

it’s not my godsdamn problem or concern or what the fuck ever in the first place but there you go.

all i wish is to be intelligent enough to camouflage the events and turn it into a piece of fiction because really, what is happening is stranger than that. there is the whole reversal shit and the negation of negation where the whole series of events are propelling beyond anyone’s control into someone becoming what that someone most despised before. love to indifference to hate to self-loathing masquerading as love.

a kabit or a kulasisi almost broke your family and look at you now pretty little girl, a godsdamn mistress. i hope you are proud when your mother goes through the whole fucking thing again because that’s what mothers do, they found out things hidden from them. i hope you yourself spawn a daughter and that you get to live long enough to watch her getting fucked by a married man on the side.

i need a drink. i am a very tolerant person but this is getting beyond belief.

should you read this, know that we care.

and know that you know that we know that you know what you are doing.

on the queue

as if tonight’s new CSI: NY and top chef aren’t enough.

my continuing romance with B-movies and direct-to-video releases

there’s “may” with anna farris, and “hard candy” with ellen page, or shall we say pre-ellen page of that “juno” cuteness?

the hunt for worthwhile b-movies (some cinephile with a degree in film would surely lambast me for this poor and philistinic diction) is the motion picture equivalent of hunting for small press books. or, for the record folks, real indie. you have to go through a slushpile of shit before you find yourself a diamond. part of the allure, at least for me is the fact that these finds would never, ever make it into the mainstream and to quote a movie line “the mainstream is shallow, that’s why it is called a stream.” it’s a wonderful world indeed when no fucking dudes would reference your most cherished intellectual porn because not only will they not understand it, they also couldn’t get to see it. no, i am not talking about “the bicycle thief”.

anyway.

this year’s title is “deadgirl”.

but make sure to watch “jennifer’s body” first.

’tis the season for teevee

the rain and the cold is back with a vengeance. nyorts and tsinelas would now be suicide. this would only mean one thing…tv.

tonight, fringe season premiere.

followed by megan fox on conan.

followed by megadeth (megawho?) on jimmy fallon.

that would just about make up for the lousy jay leno comeback.

splinters

the weather improved a bit with the sun shining and the cold retreating. but stores are already stacking up on scarves and pumpkins, hurrying up to the inevitable october. which, with a lot of friends dropping by, could only be a good thing. haven’t been out of the upper east side much, except for that one time traverse into SoHo. i am ready with my walking shoes which, if we go with the adage, is a pair of running shoes.

* * *

i got one of the biggest scares of my life yesterday. the pharmacy called that they could not contact my prescriber and so i called all the knowns numbers and lo and behold, voicemail. one of the moments that i just kinda heart new york as even generic meds for the most common of heart medications needs a prescription. luckily the prescriber picked up her phone (turns out she is on summer vacation – much deserved, i believe) and things got sorted out. i could not begin to imagine the alternative of rushing to the ER just so i could renew a prescription. i’ve had enough of ERs this year.

* * *

an email arrived from a senior student in UST asking for permission to illustrate my story “All We Need is Five Meals a Day” for her thesis on books illustration. i gave her a go, of course (with the necessary rights management precautions), and wished her good luck. i am excited as hell how the characters will look especially Lenor, he of the dangling intestines.

* * *

time to read, as no writing will be done until november. fall is my summer, remember?

the week

days of rain and clouds and cold had me under the weather that i just want to sleep as long as i possibly can. the only good thing is that the wife is not yet working (although she can now carry her laptop around the house and her walk is nearing normal pace).

we almost had the entire week done on delivery or takeout and last night, a dinner of crispy pata and kare-kare. i took a bite (just a bite because i know it’s deadly for both the heart and the gout) and then ordered “fired up” on the cable but both, with their collective strengths (litid and sawsawan and “we are cheering, we, we are chee-ring!”) failed to lift my spirtus santos. i even did not read a single page from the book i am currently into.

now i am on the cleaning mode, doing the laundry and shit.

i am rambling because just want this week to be over.

today

a sticker in the nearest bus stop. maybe a propaganda by massive dynamics?

and so moving on

the deed has been done.

the drinking (shiraz and stella and heineken and corona) and the eating (pinoy foods from bayan cafe that are best partnered with lipitor) and some singing (the cure on karaoke).

my wish was to have another story published or approved for publication within the year. and good health of course. and lots of benjamins. i guess the health should have came first.

i am just grateful that joy was pronounced OK when we went to her doctor and that she was allowed two more weeks of paid disability leave, so hurray for us. i have never seen a doctor with a bedside manner this exceptional. it made me realize again that there are professions, and then there are callings.

so.

time to open the email draft and attach the manuscript and do that damned submission and then my birthday would be complete.

oh, there’s the MoMA membership to be renewed and the rollingstone subscription to be cancelled so i can subscribe to zoetrope and tinhouse. let’s see if amazon has cemetery dance or weird tales.

happy birthday to me. see,  i can do optimism.

* * *

update: and so the waiting begins after receiving an email immediately after submission that final notice of acceptance or regret will come out in over two months time. lord. but there’s the professionalism of the editors to be thankful for, responding immediately like that.

* * *

i should have deleted my facebook account, that fucking evil thing, yesterday and then i realized that it is the only medium that helped me find out the email of someone that i could collaborate with in the future. and so there, it’s back to ignoring the damned site instead of unplugging its miserable life.

fall starts

the weather continues its descent and just like that, the shorts and the summer dresses are gone (although there are still a few sun worshippers at the park lying in their underwear to catch precious sun rays).

winter is going to be proverbial. but for now at least there’s fall.

tomorrow, rockband will release the beatles, steve jobs will unveil a new iPod, timur and tim will screen a new animated feature, and motorhead will stage a new concert. also, i will turn a year older. another year spent without a visit to the ICU. i have long stopped making a big deal out of this but after a couple of visits on death’s door, i can’t help but at least be thankful.

my only wish is to find the balls to submit a couple of stories. and to write a project proposal about an anthology in mind. so those are two wishes, but who’s counting?

* * *

i also wish i don’t believe that letting someone read an unpublished manuscript is bad luck because, honest opinion or no, it would really help. now, that makes it three wishes.

summer ends

it’s official. fall starts tomorrow.

to celebrate, we pigged out with sushi, wine, steak, and ice cream in that order. hurray! every victory away from the kitchen needs to be celebrated.

it’s a long weekend because of a labor day holiday and, instead of nueva orleans, central park will have to do. there’s no negotiation with recuperation. i am just glad that the wife can now walk a bit fast, and central park will just have to do.

there’s still a lot of work to be done and i’ve been hanging out at the bookstore to feel angry and hateful. there’s nothing like the feeling that one could do better to start one’s self. of course, there’s also a self-imposed deadline. i just want this story done. there’s another writing project i am calling as “project rock ‘n roll” that just came my way in the bath tub, a real eureka moment, and this is something i will not  let go, this has to happen in the year 2010 or else. next to the novel, this is the shit that will put my name on the map. seriously.

ok, time to “final destination” before more wine.

but first, tums for the tummy. the steak was really heavy.

“now i can’t think | think why i should even try”

title studies:

the scar that isn’t there

runner ups:

1. anno domini

2. for you have made them a little less than the angels

3. (life’s a bitch) and then you live forever

it’s nice doing the thinking old school, writing with my red pen on sheets of scratch papers held by a clip.

i turned over the macbook to joy so she could have something to do to combat her ennui, like creating her facebook account (i have warned her it is evil) and organizing our NY photo album to be ordered through apple.

it’s “ponyo” time before i wrestle with the words again.

page 27 is giving me the finger

the dreaded blank page stares and adds insult to the injury.

i can almost see “the end” but with every word wrestled onto the macbook, it seems to be moving farther away.

this is a very important story that needs to be written down while the smell of disinfectant sprays and the shimmers of IV tubes are still fresh in my mind. the working title is “fade to black”, metallica’s anthem to suicide and so maybe this is what needs to be fixed first. i don’t do outlines but i can not write a single word down without deciding on the title (except for this one, of course, something written on the other journal to purge the anxiety of waiting in the operating room that just evolved into a monster of a story).

so, title studies here we go.

this needs to be done with before the season turns because autumn is my summer and i don’t want anything, not even writing, fucking up the ray bradbury weather.

the novel can just suck it.

* * *

three successive hurricanes have dragged fall with them. into the low 60s this past week and people are wearing scarves and hoodies already.

just like last year, i still jologize new york by running for a dozen eggs at the grocery in my nyorts and tsinelas.

looking forward

things are returning to normal. the wifey is under doctor’s orders to take some rest so goodbye waking up at 5 AM, at least for now. small victory.

from the library, something i can’t wait to read:

from the teevee:

this is the season that could either go very good, or very bad. i’m hoping for very good. we shall see.

a doctor in a mental asylum. could things get any better?

ok. i think it is safe to say that while there would be lots of sex, this is going to get bad.

from the mac store:

an update of bug fixes for 30 dolyares, wtf? i recall an article explaining why steve jobs could never, ever run an airline. it explains that deaths would be catastrophic through this scenario:

pilot:   (at 50, 000 feet) ladies and gentlemen, please fasten your seatbelts, this airline is about to get an upgrade and we need to restart everything.

from the app store:

i swore i’ll buy myself a game app as soon as joy gets home from the hospital so there you go. as if i needed another time killer.

sleeping with unlocked doors

the second night i’ll be sleeping alone with the grim knowledge that joy is not on a business trip but in a hospital.

the hospital has weird laws all to protect the privacy of the patients and that means no male in a female ward. violate that and the lawsuits will come like thousand flying ninjas. i was able to squeeze few precious hours because most of the staff – from the admission nurse to the surgeon to the recovery room nurse and the ward nurses – are pinoys. the famed pinoy care and hospitality is weird beyond belief and greatly appreciated in this land of the caucasoids.

her recovery is talking its sweet time because of her allergy to penicillin, a bad-ass antibiotic. plus there’s a fucker of a cyst in her already weirdly-positioned ovary which is, while 3 doctors, 1 surgeon and 1 ob gyne has been assuring us is benign (the surgeon even held it in his hands during the appendectomy and not just read the charts on a PC screen) is scaring the crap out of me because the timetable to breed some cthulhu worshipping spawn is set at next year. imagine little elvins and little joys with thick glasses reading the book of revelations at age 3.

all i wish is to have our parents here to help us cope. for lack of that, the best that i could do is to sleep on the sofa with the muted TV on and the doors unlock. yes, this is new york. even i couldn’t explain it myself, but it feels like a warm blanket knowing that i have a few minutes of lead time if ever i have to run to the hospital, knock on wood.

on the good news front, it seems that adobo is running my review of “art & copy” after all. as the title of the article says, it’s just another self-promotion – both for the film and for me.

now i go and open another blank page.

materials

so all the semblance of normality from saturday’s brunch somewhere in jersey to next month’s debauchery in nueva orleans was thrown out the window because of an appendix.

it was weird seeing things from out of the gurney. used to be i am the one being wheeled. not any more.  it was the stress of a thousand deadline demanded by a thousand faggot bosses combined.

one final paragraph, one freelance writing, one getting back on track of a nearly abandoned story, all victims of  tapos interruptus. and there’s the physical and mental well being of my wife of course as she writhed in pain and cried soundlessly in the ER. and this is not even childbirth. i am such a fucking pussy.

something good will come out of this, i fucking swear. these emotions will be immortalized in the pages, mark my fucking words.

the agony of waiting alone in the surgical waiting room was one of kind, especially if, at 12 midnight you are the only one in the waiting room. my hugest friend is the beejive chat app on the iphone.

all these will find its way into the page because that is the only way to deal with these kinds of demons.

ok, it’s time to write and pour the fucking jack.

this story is fucking hardcore, watch this space.

fotographos

random pics from the iPhone. so that i will piss everybody off, here’s today’s trivia: a man has put up a blog culling and collating iPhone pics from willing participants and now his site is valued at over 4 million US dolyares due to ad revenues. everybody who has thought of that but were too lazy to do it, raise your hand.

a little narcissism. the fez that i put on when i hunt for victims to sacrifice to astaroth.

* * *

the saddest song right now on my iPhone is green day’s “last night on earth”. after stumbling upon this, i suddenly missed d’boss – the one near don bosco. and of course, bartolina – the one in cubao. a perfect soundtrack to a stoned, underfed girl swaying on a greasy pole.

ok, the oven calleth.

ha!

my bitchin’ yesterday was rewarded. or maybe i did offer a virgin to astaroth.

an email arrived at 2.08 am informing me  that one of my short stories will be appearing at the philippine graphic. if another story gets accepted by the philippines free press (now ready for submission, i just need the balls to hit send) and the forthcoming volume of philippine speculative fiction anthology (a few polishing needs to be done after i do more important things like building my abs and hanging with my cool dudes as we buy cool stuff so that we could look cool and put the cool pictures in facebook) that would really rule.

this piece of news couldn’t have come at a better time: even I am starting to get tired of my great potential, har-de-har.

full disclosure: this is a love story. well, sort of. i mean, i really tried to make this a love story.

here’s an excerpt, full copyright protection, of course. click on the entry title above for better viewing.

TUESDAYS ARE THE DEADEST OF DAYS

A couple hunched under a small umbrella already being threatened by Habagat’s wind braves the downpour. Their gaits are syncopated, never quite falling into a cadence despite the distance they have walked. The man uses his bulk to shield the woman from the sheets of rain that make it past the useless cover and in the darkness, the frail woman almost blends with the shadows. Only the bundle she is carrying–a white cloth that used to be a flour sack–indicates her presence and despite being so weary and hurting, she considers the heavy rainfall a blessing. It only takes a deluge to loosen the grip of Martial Law and at this unholy hour she is grateful that they have not yet encountered any checkpoint controlled by the Philippine Constabulary.

A gust of wind hauling with it the stench of floating garbage from Pasig river and the smell of baking bread from Binondo slaps her, rain mixing with her tears and she doesn’t sob for fear of waking her baby, instead, she keeps her blurred vision on where they are going, so very close now as she reminds herself that the last thing they need is an unnecessary attention. The same wind uproots the umbrella from the man’s hand and he lets go after a second’s hesitation to run after it. Then, he guides her towards Quiapo Church and they walk a bit faster across the open courtyard towards the canopied entrance like lost strangers seeking shelter.

Lightning flashes and before their eyes can adjust to the momentary blindness, the deafening sound of thunder. An electric heaviness hangs in the air, the lightning has struck very near. In her arms, the baby wiggles and yawns.

“Hurry, the patrol might pass by,” the man whispers although he thinks that the police might not even be in the precincts at this weather with the Plaza Miranda Bombing already nine years into oblivion. The woman very gently lays what she’s carrying in her arms onto the granite steps, unfastening a knot from a layer that exposes the baby’s still bloody face and the man looks heavenward and fixes his gaze at the church’s left steeple, straining his eyes to get a glimpse of the clocks.

The woman says nothing, whimpers her words away and in a moment, the baby cries and so she takes it to her bosom one last time until it falls asleep to the melody of her humming that are mostly stifled sobs.

The baby finally lets go and the woman places it once more on the steps of the church whose foundations were laid some four centuries ago, built by the brawns of newly converted natives under the sign of the cross and the sigil of the King of Spain. She picks up one of the wax-smelling cardboard boxes littering the steps and props it beside the baby to keep the winds at bay and despite not being entirely religious, she crosses herself and mumbles a quick prayer before getting up. She looks back and sees Liwanag candles lettered on its sides and in the dark, she reads more of its hopeful significance than its manifest irony. The woman then rests her thin frame underneath the arm of her companion and she lets him drag her away, past the only witnesses of their deed–the mute statues of the ever watchful San Pedro and San Juan–into the piazza and finally towards Hidalgo Street where torrential tears fall once more to rival the fury of the rain.

#

Tuesdays are the deadest of days at Sa Guijo Café + Bar as its weekends are observed on Sundays and Mondays. Aptly enough, Tuesdays are Goth Night when bands slated to play have names with words like “tears” or “wake” or “crimson” or “decay” rendered with dark iconographies of candles, cauldrons, crosses, and coffins. On Tuesdays, Sa Guijo Café + Bar–which really is neither a café nor a bar but two houses with its partition torn down to accommodate a low stage cramped with amps, speakers, microphones and stands, a drumset and an assortment of cables and jacks as well as the requisite eight tables–becomes alive with death’s little fanboys and fangirls. This particular Tuesday at this nondescript place of two-story apartments tucked anonymously in the warehouse district of San Antonio Village in Makati simply called Sa Guijo by music lovers and alcohol worshippers alike, two strangers, neither of them quite Goth, meet.

Rafaela is the first to arrive and as she walks towards the rusty iron gate hinged on a concrete wall painted with the face of our national hero with his anachronistic Ray-Ban aviator shades and Bose noise-cancelling headphones, the indispensable sound check is blaring from the speakers. Tendrils of a guitar’s whine undulate with tentacles of a singer’s wail as the two slither out the wooden door covered with stickers and posters promoting album releases, energy boosters, outdoor adventures, alcoholic drinks, subversive publications, filter cigarettes, and dubious charities among want ads for unsigned bands hopefully looking for a person to be one of these: bass, guitar, drum, keyboard, vocals as a final member to kick-start a dream aimed at securing a record deal and achieving superstardom; and a design house desperately seeking for a person to be all of these: illustrator, animator, graphic artist, motion director, web designer as an intern to help finish a huge, confidential project with an impending deadline. Both demanding ads conveniently forget remuneration, even in the fine print.

And while it is very early into the night with the sun still casting feeble rays that shone defiantly against the blackness already pockmarked by a few twinkling stars, the balding, black-clad bouncer slash waiter slash parking attendant everybody calls Manong is already manning the entrance, ready with the rubber stamp pad and complimentary drink stubs.

Rafaela stalls and sits down at the wooden bench that used to be a trunk of an ancient Acacia and lights a Camel after she realizes that the talismanic words I’m with the band will neither work tonight nor ever again. To clarify, she has never been with a band, the band or any band. But Marko, her ex, is a vocalist and he gets her to all of his band’s shows. As he’s the one who submits their guests, she’s always in the checklist under assumed names such as Steven Segal, Chuck Norris, and Sho Kusugi. She would have settled for Cynthia Rothrock but he always insists on these male aliases and who is she to argue when she is nothing but…what? A groupie? That would be flattering both the band and herself, although what a groupie does is exactly what she is doing, fucking the band and getting in for free. So she has to pay tonight, debating herself on the practicality of spending precious pesos that she should be saving until her pay arrives. If, and when it arrives, she corrects herself, then she remembers that she got fired again from her last job. But because she knows that she must confront this place as well as every memory of Marko she decides that she might as well pay the cover for what it’s goddamn worth. Every successful goodbye comes with a price after all.

Rafaela stares at the wall, artificially aged like a movie set with painted cracks and hints of bricks and vines dangling one-dimensionally from nowhere. Everything is pretense, she thinks and in the span of a single cigarette, she went through the whole five stages of grief all over again and acceptance only came when all the mental curses directed towards Marko and his shitty, stupid metal band has been unleashed. It was a victory this time with neither tears boiling up her eyes nor snot running down her nose so she decides to reward herself with another stick.

“We really have a Goth scene here?” A hoarse voice from someone who’s been smoking too much or just unaccustomed to speaking. The really was spoken as a part of the sentence, not as a punctuation like yeah! and ohmygod! and ican’tbelieve! – the entire arsenal of kyala girls who can carry a conversation by just a permutation of all these.  Rafaela, judging from the stranger’s faded jeans, ratty shirt and well-worn Chucks, decides that this one, despite her painfully thin frame and Catholic schoolgirl face, is a grrrl.

the day the words just wouldn’t come

if i do one of those stupid music widgets on this blog, it would be moby’s “everything is wrong”.

i just want to smoke a fucking cigarette.

sacrificing a virgin (and just to be clear that this is just a figure of fucking speech, there are no virgins in NY) to astaroth would have been easier.

the heat and the humidity continued its assault that even the promise of rain as predicted by meteorologists with all their harvard degrees and gay make-up isn’t happening.

but. we braved the subway for some peking duck at chinatown and “500 days of summer” at times square.

the duck was good, the movie, confusing (which is a good order, come to think about it).

the trick to peking duck is to have it delivered first so the taste buds have focus. and when there is nothing left but carcass, only then do you request for the noodles and the pork chop in salt ‘n pepper and the “flayd lays”.

the movie. well…he fucked the girl, didn’t he. and then the girl fucked him. and all the while, all these was said 3 seconds at the start of the movie. so why the fuck did we watch the whole shit at all?

incidentally, i’ve just submitted my review of “art & copy” to adobo magazine. if it sees print next month, it would mean they liked what i wrote. which is not very different from the paragraph above.

time to get the bottle from the freezer.

i wish autumn would come already. i want the cold and the crunch of dried leaves under my DMs.

flared

before i set foot in the isteyts, it was always a mystery seeing films showing people wearing jackets and scarves despite the setting being bright and sunny. and then i felt that in the winter, the sun has no power at all. these days, it looks like the reverse. the sun is nowhere to be seen under the clouds but it is hot as hell. it is so humid that i haven’t tasted alcohol for about two weeks now. that is something.

manila would feel like an airconditioned paradise right now.

* * *

two movies to watch tonight, joy’s sked permitting.

• art and copy – as a favor to a friend, though i would rather see “taxidermia”. there’s a writing assignment too. we shall see.

• basterds – how can you not watch something that the director calls as a “movie” and not a “film”?  is movie the new artfilm?

my only worry aside from the dolyares watching two movies would entail is braving the heat. matinee is out of the question, same reason as before. i. don’t. want. to. die.

* * *

submitted a story two nights before. another one is ready for submission come the day of the deadline (don’t we all love doing it at the last second?).  there’s a draft that needs to be polished and hopefully submitted before this year’s folder entitled “stories 2009″ would be done and over with and then the folder named “novel” will be opened again. i tremble in fear. and then i remember i could be doing tv ads this very minute.

toasted

five consecutive days of 90s temperature and there is no sign of the fever breaking. last night it rained around 10 pm complete with thunderstorms at least. today it is just baking hot that i am foregoing KGB bar to drink some baltica. i can’t even walk to the drugstore to pick up my meds. that hot.

* * *

two weeks now of sleeping in the morning, the aircon bill de damned to wrestle something to the pages and i might have found the end. an october 15 deadline seems far off but not when a week before, something tries to mess with your head and demands to get written. at least two in bag to choose from, and three should a wayward idea appears, could only be a good thing. but i just want to sleep with my wife at night. plus my weekends get screwed up too.

* * *

speaking of weekends there’s basterds opening. it’s been a while that we’ve seen something on the opening night but we might give this a shot. this might be a sign that we are starting to hate the city–when even watching a movie is something to be dreaded. there’s just a lot of maniacs in new york.

district 9

the best of of 09 so far. “awesome” is the word, before the shallow, beautiful people usurped it. you know, the people who call each other “dude” without ever having ridden a 20-foot wave or given up their day jobs or daddy’s trust fund to live as a bum. those kinds of people.

***

humidity and heat outside that to watch the film, i have to take the subway for a mere 9 blocks just to avoid death by dehydration.

it would be nice to soak in the tub under ice water and read and have some wine, but no, the kitchen calleth. this is monday, time to cook. at least the laundry was done yesterday. hooray for me.

***

i am going to slowly detach myself from facebook in the hope of deleting the account come my birthday. it has nothing to do with the book, although it really rocked but it is really getting boring and it would also be something NOT to do, just like smoking which, i guess, would give at least something NOT to do in the coming weeks. go figure. maybe because a lot of people over there are “dudes”.

***

i finally got a philippine speculative fiction volume 4. i have to finish the book and then decide which story to submit for next year’s anthology. a few month’s back i read a sort of “review” where one writer wrote, and i paraphrase, that my story, “…is too perfectt like a smooth sculpture but I just can’t find purchase, i don’t know how to latch into it, where to hold…”. something. duty done. i write something to disturb other people. yes, because it is so much easy to aim to please. later, i accidentally stumbled into the same writer’s blog again and he related how seeing a fantastical painting reminded him of my story. ha! like a splinter in the mind, eh, mr. morpheus?

***

i can’t wait for 2 films:

• “whiteout” because the trailer reminds me of john carpenter’s “the thing”.

• “jeniffer’s body” because it’s written by diablo cody and there are real dialogues like:

girl:    jennifer’s evil.

boy:   i know.

girl:   i mean she’s really evil. not high-school evil.

summer returns

over the 90s over the weekend. the kind that breathing needs to be done. like the laundry. you just have to do it-breathe-or you. will. die.

saturday, we chased to houses, future apartments that would at least be bigger. then we dived into the nearest cinema for GI Joe. ’twas better than transformers at very least.

sunday, we chased the subways going to bleecker to buy something needed for world domination. the heat was unbearable to the point that i got myself another haircut, something that i swore i should do annually. the cost could have been two more canvasses.

while on the barber chair, i missed yolly, my masahista/dominatrix at lutos spa. well…the things i have to sacrifice to live in this city that’s really testing all of my-and the wifey’s-resolve. her work hasn’t been dandy of late, doing work, the kind that involves telecons on weeknights and weekends. we can only see next year if we relocate to maybe birmingham or rhode island. just a thought.

at least tomorrow, there’s district 9 to look forward to. a matinee screening to avoid the philistines.

“he calls himself an artist although i have yet to see a single thing he’s painted.” – i’ve read that somewhere, i just can’t recall what title.

there is no excuse…

…not to put the next right word after the next right word.

there i’ve written it down.

nearing the last 3 months of the year and there’s 1 more story to go before i finish my self-appointed quota of 1 short story per quarter and send these bastards to whoever would see it fit to be printed.

because the novel has been screaming like an abandoned infant demanding for attention.

there is really no excuse.

like all great ideas, your favorite time sucker was stolen from somebody

from the library. a lot to be done but there’s always time for interesting non-fiction.

the super secret project finally begins

there is no turning back like the probervial, no, mythological pandora.

the box has been opened and evil will be wrought upon the world.

all that you have held sacred will be torn asunder.

i am not fucking joking.

watch this space.

domesticus

the only way to enjoy monday is to do all the household chores like laundry and grocery on a sunday, squeeze-squeezing everything in between church, movies, park, and bleecker for some street culture.

except everyone has this idea and the sunday night becomes a mini warzone of sorts as to who will raise the white flag on the washing machine and procrastinate the chore until monday evening. and there is the occasional asshole too who will load their laundry and head off to the movies – the obvious solution of course is haul the shit to the dryer, letting a piece of clothing, preferably underwear, to fall on the floor  and to step on it.

i was able to get the chores done, unbelievably last weekend, freeing up my monday to do more important stuff like reading comics, watching DVDs, thinking up plots to reinvent a monster in the digital age, and my most important achievement, hauling three ginormous canvases home (bought at 50% off the list price using last week’s dog money).

time to plan word domination.

but first, there’s sinigang to subdue.

my caitlin r kiernan fix for the year

the postman rang once with an amazon package, something i ordered last january while in the province. time flies fast. another sleepless night for me. the cover is fucking ugly (a product of marketing research according to the author) that’s fit for the laura k. hamilton’s of this world. no matter. if one should pick it up mistake hoping for a sappy fantasy, duty done.

i’ve just read the preface and loving it.

all i wish is that she writes another vampire novel.

there’s another visitor in the house. all muscle and sinews and an appetite to fit a kargador.

the headline the day democracy was restored…

…would be forever seared in my retinas. “it’s all over; marcos flees!”

we all devoured the copy of the inquirer because we didn’t have a tv then (and even if we had one, who knew whether the news reports could be trusted).

it would still be years before the term “martial law babies” could be coined but i could feel the sense of belonging by that single day. something important has happened. something as important as reading and music.

i read the inquirer today, specifically de quiros’ column and i agree that now, more than ever, martial law and all its specter needs to be buried.

as cory rests in peace, may the rest of us don’t.

something like that radiohead song

an ordinary man under medication starts levitating, walking through walls, hearing thoughts, becoming invisible.

after 6 months, finally scored the one copy from the nearest blockbuster 2 blocks down. winner.

* * *

watching the concluding episode of “the next food network star” i just can’t help but do some analogy between the food network as compared against the travel channel. TFN is to MTV while TTC is to VH1. TFN is so moist about the star chefs (meaning themselves) that they forgot the food. TTC, ironically lacking the word “food” on its name, is still the real deal when it comes to food. try faking bizarre foods or no reservations. see? and in the interest of fairness, there’s iron chef, the only TV show which makes santa claus more believable.

* * *

okay, coffee. while i pretend to puff an invisible marlboro. there is no escaping the blank page.

hey, you are wearing my drink!

from the AV club section of the onion, america’s finest news source, comes an ad about yet another indie band that’s doomed to fail upon selling an album (the trend nowadays is to listen to bands that doesn’t exist yet – trust me, i am not making this shit up. album = suicide is the equation of the NY music scene and my guess, anywhere else. where is vampire weekend now? exactly).

but at least one member got his shirt right. gods, i miss pale pilsen.

two days before the pacquiao-hatton fight, i saw a caucasian wearing a team pacquiao shirt on the subway. yesterday, i saw another white man wearing a team manila shirt. but this – even though it is just on print – by far is the coolest evah.

itaas mo!

dispatches from madam hysteria

“the strain” has kept me awake until around 4 in the ayem. all that’s needed is the howling wind and a little flashlight and it would be like reading poe as a child. had del toro and hogan pushed the crafting onto the atmospheric, it would have been as creepy as “the terror”, “the house of leaves”, even. i guess books written with the screen has no other choice but to do it with the camera in mind. nevertheless, a good, gripping read. i hope this gets screened during the last installment of the “twilight” atrocity.

* * *

kaaron warren, the author of “slights” will be reading at the KGB bar next month. a small victory, hadn’t set foot in the bar since last fall. might score a copy of “the painting and the city” too, if i arrive early and have a few dolyares to spare.

* * *

time to face the oven.

* * *

addendum: this from the web. the article is entitled: vampires suck. actually, they don’t. and that’s the problem.

http://www.slate.com/id/2223486/

enjoy.

* * *

addendum, part deux: my favorite author alive writes and i quote: I will say, I have half a mind to write the most balls-to-the-wall, blood-and-guts vampire novel possible. Something that would make Near Dark and 30 Days of Night look tame. Just as a personal “fuck you” to Stephanie Meyer and the Mormons. The hard part would be not to lapse into the idiocies of “splatterpunk.”

of course she has already done “the five of cups”, her very first novel. but another real vampire novel wouldn’t hurt. here’s to hoping she would.

as i swiped the image above from amazon.com, the price for the book is up at a ridiculous 125 US $ as this was a limited run. my copy is a hardbound, signed, numbered edition. when e-readers take over the world, i wonder how that copy and the rest of the first editions by the likes of the gaimans and melvilles of this world would fetch. just a thought. as peter straub has said, sometimes wealth is measured by the records and the books you have. nothing could be truer.

from the library

there is not enough time to read all these, but at least i have to try. “the strain” is of course, a must but the two anthologies should be devoured morsel by chosen morsel. “dark delicacies II” have all the usual suspects, but “inferno” should be combed through.

and while reading, there’s a lot to be done – the gazillion dot coms and the shorts for submission calls, one for the money, the other for the show – before things really pile up. i have to deserve the coming schedules too, the new orleans for my birthday this september, the florida for u2 with sunnnya and rica this october, and of course, the metallica this november. but first, words must be baked lest the wifey discovers my scam and sends me home.

things are popping up into my head and a title just came up which i have to wrestle onto the blank page for the rest of the words. i have no choice, really, in this matter because it is either that or the insomnia.

speaking of titles, mary shelley’s “frankenstein” has been bugging the shit out of me lately. honestly now, don’t we all think at first impression that the name of the monster is frankenstein? then upon all those required readings and papers, we come to know that he is the doctor and that the monster is unnamed. and then after 20 years or more the title suddenly comes up and lo and behold like a freight strain on speed, the genius in the title is revealed: that no, frankenstein, the doctor is the godsdamn monster in the tale, that he is the freak whose thoughts could conceive such creature and whose actions could gave birth to the monstrosity. ohmyfuckinggods! amazing, isn’t it? and i’m not even drunk or on meds.

the cult of the tape

any creative who’s been in the business pre-cellphone era knows that marcelo serpa did not invent the visual. this thought came into my head when i saw this ginormous billboard at times square, while coffeeeing with louie. there’s the  missing lamp, but you get the idea. the best part is that this visual is now in every maxell packaging. ha! media arts anyone?

* * *

went to blockbuster and rented “tokyo!” the bundle of 3 shorts with gondry in one. there’s a surprise waiting for me. there are now books on the shelves and not just the ones that hollywood is ruining but the bestsellers as well. this could be a product of recession, a good one.

* * *

“the strain” is already at the library waiting for me. fuck, this is what i love about new york. can’t wait to read it.

beering for breakfast

i live for the weekend as it is the only two days that i am excused from kitchen duty. bagel for breakfast from the nearest deli or brunch from the diners and dives littering the neighborhood, the usual egg and sausage combo.

today, we tried doc watsons, an irish bar that serves breakfast. same menu except for the choice of drinks: two beers with every order instead of the usual juice or coffee. and there is stella on the choices. sold. joy had a couple of mimosas, leading to an unavoidable extra order of coffee and juice.

the waitresses were more than enough given the floorspace, and none of them were in a hurry and for the first time, we have to get her attention to ask for the bill. something disconcerting, but nice in the land of impatient waitresses who are too eager to shove the bill in your face the moment you stay beyond 30 minutes (i know they live for tips but eating out shouldn’t be a sport).

we even got a garden view with a real view – the trees reminding us that summer will soon be over – another thing that’s hard to come by nowadays.

cheers!

three films

the very first films that i’ve ever seen. in the province of course where the cinema is a smoking space and there are double features. there are also surots in the seats, and softdrinks can be had by the bottle. there PG and X ratings are merely loose suggestions as both the public and the person manning the entrance have no concept of meaning of these letters. policemen can come and go as they please. the screen becomes a public service announcement medium by writing a message like “elvin, magsaing ka na raw sabi ng nanay mo” and bribing the projectionist to flash it onscreen – preferably during trailers but more interesting during the feature screening. but the most memorable aside from the films are eating chicharon baboy with sawsawing suka in the dark.

i’ve seen these films before i first set foot in a school or a dentist chair, so i could say, that i knew what to expect from life before getting my very first kicking.

if the poster is wild, the film is wider. maybe this is where i got my b-movie fetish.

let loose the kraken!

my heart condition could be traced to my rock ‘n roll lifestyle. and also to this film. i’ve never felt being shitless before and had nightmares for month to rival what i first visualized upon reading the book of revelations – the one about the weeping and the gnashing of teeth. remember that row upon row of eggs? that i couldn’t understand the film because i was too scared to follow the narrative made it all the more terrifying.

fuckyouweather

two weeks of rain says the weather site, starting today.

everything is wet and a cold wind  is blowing outside the apartment. people in boots and jackets and umbrellas greeted me this morning as i went out with louie to do something in SoHO.

over beer and burger for lunch, it dawned on me that after over a year, i will again dip my pen in someone else’s corporate ink. i don’t even know if i can assemble a powerpoint deck anymore, but extra money is always welcome. the other thing to consider is how to get the important writing done and the super secret project going. and with this weather which is a constant reminder that fall will be upon as anytime soon, the familiar footsteps of panic at the door couldn’t be ignored. there’s also the laundry and the cooking and the marketing, of course, my official occupation as stamped on the visa.

on the bright side, these things can be handled if only the sun would shine. it’s always the cold that will get you.

* * *

“one” arrived early and i have started reading it guerrilla-style  (at the toilet, before i sleep, on the subway) before “slights”.

i hope this gets book gets optioned. with the same screening sched as “the road”. that would really rule. because finally mccarthy’s story would make sense, in the i-got-my-money’s-worth kind of sense, because i just can’t imagine watching two hour’s worth of grey concrete, grey skies, grey gun, and gray father and son. although lav diaz might disagree that he can imagine nine hours of greyness.

* * *

i am not a fan of both the books and the films but the latest harry potter film is almost there. certainly way better than the previous installment who repeated the theme of “happy thoughts” which, while entirely not being original, was also made the centerpiece of a previous potter film besides. at least this one has the feel of jame’s bond’s “quantom of solace” where events are unfolding left and right without any apologies. the downer is that there’s the good wizard dying and without reading the book, i’ll bet my financial stability – all of the twenty dollars in my tattered wallet – that he will rise again with a shining glory anytime soon. see, you don’t need lit crit to know about this things, just tolkien. and they say that j.k. rowling is the greatest writer in britain alive today… but then again it could just be emily watson, whose unshaven pubes as she attended her 18th birthday made the rounds of the usual unsavory sites. daniel radcliffe must be waving his wand vigorously. lousy pun, i know.

from the same guy who zombified austen

sunny would running to the bookstores right now.

* * *

speaking janes and austens, there’s this NY dating agency called AUSTEN’S JANES that offers, and i’m not making this shit up, “chaste dating for cash”.

lifting from the article:

For $60 an hour, the agency arranges for a smart young woman to accompany you, laugh at your jokes, and make you feel interesting and special. It may sound like just another escort service—with additional sex services available by negotiation—but it’s not.

The young women who set up the agency are adamant about this, and they spell it out on their website: “If there are any attempts at sexual activity, the girl has the right to end the date immediately.”

the agency prides itself with women conversant on melville (the dead melville), proust, and yeats and other topics worthy of stimulation of the intellectual kind. who says brains are not sexy?

doing a jeptha

an amazon package arrived today and it was something i’ve already forgotten.

“slights” kaaron warren (an australian, i think) published by angry robot (hooray for small press, only they can have cool names), from the UK, hence the shipping time and the forgetting. bought this book primarily for the cover, although the blurb is not bad.

next to come would be “one” by the brit scaremiester, conrad williams. there’s post-apocalyptic and there’s post-apocalyptic. after suffering mccarthy’s “the road”, i guess this would make a nice palate cleanser. i hope this ships faster as amazon US has a stock.

both books are mass market paperback, the very compact, stash-in-your-cargo size. if there only are plastic covers for sale here in the isteyts.

so i guess my vow of not buying books – after devouring “the angel’s game” – was short-lived, although i did survive avoiding barnes (easy) and borders (easy) and the strand (very hard). well, atonement would be utilizing the library more, especially now that the online catalogue has been upgraded. we shall see.

* * *

i’ve recently made up my summer soundtrack after rediscovering both albums by slash’s snakepit. “it’s five o’clock somewhere” and “ain’t life grand”. not quite glam rock, not quite cock rock either. there are no filler tracks (at least to me) so it’s just one continuous loop like an unlimited subway ride.

because when i thirst

the insight came from the wife. it’s this: that i seldom have someone to drink with that i take whatever chance that may come to really get smashed. the thinking maybe true except that i also drink even when i’m alone. as what the bumper sticker says: i’m a drunk. alcoholics go to meetings.

so.

louie has been doing some serious shit for his plans that i’m getting stressed just watching him. this one is getting no rest. calling accountants and lawyers and suppliers and shit that i’m beginning to think that maybe i need to charge him for commercial rental fee. after cooking breakfast and lunch, there’s only one solution. beer for dinner.

dive bars with cheap beer, loud girls, and nigger slaves (at least in mentality. and words. and behavior. the empirical proof to the argument that the mental shackles will always be there and for one second, one is almost tempted to believe that der fuhrer is korekto mundo). when it is unavoidable, there is the lethal combination of wine and rhum from the ref. sing-amats pero di sing mahal.

but.

the benchmark is still the x-file abduction stupor with costello, the irish.

ooops, excuse me while i liberate the jack from the stash.

all the weather, all the time

low 60s since we came back. the only consolation is that the sun is at least shining, but it is very disconcerting to see people wearing jackets. i am getting depressed just thinking of winter. there’s still fall to look forward to but with this temperature, winter will surely be a bitch.

***

meanwhile, luck is not giving me break for the online lottery tickets to shakespeare at the park and lining up at 5 ayem in the cold is just unthinkable. but it seems i will have no choice, lest i pass away the chance to see anne hathaway with some girl to girl action in the flesh, tongue sucking and all. the things we have to do for shakespeare.

***

louie with all his plans is at new york already and has slept at the house for a night. we had a couple of pitchers of the piss being sold as beer and onion blooms talking about stuff, about life in the province and new york chicks. we had a laugh when the topic shifted to advertising, from basic to mccann to tbwa. it made me think that he is the one person from the business that i’ve met who has the biggest balls of them all. he may not be a genius (and he doesn’t claim to be in his thoughts, actions, and words) but he has some major cajones. i hope his dreams really fly and i swore that i will do what i can (be it cooking lunch or ordering beer or preparing the sofabed) for it to at least take off.

***

we talked about supposed or self-proclaimed geniuses in the philippine advertising industry and agreed that all of it are just masks for insecurity, lunacy, and lack of breeding by maledukadong parents. i don’t know if it’s a provinciano thing but we both share the belief that the way one behaves at the office reflects the way one was raised at home. and yet…

***

email alerts and junk mails are already speaking of fall previews. now i’m really in the mood to drink. fuck the writing and whatever it is that needs to be done.

traps

the first thing i noticed is how everything is clean, how everything is manicured, how everything is displayed. even the currency uses the font eurostile. it instantaneously made me miss manila, the quiapo and divisoria parts where crossing the street would get you killed if your mind wanders a few feet from your body.

we did the tourist traps because, frankly, there is nothing else to do aside from officially making the word beer a verb.

by the time i saw the trash of new york, only did i wake up from the stupor that is canada.

the first two photos are the best reasons to go to canada – extreme irony alert.

and the rest are the places that robbed me of precious time i could never, ever get back.

now it’s time to bake some major voodoo, sayeth the oven, while outside, the weather is being fast forwarded to fall.

into the land of angry women

i would rather spend the long weekend on a beach upstate. or at the jersey shores. or just staying put watching the fireworks if it doesn’t rain. there are also other options that includes hauling ass outside manhattan. like vegas. or new orleans.

but the missus would rather go and exorcise some ghosts.

and i’m all for exorcising ghosts.

so bags must be packed once again and passports secured and off to toronto we go.

that city where both anthony bourdain and andrew zimmer hasn’t even filmed a single episode. i’ve read both time out toronto and lonely planet toronto but aside from blank screens, there’s not a squawk adventure.

but.

there’s maple syrup and some angry vaginas. think allanis and her spawn, avril.

you oughtta know it’s complicated.

exorcising.

joy, and by extension, me are supposed to be in toronto today had the market not shifted. and it’s not that we are so set to go to toronto but when the wind has changed, all she got was a letter that cancelled her job assignment with the explanation and i quote “…because as you know, the market has shifted.”

this after she has resigned from the manila office.

coming home from a 23-hour shoot to find your wife crying while your gout is having a field day is not an experience worthy of saving in one’s brain hard drive. i was tempted to reply “…yes, we understand, but as you know, we’re taking this shit to a labor lawyer named jovito salonga.”

well, we did sort of sent the firm’s partner and the human resources manager a letter listing all sorts of inconveniences from giving up the apartment lease to liposuctioning our savings account for the visa application. including taxi and meals and desserts and the occasional, okay, all movies showing that month tucked under the meal and the taxi expense. we even padded it with the cost of selling three parcels of arable land in the province, a dozen cows, a fish pond, a texas breed of seven prized cock fighters, and three harvests of 45-days chicken because we have pinned out hopes of making it to canada. and she got a hefty sort of settlement which i spent no time in spending.

but still she was jobless.

the happy ending is that she immediately sent that day – i must have drank 3 gallons of coffee to stand upright by her side – an email blast to all corners of the world from london to milan to johannesburg to new york and all replied to send her an application link. from the same firm or its competitors.

so a week after, we are pretty much set that jologizing new york will happen anytime soon. and she even got  a consultancy stint at smart telecom which, aside from the relaxed IT company atmosphere, seemed to be hemorrhaging so much money they have to invent names like summer and back-to-school and emergency bonuses (smart is also the only philippine company that’s not in the pharma business to give its employees a proper health benefit to rival europe: all things health related are free – from doctor exams to prescriptions – no matter how long it would take and no matter how much would it cost. your smart ID is your health card. last aside since i only got this from reading why americans are iffy about health care: the only way for healthcare to work is when the pay-per-visit is taken out of the equation because, since that doctor is not earning on your visits he would rather get rid of you immediately and the only way to do this is to make sure you get well ASAP and stay healthy.). it also gave her an idea of her true professional worth.

now. a year plus after, we will be setting foot in the office that dumped her. and speaking of dumping, all i ask is a chance to be given access to the executive washroom. insert evil laughter here.

ohmyfuckinggods!

woke up at 4 ayem, took a piss, then browsed the app store. photography, of course. this japanese genius has an app called toy camera ($1.99) that does all sort of wonderful shit.

he also has an editing software for free that, according to his website, needs zero editing knowledge. sold!

i tried the software (as it is still too dark to take pictures outside) using a canned pic from the march.

lo and behold. wonder, mere mortals at my artistic powers.

tried another pic just to see if this really works.

and here’s the result.

a small victory for someone who can’t do photoshop even if my life, or the isteyts economy depended on it.

*** U P D A T E ***

was finally able to take a stroll at the park, despite an overcast sky and a hint of rain. let’s see how this looks on the web.

incidentally, there’s an NY times send-your-phone-camera-masterpiece at: http://submit.nytimes.com/cameraphone

13 books

meme go again. something that’s not for facebook.

1. SILK by CAITLIN R. KIERNAN

i’ve been saying this forever. this is my “the catcher in the rye”.  when i read this book, i felt that every word has been set down only for me. i still read it once a year before halloween the way i watch “the crow” every november 1st. this has been my guidebook for life because in between the pages is the wisdom that when life kicks you in the teeth, it’s not all that bad. it’s actually a great deal worse.

2. WORMWOOD by POPPY Z. BRITE

i have no choice but to copy – word for word – the blurb: poppy z. brite writes like a cathedral on fire. amen.

3. THE WOMAN WITH TWO NAVELS by NICK JOAQUIN

having grown up with sionel jose’s and carlos bolusan’s in the house, i could say that this is the first filipino book that is actually readable. there is none of that pretense infesting all other filipino books that are considered and so- called literary.

4. THE ISLAND OF THE DAY BEFORE by UMBERTO ECO

there are his first two novels but this one kicks ass in a different way.

5. THE SCAR by CHINA MIEVILLE

a big book with big ideas. like his first book, this one gave tolkien clones a run for their money. what’s really mindbending aside from the places and the peoples and the plots is how he leaves one thing unresolved. genuis.

7. KINK by KATHE KOJA

art and madness and everything in between. and still makes sense.

8. THE ANATOMIST by FEDERICO ANDAHAZI

i will steal two closing lines from the prologue: this is a story of a comedy. this is a story of a tragedy.

9. SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMES by RAY BRADBURY

one of the best things living in the isteyts is that i got to experience autumn and breathe the scent of decaying leaves and hear the crack of dried twigs under my shoes as a chill crawls up my spine. thank you mr. bradbury and more wickedness this way please.

10. KITCHEN CONFIDENTIAL by ANTHONY BOURDAIN

someone studying the culinary arts lent the title to me and said that it is hardcore. it was. i only returned the book when i got a first edition hardback at the fifth floor of national bookstore in cubao.

11. THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE by THOMAS HARDY

there’s nothing like a story that ends in tears. even shakespeare would agree.

12. PATTERN RECOGNITION by WILLIAM GIBSON

the man who coined the term “cyber” finally writes something that’s based in real life set in real time but stil manages to keep that dystopian tinge to it. there are whispers that blue ant is modeled after the ad agency strawberry frog.

13. THE COLLECTED TALES OF EDGAR ALLAN POE by EDGAR ALLAN POE

read aloud by my father over gasera during power outages in the province. the cask of amontillado and the tell-tale heart are unanimous favorites.

respect, walk

so the sun did shine the whole weekend. saturday and all i did was clean the house and do some cooking and the laundry as the missus wrangled the excel and the phone and commandered internet connection to two work-related laptops (something is obviously wrong when the number of computers exceeds the number of humans in a house).

sunday and this means that i’m all alone to fend for myself at the gay march. i woke up 5.30 ayem and then taxied to fifth avenue with upper east pinoy friends. first impressions: 1 – new york gays are just like manila gays, they’re as late as late can be. 2 – they’ve been doing this march for 19 years but because of volunteerism, there is no science to it at all. 3 – asian and pacific islander gays tend to bond.

so as a volunteer, the first thing is to get the ID and then the work began (there was a promise of a breakfast but there was no mention at the briefing). we blowed using helium from ginormous tanks balloon after balloon until two hours later, the arch in all the colors of the rainbow was formed and festooned. breakfast was finally called, fresh fruits and some cookies. the best dunkin coffee ever.

so i readed myself to walk in one of the balloons as promised and signed up and confirmed.

but no.

we were shoehorned into holding the very first banner. by a pinoy organizer, no the fucking less.

so i walked what turned out to be 60 blocks under the sun wearing a yellow shirt and held the banner proud and waved like a fruit while playing a pantera song in my head. that’s not the unbelievable part.

when we were comfortable enough after a few blocks, the inevitable question popped up and this should have been a clue: are you gay? it turned out that only one in the 12 of us holding the banner were. are the heteros finally infiltrating the homos? but as the french chick next to me said, this is the most fun ever!

next month, jologizing central park.

balloons. blown before breakfast.

starting to take shape as a counter stands guard.

when you blow it, they will come.

and i thought i volunteered to hold these to the ground.

no, i get to hold this shiny, gay banner and play spot the homo.

the view out front before the march started. maybe we made it to time out NY or the village voice.

the view behind us.

you know you’re not hardcore, unless you live hardcore.

i agree, pussies are awesome, yeah?

hornier than ever.

10 bucks that she’s praying to astaroth.

oh look, there’s the mayor holding the pride flag as he cups his balls.

coming to the flatiron, we passed pentagram design. always thought they’re based in seattle.

approaching ground zero where the tourist trimmed down and the real deal emerged. wild.

eto na!

eto pa. sangrekwa sila!

two hands are hidden from the camera but i swear, they are not on my ass. sort of. look at the press photog on the extreme left. can i pass for a twink?

pics

testing the madam hysteria’s photo apps on stephen king.

above, the original shot on 3 MP.  then FXed as polaroid below:

a helga FX:

there are also other filters like magazine and cinema. we shall see how they look on peking duck later.

madam hysteria

ideas like name studies come in the bath tub unannounced (more so when there’s a bottle of wine but at 11 ayem after a breakfast of cereals, it seemed wrong). and so i thought that coming from the very first iPod called Lucretia, this new iPhone should deviate a little bit. names of diseases came to mind like insomnia and -phobia and then i settled for hysteria. not just any hysteria but a a feminine one and so i baptized the gizmo as “madam hysteria”. lest someone assume it came from a def leppard album and song.

madam hysteria. it has a nice ring to it.

the bad thing about a shiny new toy is that the temptation to load it with apps is relentless. i managed to rake up 25 dolyares worth ranging from pinoy news (on sale) to poe’s collected works (cheap at .99 cents) to camera filters (the lomo and instamatic settings are amazing except for the price). i also bought yet again another NY subway app because one can never have too much maps.

now, if only the godsdamn angels would cease to piss so i can test the camera out in the park. i swear, summer is never coming and any moment now, the waters of the hudson will rise to devour manhattan.

the fragrance of paper

“the angel’s game” never ceases to amaze. i’ve been reading it at night under a lonely lampshade when everyone’s asleep partly for an undivided attention, partly to make it last. it would have been nice to read it outside but the rain just wouldn’t relent.

there are a lot of quotable quotes but two needs to written down:

from chapter 1 and the opening paragraph:

A writer never forgets the first time he accepted a few coins or a word of praise in exchange for a story. He will never forget the sweet poison of vanity in his blood and the belief that, if he succeeds in not letting anyone discover his lack of talent, the dream of literature will provide him with a roof over his head, a hot meal at the end of the day, and what he covets the most: his name printed on a miserable piece of paper that will surely outlive him. A writer is condemned to to remember that moment, because from then on he is doomed and his soul has a price.

from chapter 30:

I stepped into the bookshop and breathed in that perfume of paper and magic that strangely no one had ever thought of bottling.

nothing could  be truer.

the many, the proud, the gays

summer is officially postponed until further notice but the gay pride parade is unstoppable. this year it is going to be big since the anniversary of the stonewall riots is on its +0 year, 40th i think. plus papa adam lambert, the real winner of american idol will be there. and so i am (one summer goal that i am angling for is to walk for a cause, hopefully in support of cardiovascular health, diabetes, cancer but either i have missed them already or they are yet to occur).

it’s a 50+ block walk and starts at 7 ayem. i just hope the tee shirt isn’t pink, although i have accepted that the chances are a billion to one. well, there’s always a first time.

***

it is still raining almost everyday although the temp has been climbing to the 70s. if this continues, all other park activity that i plan to volunteer to might just go to a puddle. there’s the philharmonic concert. and of course, shakespeare. but mostly i just want to read and write in a bench and watch dogs. and the occasional camel toe.

***

the current iPhone has been sanitized of all thing useless – mostly apps and movies – so that the migration of data will be faster. i hope the package arrives on time and that the activation does not take days, as experienced last friday. i am thinking of the name Helena for the new one, though i am not sure if that is even a mythological name or just plain greek. maybe its time to assign lovecraftian names. or poe. annabel lee seems nice. we shall see.

rocking the cashback

the line at the apple store fifth ave was simply beyond belief. while there is none of the discomfort online, there’s no insta grati either. next week will be the longest week ever.

over the moon

yesterday the sun shone and i got to go out for what seemed like a very, very long time. i got chris’ books from his hotel and times square and then checked out the screenings at empire 25 (arguably, the best bet for philistine-free viewing).

i saw “moon” which stars sam rockwell and is directed by duncan jones. three words: “solaris” it isn’t.

i checked out the web and found two versions of posters. and taglines.

poster 1 (the one that made it to the theaters) with the tagline: 250, ooo miles from home, the hardest thing to face…is yourself. (the ellipsis is the equivalent of a facebook status of “sigh”. as in let’s put some drama and then represent it with a fucking ellipsis.) of course, the art direction rocks.

poster 2 to be forever relegated to collector’s files. the tagline is: the last place you’d ever expect to find yourself. which, judging from the film, is the best of the two.

and to state the obvious, both posters bill sam rockwell way above the title and the rest of the credits.

new books

chris gave me copies of his latest play, our lady of arlegui. finally, i can read it – and give a couple of copies too to my friends. salamat ng o, direk!

when i got back, an amazon box is waiting at the doorstep. the follow to zafon’s “the shadow of the wind”.

it has some gimmick on the dust jacket (which is smaller than the covers and reminds of “the house of leaves”) to reveal a cooler design. i wonder if kindle readers will get the irony if they buy a copy of this book and read it in bits and bytes. 

and finally, bubbles, who, on a good day when she’s just come from the spa after a $150 bath, looks like stephen king. this is not one of those days.

weekodds

• independence day and i am refreshing the tab on the inquirer website every few minutes in the hope that something happen to disrupt arroyo’s rapacious cling to power.

• watched 100 at the MoMA. the tuysilog and crispy pata scenes killed me. we laughed, we cried, we had a good time. saw and had a longish chikka with chris martinez. still the same man i worked with at basic, doing stupid ads for lucky me! and jollibee and it got me thinking how easy advertising was in those days. from the paperworks to the production to the bosses. i never saw chris got mad. ever. or got to the office late. or leave the office early.  he just did his thing and then win some awards without trying, all the while plotting what would be life outside of the job. now it’s great seeing him living it.

• the weather is not letting up. if it rains tomorrow and it drags into monday, it would be three weeks of rain already with the temp in the low 60s. seeing people in scarves and leather jackets somehow feels wrong. i want the al gore kind of summer already!

• the guest dog has discovered the power of being cute and is now sleeping on the bed.

• found through NY times the cheapest airfare ever to schipol and i hope the plan to jologize the europa and drink some stella from its source pushes through within the fall or next spring. maybe i need to cut off my amazon account to finance my allowance for this trip and start doing some serious dogwalking again.

• today, all analog TV stopped working. finally, the time has come for HD digital broadcast of all stations. aside from clearer pictures more headaches are expected to follow.

a rip in the matrix

dream 1 yesterday, siesta time, upper east white noise and bubbles’ (guest dog for 10 days) tiny feet on the floor doing the patrol:

i ride the last car of the subway and it was an open car like the top deck of tour buses. at the last stop before it heads out of manhattan, i saw sunny. i said hi and she said hello and when i asked her where she is headed, sunny said she is meeting billy somewhere. i wake up.

dream 2 today, siesta time, U2 on the iPhone and bubbles’ footfalls on patrol:

i enter macy’s and on the other side of the revolving door is rica, the yulo. she asks me to take a picture of her. i take a picture and we are really causing a traffic jam. she asks for one more as i always squeeze the zoom button rather than the shot button. people are really crowding now. she goes away with her camera a bit disappointed. i wake up.

i don’t know what these mean.

mindfucks

thanks to sunshine cinemas and angelika film center, i am having my share of psycho porn.

this year’s *hard candy* are:

the girlfriend experience by steven soderbergh with the tagline “see it with someone you ****”

and there’s downloading nancy by johan renck. the tagline is “nancy needs someone to complete her” even though the sundance line “the most controversial film you will see this year” was placed in the posters. we shall see. ooops, it also stars rufus sewell.

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

 

 

 

into the triangle

unlike switzerland who dabbles in chocolates, time pieces, and the export of swiss guards to the vatican, bermuda only has one industry. banking. (and while the swiss banks’ credibility went to the gutters when the US government conducted senate hearings as to the finances of the AIG executives and the failing system of mortgage, not a squeak was heard from bermuda.)

this i learned from the wife who also told me that bermuda is 100 percent tax-free. you take home whatever amount appears on the payroll and you pay whatever amount appears on the price tag. also, accountants go to work in shorts and tsinelas. at this point, i asked whether she wants to relocate and does amazon deliver over there. the answer is that they have one local bookstore. 

no answer on the relocation so maybe this is just a recon mission or a plan b if this new york scam goes to shit. and so with the heatwave over the weekend coupled with the smell of tanning oil and sun block, we arrived at a plan to spend a long weekend next month for some sand, sea, and cold beer.

i can’t wait.

thinking aloud, what i forgot to ask is that maybe she wants to get us preggers. i hope not.

beer…it’s what’s for dinner

the temperature rose to the 80s and this being a sunday, joy was kind enough to peel me away from the kitchen.

so we got bulgogi and nap ji (octopus rice) from an off the wall korean. plus beer of course. the dish was extra spicy and with the heat, i literally sweated. we cooled down with iced coffee from dunkin’ the headed off to bleecker so we can avoid sleeping like the pigs that we are.

i got *demons* by john shirley from my favorite secondhand bookstore so the trip was worth it.

joy got *great expectations* by charles dickens. and two longsleeves from uniqlo so i guess it really was worth it.

then it’s early dinner over burger and fries. and beer for me. the burgers were great, enough pickles and there’s even coleslaw ala like burger machine.

the weatherman says that the spring temperature will resume on wednesday. more time to read and watch DVDs while planning the next step for world domination.

showing winter the door

we managed to go out of the house with pizza, wings, fries, cheese, chips, vino, taboo, and cranium.

the park was packed with, aside from humans, dogs, kites, infants, frisbees, bikes, scooters, strollers. manhattan and some parts of jersey and the bronx somehow squeezed into central park – people stopped short of picnicking at the gates.

the humans were almost naked and it was camel toe galore save for the occasional old dude in a speedo. the air smelled of tanning oil and sun block. there’s even a whiff of marijuana once in a while from where we were eating.

but the spectacle went to a hawk having his early dinner of a pigeon who attracted a lot of camera toting humans, from the amateurs to the pros. the poor thing has to change his dining place twice – flying from the ground to three branches – before he was able to dine in peace.

 

the sun is out…

…what are we doing inside?

joy has been working home for the past 3 days and is now getting sick and this is one of the chicken and egg conundrum.

i used to love it when she works from home but three successive days of working more than 14 hours per day is driving me insane. going to the office at least gives her a break of peeling her eyes from the laptop and her ear from the phone as she needs to ride the subway and go out for lunch.

this is slavery.

the temperature is finally rising and there is a big chance that we will miss it this weekend when the park is finally starting to green. i would rather be having wine and eating cheese and taking pics of dry humping couples at the park than cooking for her the entire saturday and sunday.

this is really getting insane.

now i understand why my mother would have a fit whenever the food is at the table and no one’s taking their places.

the deed is done

with 7 days still on the doomsday clock, i finally sent in my palanca entry and is now hoping for the best. or at worst, to forget the damned thing.

as with some philippine publications, the peeps at the palanca are none the more professional – not a squeak when i submitted through the email when the site went down through lack of renewal at the domain registry (how very third world, the lack of renewal and the .ph extension).

so i sent it again when the site came up and now at least i have proof – although the required fields differ from the ones on the rules (file names and such). well, with nearing its 50th year, they might at some point know what they’re doing.

time for breakfast. and enjoy the sunshine.

films for the weather

winter just made a u-turn, i think.

outside, it is gloomy and windy and cold. looks like just before a storm unleashes hell.

on the screen is *the hurt locker*, probably the hugest kick-ass movie about the iraq war. the kind of movie marci and i will talk about while nursing our gouts (knock on wood) or waiting for zir at the couch to clear a pitch campaign at 4 AM.

if the weather continues tomorrow, i’ll be watching these over sinigang:

this, i just stumbled upon at blockbuster while looking for this film, which i missed at the cinema last year:

spring into summer already!

meme

i’ve just consumed a bottle of wine, a schlong of kelbasa, gods know how many pounds of cheese, and now on a bottle of beer while playing mr. big. this is what i do when i hit the end of a story. i’m thinking maybe it’s time for a meme. the shit that i’m too insecure to post on facebook. there are no numbers and shit, just stuff that would make it worthy on the cut.

 

ALCOHOL:

1. san mig pale 

2. jack on ice

3. jack on coke

4. cabernet sauvignon (pretentious. but in new york, there are times when this is all i can afford, trust me)

5. gin bilog/bulag

 

FOOD:

1. pinoy (tulingan and samaral)

2. thai (green papaya salad)

3. japanese

 

MUSIC:

1. metal (as long as it’s not “nu”)

2. goth (from *this mortal coil* to *mors syphilitca*)

3. glam (take me back to paradise city where the grass is green and the girls are pretty…)

 

TV:

1. the deadliest catch

2. all shows by bourdain

3. fringe (as of now…this will wander off like a godsdamn blind man)

4. six feet under

 

FILM:

1. the crow (it can’t rain all the time)

2. almost famous (he’s taking notes with his eyes!)

3. 10 things i hate about you (don’t let anybody tell you different)

4. let the right one in (i’m not a girl)

5. all films by yam laranas – if not for story, by production values

 

SONGS:

1. hitherto by cocteau twins

2. saeglopor by sigor rus

3. tl ako sa ‘yo by cinderella (i know, right?)

4. hey dude by the beatles

5. fuel by metallica

6. ave maria by christina england

 

ALBUMS:

1. all albums by the beatles and metallica

2. ten by pearl jam

3. all albums by bamboo

4. the blah by the blah (free beer to anyone who’s got this)

 

SHORT STORIES:

1. heavy set by ray bradbury

2. an end to hunger by china mieville

3. a season of broken dolls by caitlin r kiernan

4. candido’s apocalypse by nick joaquin

5. his mouth will taste of wormwood by poppy z brite

 

BOOKS, FICTION

1.  tales of pain and wonder by caitlin r kiernan

2.  tropical gothic by nick joaquin

3. the scar by china mieville

4. the holy bible 

5. the house of leaves by mark z

6. the anatomist by federico andahazi

 

BOOKS, NON-FICTION

1. story by robert mckee

2. the seven basic plots by christopher booker

3. NYC not for tourists

 

ARTISTS

1. gustave dore

2. juan luna (spoliarium kicks all other paintings in the ass anytime)

3. thirasak thanapanatakul and erik vervroegen and marcelo cerpa and all other advertising art directors – at least they don’t pretend that they are NOT doing it for the fame and the money

 

COLORS

1. black

2. charcoal grey

3. grey

4. maroon

 

BATCAVE

1. sa guijo

2. mildred’s – that jewelry store/bar at palanca (only ryan rubillar and bhavna takhur know this)

3. sunny’s living room

4. KGB bar – the only bar in new york where the music is played like a whisper

5. joy’s family living room in the province

 

ACTORS/ACTRESSES

1. giovanni rebischi

2. steve buscemi 

3. paul dano

4. larissa oleynik

5. ellen page (before juno, there was hard candy. remember?)

6. drew barrymore

 

BOOKSTORES:

1. amazon

2. the strand

3. housing works bookstore and cafe @ grosby street

4. borders @ wall street

and then i came to the end

the palanca entry is almost done. one more proofreading and this fucker would be fedexed to manila. i’ll miss submitting in person at the last minute, cramming hard copies and CDs in envelopes and meeting other hopefuls.

the one-pager summary came today, thank be to gods, after a week of agony complete with a weeping and gnashing of teeth. that i used to spit out 30 seconder scripts mocked me in the face everytime i open a word file and attempt to compress 25 pages onto a page. the trick, i think, is to write it like a back cover copy, giving just a glimpse and nothing more. so i did just that, just giving the opening scene and some general directions, hiding the names, the genders, and even the point-of-view from the summary. i hope it works. 

we shall see.

borders found

recently discovered a huge border’s bookstore at wall street. two stories with a cafe. friendly staff and a meticulous arrangement of a wide selection of books that border on the obsessive-compulsive. maybe it’s the proximity to the lairs of bankers that lends it its kept, clean atmosphere. all that’s needed is the smell of disinfectant in the air and the place would be sterile.

found a book of course from the titles in the horror section, the most marginalized shelf in most bookstores.

hunt you down without mercy

the ticket arriveth. section 2 – a floor away from the headbanging crowd at the stage level.

waking up before 10 AM has its rewards.

can’t wait for november.

the summer of zero nine

self-dictated goals before fall comes:

• volunteer at central park

• walk for a cause

• watch shakespeare at the park

• watch a broadway show

• watch an off-broadway show

• start a project that’s nowhere near writing (and get ****)

• start a project that’s all about writing (and get published)

• go to the cemeteries at new orleans

one nation under surveillance

or, god is watching us…so is big brother.

at the church this morning, the closest ever we’ve been to the pulpit and lo and behold, i spy not one, but two cameras in place. these are not the broadcast kinds like at saint patrick’s for the digital broadcasting of the words of the lord but CCTV cams, the one used by our boys in blue, the NYPD, to record crimes in progress.

such a shame, how can priests fondle little boys inside the church?

kid night

kid night tonight and since there are no notable films worthy of spending 12 dolyares on, we are doing it the old-school way.

DVDs of films worth a second look with lots of popcorn, and in my case, copious amount of alcohol.

i’ve volunteered to cook sarsiadong tuna (friday and all and some of joy’s friends are fanatics to rival jihadists, i shit ye not!) and bring *boiler room* for screening. the other title *matchpoint* was rented out at blockbuster (the library is a tricky thing, some days you just can’t get what you want just like jagger sayeth).

tomorrow, more writing as the palanca deadline approaches. but only after taking a chance at exactly 10 AM at ticketmaster.com  to book the metallica ticket because as i’ve found out, these things run out fast only to be resold through other ticket sites for triple the price.

fingers crossed on both to-dos.

finds

maia’s last day and we killed time at union square, ate halal food, and roamed the strand. she bought a gazillion books while i settled for two.

my mind played tricks on me when i saw this book. i imagined that this has already been made into a film. checked today at imbd and apple.com/trailers and found none. this would make a good one. one word: zombieterrorism.

this i learned from last year. one of the readings at KGB bar, the one with my uber idol, caitlin r. kiernan. this dude also read. this is the first time i’ll be reading his novels though.

***

i want to sleep for three days straight before i do the stuff that needs doing. the post-its kept getting thicker. and the oven is cranky as shit.

the media is lying to us

so i did the churvels with that churvels that wasn’t supposed to churvels until may 1, 2009.

it was an ok film. it started with one of the most convenient plot devices that george lucas started and immortalized in the words “i am your father”. wait, there are these peeps named oedipus and electra that them anal loving greeks invented over wine and cheese. 

what’s surprising is the lack of media – traditional media –  coverage. new york times have no mention of the incident. so does avclub.

theory 1: there is a gag order and all these media outfits are having their granny panties in a twist because after all, even if they are the media, they also report to the man.

theory 2: it’s a viral effort. then again the first thing that came to mind was that heath ledger’s death was also a word-of-mouth attempt but it turned out that he is as deader as ever.

we shall see.

meanwhile, who’s doing the nazi policing to get the pirate inside fox?

find

found at the strand for only 6 dollars, about the price of stella on happy hour. first edition, hardbound. small victory.

singularity my ass

when i’m not writing, the real writing, i fuss over shitty stupid things like cable tv.

this whole HD bullshit is screwing everything and the blanket of pretense that a) it will happen (thrice postponed) and b) it will be awesome, is being shredded by the day.

i miss old fashioned, analog tv where you just click on the tube and lo and behold, wonders.

nowadays, this super hi-tech, super expensive apparatus of mind control is just impossible. there is the cable, the physical one, there is the cable, the provider and then there are the players and the recorders. at minimum, there are three remote controls to subdue at any given time. to get these things to work harmoniously with each other, one needs the deft hands michael kamen. or the iron fist of steve jobs.

i’m knocking on wood, but i think these pieces of shit and the lack of customer care will give me the heart attack that will shuffle my insignificant ass off this mortal coil.

so the indian at the other end of the line (and the rumors are true, them indians call center agents have names like justin or matthew or lance even though their accents are as dead giveaways as a cooking curry in a vacuum) gave the reset instructions because the cable was acting up again with the usual delayed powering on, if and when it decides to turn itself on, unfinished TiVoing, stuck channels, etc. so we called and followed his instructions but when the whole crap restarted he hung up. just like that. the fucker hung up on a customer. not even a namaste and shiva bless you.

i actually laughed, despite not getting the godsdamned crap to work.

so there are three things that are racing on my mind.

1) fuck cable. there’s netflix streaming (pc only or pc2tv) and netflix dvd (we still have a dvd player). worthwhile tv shows could be had through hulu or the ever dependable xtorrent.

2) switch to fiber optics. this feels funs. as of now, fiber optics companies are giving for free 100+ of HD channels compared to cable’s 7. and it’s cheaper by 35 dolyares. the only reason that we opted out because the internet connection came in first and we just bundled the cable a week after. tigilan na ang maling pagtitipid. this shoves apple tv out the window because it’s costly (2 dolyares a show despite a day’s delay. wtf?)

3) forego mindless entertainment altogether. no tv and dvd. period. at the risk of belonging to the .ooo something percent of american hipster elitists who declare themselves to be beyond tv (i read somewhere on stuffwhitepeoplelike that not owning a tv is as cool as getting a harvard degree in physics or adopting a child from myanmar). but then again, i’ve always had this pride being a hampas lupang probinsyano who couldn’t even afford a tv. this option also has an upside to alcohol. all the quarters and the pennies that i’ve tucked away in a plastic jar so i can afford Wii would be better spent on beer. and wieners and cheese from the deli.

now, i have to strategize this with the breadwinner. got a go on the ‘talica concert tickets last night, but i don’t want to push my tin.

***

over the weekend, we got a subway scare when a nigger who calls himself “a nigger who’s got no-nothing to lose anymore” called the american president “obama-bitch in the whitehouse” threatened the whole ride with “watchagannado when this nigger detonates a bomb in this train, huh?”. he then insulted the chinese and the koreans and the whites. and this being the subway, not a cop was in sight. maybe because the intel hasn’t yet said that it is a ripe spot for an attack.

***

from all the office stories by joy and her friends, i  can pigeonhole their office mates into two groups. 1. those that are incompetent. 2. those that are incompetent but declare very loudly to the gods and the partners that they are the best evah that happened to the firm. i miss inter-office scratch-me-in-the-back-while-i-stab-yours.

ref magnetic

after madonna comes ‘talica.

i hope the wife remembers the deal.

capitalist ulrich band will be taking our hard earned money this november and the tickets will be on sale in around 10 days. lords, let us afford even the nosebleed seats. 

things to give up: another pair of glasses, wait, i will never have another as long as the raybans are alive. so it might be broadway shows or new orleans. i wish i have a job. no, that’s not true either.

now i go and erase the jethro tull playlists off the iPhone.

for dante

things thought at 1 am

finally, the temperature is approaching the 40s and a fleece jacket under a hoodie and lots of willpower can make it to the subway and then times square and back.

on the way earlier, saw a dude, long hair and all things screaming a stoner, rolling a joint on the sidewalk. spring is in the air. i miss valium. this past week til tonight, morpheus seems difficult to summon except with alcohol.

***

saw the news that facebook will begin charging soon. that’s when i turned off the tv and picked up a book. read this week at NY Times that its value dropped by 1o million US dolyares within a year and its pimple-ridden fucktard of a CEO must be having more pimples thinking of more revenue generating apps and layout. it seemed that nobody is clicking on the ads, because, really, why would you click on an ad when all you want to do is take a peek of what your friends’ attempt at projecting a life are  (in any given day, there’s always a loser who ends his/her status message with the word “sigh” as if the weight of all nonexistent social life is too much to bear).  so now the idea is to make the ads as loud and as many as the content. good luck. if you won’t click on a very small, quiet ad, why would you click on a big, intrusive ad? i hope it collapses to death. pixel exhibitionism and voyeurism is becoming beyond boring.

***

two books on the plate. the first is another doomsday book with an unusual premise that what if humanity just stopped breeding all of a sudden. the second is an anthology from the weird mind of jeff vandermeer.

today

• because nature is a mother, the first day of spring snowed and the temperature dropped to 21 degrees F. F as in fuck. i have to wear heavy gear to the library. good finds though.

• the deed is done. revision next week. maybe two other entries to bake before april 30.

• i wish i had the money to eat korean every week. baby octopus rice.

• now i go and try have a life by spending quality time on important things like bashing the new fezbuk format and calling tweeter folks bores full of self-importance.

tomorrow

officially, the weathermen have declared it to be spring. huzzah. shorts and tsinelas and tee-shirts while ogling neked chicks in central park. and the fairs with its sinful food stalls.

but first, the palanca deadline loometh. no excuses this year as compared the year before when i mostly spent 8 hours out of doors and do not have the energy to write after. so.

and second, the books to read, down to 3 titles on the pile. 

and thirdly, the films to watch through netflix streaming. primer, timecrimes, and right at your door (just because it sounds related to “let the right one in).

the weekend beginneth.

words on the ref

a habit way, way back. i stick quotes on the ref door.

this gem, the latest:

“Even though I’m aware that writers are just regular folks, words are still the best magic I know about. Put in the right order, they can excite me, comfort me, and take me out of myself like nothing else can.”

     –Poppy Z. Brite

wordless

times square is getting devirginized

one of the landmarks in the center of the world is closing shop.

this could only mean two things:

1 – everything is on sale.

2 – i have to find another pissing spot. to do a hannibal lecter: i have many a fine pisses there. that’s because the precious restrooms at virgin are clean, well-lit and the doors are always open – no chance of getting ass-raped.

the only good news which won’t even make a dent on the bad is that i was able to liberate a copy of *rewired: the post cyberpunk anthology* at 30% off from the shelves that are also for sale. this might drop down to 70% next week but there are only 3 copies left.

the DVDs are mostly gone but not the CDs. i saw U2’s new album in all formats except .mp3.

i hope vinyl, a record store’s only hope, really makes a comeback. 

sad.

***

i am praying to my gods that  there be an alternative manhattan scene in the watchmen DVD where the squid wrecked havoc than a nuclear blast. i doubt it (for how would that set up mr. blueballs unless it’s a new ending altogether) but that would really be cool.

***

bad puns in headlines are already in so it must be spring. like: spring into summer (clothing), spring into running (shoes), spring into free shipping (online deals). last year’s headlines were: fall into winter, fall into running, fall into free shipping.  i am not making this shit up. 

***

anne hathaway is doing shakespeare at the park this spring. twelfth night, i think. now i have to check whether it has some nude scenes.

i miss greenbelt 3 cinemas

saw *watchmen* in the nearest cinema and i know i’m seeing it again on a bigger theater in times square.

while it was a fairly pleasant experience, i remember the things that annoy me whenever i watch a movie in this city:

• the lights. no one extinguishes them on time. one even doused the godsdamn thing halfway through a screening.

• the restrooms are always outside of the screening room. as in, in the hallway (if you’re lucky) or on another floor (if it’s not just your day).

• the token obnoxious nigger. yes, i’m being racist because that’s what the sons-of-bitches, simian brothers, and descendant of slaves are. niggers in all the sense of the word. i’ve experienced watching a film where one laughed whenever there’s silence. at another time, one cursed after every scene. even the way they sit is a fucking headache. putting the feet on the front seat, draping their shit on the next seat, using around three seats (the kind with foldable armchairs so their bitches can recline as if watching on a sofa). so, one more time. die obnoxious niggers!

the ray-ban has been drinking and the generic has just retired

got the wayfarer transition lensed. happiness. almost made up for the bullshit the store phoned in: there will be a delay as the lens got some scratches so they have to reorder. the bullshit meter almost went through the roof. like an AE explaining that the printer is broken. ha. no matter that it it took longer and three times costlier than vision express, this is a thing of beauty and will be forever on my eyes. the other is retired (except for deep frying, hehehe) and the first ray-ban is for safety (the kind that’s always on the travel bag with the passport but never taken out).

another small victory was finding a cleaning spray at costco for 5 bucks that include 2 chamois, a double agent screwdriver, and get this, a lifetime refill of the godsdamn spray. i’ve tried everything from soap to shampoos to alcohol and while they do the trick, the convenience just isn’t there, so this is one huzzah discovery.

right now i feel like a dork as my eyes are not yet accustomed to the thick frame. it’s easy to pretend like i’m wearing a steampunk googles, a superhero mask and other such dorkiness.

speaking of which, all the discussion fora and the reviews are calling zach snyder a hack (excact terms: marketed by the studio as a “visionary director” after making two films – the first of which is a remake – visionary meaning a glorified hack.) from village voice to the avclub and newsweek. wtf indeed. this man is the fucker who filmed what was unfuckingfilmable to begin with. can a kurt vonnegut novel adaptation be far behind? time, being an affiliate of warner bros., has yet to give a remark. 

now, it’s time to open the window and let some draft in…the snow is finally melting.

the angels shredding dandruff

past the 24-hour mark of snowing, the most amount of piled up snow we’ve seen ever and yet there is no sign of stopping. that it is going to be long winter is becoming beyond just an expression.

after panic comes the sloth and i’m so useless we’re lunching on leftovers despite joy’s working from home which at least deserves sinigang na hipon. instead i’m reading everything from all the issues of rollingstones that i never got to even open and entertainment weekly – only for the diablo cody column. books too, a is for alien, best american fantasy, steampunk, and currently beyond black. this one is beyond beyond as only british humor, or is that humour? can pull the fuck off. there’s also the happy soul industry that’s next in line as unlike other people, i can never read two works of fiction at the same time no matter how i try. 

i’m having this brilliant idea to go see the park only so that i won’t be sleeping like a pig after lunch.

and while i’m it, there’s also the download of steven segal’s art films titled pistol whipped and kill switch. who am i to resist?

in a state of panic

if only i could make it through friday am (manila), thursday pm (new york) i’ll be happy.

meanwhile, some gem. nothing could be truer.

4.50 am

i just want to sleep. i miss valium.

oh, i hope mickey rourke wins as well as frost/nixon this sunday. i’m drunk.

lechon

just saw anothony bourdain’s *no reservation* philippines. 

overall i found it to be very interesting. very, very interesting if compared to romania which he mocked throughout the show despite the halloween schedule and it being the land of vlad the impaler (aka the count).

the range of food presented were impressive as well especially the lato, pako, kilawing tuna, hambura (grilled okra and talong salad topped with dried shrimp slivers) adobong hipon, papaitan, sisig, and lechon. no balut  (which is good because it’s been done by andrew zimmer to death in most asian countries) unless they edited it. no bicol express, either.

something in his spiel grabbed me and i don’t know it it was a producer’s research info or his own observation: they love america here even thought we pummeled this land flat during the war. something like that. 

while claude tayag did a good job of showing him around, the pussy was drinking san mig light like a faggot during the entire segment and at dinner in his house, there were only two choices for beer. san mig light and san mig light. when asked about the inevitable question of what drives pinoy cuisine, he answered sour broth. i would have answered oil. not palm, or corn, or vegetable oil  but oil. mantika. the one that oozes out from pig fat and makes the lipitor guys billionaires.

well. 

officially, anthony bourdain has just declared that cebu’s lechon is the best ever. somebody should have served him the adobong pusit too.

gotham noir

we never celebrate this pagan holiday except to go to UP and listen to bands and eat fishballs and jumbodog. but today, aside from the distance to UP,  we had to babysit one of joy’s very close and very intelligent friends who — like another girl i know — is very stupid when it comes to boys. we had no plans so there was no debate – we might as well make something out of this day because as the girl who shall not be named said “pa’no na ang pang facebook ko?”, dollars be damned. so we did the whole shit of eating out (italian which got the pizza and pasta right but not the calamari – and over whispery arias wafting through the room of balloon hearts, i was attempting to rap parokya’s *halaga* especially the line about “sa pag tiyaga mo dyan sa boyfriend mong tanga, tanga!) and watching three movies in a row and after, skating at the park – at least they did. i was already happy seeing *push* and *the international* and one chick movie that shall also remain unnamed onscreen and batman on the street plus knowing that there’s still a bottle of poisonous jack which, through yet another accidental discovery, goes well with kalamansi juice. and, one day of not opening MS Word is heaven nowadays so there you go. when the brain rests, the cardio exercises.

behind the cut in black and white, dante inspired.

the feel of paper

books, like cash, are so nice to hold. the smell, the texture, the sound.

an email alert for kindle version 2.0 just arrived and even though it looks iPod cool, the drool factor just wouldn’t appear (although the thought of saving a lot of trees entered my mind). maybe it’s the thought of having another electronic item that needs to be upgraded, charged, and the whole shit that comes with the deal. or the fact that you just can’t pick it up and go as it is still battery dependent. or the idea of not holding a real book where you can go back to a passage as quickly as you mind thinks it. plus, no one in the coming future would admire a bunch of zeroes and ones and say, “oh, you’ve got the first e-book edition of…”. and when the reasons just kept coming, i knew it was time to take the cursor off the 1-click order toggle and instead buy books. in paper and ink. trees, i recycle all forms of plastic including delivery containers, so peace.

printed matters waiting to be housed in the coming months. two from my favorite lesbian author (although the other cover is worthy of laura k. hamilton suckage-cum-abomination):

the wifey went to tennessee…

…and all i got was a limited bottle of jack. cheers.

94 fucking proof. take that, pussies.

a small victory

the wayfarer arriveth. in a rayban case. and it’s made in italy. i was expecting it to be ginormous but it was exactly the same size as the other glasses. win.  i think this how collecting anything – shoes, watches, bags, etc, starts. so i’m going to take a picture and do a side by side and then take off from the safari tab all rx glasses sites. the scrimping of beer money so i can have it lensed starts now.

the first one that’s already transition lensed at vision express last december and winter sun-tested last weekend.

a group picture so everyone’s happy…but i think a third pair would balance the layout.

walk

joy dragged my ass for some much needed cardio to central park. we did the reverse of our summer/fall route and nearly got lost. the park is a different animal altogether during winter, and when it is covered with snow. as always, at the bethesda fountain, two japanese tourists mistook me as a comrade and asked me to take their pics. kindness duty done, the walk home was brisker because of the cold and the hunger. managed to whisk tuna with tausi sauce and scrambled eggs before we collapsed on the sofa watching the food network.

drood is here

amazon amazes. the expected arrival is february 3 but lo and behold, drood arrived this ayem.

a very hefty book, still with a whiff of ink. i just wish plastic wrappers are sold here, the precut ones found in national bookstore as i don’t want to ruin the dust jacket.

and because i want to read it without any distractions, things must be taken cared of in the oven, including bhavna’s meme on facebook.

option + 8

• the walking up at 3.30 in the godsdamn ayem has stopped (is this called outsomnia?) and so is the napping after lunch.

•*drood* by dan simmons in finally shipping. amazon knows how to keep customers happy – no extra charge to ship an order the moment it becames available, unlike the fucktards at barnes.

•finally braved the cold and watched charlie kaufman’s *synecdoche: new york*. the word could be “awesome” if it has not been patented by bimbos. another cinema at SoHO is a great option to angelika film center, so now there’s at least a choice.

•two current obsessions:

hope to find the nearest vendo at the post office before this becomes nevermore!

black of course. hope this and the book arrives the same day. small victories, that.

• the oven calls with a lot of insults. time to bake.

i watched these on purpose, too

i’ve accidentally discovered something that makes torrents work faster and have currently updated the list of 2008 movies that i haven’t seen on the big screen. watched this week are:

• the midnight meat train

• deception

• august

• max payne

• funny games

• passengers

• blindness

• quid pro quo – if *kissed* (1996) is to necrophilia, this is to intentional paralysis. a very beautiful story without the need for effects, stunts, catchy dialogues. next to *let the right one in* for last year’s best. hope the cold gives a break, there’s still *synecdoche: new york* for next week.

nevermore

yesterday was the 200th birthday of edgar allan poe, the man who perfected the gothic story, fathered the detective story, and because all fiction is speculative, tried to shatter every literary shackle (*annabel lee* is of course, a romance and putting fabio on the cover with a dead girl would still make it work).

i grew up on his stories and poems before i could even read – out of lack of choice as we didn’t have a teevee. my father would read to me *the raven* complete with a dramatic exclamation on nevermore! over candlelight during power interruptions which occurs often in the province.

the stories were read aloud too, with annotations and explanations which makes the terror all the more terrifying and the wonder, all the more wonderful. from the *tell-tale heart* to the *murders on rue morgue* everything was read over the course of my preschool years. 

(there were other literary greats on the menu like joyce kilmer but my brother, ever the genius, cut down *trees* with a question: if it started as something environmental, why did it end as something religious? ladies and gentlemen, the other bueno boy.)

probably the best gift he ever gave aside from perfecting the short story was defining it: something that should be read in one sitting. there’s no bull unlike wordsworth’s definition of poetry, which meanders like a coward: the spontaneous overflow…oh gods. that’s not to say that he can’t do poetry. there is no recollection in tranquility when it comes to poe’s poems, just science and mathematics. to explain his poetry construction, a early 90s copy ad about the poe museum has the headline: poe predated einstein in the theory of relativity by a century. he also beat him on the hairdo.

and because he’s the man, there’s also the poe who’s the original defiler of underage girls and close cousins.

if only absinthe can be legally had, yesterday would be a good day to break two weeks of sobriety.

it’s 3.39 ayem again

and i should be having some weird dreams but instead i am having my first breakfast of the day (cereals and soy chocomilk) and looking at the powder of snow drifting outside, covering everything in depressing white and muting the sounds of the sleeping city.

and i should be killing another immortal on page 9 but the my mind is fixed on a name study of what my restaurant should be named, if and when things are hurled once more to the fates and the card dealt to me is that i should have a dining place (very, very unlikely but you can never can tell). the name is COUNTER INTELLIGENCE and the cuisine is something forward thinking (like the concept of molecular gastronomy circa 1980) and the wait staff will be wearing the sartorialist clothes and elvis costello spectacles. menus will come in dossiers and the dining tables are tabletop LCD screens. all nerds come with a 25% discount (the nerdism determinant have yet to be finalized). 

and i should be doing the laundry, cleaning the restroom, defrosting the tuna, vacuuming the floor, ironing the business suit, picking up the meds, borrowing books online, checking RSS feeds of porn sites, defiling some blogs, YMing people but instead the concept of a bookstore called CATHEDRAL is, to quote morpheus, lodged like a splinter in my brain. a bookstore that is catered to the geek squad with none of harry potter and twilight series but plenty of borges and ligotti and lovecraft. ambient sounds will be this mortal coil or the decemberists or mors syphilitica and every one in the staff will be wearing black of course with the welcome-but-not-mandatory tattoos and mohawks and piercings.

the oven is mocking me, saying i do not have the will to slay an immortal.

we shall fucking see.

i watched these on purpose

the 3 movies last weekend never found its brake. i’ve downloaded 9 movies that were released last year and so far managed to watch bangkok dangerous, lakeview terrace, rocknrolla and transsiberian. only the last one did not suck. oh, the hours of my life i could never get back.

still up for watching are: passengers, the midnight meat train, blindness, august, and deception. i am really hoping that the midnight meat train wouldn’t disappoint mainly because it is based on a story by clive barker. but then again…

after the chores today watched the curious case of benjamin button over papaya drink and chili dog at the cineplex and slept and snored. thrice. the wife then squeezed my hand like a vice grip to prevent me from further embarrassment.

tomorrow might be the wrester or synecdoche: new york. only if it doesn’t snow as the only theaters screening these are in houston and the weekend trains are never dependable. if only these can be had through torrents.

a birth and a death

got an email from the editors that the philippine speculative fiction volume 4 will be finally birthed next month. i love the cover with its hint of something analog. the previous ones had, in this order, a bookmark, a fairy, a european cap. no matches for a robot, these. i just wish that i could be there for the launch.

saw on the web that the annual *the year’s best fantasy and horror* is no more. what a sad, sad news. easily the most thorough of all anthologies ever. and the most prestigious too.

lastly, there’s rumor that *a different bookstore* is about to fold. fuck. this one is a pioneer in what a bookstore should be (at least in manila) where one can actually sit down, browse books, order titles not on the shelves, and have a conversation or two from knowledgeable staff who are more than willing to give you a discount on the next purchase (no loyalty cards and shit). i guess the publishing industry is taking a beating from all of these recession. *border’s* is also rumored to be devoured by *barnes* and everyone, more so the publishers, is afraid. monopoly can never be a good thing.

well, maybe it’s time for cathedral.

 

***

woke up to 7 deg F (-13.8 deg C) and on the way to the morning bagel, i was expecting eli to jump on the snow. i must be still asleep.

reading and writing

a broken dryer almost ruined my day and over leftover lunch of octopi, udon, and kimchi, i thought about how fussing over things like these only means that i should be thankful that i’m not worrying over other, more important things.

the snow is mostly melted although the muted ambient sounds that come with the cold are still here, making curling up on the sofa with a woolen blanket very, very inviting. i am getting sleepy just thinking about it.

went to the library instead wanting to read anything, *the historian* maybe or even some sidney sheldon (the man can write some good porn) and found a book i’ve been wanting to read – as usual, it’s on the cart just before it could be shelved.

on the way back, something grabbed my attention on the corner synagogue. it always contains scriptural messages except this time. weird.

 

now, it’s really time to open some word documents and get back into the writing.

***

today’s paper says that NYers including the governor of this empire state rallied yesterday infront of the UN in support of Israel.

i checked on the web and found out the hamas is declaring victory soon. the stats are: Israel, 13 deaths, hamas 917 deaths. this, of course contains lots of women and children that the hamas are using to cry foul after starting this very war. some people are actually stupid enough to think that wars have no collateral damage. the very same one  who, after a crushing defeat, will declare victory. the very same ones who never learn not to fuck with god’s chosen few.

golden globes tonight

i’m all for slumdog, but there’s also *the wrestler* by none other than darren arronofosky. for slumdog, everyone clapped inside the cinema and this is a good thing. the bad thing is that judges would rather go for the head-scratching kind of films.

in the animated feature, *the tale of desperaux* (where pixar got their story formula IMHO) is missing from the list. 

i hope it snows some more.

still a bit of a wonder

it  is snowing for 12 hours now and as usual, we chose the time to watch a movie in this freezing weather. i felt my ears go numb braving the cold to go to the post office and find a cab to the cinema.

3 movies later, the pile was about 3 inches and if this keeps up overnight and piles up to about a foot, we might go to the park for some pictures and a much needed cardio.

tomorrow would be a week without alcohol and carbo for dinner. the goal is a 30 inch waist by march 15. i’m doing this the OC way, we shall see.

 

mind boggling

anne rice has found christianity and poppy z. brite, good ol’ catholicism.

can stephen king and mormonism be far behind?

it’s the end of the world again

a news story to brighten the first working day of the year:

ASTRONOMERS’ REPORT
Milky Way could hit another galaxy 

It spins faster, has more mass than thought

Agence France-Presse
First Posted 09:59:00 01/06/2009

Filed Under: Astronomy, Research, Science & Technology,Science (general)

 

WASHINGTON — The Milky Way, the Earth’s home galaxy, is spinning much faster and has a mass 50 percent larger than previously believed, raising the probability of a collision with another galaxy, according to a report out Monday.

A team of international astronomers, with the aid of ten telescopes spread out between Hawaii, the Caribbean and the northeastern United States, determined that the Milky Way is rotating at a speed of 161,000 kilometers (100,000 miles) per hour faster than previously thought.

That increase in speed increases the Milky Way’s mass by 50 percent, said Mark Reid, of the Harvard-Smithsonian Center for Astrophysics, in research presented at the American Astronomical Society meeting this week in Long Beach, California.

“No longer will we think of the Milky Way as the little sister of the Andromeda Galaxy,” Reid said in a statement.

babelicious

five thirty in the morning after almost nine hours in the arms of morpheus thanks to two tablets of melatonine and the city that never sleep is, contrary to popular belief, still asleep.

from the window, cars and a very lonely u-haul truck parked as only new yorkers can park them. discarded christmas trees line up the sidewalk with the rest of the color coded refuse the city folks are constantly spewing out. a couple of mexicans walking briskly to their breakfast resto jobs.

inside the house, our two bags are still unpacked demanding attention like the empty ref and joy’s business suit and leather boots. mails and magazines still litter the table, unsorted and unread. our plant is dead,unlike the trees outside that will be resurrected come spring. i don’t dare too look at the part of the desktop beyond this browser for all the things that need to be written – this week is for watching movies and dropping by at MoMA and central park. as well as reading macrumors.

i hope we can avoid the jetlag altogether.

seeing year zero nine

i usually take the year as it comes with no expectations and the barest of plans (i think this is the thing that makes marriage to joy, who’s an accountant by profession and a risk manager by career, interesting).

but that’s not to say that i don’t hope or wish or pray to Somebody who makes sense.

so.

year zero nine could be:

• the year that we head back to the tropics because of the recession or make a decision to stay in the US longer for the green card’s sake. or, maybe to bermuda, the missus’ current obsession because of it’s 100% tax-free salary policy and laid back atmosphere where she can go to the office in board shorts and flip flops.

• the year that i get a salaried job or continue hacking away with words. although i prefer the latter despite the looming novel, the former could also be nice, especially if it’s just something that is routinary (there is no such word, i’ve just found out) like a barnes&noble bookseller or a victoria’s secret stockroom clerk.

• the year the we could get pregnant although we’re still giving it a 2010 deadline. gods, i’m not ready to be a father to lukas (lukas, i am your vadder, insert hissing breath) or to mortimer, or, if it’s a girl, daria or lucinda.

• the year that i make an effort to be friends with locals. maybe the old ones always ready to smile and make small talk as they smoke and read their paperbacks at the apartment steps lining the street, or the very friendly peeps at the library.

• because of the tim burton film, i’ve just found out that my birthday next year would be the coolest, falling on 9 september 2009. in numbers: 09-09-09. i better prepare for something aside from submitting a story to a publication. this date that just comes once-in-a-lifetime, is too precious to waste.

• this i have to list even though this is sure to come to pass. a china mieville novel coming out, mid-year. although it is not titled *kraken*, the summary page at amazon.com is a promise of yet another mind-bender. there’s also a dan simmons novel about charles dickens that has already made me my heart beat faster.

summation year zero eight

2008 was a year of firsts.

• first set foot in the US of A and all the firsts that went with living in NYC

• first got a short story accepted for publication (the damned book will come in february 2009 – bummer)

• first started writing the novel that’s been in my mind for years

• first became a house husband without a salary to safely fall into except for the dogwalking revenues

• first met my jd salinger, caitlin r. kiernan

• first had friends stay at the house for a night or more

 

2008 was also a year of discoveries.

• sigur ros

• bleecker street and angelika film center and the rest of the unhollywood films

• beer below zero

• KGB bar and its fantasy readings over russian beer

• that friends from the office are still friends out of it

 

2008 was also a year of learnings.

• that the moment you become aware that you are writing, you are no longer writing (this is also true when it comes to reading or watching a film, or listening to music)

• cooking pinoy food from tapa to sinigang 

• this from one of peter straub’s stories: that one’s wealth is truly measured by the books he has read and the records he has heard

 

2008 notables:

• books – i caught up on my reading, from books to magazine to online publications. tried reading literary ones too but the one thing that stood up was *let the right one in*, something that could kick all the meyer books to kingdom come. the style of *zeroville* killed me, although it was published the year before.

• music – i can never dig new york city’s music…not the scene but the pride and the attitude of listening to obscure bands (fuck buttons, a place to bury strangers, my morning jacket – this are already big by this time, of course) and then disowning it by the time the album is launched. so. the year was all about big bands doing what they are good at: metallica, the pretenders, portishead, AC/DC, death cab for cutie, except for coldplay who did a sigur ros and came out trying to do a radiohead. i still put the pretenders’ *breaking up the concrete* on repeat. same with portishead’s *third*.

• film – there’s *the dark knight*. and the film adaptation of *let the right one in*. and tarsem’s *the fall*.

• tv – i don’t actually watch TV except for the food network. primetimewise, a slew of series are doing an x-files upgrade, the fringe, the eleventh hour, the mentalist, etc. the fringe rocks as far as story is concerned although the big, bad corporation subplot is bound to, well, get lost. the most fuckable co-star belongs to eleventh hour’s marley shelton.

• technology – the maps and subway applications on the iPhone. saved my ass a hundred of times. there’s also the typewriter sound effects and a writing software for mac that are so godsdamn expensive, but are good to have so that i have lesser excuse not to write. 

• events & phenomena – obama. and gloria’s uncanny attempts at leeching onto malacañan palace. haven’t had a palpitation nor an attack of gout the entire year (knock on wood), so i’m listing these under phenomena, strange but good phenomena.

• advertising – (yes, i still read everything about it) CP+B’s failed attempt at microsoft vista. i think alex bogusky, easily the industry’s most photographed man, needs to spend less time at the salon and more time at the creative department. TBWA chiat\day’s dog adoption drive that came out the day after obama won. there’s also a homeless man in times square with a sign that says: why lie, i need a beer. and a shop poster that reads: we honor competitor’s coupons, and will give you another 10% off. beat that, madison avenue mad men.

* * *

1,598 words, no matter how miniscule, are actually good as long as they are the right 1,598 words. lords, i hate first drafts.

why patience is a virtue

this is still a rumor, with a lot of negatives, but it made my dick move.

coincidentally, i get to have a new at&t phone on my subscription anniversary this february 1.

if only macworld would come sooner.

gods, make this true and i’ll be good the rest of the year, or the next model.

{iPhone nano images swiped from macrumors.com}

spreading the christmas jeer

i don’t know.

half the time i’m stoned from red horse or pale pilsen or both but still, this season is taking its toll on my alcohol marinated brain. this by far, is the longest holiday we’ve spent home ever since we’ve ventured working in makati eons ago, and i should be grateful.

but. 

i really don’t know.

there was a time. and i wanna go back to our dark ages-slash-age of enlightenment where our family just stopped going to church and celebrating everything for about 12 or so years (this could have been my excuse to become a mass murderer, if i only have the balls). 

all the christmas muzak and the traffic (unbelievable, even in this province) and the half-meant carols and the overpriced shit is driving me insane.

meanwhile, the red horse in the freezer is taking forever to chill.

to quote homer simpson, god bless the pagans.

gran ma with the policemen

it’s the time of the year again.

two bottles of gran matador, evan’s poison of choice, but we pussified it by doing a long island version: pouring its contents on a pitcher of iced tea. which is not bad, everyone got drunk with none of the grimacing involved in downing a shot glass of pure brandy.

as usual, all i did was to listen and be awed by the stories and soak up all that i could. one was about a notorious filipino priest in new jersey, arrested in new york, and made headlines all over the continental united states. one of my friends (who also is a law degree holder, o wait, both of them are LLB holders and have just taken the bar) was contacted by the lead counsel of the victim’s attorneys, because he was the one who booked the christfucker on a similar charge of defiling a believer on his first gig as a parish priest in a very small island here in the province. small world.

talk wandered the usual way of chicks and food and salaries and murders and crimes, both perfect and imperfect, more than enough insights and plot fillers to last the year. 

and i thought walking bitches is interesting.

the man with the jodie foster hair

top on the to-do list was to visit a barber. joy already had her hair cut (and all the usual things that go with a salon’s haircut, including the doubt, a few minutes after leaving the door whether she should make it shorter by getting another haircut altogether.) up to now, i was able to resist the temptation to submit myself to a man holding a very sharp pair of scissors, even though i know that time is going to run out very, very soon. i’ve weighed the options but am still unconvinced of the practicality of getting a haircut. i don’t know. although i really want jodie foster’s hair. it looking good on my ugly face is another issue altogether.

 

catching up

i am beginning to think that our vacation which is just three days short of being a whole month is not enough.

serious catching up has been done, beerwise from san miguel premium to pale pilsen to red horse. tomorrow is beer below zero day right after i do the requisite doctor’s visit where we would be exchanging new york stories more than hypertension issues, as what happened the last time i went for a check up and to tell him that my wife is whisking me off to babel.

magazines have also been littering the house, from story philippines to philippine genre stories, the philippines free press, and rogue magazine, all future conduits as i purvey my perversities through print. this is my advertising background taking control when i need to read as much as  i possibly can about the medium so that the content will fit in. i think i’ve nailed what rogue and story philippines are looking for. time to take a look at the folders and see what fits for submission.

and there’s food which is really, really what i am dying for, from the samaral of q-mart and to tanke’s 1521 whose tarp ratings have been going through the roof. there are also simple pleasures like smokey’s chicago dog and jollibee’s chicken joy and longganisa breakfast.

friends, who are always connected with beer and food, every single one who treated me to free dinners and are squeezing me in to every opportunity to eat.

oooops, almost forgot the DVDs at MCS. and the massage too. gods, i hope time will slow down for a bit. and that the rest of the people will come home sooner.

hssst and hoyers

ang saya!
the beer started at the HK airport where i swiped with abandon my seldom used credit card (only used twice in NY). PAL doesn’t serve any beer, not even colt 45 – lucio tan’s brand like the airline – so i went for red wine. my seatmate, an NY association of hospital consultant who rose from being a nurse in 19 years and me finished the bottle. then it’s a couple of red horse from the sari-sari store that knocked me down. the following day, i did the marketing at q-mart, buying lapu-lapu and tuna and every vegetable i could carry. by 8am, we have were ready for lunch.

finally managed to squeeze going to sunny’s the day or so after and over beer, played catch up on everything from an engagement to a break-up to someone blowballing someone. but the best part was to happen the following day when this sentence was uttered: there can only be one kathy.
wi-fi is up and running thanks to joy who had the sense to bring the router. it is raining hard and i am fighting equally hard not to go to q-mart for more fish and veggies.
maybe i’ll just go back to my two immortals who are stuck on page 7.

t-minus

literally counting down the hours before san miguel beer time.

the only thing that will make me happier is pacquiao winning – and winning big, unlike his last fight which is doubtful.

adios, -8 degrees.

the revenge of the record industry

all things considered, it’s a natural progression that’s heading towards singularity: you can’t stop technology from making all ripping off of records the easiest of activities that way you can’t stop suits from earning 98% from a record’s sale. rollingstone reported 5 years ago that all things paid, including the hookers and jack daniels and cocaine, each CD should only cost 2% from the price to keep the band happy and give them earnings to afford yet more pussy and booze and substances. but the usual record shop price adds the 98% for the bloated salaries of the executives who has nothing whatsoever to do with the creative process. 

so.

the piracy and the ripping off and the giving away of all records for free – NIN, radiohead, smashing pumpkins, etc, except metallica with capitalist ulrich at the helm with the anthem *buy ‘em all* or *for whom the cash register rings* – it rings for thee!

torrents and all other file sharing methods, including legit, pay-per-download vendors like iTunes and its followers killed the virgins of this world but lo and behold, there is the promise of resurrection.

vinyl.

taking prominent space in stores and advertisements, slowly bringing coolness back to the record stores. and i think they’ve got the right approach too – just put out the damn thing with very minimal message, none of that *better sounding* or *collector’s item* bullshit in exclamation points and starbursts. somebody thought very hard on this. try ripping a fucking vinyl on your mac. see?

yesterday i saw a metalhead shelling out 75 dollars on a death magnetic vinyl, something that costs 12 dollars on a CD and free on torrents. but this one willingly gave all his month’s beer money for something bulky and fragile and analog.

fuckitty fuck me, the suits are winning again.

and of course i know that vinyl sounds better too.

***

and just like that, december is in the chair.

my mind is abuzz with all the things that should be done before leaving (shutting down cable and internet, notifying the post office, etc) and as soon as we land (doctors, dentists, optometrists, etc).

meanwhile, two false starts on a story that coital interrupted the novel and this one just won’t give it a rest, robbing me of sleep for a week now.

time to bake. there is beer at the end of the oven.

tivo for print

something caught my eye in the subway going home from getting lost in the village as i looked for glasses. 

a woman with an issue of vanity fair, glossy and thick, must be this month’s issue, is tearing down the pages that contains ads in them. no, not just the ads. she started with the front cover, then the editorial stuff, then the back cover, then the inside ads. she makes sure that no articles are inadvertently cut, pausing now and then to doublecheck an ad whether it has a piece of content on its back. if it’s a back to back ad, she lets it rip like a motherfucker on coke, stashing the ads on her bag. 

this is a puzzle. i always thought people buy fashion magazines for the ads, fashion brands being the pioneers of blurring the lines between editorial and advertisement, content and commercial, interruption and extension. 

but the way she rips out the pages, there is contempt and hatred for the pages that pays for what she is about to read. 

maybe the medium has to find a way to be polite to its patrons. the internet has “skip this ad”, the tv has “will be back in 90 seconds” (if not tivo) and radio has “commercial-free channels”. but for print? adless editions? jackie the ad-ripper?

bond VS vampyr

finally got to see *quantum of solace* despite the cold that nearly froze our asses off.

loved this film, the first bond film that was shot with an ARRI cam and a paring knife. finally, somebody had the sense to carve out everything that makes the character laughable. bond’s only gadget is a cellphone that makes international calls, how cool is that? even the villain has no obvious villainess in him, neither tears of blood nor golden anatomy. and the timeliness of it all: that the bad guy is hiding under the green umbrella. this alone is worth the admission, now being the time to expose all astro-turfing corporations pretending to be green this and green that. easily, next to *the living daylights* when it comes to tightness of story (or maybe it’s just because timothy dalton, being the ugliest of the bonds, was given one of the greatest spy stories ever told. smiert spionem!) 

after, we saw *twilight* and the crowd was lesser, way lesser than bond, despite the opening weekend. this, actually was a puzzle since i think everyone is into this. the cinema was about 1/8 full and this was a 5.30 pm screening. really scary. i regretted paying for this, we could have easily slipped inside the cinema without an effort. but. the film rolled in and i giggled like a girl when the vampire’s “intense look” got a close up. this is like jesus of nazareth funny, everytime the vampire would cast what, i think, the book would describe as controlling his desire for bella’s blood and the cam would just zoom into it. and then of course, that hair-blowing-in-the-wind shot when bella first enters the lab and despite the weather, there is an industrial fan blowing her hair for the heroine shot (someone needs to watch a bit of john woo, IMHO). gods! and symbolism of symbolisms, the vampire is sitting with a stuffed owl on a shelf behind him so that for about two fucking minutes, the wings are like his, something angelic and very, very gay (lit 101: take away the subtlety and there goes symbolism too). after that i slept and woke up to the prom scene and the slow dance. fabulous. i’ve never felt more relaxed before.

—-

picked up *chinese democracy* from best buy today. turns out that all we need, after 15 years, is a little patience.

signed (but not in blood)

christmas came early for me. the stella was as cold as the night outside the bar and the reading and the signing was worth the overexpensive beer and the tip that goes with every order.

caitlir r. kiernan, who read with sunglasses after dark inside the dim bar, was taller than most men in the room and her voice was more manly than the rest, at least those that spoke and those i’ve overheard. raspy and heavy and bassy – like the instrument she used to play. the stories read were marvelous, and more important, a light bulb went on in my head.

can’t wait for january, although i don’t know as of yet who will be reading.

i think three other guys, dressed in black of course, had their books signed before me and all have the first edition of silk like mine, brittle and yellowing and blemished at the edges. i wrote my name earlier in a post-it so that the spelling wouldn’t be fucked up with all the noise and the darkness of the bar. it was weird looking at my name again as *elvin* when i’m *jose* as far as delivery boys and postal workers are concerned.

now, back to the oven.

ice cold

joy printed what has been written so far and it looks big, seeing 12 points on paper or maybe it’s just all the time spent not looking at a piece of bond paper with something printed on it. of course, it also her way of getting a copy in her email so that should i decide to hit delete and empty the trash after burning the manuscript in the hour of great misery when i discover that this pile of crap is unreadable, she has a back up. risk managers, a careful lot.

no writing tomorrow but plenty of thinking on how to start chapter 5. beer at the KGB bar, the coolest joint evah downtown to finally meet my jd salinger. live in person. reading. i think i deserve it. but before that, a bit of reading, maybe a trip to the library. if only the cold would at least be kept at bay. the scarves and the gloves and the coat and all the layers of clothes is annoying the crap out of me. the only thing that’s cool with winter is the black color and the doc martens. but who am i to complain?

counting (week 2)

two more scenes in chapter four and then it would be onwards bravely to chapter five where things are going to get even fucked up than they already are. 

if only this frame isn’t too big it would have been perfect, but then again, american apparel, purveyor of american kadyologan wouldn’t be carrying this.

another surprise in the library. this, i have to read as this have a return date. 

counting down the days, counting up the words (week 1)

in 30 days i’ll be in manila drinking san miguel beer.

but that’s not easy as it sounds as things must be written and the self-appointed deadline is the day we leave for the airport.

i call the project “waifs”, which could very well be the title of the novel (a chick lit, i shit you not, only a perverted one) come december 8.

i’m starting a word count sort of thing to remind myself that i need to write more and not lose the momentum. it is like nanowrimo except that i receive no peptalks and don’t have any writing buddies or whatever. a purely masochistic affair, this.

the word count is a bit on the slow side and it’s nice to have icel and kathy and issa to blame but in the coming days, my failure would utterly and unmistakably be my own fault, which make the drinking of the beer all the more meaningful (right now, joy is rationing me with 2 bottles of wine and a 6-pack of stella a week). as i always say, i’m already a misanthrope with a temper, might as well try my failure in writing.

onwards bravely to chapter three.

“i tried to do headstands for you”

halloweather

when guests leave, the cleaning of the apartment is the hardest part and that’s not because of the effort involved, vacuuming is simplicity itself as is the folding up of the sofabed, it is the emptiness when the wife leaves for work and all i have is the internet, the dishes waiting to be cooked for lunch, and the blank page that must be faced, always the blank page.

i just wish people would stay longer. this new york thing is a blessing that needs to be shared as this may not last forever. not to mention i get to have a break from writing. and i get to speak pilipino out of the house. and do the “pssssts” and the “hoys”.

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.

and so spins the words away

my leave is almost over (isn’t me lucky? unemployed but with leave benefits, har-de-har). i can hear the story oven calling once again in need of some serious word-baking.

the weekend was wet and grey and an outdoor book and media fair where all books, CDs, and DVDs can be had for a dollar each, was cancelled. the good side was a cardio walk and another amazing race to the subway and this being a weekend, all route cancellations and track rerouting aren’t posted. double fucking fuck.

we watched *eagle eye* which isn’t even worth a single sentence movie review after a carbo load of homemade pasta and pizza bread. 

i’m just enjoying the rest of my leave days.

a varietal cut

the title is “all we need is five meals a day” and is slated to appear in the upcoming philippine speculative fiction IV this december. the following is an excerpt, copyrighted of course. enjoy and please pass the word. us starving writers need all the beer money we can have.

and yes, while this is spec fic, there are neither lusty vampires nor deprived virgins.

****************

A mountain of refuse separates the town from the city where a fire from never ending embers feeding on the forgotten and the discarded, the rotting and the dead spews smoke so black it seems to smudge the night sky as it balloons and billows heavenward.

Under the moonlight that’s made paler by the blaze stands Lukas, the boy with a mango tree growing out of his stomach and bearing fruits on branches that have sprouted from both his ears.  Asleep on the road is Luna, the girl with a thousand winged lice on her hair that can fly and transport her anywhere, except to the city.

While Lukas is grateful that the nearby fire hides the stench of decay, it also deceives him of the passage of time, its dancing flames and waving fumes rob him a proper view of the sky, casting everything with an orange glow.  Lukas has no idea whether the sun will be coming out soon.  Already, he’s getting hungry and the weight of the tree in his stomach doesn’t help.  He remembers their last meal and when his mouth waters he pushes the thought out of his mind in shame, although he doesn’t understand why.

Luna stirs in her sleep and Lukas sits by the asphalt and rubs her shoulder with his left hand.  He uses his other hand to comb her long hair where a few lice flutter their wings.  Lukas hopes that she’s dreaming.

In a moment, he too sleeps until the first few rays of the sun have pushed back the shadows.  The road to the city beckons but he stays still, not wanting to disturb Luna.

We are the last ones, he tells himself, we might as well wait just a little bit more. 

****************

a forthcoming publication

the thing that i did came my birthday – something that i’ve never done before – was to submit a short story for consideration to an upcoming anthology.

today, the email that may contain either confirmation or regret buzzed around 2 pm while the missus and i were at a used bookstore in soho. i nearly dropped my iphone and i’m sure i created a mini-scandal when it turned out to be a letter of acceptance.

more than anything, this validates that i’m not just jerking off and eating steak, specially that i missed the palanca deadline this year. it will also fuel the rest of the unfinished writings that should be attended to again (2 screenplays where i’m still in the process of research and a short story i originally meant to submit that felt just not right after seven revisions and clocking 7K+ words – thankfully i decided to write another).

so i guess this means that i’m a writer, a word that i take very seriously in this age when whoever has a blog and can reference movie quotes and song lyrics is a writer. now, if only i could make enough beer money out of this.

fall starts

in 14 minutes it would officially be autumn. my first ever when i get to experience the season that so inspires all of ray bradbury’s stories. farewell to summer, his latest book that i snatched for a dollar in one of the al fresco book fairs last spring also awaits right after i finish charles fort’s biography. sidebar: if tesla is to edison, then fort is to verne. huzzah for the misunderstood underdogs.

the temperature has already began to dip during the weekend making sleep happen even without air conditioning. i can’t wait to walk in central park with its carpet of dried leaves.

but wait, there’s more!

barnes&noble online has this idiotic policy that only a fucktard can think of. buying multiple titles with different release dates will be shipped only when the last to be released has hit the shelves. even if, as in my case, 5 out of 6 titles have already been released. and yet the in-store collats have this same day delivery in manhattan bullshit. i’m sticking to amazon.

events, unrelated (?)

thanks to monday morning’s news, the closest competitor of joy’s company has just let go some 1,7000 people in one sweep. more are expected in the days and weeks to come. the words “let go” are fucking misnomers – no one really wants to go no matter from what POV you look at it. on their side of the turf, things are still on an even keel though bonuses are frozen and increases are preambled with “times are hard” and “other companies are laying off”. at least joy, who’s handling technology clients, is getting a meager increase. a very close friend whose roster of clients belong to blue chip, wall street banking and finance houses was already given a verbal warning to prepare for any eventuality. news like this can’t be cured with steamed rice and special curry over an episode of fringe. and so this is the american dream morphing into a nightmare.

in other news…

the old man is still standing during the day at the corner and nodding off during the night across the street framed squarely by our living room window with no attempt at observing the law of the thirds. it has been this way since sunday. this morning before cooking my lunch, i went up to him and shook his hand. he took mine and i saw a pound of pride still lurking underneath his defeated eyes. i asked if he needs any help and he replied that he’s just waiting for some friends from the bronx. i then asked if he needs to go to the bronx, prepared to give him my metrocard and even my beer money if he wants cash. he said his thanks adding that he just needs to wait a bit more – all this in very descent english with a mixture of spanglish when he gets carried away. he hasn’t began to stink and his longsleeves are still tucked in his khaki pants. his leather shoes looked okay and three pens are resting on his polo’s pocket. he wears a leather watch with matching leather belt. a pencil pusher by the looks of it. i asked him again if he needs any help, emphasizing on the *any* and he said he will come to me if he needs help after profuse thank yous.

i don’t really know his story except that he doesn’t belong in the streets. i can only speculate and watch through my window. fuck.

achieving verticality

after the alien abduction, i was finally able to walk beyond the library, making it 17 blocks which means it was another 17 blocks on the way home. if i can do it tomorrow until thursday it will be good enough as a prep for a friday walk to times square with its 35 blocks one way (not to mention guiding icel and katheeeya next month, plus dog walking when winter comes). bradbury weather is coming, the cold and the chill have been making appearances and i actually needed a jacket and a sock for my sanuk to walk. sidewalk vendors have began selling unsculpted pumpkins, and some stores already have halloween themes.

i remember: this is the first time i’m not going to bicol for the feast of the dead.

i’ll miss going to the province and drinking over tombstones with my police and criminal friends while street urchins do a hamlet with the accidental skulls popping up from shallow graves. but, there’s always the thought of lacing apples with razors to distribute to the kids. hehehe.

dreams

i should be writing but fuck it, i’m on leave until october when bradbury weather descends.

from the many dreams last night, two were saved in my memory upon waking.

dream 1:

i’m in a quadrangle of rooms with doors that open to each other. in the middle of these rooms is an ancient piano. i sit down and play and notice that the sound is coming out wrong. i get up and open the thing that covers the strings and lo and behold – inside is a reptile, flayed and ready for the cooking (i somehow know that it was presented the way dressed chickens are displayed – dead but the thought of food is registered by the brain instead of mortality). this morphs into…

dream 2:

a body of water where two men are each on top of big, black rocks. the water is blue green, unmoving and deep. the rocks are jutting out of the water – they’re not riverbanks nor islets. so i go to the first man and i see that he is using his left hand’s thumb fingernail to carve a skull on the rock. the other one is also doing the same thing – left hand, thumb, fingernail, forming a skull. they completely ignore me as they go about their art and simultaneously, as if construction workers hearing the bell at the end of the shift, they stand up and leave.

i’m still not touching a single bottle this month.

no country for old men again

there’s this old man in longsleeves and khakis hugging his backpack as he slept on a bench in one of the breakfast places at the block. 

this morning, when i went with joy as she hailed a cab, he was standing at the corner as if waiting for a cab too.

an hour after, when chris and me had breakfast and even by the time that he needed to go the airport, he was till there at the same corner.

not ignoring the principles of rhythm and rhetoric, when i passed by the same corner for the third time to go to the library, lords, he was still there.

sights like this still bothers me. and even with warnings aplenty about approaching strangers and being kind and shit and only to be thanked with a lawsuit, i still feel useless like a limped dick. i don’t know – maybe this paranoia that nothing can prevent us from joining their ranks is still part of culture shock. 

so i’ll be noting things like this because by the time this no longer bothers me, it would mean i’ve been here too long.

like mulder’s 9 minutes but for 24 hours

we did it for science. the premise was: could the piss sold as beer get us drunk?

four pitchers and four bottles from 2 bars and 8 hours after, we were abducted by aliens and beamed back different. like, we triggered the carbon monoxide alarm by sheer breath power alone. achieving verticality took a major effort. the only missing symptom is the headache akin to pulling teeth without novocaine. the last time i felt like this was during the wake of my father-in-law.

other strange phenomena that night:

• i fell on my ass on the pavement – no evidence except for a broken watch.

• i allegedly checked the physical mailbox at 2 am

• chris allegedly is on the way out with knox’ skateboard and his luggage – at 2 am with no flight confirmation

• i allegedly puked 3 times – and swallowed the listerine that joy made me gurgle.

• chris puked and clogged the sink – this has some corroborating visual evidence the next morning.

gods, i’m not touching beer until november – including the three cans of pale pilsen chris gave me. 

thanks to sunny for the shirts!!! winners!!!

the enfant terrible of science

the thing that i love about the nypl is the variety of selections from fiction to non-fic, audiobooks, dvds, lit crit, biography, etc…the whole caboodle. 

when i returned another dvd (the descent – still gives me the heebies) i roamed about the library scanning the magazines and just as i was about to go vamoose, i saw this title in the new releases shelves:

as a long time reader of fortean times (the web edition at least)  i felt my loins turn to water again and checked the book out. 

i’m now ready for the weekend. which starts tomorrow with a drink at noon in the company of white-b whose presence, i have just learned earlier, will be under time pressure courtesy of an airport etd countdown. well, we can always order by the pitcher.

realms

i felt my dick move when i returned the DVDs to the library and found this still sizzling on the shelves.

i heart nypl.

doing a holden

sepember 9 did my day – rainy and chilly and windy. perfect for going out on a mission to drink. the missus took a day off and we had lunch at the place proven to have san miguel beer – momofuko. the lunch crowd was thinning when we arrived. no wait for both the table and the food. the usual pork belly on buns and noodles. san miguel rocked. only that my first order would be the last as the stocks run out. i settled for lagunitas, which i only drank half. we slept the afternoon off and the texts and calls from joy’s friends and officemates came pouring in. i whipped out a wokful of pancit canton. somebody brought a cake and the usual afterwork chikka ensued. a promotion, a bunos, a case dismissal, a visa approved, a notice of termination, the usual ofw drama. i was getting buzzed from one of the bottles of wine joy gave me so i tuned out surfing, updating my itunes. i played in my head what could be happening if i am at sa guijo this very day. well…i’m still grateful, very much so for the facebooks messages and the phone calls – sunny, whose voice i didn’t recognize and maia and cosico and katheeeya – the emperor is evil. so, thank you. 

we are living in a digital world – joy showed me transaction receipts of her gifts (aside from the beer and the bottles of wine) still lost in cyberspace: a MoMA membership and the ray-ban i’ve been obsessing with. yey! somebody also gave us wicked tickets. not bad for getting a year older.

four minutes before midnight

the one thing that i did to mark my bithday-something that i’ve never done before-was finally done.

no, leather and latex as well as minors and midgets weren’t involve.

i miss san miguel beer terribly and all the drinking this day usually brings. i miss my friends, too. 

that’s it. i suddenly feel older.

my weiner is bigger than your weiner

a fair at the nearest avenue spared me the effort of cooking lunch (although dinner awaits with a demand for menudo). the usual weiner with onions and pepper overload. bought a plant for the house and camo caps as modeled by the national guards for the legions of fans of this blog – all three of them. for myself, i got a CD from a subway musician, *heth and jed* who calls their music “jambient guitar.” doh. *sigur ros* has “slow-mo rock.” whoever is coming up with these terms has a future in copywriting. speaking of music, something rey (vocals, guitar, lyrics of mistula) said to me years ago while we’re still in basic advertising that if mozart is alive today, he’d be into heavy metal was just declared official:

http://news.yahoo.com/s/afp/20080905/wl_uk_afp/lifestylebritainmusicpsychology;_ylt=Au7zsJavyOO5oW7GktWSVKoDW7oF

it can rain all the time

yesterday was a bit gloomy, the exact opposite of freshmen crowding the cheap pizzerias near union square where i picked up the breadwinner. that, after committing a sin of not buying a book at the strand – there was a tom picirilli paperback plus a reissue of *a canticle for leibowitz* but the backlog of reading books both borrowed and bought must be dealt with not to mention the bitch called writing. alas, the self-imposed deadline nears and i’m not even confident. not to mention the missus who’s more demanding than any creative traffic i’ve ever met, demanding to see a page every so often as proof that i’m not just jerking around.

so no pizza, but there was asahi beer plus a decent udon and maki for dinner before it became another amazing race at the subway.

today, the angels are into a pissing contest due to hannah’s cuba flight. the rains came at around 1 ayem and hasn’t let down since making it very difficult to clean the house. equally difficult is resisting the craving for sinigang. rain versus stomach and stomach wins and it’s a trip to the produce store manned by a pinay affected with a noo york accent. that comic relief was immediately wiped out by technostress. this all HD stuff is giving me a hangover without a sip of whiskey. (sidebar: a law has already been passed that all TV broadcasts should be in HD within the year – huzzah for the lobbyists!) a live chat with customer care that directs you to a phone number made my blood boil. at least we’ve got some sinigang na b.

apple – shift – 4

the thing that makes macintosh rule.

go, leave your shit in cyberspace, i am fucking watching you.

i know this will taste like shit but what the hell

they look cute, and that’s all. i don’t even know why i’m drinking this abomination called light beer. and the weirdness continues: after seven months and eight zits, the grocery girl asked for some ID.

i hope white b would come here sooner so that at least there’ll be two of us cursing this water sold as beer.

ennui, anyone?

and then we came to the end again

*the learners* by chip kidd was my reading material throughout the rhode island trip and it was advertising nostalgia overload, like *and then we came to the end* without the cynicism. i haven’t seen the tv show *mad men* but it think it’s of the same era.

and while on the trip, the inbox went abuzz with the AOY results. bbdo-g got it this time. what a surprise as i was hoping jwt would win – then again international wins only account for 5 per cent of best in creative. this came in my mind immediately: after all these years, the cheater in the class finally made it to the honor roll. only three more straight wins before the disruption record can be, well, disrupted.

and since this post is about advertising, one of the most anticipated TV event this fall is the relaunch of windows vista, done by crispin porter + bogusky, arguably the world’s coolest agency. eskimos have better chance of selling an ice cube than a mac based shop sell microsoft. but this is bogusky the man. i hope they pull it off.

behind the cut

the macbook has an *all images file*…managed to grab a copy of the pics. turned out that there are 1,417 pictures after all.

samples:

the destination is divinity itself.

tastes like water…but i got buzzed after two pitchers. pwede na.

what’s better than clams? clams deep fried in batter. my doctor’s gonna spank me.

true blood…i tried…but after two bites, i decided to have it remade.

cthulhu worshipper.

from the depths of the oceans rose a cthulhu overlord.

where the ancient ones will land.

an ancient car in an ancient town.

a carcass of a cthulhu minion…lovely.

the fog came at midnight.

read between the sign…

and know that cthulhu is everywhere.

goodbye cruel world.

some are born thinkers, sailors, soldiers, spies.

for some reason, i love this photo.

like finding nemo, the unanimated version. 

for dante.

one of the bills posted at a signpost at college hill.

a very popular school – lots of public sculptures. i suspect half the grafitti and stickers and tags and tattoo designs (there seems to be a parlor at every other street) littering at every corner are from studes and alums of this school. and then my 2gb became full that i have to borrow another camera.

so.

the weekend in rhode island, h.p. lovecraft’s (the only writer that neil gaiman calls as *rock and roll*) home for most of his mortal life. one item off the top of my lists to see and do (way above hollywood and vegas) in the US of A was ticked off. the only thing that i regret was not knowing where my favorite living author, caitlin r. kiernan lives. maybe in another time.

ps:

 

for rica…if the upper crust would stop passing the grey poupon, the beer would have been served sooner. he!

cthulhu

paid a visit to lovecraft.

the only thing that survived out of 300+ plus pics worth 2 gb were his memorial markers. 2 fucking pictures.

i hate ifuckingphoto.

must be the curse of the cthulhu.

a taste of death

an email alert from mission metallica woke me. it directed me to a quicktime link (buffers, how very lars *pay up, my devoted fans* ulrich) for a first listen of the first single from their latest effort entitled *the day that never comes*.

it sucked.

i can only hope this is one of those songs and one of those albums that, as the idiom goes, grows on you. what kills this hope is rick rubin, producer extraordinaire whose method is, and this is lifted from wiki:

“Gapless Albums’ which are albums with songs that segue into each other, such as Minutes To Midnight by Linkin Park, South of Heaven by Slayer, and Blood Sugar Sex Magik by the Red Hot Chili Peppers.”

so if that song sucked…

looking back, st. anger never did grew on me. load and reload got cool over time, but not st. anger, a product of hatred therapy and the no-pro-tools bullshit made sound it sound like a garage recording which, ironically, should have been done on garage, inc.

what hurts is that i’ll be buying the album anyway. i hope metallica cashes it now. some rock bands age like wine – rollignstones and the kind, even jimmy page made it to the olympics closing ceremony. but metal bands? when gout kicks in and hair starts falling, death is the only hope. and in ten years or less when albums are already given for free, maybe it wouldn’t be that bad.

and now that i’m awake, better start packing for cthulhu.

goggles….check

fins…check

virgin sacrifice…check

there is hope

i waited until the words wouldn’t come yesterday and watched peter jackson’s *king kong* and finally fell asleep at the sofa. the breadwinner arrived at 4.30 ayem today –  and my asking if she works for TBWA ny failed to connect. she left again by 9.

so i slept the whole day, breakfasting around noon on toasted bread and instant coffee and slept again. somebody doorbelled wrong which woke me up just in time to shower and go to times square. lunch was a snickers bar come 5.30 peyem. 

amazing race to columbia u and back to downtown and by this time my mind is reeling from the hunger.

of course, we waited for 1 hour and 15 minutes more after hordes of other hungry people beat us to the line at a noodle bar. the ramen was so-so, even teriyaki boy does a better job but the pork buns were deadly – half were pork fat – the kind that dribbles down your chin when you bite into it. the flavor was a winner too – something like asado but not as salty. while waiting, i grabbed a pale pilsen named *censored*. then i glimpsed a familiar label but wasn’t sure. lo and behold, they serve san migule. 9$ is plain robbery but after all the walking and the waiting, it was all worth it. 

i’m now ready to meet cthulhu.

 

some fantasies do come true

when there’s a wheel

one of those weekends when i got peeled off from the couch for some much needed cardio. basically walked until i had to catch my breath. stole some pics at the skating area, famous for peeps with tililing. some bikes too.

wheelers of the world, unite!

the hair, the hair.

on the side, is this very discreet bike.

a bling that would put damien hirst to shame.

not one…

…but two.

tricycle drivers, a dude and a dudette.

crime deterrent?

not really.

whatever the chain can’t protect, the enterprisers will take.

lock this, clima.

eq is a killer app

upgrading to 3g and saying goodbye to Harmonia was a painful decision to make. i went through my mind all the pros and the cons and finally eq won. so i kept her. i would rather wait and get a new one for free from at&t once my contract expires (there’s an additional 100$ if i’m getting the 3g now and ang naman kapal ng pez ko if i ask for the money from the breadwinner. and not that she can’t or won’t which all the more lends to being a bilmoko.)

or, maybe just wait until december if santa brings a sackful of 32gb? 

so. 

what i did was to tidy up Harmonia, loading with as much interesting apps as technologically possible and sanitizing the files especially the music – the requisite metallica, beatles, and now madonna (but only the greatest hits) among other favorites.

the movies, i only have two.

16 gb is okay, but i’m still deciding if ever i could add *nosferatu* or *the cabinet of dr. calighari* or maybe both before her memory turns to fuck. which makes december very, very exciting indeed. insert evil, evil laugh here.

the attack of the zits

high school days are here again.

for some strange reason, zits are appearing on my ugly face, uglyfying it even more. seven on my last count like some unfinished connect-the-dots game. theory 1: the long hair which is far from being hypoallergenic. theory 2: the sleep pattern of sleeping at 2 plus in the ayem, waking at 7 and sleeping again from 9 to 12 noon and a siesta at 3 to 5 in the peyem. 

the pesky ones are those near the areas that should be shaved. when razor meets zits, there will be blood. and pain of course.

and i thought that banana joke is really true.

sibuyas

all news reports that i gather through inquirer.net worthy of making the onion cry will be chronicled in a category titled “sibuyas”. 

 

i am a ma-ma-material boy

joy bought a couple of tickets to the gunshow…no to madonna, this october at the madison square garden.

when the tickets arrived via fedex, snapples, my proofreader and mistress of subject and verb agreement said that for every metallica fan, a madonna worshipping gay man lurks inside. i disagreed. she reminded me of a TBWA christmas party years ago. no treats for this very bad girl.

PS: she just caught the missing hyphen between “madonna” and “worshipping”. still no treats until she takes the gay remark back.

found porn

while surfing inquirer.net found the following news story in the span of 2 minutes.

don’t tell me these are not funny. i’ve always said that the onion doesn’t stand a chance in the philippines. we don’t have to make shit up to be funny.

apple, linksys, cisco, timewarner

you can all suck my dick you fucking incompetents!

let’s see who will laugh last when the cult of the steampunk rules this fucking world.

no country for fired men

a man in businesswear sleeping on a bench outside a breakfast place. that was on sunday. 

today, he’s on one of the stairs two houses down horizontally sleeping. the same attire but longsleeves now untucked.

the countdown to longhair, unshaven beard and the stink of depression and hopelessness begins.

corporate america has just kept its poise while a minion has been swept under the rag of greed.

we can only pray that this doesn’t happen to us.

tssmr: vicky, christina, barcelonaa

short and sweet this spain’s tourism seduction where the psycho sexual bullshit of trying to be artiste’s are unmasked.

“the piano has been drinking…”

…and my glasses named “Tiresias” is demanding a mandatory retirement after serving me since second year collage.

P50.00 from a sidewalk vendor at our town’s supermarket – actually an optometrist’s sale. after four lense changes and a gazillion repairs not excluding the ever depandable masking tape for nerd appeal (or to be accurate, sex repeal), i think she has the right.

she also outlasted the oakley mistake, that overpriced and overhyped brand preferred by mr. palengke. i shudder at the thought (my karma for not wearing pink in the 80s).

so. candidate number one is muji, if ever the times sqaure store carries something that resembles what hunter s. thompson would wear.

candidate two is this:

ray-ban opticals. this better be worth a mythological name.

truths

• there are still electronic companies whose support is not 24/7/365 despite the fact that this is the year 2008

• while returns are usually unquestioned, it’s the returning that is a pain

• sometimes the best reason for returning something is the truth – like, it looked really hideous inside the house

• it’s best to trust what your gut tells you than listening to all the bullshit a salesman can spew

for the record…

…because joy doesn’t have a journal, analog or otherwise: promotion.

at the rate this is going, we will never get to have kids.

if males can conceive i’ll be giving birth by october, but no.

meanwhile, i don’t have shit to treat her dessert.

80 proof of inspiration

the quest for the end needs a little help.

gods, i miss sa guijo and the batcave at palanca (no, neither bistro nor gweilo’s).

instead of the prosecution of george w. bush for murder…

…which is taking forever to be available at the library, i got the second installment from jeff somers.

one of those books that are produced with the hollywood in mind and are fit to be devoured in half a day.

titles i’m taking out next time when all the waters have been drag:

• by george

• the learners

• infected

and of course the latest by vincent bugliosi:

it’s helter skelter, 21st century style!

now back to the oven.

digitally yours

there’s much ado about a press photo that seemed to be photoshopped for added drama.

spot the fake one.

exhibit 1:

exhibit 2:

both were retouched. in exhibit 1, a fourth missile was added. although exhibit 2 takes the picture, as kodak would say, further.

one of those days

this should be in my handwritten journal, but i’m making an exception due to a bottle of wine consumed in less than an hour with the sun still up.

i baked a measly 108 words today. on the good side, a single right word is better than a thousand wrong words. on the bad side, the shame! 108 words? that’s a fucking 15 seconder commercial, something i used to chew for breakfast. 

i might delete this comment in the next few hours.

gods, let me finish this.

new orphans

got tanned last weekend – 12 noon horsing around the boat for rent at the park. because i spent 5 days without going out except to return books at the library. and the wife somehow knew. some rude chicano dude – just when i thought that nothing could get worse than the failure to communicate, here’s someone who needs to go to charm school. of course the ladies of the group did not let it pass. no tip and a verbal complaint to the manager. lesson? never fuck around with the famished, exercise-challenged, overworked accountants.

two new books, the first is a hugo finalist and the first chapter i’ve read at barnes around february.

the second, a booksale staple, one of the mushroom books that creeps up here and there like the bonfire of the vanities and any book authored by andrew m. greeley, one that i’ve been meaning to actually try to read. both at 50 cents each from the thrift shop at the corner.

now the backlog of reading looks like this:

tesla is on the halfway mark, the neil gaiman thing recently finished while cheering for france to smash the US only because bush has the temerity to really attend a competition, like our very own mike a. the bible is for, well, if the devil can afford to quote the scripture, surely i can read it too? just to check if the actual verse is worded as “a rending of garments” or “a rending of clothes” in the new international version.  

oops…back to the park. one musician is a puzzle. apart from the instrument that’s being played (some kind of string/percussion hybrid thing), it’s also her gender. is she a dude that looks like a lady or a lady that looks like a dude? take a closer look. we never found out.

wtf?

i don’t normally care what’s on tv. except that it’s the olympics and it’s being held in china and with all the controversies thrown in, i think it would be a good show.

guess what?

NBC, the media company that has the rights to the olympics didn’t broadcast it live as the plan is to do a primetime show peppered with commercials. 

all videos posted on youtube cannot be seen.

wtf, indeed.

as one commenter on the new york times website aptly put it:

“I am Chinese American. I am so excited about the Games. I don’t drink, but I did bring Tsing Dao beer to the office to share the excitement with my coworkers and DRINKED! Just sad that I can’t watch it live. Shame on NBC. You guys criticize Chinese government for censorship. You too, you censor it for commercial reasons, but still censorship. I just hope they don’t cut off too much tonight for commercials. But that could be my wishful thinking.

— Posted by GM”

yes, it should have been “drank” but he got the point about censorship. i hope everybody takes seriously a blogger’s suggestion to start a petition against NBC.

on the flip side this is no surprise. the US can only police the rest of the world except itself.

now, on to another 1,500 words on the story that’s waiting so i can have the right to buy some tsingtao when the breadwinner comes home.

kids, don’t try this at home

what i don’t do with books, i do with wine. that is, judging a bottle by its cover – name and artwork. i wouldn’t know shit about wine even if my life depended on it so i don’t pretend to pick something, look at its vintage and provenance and try to read the fine print. instead, i stick with the trusted sauvignon. the rest depends on how the label grabs me.

the wine shop at the corner replenishes stock weekly so there’s always something for the eye, and when it’s chilled enough, the stomach.

thus, two bottles for the week, from california. the designers must have been sampling the content before designing – no way these designs can wrap itself on an italian bottle. unless of course the kinds that land on the coolhunter.net.

why wine?

because i’m fed up with the piss sold as beer. one time, i tried a combo that works – taking a double shot of jack for every bottle of bud. it works but is insane, given the cost. so, red wine it is. fuck gout, when there’s some anti-oxidants to be had. and a nice-looking bottle too.

masks, capes, and red briefs

sunday at the met. thanks to bank of america who supports the museum, we got in for free and managed to see the superhero costumes before it wraps up this month. the exhibit is a no-photo affair but because the flag of the republika must be raised high, i snatched a few shots. the batman suit was the one worn by bale while the ironman armor was the one donned by downey, jr. or so says the literature. the spiderman costume was cool too except that the guard was too close and i don’t want to risk it. we also roamed the museum after, covering indian and chinese art this time (the least populated unlike the egyptian exhibit area).

on the way back, i saw a secondhand book about my current obsession, nikola tesla. 10 dolyares for a very well-thumbed, pulp covered paperback.  joy bought *wicked* from the sorriest looking old woman on the block who doesn’t seem to belong there – her manner of selling each books has all the hurt in the world and the wife said that she believes she’s selling her personal stuff because she needs money this very day. when we paid, she can’t even talk audibly. 

what more but food to end the day? two blocks away from the house is a noodle house. we’re ready for the winter.

the times they are confusing

joy got an email from her former office. the ridiculous amount that she’s been offered last time has been made, well ridiculouser. i don’t know what will happen. i don’t want to think about what her decision will be.

in tongues of babel

the aircon broke down last night.

what’s out of the ordinary is that the technician (a chicano dude) who repaired it this morning bid me farewell in tagalog. “paalam na.” i have to process it in my sleep-deprived brain at least twice.

they say that over 200 languages and dialects are spoken here at any given time. somehow i believe that to b true.

somehow this is true and consequently not funny

the onion, america’s finest news source ™ grabbed my attention with this article. full text at: 

http://www.theonion.com/content/news_briefs/worlds_worst_person_decide_0

stories like this make me think that for all its brilliance, the onion wouldn’t fly in our beloved republika ng pilipinas simply because our news stories are not just funny but bizarre bordering on fortean proportions. browse this: http://www.forteantimes.com/ and compare with today’s headlines at inquirer.net.

the avclub also has an interview with mike mignola at: http://www.avclub.com/content/interview/mike_mignola

right. i’ve got too much time on my hands.

so much time in fact that i’m reliving high school days by listening to death (leprosy album) on pandora and youtube. death is to nikola tesla as metallica is to thomas edison. i  miss my tapes and the record store at the province where all sorts of pre-slayer bands can be had for 50 pesos. headbangers of the web unite!

tssmr: the x-files

the truth is out there but it hurts how a 30-minute tv episode where moulder and scully finally get off is marketed as a film.

One more time with photo

Test with photo from iPhone-taken by phone and foraged from photo album.

Let’s see this post.

Test post from iPhone

Just got a few apps from iTunes and still learning the ropes. Hope this works.

Apps that are cool: Shakespeare (free) NYC iTrans ($10-fucker).

Let’s see this upload.

zeroville

*zeroville* by steve erickson is killing me. one of those rare books that i don’t want to end. everything is just perfect. the idea and the conceit mixes seamlessly. the last time a book had that effect on me was *vellum* by hal duncan. 

on the trip to the library, i chanced upon 81/2 by federico fellini. really, what could be a better film to watch after that book.

also borrowed *the devil you know* by mike carey after seeing it on sunny’s blog as recommended by white b.

but, before any reading and viewing,  it’s cardio time before the wifey lands from texas. i hope she still has the energy for the x-files. i really want to believe.

for knuckleduster 13

was able to run to the library despite the impending rain. found no DVDs worth watching but found a tattoo book. i hope some legit tattoo shop takes this graphically designed tats seriously before team manila fucks it up.

breaking the fever

finally the temperature is back to almost normal. been holed up for too long i might lose my way to the library. i hope it rains. then it would be reading conrad williams’ *the unblemished* with a maglite under the bedsheet, something i haven’t done since dan simmon’s *the terror*.

IMHO

the joker is one sonamabitch, too much of a villain to be a villain. in the domain of double negatives, he is a hero.

and because the cinema is an interactive experience on this side of the globe (people heckle and cheer) the joker got more cheers than the bat (his only time was when he dropped that mafiosi from the third floor and broke his legs – the motorcycle stunt didn’t cut it – while it was a never ending cheer for the joker since he started with making the pencil disappear). and all so richly deserved. 

pure malevolence with an smiling scar. what is there not to love? his lies about how he got his scar really killed me – while it is easy to do a flashback/abused child cliche, nolan didn’t take the bait. and if the next installment is the joker begins, all the more will he kick ass (although now that ledger is RIP, this might not be the next story but the joker breaking jail is always a hoot to watch).

sidebar: until last thursday, i keep hoping that a news story will appear about ledger attending a premiere. now that would be an ultimate PR film stunt. i see him in his reptilian regalia laughing ha-ha-ha-ha-ha all throughout the red carpet. i guess that bastard is now really dead and buried.

i hope nolan takes a shorter time filming the next bat film.

“introduce a little anarchy”

just saw the dark knight again.

i’m still reeling. maybe i’m just drunk from the wine. i will sleep and write my thoughts tomorrow.

hot and bothered

heatstroke is a term i learned from CNN years ago, something alien and i couldn’t comprehend. until now.

tropical heat is the kind where i know that the sun is the source – if i hide behind a tree or wait until it sets then i’m basically OK.

here, the heat is omnipresent and attacks all around like a fucking oven. if i hide behind a tree and wait until the sun sets, the temperature remains the same. and the humidity makes breathing an effort. like breathing liquid. those old people that die due to too much heat, die precisely because of that. and with my hypertension, i am really afraid, even though it is very well under control.

lately i’ve been staying indoors. just reading and cooking and sleeping and eating. waiting it out and venturing outside the door when it is absolutely necessary (like watching batman or buying alcohol). the one time i walked to the park for my cardio, i had to run to the nearest drinking fountain and rehydrate.

dog days of summer are excuse for people to go out and have some booze and wine at the park under the guise of listening to concerts or watching a movie. very tempting, but no. a good book and some beer or iced water will do.

tssmr: the dark knight

watch how the superman franchise gets officially fucked.

a puzzle

everytime an asian restaurant flyer is inserted into the apartment’s main door, it mysteriously appears inside our door. and mind you, there is another door that separates us from the main one. no italian, american (bbq and shit) greek, or mexican ever comes through.

samples of menu: asia grill, ko sushi, ichiro, viang ping, noodles 28, sunny, maple asian fusion.

the paranoid me thinks that our beloved neighbors have had enough of the smell of soy sauce.

the friendly me thinks that a neighbor is just doing us a favor.

there are five floors with two units each and that leaves 9 possible suspects. is it out of prejudice (that poor, ugly asian motherfucker doesn’t know that one can order from the net, might as well insert a menu into his door lest he stink up the apartment again) or out of concern (that weird dude who’s always carrying large books to the library and back and waiting for his missus deserves a break from his cooking)???

so far i try to be polite. hi, hello, how are you complete with opening the door for them even though my nose bleeds from the effort (writing is different from speaking, believe you me).

one of these days, i’m gonna catch the motherfucker who keeps doing this. i know menupages.com after all so everything is just trash.

desktop images

cleaned my mac and filed the things that should be filed and changed my wallpaper to these beauties taken from the zoo. the iphone also got a jellyalien as a wallpaper. although untentacled, i’m starting to love these creatures.

tssmr: hellboy 2

it is impossible for del toro to disappoint.

{i’m not a baby, i’m a tumor.} quote of the year.

pics of the weekend

tssmr: hancock

with a drunk superhero, how anti-homo can it get?

{tomorrow, it’s hellboy2 after going to mass.}

books that start with “the”

the host by stephenie meyer. her vampire series, i avoided like the plague because i can no longer enjoy another vampire story after the overkill done by anne rice. plus the marketing effort really got into my nerves. the next jk rowling. how can i read something authored by that when i don’t even want to read the first jk rowling. it’s me – the more people read a book, the more i am repelled. i’m sick in the head. as for “the host” which is marketed as a science fiction, i’m onto the first dozen chapters and i’m yawning –  i know that she wears angel pants but come on, enough with the pining already and get some go again. plus it’s part “stranger in a strange land” mixed with “invasion of the body snatchers” matched with “the man who fell to earth” mingled with all other hugo and nebula award winners. 

the swarm by frank schatzing. an aryan author, and ex- ad agency peep like salman rushdie. this i’m looking foward to as soon as i wake up from the host. i love german storytellers. they are not wordsmiths but engineers. aside from original storylines, their structure is measured, mathematical. perfume by peter suskind really blew me.

so.

three vampire novels to die for:

• dracula by bram stoker

• lost souls by poppy z. brite

• the five of cups by caitlin r. kiernan

bone!

sinigang na b with boto-boto. what i’ve been craving for since we got here is happening thanks to our chinese friends at chinatown where 2 pounds of pork bone can be had for $.70. win. let’s see if the finished product is as appetizing as the pics of ingredients (there is that weird root crop called gaby concepcion – a bicol staple –  that lends the sinigang the right amount of gooeyness and viscousness ((my high school science teacher uses the word viscousity which, thanks to spellcheck, is wrong))). which reminds me that the words “bring to a boil” seem to amuse me for some strange reason.

“and the hunchback midget and his twisted friends offer a world of thrills that never end”

of course it rained on the fourth of july and it still was drizzling the day after.

got a change to hang out with the freaks though. and their beer was the bitterest ever i’ve tasted so far – heavy and frothy, something close to cerveza negra. the show was cool, some bald and ocelot-mustached dude named donny vomit hosted the event and drilled a black and decker up his nose into his skull. 6 inches of twisted awesomeness.

got a postcard (very dark city by alex proyas) that’s also a petition letter to government official not to tear the whole coney island and convert it into a shopping strip. the man just can’t stop messing with simple, free pleasures.

got the obligatory hotdog used in the fourth of july’s most honored festival – the hotdog eating contest. it was bland.

hill borrowed

the library will have a closed weekend starting friday due to the fourth of july holiday and as i’m still reading ellis, got only one book but 3 DVDs.

from the line up, it seems that halloween is coming early.

i hope the amber waves of rain doesn’t spoil my parade as we head off to coney island and visit some homies, the freaks at the sideshow. can’t wait. 

interesting irony

and they say the internet killed the press?

http://egan.blogs.nytimes.com/2008/07/02/save-the-press/

irony, because i clicked an ad that redirected me to this article.

 

winged stones and cold stones

i would rather have beer while reading but the ice cream also works, despite the lack of alcohol.

any more and it would become a form of torture.

morrell borrowed

not one but two of david morrell’s latest thrillers. the man that injects testosterone into the written pages is back. creepers, i’m looking forward to just to get a different feel of terror-infested buildings since reading *the house of leaves*. scavengers, i have really no idea what it is about.

we shall see.

right now, the chicken afritada is waiting to be cooked.

 

tssmr: wall•e

there’s romeo and juliet and there’s wall•e and eve except that these duosyllabic robots’ analog amore and digital desire do not end in ill-timed suicides. 

to pee or not to pee

whoever is in charge of the rain heard my complaint about it being just a drizzle. this saturday afternoon was all about downpour. on the way to the park to get our tickets for hamlet, it was a cinematographer’s wet dream – pun intended. every street is shiny reflecting and refracting light and metaphors and symbolisms could be had by the dozen for free. thankfully, the rains stopped two hours before the performance (the back-up plan is WALL•E) and i saw the longest play of my entire life.  if it ran for another hour, it would be a lav diaz movie (note the choice of words). i know shakespeare is the man but should every line be relished? all in all, it was really good and it is something to be refreshed of the bard’s immortal words like 

    there’s the rub

    shuffling off the mortal coil

    despair, thy name is woman

etc, etc that is not a review for a quiz.

tssmr: wanted

blood, bullets, angelina jolie’s butt – who gives a shit about flaws in plot when you can have fun?

i expected wesley gibson to mutter “are you fucking darth vader?” at the train scene, but no, didn’t happen. as i’ve said, the bullet hitting bullet is enough to offset that.

new orphans

this is a 1 dollar find from the same thrift shop up the street. i’ve always wanted to read ellis after seeing american psycho. the cover looks good too. the title (embossed white on white, how very you-know-who) reads: less than zero. of course, it is set in the 90s LA.

the second, *the unblemished* by conrad williams, i’ve found at barnes 5th ave, during my friday cardio (35 fucking blocks of walking, i shit you not) as i went to joy’s office for a friday dinner and to watch wanted the movie. this, after reading *use once and destroy* by the same author last year, i have to find. the strand failed me and since this is a brit author (i’m a fan of both their humor and horror), the only hope would be the internet and a paperback reprint. the paperback came first (although i have seen this at power books before in its first hardbound edition and before it won the IHG award) and it is by, take a guess, virgin books. that man richard branson knows how to pick his titles. 

right. this post has too much fucking parenthesis already and i’ve just remembered that it is SIR richard branson.

 

“i am a false prophet and god is a superstition”

the rain, just drizzles actually that comes and goes unwanted has been at it since the weekend.

monday, there was a window of opportunity and we went to the park for the ny philharmonic orchestra. the flight of the bumblebee morphed into purple haze, ruled.

3-hour cardio is taking the backseat because of the rain and is being replaced with 3 DVDs a day, thanks to the library. recent films viewed are:

• persepholis – punk’s not dead in iran, yeah!

• untraceable – the japanese movie this have been ripped off from deserves a credit

• atonement – the typewriter score killed me

• there will be blood – haven’t read the book “oil” but this film is a beauty.

i’ve always wondered when the converse of “luke, i am your father” would be used as a final act turning point and lo and behold, we have “you are not my son. you have none of me in you. you are a bastard in a basket. i just used you to buy land.” and who can resist the destruction of eli sunday in the end?

as tomorrow is friday, i hope *wanted* won’t suck.

 

i bet my left testicle…

…that nobody’s going to jail for the ferry owned by sulpicio lines that capsized.

nobody was held accountable (both from the company and the government) when the same lines killed around 4,000 passengers, why would 800 persons be any different?

 

“i’m something of a scientist myself”

once again, the wifey have to peel me off the book for church and a much needed cardio-walk.

the church was bearable, i’m not much into religion after reading the bible and then some while in grade school (don’t ask – it’s not your sunday school variety but more of a theological course, and i must say, the book of revelations is one book that would best all other horror obras) but i adore the pomp and pageantry of the catholic mass and well as the cannibalistic metaphor of take my body and drink my blood. way better than being a scientologist, i presume and yes, i’ve also read l. ron hubbard’s *dianetics* – his most famous sci-fi tome although tom cruise would disagree with me.

so it was reading and church and reading and lunch and reading and siesta and reading and bathing and reading and then the much needed cardio. it rained a bit but we managed to do a respectable 2-hour brisk walking around the park. we saw laura linney – her face is the same on tv, the cinema and in real life. we also say the usual musicians, a bagpipe dude and the afro-dummers. there’s a pet turtle chilling near the bow bridge and a duck and her three beautiful ducklings swimming. 

and then i saw what i missed halfway into the walking – hamlet/hair by the public theater and summer stage. both for free, no less. well, there is always the next weekend, we just have to watch *wanted* on friday to maximize the coming saturday and sunday.

on the way home, we passed the carlyle where tom cruise and his family will be staying for the rest of the summer as kathie holmes does a broadway gig. 

{for some strange reason, wordpress isn’t uploading pics}

{for an equally strange reason, it just did}

 

why the library is saving me lots of dough

that’s 35 dollars plus tax saved. lingering helps, was about to check out joe hill’s *20th century ghosts*as well as his father’s *the duma key* when i saw this on the cart and before it can be shelved for all to see, managed to grab it without any incident. it’s got a three-week reading time too. coolness.

where do old men go

the contrast couldn’t be more any obvious. the way the city treats dogs and kids is the exact opposite of how it treats the old ones. every single day, i see a nearly departed hunched over a trash can looking for whatever it could scavenged. some have this little trollies, other just have a few pages of newspaper to cover their finds for a little fucking dignity. it is sad. but sadder is the fact that everyone pretends this is normal. and, i bet, if ever i get the courage to ask them if they need help, they will give me the middle finger fanfare and the fuck you felicitation. as gian would say, it makes baby jesus cry. 

barker borrowed

was looking for DVD titles i haven’t yet seen from the library when i chanced upon this book. the author alone is enough to give me goosebumps so i took it home. it has a seven day, non-negotiable deadline but i might finish it tonight. earlier this year, the best story that i’ve encountered (so far) belongs to clive barker, entitled “in the hills, the cities”. this story is up there with david j. schow’s “expanding your capabilities using frame/shift mode” and china mieville’s “an end to hunger”.

of course, edgar allan poe, the grandaddy of goth, incest, and pedophilia (not to mention absinth) still rules.

peeled from the couch

i was literally dragged out the door so that instead of watching DVDs borrowed from the library, i did some respectable cardio exercise.

here are sample pics of the ‘hood.

 

“your troubles will cease and fortune will smile upon you”

it is 2 in the fucking AM and i can’t sleep – payback time for disturbing the breadwinner as she worked from home doing what she normally does with her cellphone and laptop, except that she’s at home in her pajamas. i woke up late and slept after lunch and now i’m fucking awake while she’s embracing morpheus.

this second bottle of stella better put me to sleep. 

so.

right, the beer. as i consume this overpriced piss, i am going to list what i love and as a consequence, miss most about my former job as a creative in an advertising agency. i’ve never got to do this in my former journal (and not even in my handwritten one), so please indulge me.

• when it comes to the creative process, everyone is equal. it doesn’t matter who your parents are, how much you have in the bank, how many countries have you visited, how many pussies or dicks you’ve tasted. seriously, think about it. this is, to quote mean girls and kung fu panda, awesome. a fresh grad can trump a veteran anytime as long as he or she has an idea.

• you come to work in tee shirt and jeans and fucking tsinelas. the necktie is society’s leash, says so an ad by doc martens in the 80s and up to now, nothing could be truer. 

• alcohol can be consumed during office hours. and if situations permit, your choice of drugs can also be included, no questions asked, no judgement passed. this just made me miss marijuana and valium at the same time.

• nobody dies if you fuck up. mature agencies, those who really understand the creative process, give their staff the permission to fail. and mature creatives understand what it is like to fail and again, won’t ask questions or pass judgments. imagine the trauma surgeons and crane operators suffer every time they err.

the beer is nearly finished so let me rush off:

• surf porn/update facebook/chat during office hours. also shop, sleep, watch a movie, get a massage.

• meet real persons that could be friends for life. the number of guests when i got wed came from officemates more than relatives, i shit you not.

• you can be calloused and jaded enough that your bullshit detector can be supersensitive. i think this is self-explanatory. 

if this posts, that means, well, i need more beer.

 

relief, but not quite

the relief from the baking heat came in the form of a two-day sporadic rainfall and thunderstorms.

which means, we didn’t go to the park to catch vampire weekend but went on a movie marathon. though looking back, getting drenched in the rain listening to geek bands would have been worth it. four movies where two sucked is just like life – 50/50 chance of everything. at least the pancit before the movie ruled.

i pray to cthulhu timur wouldn’t disappoint with *wanted*.

 

tssmr: kung fu panda

dream and destiny served in a steaming bowl of LOL, seconds, anyone?

tssmr: the strangers

things can go beyond one’s expectation after a proposal as purported by this flick, so much beyond that it could involve death but then again no, keyser söze still didn’t do it.

tssmr: the happening

the abuser gets a comeuppance in this morality tale when revenge takes all of a day and a quarter and no, keyser söze didn’t do it.

one of those times when i wanna smoke a fucking cigarette

david benioff said it best:

“you know, the day I did it, I took two razorblades to the bathtub. you know why? because I knew that once I started to bleed, i’d get weak. and i didn’t wanna drop one blade and leave myself half done. can you imagine that? can you imagine hating your life so much that you’d wanna bring a backup razor?”

i’m such a coward, of course. i just when this shit to end. quick and painless. please.

tssmr: the incredible hulk

a green mass of pure heroism saves the most aggressive city in the world but begs the question: will his breathing exercises give him a chance to get laid?

something for the heat

marathon reading until the weekend before the hulk and the happening hits the screen.

done – not much to read, though.

this i have yet to read. a $1 find from SoHO last weekend.

currently reading, another $1 find from the same second hand shop.

and then they were gone

just like that, i’m all alone again (the missus is at maryland for the week) in the comforts of the airconditioner as nej left for san francisco with two luggage full of shoes, bags and dresses and a MoMA pipe with art prints.

cosico left yesterday with the same amount of bags, but fewer purchases.

i miss them already, despite the shopping spree – spree in the killing kind of sense. it’s all back to english now where my nose would literally bleed to affect the accent of helleow, how are yeow fuck.

so.

there’s the half bottle of jack and a dozen stellas.

i just wanna clean the fridge and wake up on friday the 13th for a movie night.

 

tssmr: sex and the city

a pointless, plotless product placement picture.

report in real time

 

• nej and cosico are, what’s the word? yes, grooving to U2’s *angel of harlem* while tidying up all the things they’ve shopped as i write this.

• nej brought a change of clothes, shoes, and dress for every day that she’s in new york – and also bought  the same number of equivalents. how she’s gonna fit everything into her luggage staggers the mind.

• cosico is to broadway as nej is to shopping.

• nej is to cock-grabbing as cosico is to nap grabbing.

• cosico:   beer can relax you like no other drink can ‘no?

me: correct.

• billy hasn’t lost his touch when it comes to humor. 

• robin tomas is a riot, venting punchline after punchline. and his jologs sense of referencing is cool.

• virgin records, the very first brand to have street cred  and an uber cool CEO before it became a buzzword is closing its times square and union square branches. sad.

• avenue q’s first line is “what can you do with a BA in english?”. how fucking true!

 

purely pics

visitors

the darkness is here saying “hello, hello, hello” to all afams from the house to the breakfast place to downtown. 

cosico just landed, no pictures yet until she takes a bath.

that i have to respect as she bought me a six pack of san miguel beer. yey!

did i mention that i’m wearing a red shirt?

tidbits

• there is an employee at joy’s company named bruce wayne. i am not making this shit up. he’s in the email directory.

• somebody stole our plant (i would call it a love fern except that it is not a fern) that we bought for spring. motherfucker. it was resting on the sill and when i tried watering it last night before sleeping, it’s gone.

• a pound of tilapia fillet (yes it says on the sign, same with “bangus” as seen in chinatown) can be had for 13US$. an ICB moment, indeed. it’s in pounds, and not yet cooked. 

• sometimes, a steak is nice for breakfast. sometimes.

• all registered dogs have microchip implants. this contain owner info (name, address, fone, etc.) and dog info (name, breed, health history, etc.) i’m suspecting they (for aren’t they always referred to as “they”) will do it with infants in the not so distant future.

 

do

long hair and peace – john lennon

long hair is a state of mind – henry rollins

 

my state ID arrived in the mail today and just like any other ID, the picture was as ugly as a mugshot. while i’m ugly to begin with, the hair didn’t help either. i tried tying it and it obliged. now i look like an ugly mini-goon. might grow this until next year especially that summer is approaching with all the global warming it could bring.

if ever, this would be the third time i grew my hair.

 the first was right after the mandatory ROTC in college. pantera has just released *far beyond driven* though the grunge thing was already in full swing. after four semesters of 4X2, letting hair grow is a must. half of the male class did, anyway.

the second was in basic advertising, just to prove that writers can grow hair too like them art directors. incubus has just released *a crow left of the murder*. i cut it for my brother’s wedding and never thought of growing it again.

and yet here i am. i hope i don’t get into trouble at immigration with this. 

and i don’t know what’s on the radio right now, except stone temple pilot has just regrouped again.

backlog

some photographer termed it as manhattanhenge, viewing the sunset from the street bisecting union square. it was supposed to be perfect yesterday with the sun being framed by highrises on both sides of the street. except that we never got to see it as joy complained that her shoes were killing her (been telling her for the longest time to do as the new york jologs do – come to work in power suit and track shoes). a pizza place had this idiotic logic that they would not sit us (a party of three, the third wheel is joy’s buddy from work) to two joined tables for two. i won’t even try to explain this. so no sunset, no pizza. i think this, whatever it is, started at the strand with its 18 miles of books and not-so-up-to-date online inventory. i’ve been looking for the first book zafon’s *the shadow of the wind* for quite a while. the website lists it as available. when i asked a sales staff, he said he just saw it a minute ago and told me to cross my fingers. that very moment, i knew that it’s gone. so he looked and i looked. to no avail. the last resort was barnes&noble where i only get a ten percent discount due to members (not even enough to cover the sales tax, fuckening A!). on the way back, i dropped by at virgin records and lo and behold, steve erickson’s *zeroville* is there waiting at the first shelf. this, i have been looking longer than the first book and being a small press edition, the only reason i could come up with is that the proximity of film schools (NYU and NYFA) makes this a cult object among the artsy-fartsy crowd.

the books?

*the shadow of the wind* is the spanish book most read after don quixote, according to the blurb. it stayed for 5 consecutive years on the number 1 bestseller’s list in spain. it is a book about a book, full of subplots (and even its subplots have subplots). but the thing that reeled me in is that it is a gothic story. 

*zeroville* is set where *helter skelter* is – hollywood, 1960s. it touches briefly the slayings of charles manson’s “family” then proceeds to a character who is a film buff and his downward spiral. how can i refuse?

so zero sunset and zero savings. the only logical progression is a six-pack to chase down the book i’m currently reading. i swear, i won’t go near another bookstore until i’ve finished all i’ve bought. but then again, there’s a fundraising somewhere in soho next week where books, CDs, and DVDs can be had for a dollar each.

right. below is a sausage with onions from the mini fair at our street taken today. it was closing time (5 peyem) so the dude manning the griddle gave a wiener worth of two dogs for the price of one. lord!

 

spam!

 

 

spamalot, the world’s largest coconut orchestra lived to broadway’s expectation. gay. but it is the happy kind of gay, compared to rent. xanadu, which i haven’t seen and don’t plan to, maybe takes the cake when it comes to gayness. for wicked, that much hyped book adaptation, we shall see. august is the schedule although a last minute lottery at the door is tempting. but no, EQ prevails lest the wife boots me back to manila. hehehe.

 

new orphans

 

because the best part of the indiana jones movie was the dark knight trailer, i got myself a couple of books. the first one was jeanette winterson’s *the stone gods* while the other was nick hornby’s *how to be good*. the first, i’ve always wanted to buy while the second was by pure impulse. after having just finished *gone bamboo* i don’t really know what to pick up. winterson? i have read a book of hers long ago, *written on the body,* what attracted me to this new book was its premise which leans towards a sci-fi mold. it’s always a surprise when literary (because there is no other term) authors tries this. think kazuo ishiguro who wrote *the remains of the day* but gave us *when we were orphans*. that kind of surprise. as for the nick hornby, i’m just curious after seeing in film two of his books. we shall see.

note: finding *the stone gods* at the strand kiosk at central park made me forgot to snap a pic. hence, the apple store, diagonally opposite the kiosk.

 

snapshots from the long weekend

one of those rare times when the weekend meant a thursday and monday holiday so it was a long weekend indeed. saturday, i think, was the day summer was officially declared with the beaches finally been opened (one dude from the apartment wrestled a surfboard into his 4×4 while in his suit and tie on wednesday AM). while we didn’t go near any beaches (coney island is happening in june, freakshow and barbecue, here i come), we explored the west side of the island in search of sunset. at the upper part, the view was monopolized by a mexican bar full of dog-friendly people getting drunk at 4 peyem. noisy, rowdy, the smell and smoke of sizzling barbecue permeates the air. must be a college dive as i saw a forlorn piece of black lace panties on the floor (the perv in me scanned the crowd for peeps in spring dress seating atop a guy to no luck). the next day, i introduced to the wife the idea of getting lost (always the best way to find second hand bookstores and the literally hole in the wall peeping galleries, told you i am a perv). so we decided to get lost some more taking the metrocard and some cash with total disregard for maps (not even on the iPhone and the train stations). wound up at the west, lower side, at the meatpacking district. saw the saatchi and saatchi building, yes building. a lot of sk8er bois showing off and goth girls waitressing bars. saw a photoshoot in one of the inner streets. the sunset view was better, no monopoly and there were a lot of chairs as it was a park. clean restrooms too. snap snap of the digicam until the battery drains out and when we returned, we ourselves, were drained as well.

tssmr

the intelligence that gave us the microwave and nuclear power also gives us a lame excuse to put a septuagenarian back in the jungle where instead of simian brain sushi, the squirm factor is left to a single snake and a gazillion of ants. 

tentacled things

i’m still catching my breath.

for nej

this week is fleet week when navy boys (literally teens who are earning some college money or some such reason) roam the city in uniform. all the better to stand out from the crowd and project the rhyming words of *seamen* and *semen* (randomly saw the sex and the city episode, rerun of course). even patriotic bars offer happy hours all night to our friends from the fleet. i managed to snap a few shots at times square. from afar of course.

catching up

one of the ways to take back what stress has taken away is to read a book whenever it feels like it is a good time to read one. and now i’m making good my promise of going beyond my comfort zone (exploring books outside of horror and its incestuous cousins but drawing the line on chick lit).

as a background: this has its origin in college when i have *the rhyme of the ancient mariner* for breakfast, *gone with the wind* for lunch and *dubliners* for dessert (at least *finnegan’s wake* wasn’t required reading). dessert and snacks are free for all. the experience was courtesy of the most useless course in the world, bachelor of arts, major in english. while i cringe – and still do – at the mention of those words, most of my classmates would relish how it rolls out the tongue back then. these are the same one who are now manning the banks as tellers. or as sales rep of travel agencies. with that in perspective, imagine the liberation that poppy z. brite brought. and then i was seduced into the dark side, enjoying its dark delicacies. not only was my reading focused, it also save a lot of energy, not to mention time and money (same principle with shirts – i go to a store and get out if there’s nothing black there).

so i spent last night until around 3.15 in the ayem reading something pop, jonathan lethem’s *you don’t love me yet*. while i would rather read something of the edgar allan poe variety at this kind of hour, it was good nonetheless. the beer also helped, too.

right.

onwards with dogwalking, bravely.

work from home

joy stayed home for the day, doing whatever needs to be done through her phone and laptop. that called for something soupy and shrimpy thus the sinigang na hipon. pardon the photography and the foodstyling or its lack of. later, we will take a walk in the park for some cardio and booze money before i cook menudo.

 

the takeover of street urchins

the school around seven buildings up is holding a school fair/fund raising event complete with games, DJ’s booth and food stalls. took some pics to document this as all traces will disappear come 5 peyem. all the noise and ruckus is better than the sound of sirens and horns. had i not cooked my lunch, i would have sampled a chinese takeout with a fortune cookie. but there’s always the cotton candy for dessert. on the thrift shop at the end of the block, managed to score anthony bourdain’s *gone bamboo* his first fiction and POD’s latest outing, *when angels and serpents dance* at a dollar each. not a bad way to start the week. now, if only the sun will keep shining.

time to walk the dog and work the heart.

for dante and sunny

managed to squeeze ourselves into a fair. food stalls line up both sides of the avenue and all kinds of food to represent babeldom can be had. managed to eat as many as i can. bought some condiments. and an african jazz CD. burp! 

 

another early friday

krakendamet! another early friday. 3.03 ayem to be exact. and all of gotham’s angels are having a pissing contest. walking the dog and doing cardio makes it a fucking job and a chore.

speaking of which, if i have a job, today would be a payday. i miss checking my account balance. but i don’t miss the stress of going to the office. some things just don’t rhyme.

of the seven applications i sent out, three replied. tbwa ny which made it clear that it was not a rejection letter but there are no openings. strawberryfrog which stated that there are no positions in the creative department but would keep my name and number on file for freelance gigs. and today, taxi ny replied. it was with a name and she apologized for the late correspondence but have given my CV and folio weblink to a CD and would email again for any feedback. at least there is a name plus i know that somebody will see my work. so we shall see. also sent out my CV to barnes&noble corporate plus GAP inc – as communications director or such position. channelling an asshole in another blog might just come true.

right.

time for beer and a bath – the kind that is on a tub – before pizza and movie night. if i still smoke, now would be a good time, too.

 

what’s the opposite of appetizer?

snapped this sign at a starbucks outlet. all restos have different versions of the same message. some even have this sign: occupancy by more than (insert number here) is dangerous and illegal. i wish they would just print the state building code. somehow i get the feeling that somebody got sued big time because due to one’s ignorance of the heimlich maneuver, babel being litigation country after all. everywhere you look, there are notices. like, to anonymously report unsafe working conditions, please call…(construction sites). or, if you see something, say something. don’t keep things to yourself. if you suspect something or someone is dangerous, report it to the police (all public transpo). nothing beats my personal favorite, surveillance camera is being used in this area (some public areas – goodbye to covert ops). given that, i’m still waiting for this sign: police in plainclothes are deployed at this park/street/building. 

for bhavna

yet another proof of babeldom.

made in china seems to be everywhere. including in the food we eat as delivered by our chicano brothers. and the humor we consume as purveyed by the onion (america’s finest news source, TM). and the sports we devour as streamed by ESPN.

so this is a refreshing sight. even joy’s local officemates are awed and given hope by this presence. a simple manhole to remind everyone that the president of the US of A is not someone named lee.

made in india. from the world’s number 1 billionaire to the softest of cotton shirts from levi’s strauss to picasso’s *i no longer know how to draw* art. always metal.

NYTODA

this human taxi, as what the driver calls it, is one of the first things i saw at babel. where i come from, this is a nuisance as they clog even the smallest alleys. here, it is a tourist trap rivaling horse-drawn carriages. they ply the busiest street like times aquare and the usual attractions like central park and the museum mile. while walking the dog today and earning some booze money, i chatted with one of the dudes who complained that he’s still at zero dollars despite the hour – 2 o’clock in the peyem. and it was only his second day at work. the chit chat was worth it, i got a few seconds of rest and enjoyed a free joke (comedy club entrance fees are anything but funny, they really take comedy seriously here).

driver:   (to passersby) do you want a ride?

peeps:   (smiling) thanks. we wanna burn off some calories.

driver:   (smiling) well, you can drive this with me as passenger and i’ll charge the same.

another favorite piece

picasso will always be on top of the list, but this painting stopped me, grabbed me, and in the creative’s admiration cliche of *i wish i had done that* really put me into thinking. while all the other paintings were posed portraitures of saints and royalty, here we have a snapshot that tells a story. and done centuries ago before verbroegen, serpa, and sucharittanonta. of course, painters and art directors are apple and oranges but still. the wifey said it is the gore that attracts me, so who am i to argue.

title:  salome with the head of saint john the baptist

painter: andrea solario

medium: oil on wood

pride of a different kind (or how to make baby jesus smile)

haven’t seen the naked cowboy, but have seen this. he preaches on sundays, how appropriate. i wonder what our narrow-minded bishops might say – especially that despicable one who uttered the most bigoted statement about the cebu hospital incident.

stay free

earlier this week, NIN gave for free an entire album, upping one notch radiohead’s effort of pay what you want. this effort got radiohead into time’s 100 most influential. but what NIN did is, i think, more influential, making the net the medium that it is supposed to be in the first place – a medium where everything can be had for free. this is really exciting as i’ve bought all NIN albums before. imagine if every album being produced starting today can be downloaded for free in the future. if that’s hard to believe, imagine paying to watch every episode on local tv or every song on radio. plus, i can’t help thinking how marketing and advertising people will react once this sinks in – that the net is now a mainstream medium like any other. the  term new media is so yesterday. i wonder how lars ulrich of *copyright metallica* will have their next album released.

speaking of free, books for free download are beginning to pop all over the net, thanks to creative commons. also with the same reasoning as the records: use the net as a promotional medium. once such kick ass books that can be had for free off the cyber shelves is *little brother* by cory doctorow. i guess it worked, although on the reverse. i bought first the book before checking out the site (thanks to dogwalking money). it did kick my ass, finishing it in half a day. 

too early on a friday

for someone with no 9 to 5, this is an early friday as i never got back to sleep when the alarm went off.

i look forward to fridays (don’t we all) as this day exempts me from cooking. while the cooking is simplicity itself, it is the preparation that actually takes the time aside from thinking what to cook. so with that burden gone, i have extra time to:

• walk the dog and do cardio for an hour more. total walking time is 3 hours nonstop except for one pee break. puppies have all the energy and the world. and when i say cardio, i kid you not. as alanis once sang: i’ve never felt this healthy before.
• tidy up the house. it is amazing how much waste we generate. tidying up also includes doing an inventory of the kitchen.
• read a book to a finish. and then hang out at barnes&nobles for magzine reading. or maybe at the library.

since we’ve already seen iron man, the day will end with pizza night and movies on demand with the laundry thrown in between.

presenting the single sentence movie review (TM) (R) (P) (C)

because hollywood suits are fond of demanding a synoptic sentence from creatives for every movie ever witten, optioned, rewritten, shelved, re-rewritten, produced and finally marketed, here’s the last end of the deal. a review. in one sentence.

ironman:   an industrialist finds his true calling as a crime-fighting superhero, builds an iron suit making him take off and land like a queer with hands palms down with true ballerina grace.

as i watched this movie with risk managers, i miss the geekery of my friends. you know who you are.

these are the same ones who peer pressured me into watching maid of honor, which i will also do my trademarked, registered, patented and copyrighted review:   art mirrors life in this unlaughable comedy where a scot is shamed by two friends who have been mutually masturbating each other since college just because he is a duke, owns a winery and first and foremost, a scot.

 

the pride of the city

everyone is into reading in this city. while it is a must on the subway as to avoid any eye contact (as iPods can only cover the ears and not the eyes), the amount of readers i see just about everywhere makes this myopic if not judgmental view, shameful. everyone carries, reads, buys, donates, exchanges and writes a book. the last one is just a as true as the rest. every bookstore has a section of books about the city, whether fiction or not. i think the number even equals that of the films about this babel.

a gazillion of books and no income except for my dogwalking…that’s like going to a wine cellar and being able to afford a glass of water. there’s the strand (at least 25% off the list price) and a thrift shop seven houses away ($2.00 a paperback) but still…thankfully there’s the public library which the city takes seriously. books and music and DVDs. and since this is babel, in different languages too.

so, for the first time since college, i’ve got myself a library card. it’s time to go back exploring words and worlds outside of sci-fi/fantasy/horror/punk/slipstream and other writings of similar molds. did i hear the word nerd between coughs?

 

chef assasin

while the neighborhood abounds with all sorts of cuisine from chinese to greek to korean to italian and the average american diners i only see before in movies and the ever inviting irish pubs also only seen before in flicks, the filipino tongue sometimes calls for pinoy food. this is not unlike the urge of bruce banner before he turns into the incredible hulk. only it is an incredible appetite.

of course the first resort (as with everything else) is the internet, menupages.com, in the hope of a delivery. (this dependence on the internet deserves another post altogether.) sadly, the pinoy restaurants are miles away giving me no option but to cook.

all the ingredients are sourced from either chinatown or at the asian community in queens where both locations have bagoong and itlog na maalat and the unofficial consumer price index of the philippines, galongong, but no san miguel beer. of course i will only find this out after paying for the grocery as alcohol and tobacco are always on a separate isle mostly on the way out. the wifey would see the look on my face and would gladly give the seal of approval for a case* of stella artois, tsingtao, or singha, whichever feels like a good substitute. these aforementioned beers are less crappy than bottled american piss called coors or bud.

back to the cooking.

my very first dish was, what else but adobo. every single morsel of rice was consumed and all of us (joy and her pinoy officemates which would total to about six plus me) would swear to forego carbo with the looming spring. a fruit diet was suggested and our version of the biggest loser was proposed.

spring is now full blown and summer is nigh and what happened can be summed in one word. in gayspeak: asafayou.

dishes cooked so far:

• chicken curry

• gg with tausi sauce

• adobong chicken liver (this i didn’t even taste due to its high uric acid content)

• bistek tagalog

• bicol express (flooded the building with the aroma of bagoong but nobody complained)

• sinigang na baboy

• garlic mushroom

• sinigang sa miso

• pork chop

• ampalaya with egg

• pork giniling

• plus fried breakfast favorites: spam, bacon, eggs, corned beef, french toast (to all those planning to visit, these breakfast fare is waiting plus the promised bed).

later, i will be attempting curried shrimp, thai style, complete with shallots and cilantro. that’s right, we have no weighing scale in the bathroom.

time to walk the dog and earn the almighty dollar. 

*the culture of tingi is also present here except that it promotes the reverse. to explain: a can of coke costs $1.50 at the deli, $3.00 at the park, but a dozen can be had for $3.00 at the grocery. go figure. it’s either you buy a lot and save a lot or buy one and waste money. thus the case of beer. it costs around $6.00 per bottle at a bar, but for the whole case, $11.00. either they’re bad at math, or they really just want to make you spend more. or both.

greetings from gotham

new york. new city. new blog.

there’s a certain sense of freedom while deleting all the garbage that was at letras_obscuras. there’s also a twinge of guilt. and the final message from wordpress didn’t help either. something about goodluck on your way because somewhere in the future we’ll meet again. something like that but way cooler, like a diablo cody line. the effect was pure nostalgia of the present moment and if that sounds like a paradox, be it known that i’m only on my third beer.

so here’s a new blog because i need to do something while housebanding and jobhunting and writing something that’s not for commercial consumption.

i hope you enjoy the words and the occasional pictures.