Song of the Moment: Clocks

Look at Chris Martin in this video. He looks like a lover in the throes of an orgasmic frenzy. How can you not want to look at him over and over again? How can you not wish that you were the piano and he is running his fingers on you?

I hope your passion is not wasted on Gwyneth, Chris. After all, she's the other half behind the horror that was Cruisin'. I had to live for days with that song playing repeatedly on my head. It was like a plague. If you want someone more befitting of your, uhmm, energy, dump her and give me a call.

Swamped!

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No rest for the wicked. No time for anything else. Oh well...

Random Memory #4: The Toy Story

When I was six years old, we moved out of our rented apartment to a house of our own. There were still five us of then: my parents, me, and my two younger brothers. The youngest, Oning, was still a year old. That was a major adjustment period for everyone in the family, especially us kids. We were used to eating good food, having our friends around, watching TV and doing all other kids stuff. When we moved in to our newly-constructed house, we had a roof and walls but no floor. We had to wear slippers all the time which we were not used to. We had no electricity yet so no TV and refrigerator. We had no running water so we had to obtain drinking water at my grandmother's house a few blocks away and do laundry at the river also a few meters away from the back of our house. Most of what we ate were also vegetables grown on our own yard because we were still recovering from all the construction expenses we had incurred. On top of all that, we were in a new environment and didn't know anyone.

My mother must be some kind of a psychic because she had the social dilemma of us kids all figured out. Granted, kids adjust very quickly to new environment but my then 3-year old brother, who is my mother's favorite child, was even more socially inept that I was. The first day we were all settled in, she displayed all our toys for all the neighborhood kids to play with. I swear, all of the toys filled one very gigantic box. Our front yard was literally like having a garage sale for toys.

Me: Where did all these toys come from?
Mother: They are all yours and your brothers'.
Me: No, they are not. I don't remember having this stuffed turtle, that neon pink kitchen set and the alien-looking doll. I don't remember playing with any of these toys at all.
Mother: That's because you have a crappy memory. That stuffed turtle was from when you were 2 years old which I hid from you because you were so attached to it that you would not let it go even after it smelled like a dead animal and needed washing. The doll was when you were 3 but you didn't play with it because it scared the crap out of you. The kitchen set was also from 3 years ago and after playing with it for 3 days straight, you got fed up with it and left it under the tree outside. You have the attention span of a mentally-retarded person.
Me: My memory is not crappy.
Mother: When you were also 2 years old we got a white puppy and named him Whitey. You loved that dog. He was with us for more than two years then he got hit by a speeding vehicle and died. A year after that incident, you can't remember having the dog anymore. Yes, your memory is crappy.

Apparently, we eventually get tired of our toys and discard them but she just swooped in after our play time, repaired the broken toys and kept all of them in a box stowed somewhere. We thought we lost those toys but she had them all along. And she did this for years.

Of course, with a gazillion toys propped up on our yard, we were the most popular kids in the neighborhood. We did not even have to make an effort to gain new friends. We just sat with our toys outside and kids who lived blocks away would pile in and asked to play with us. Even if we had no electricity or running water, all the kids thought we were filthy rich and gave us special treatment. My mother is a freakin' genius. And a toy packrat.

I still can't remember the dog though. I mean, who the hell forgets a dog named Whitey? But my father says that there really was a dog. Even my brother remembered playing with the dog. Dude, you were two years old. How the hell could you possibly remember that? I swear there's a conspiracy going on here. There are no pictures of the alleged dog. My mother said that it was buried at the back of the apartment we rented but there were no markers or tombstone. She allegedly cried when the said dog died. If it were indeed beloved, then there has got to be some remnant of its existence. The whole family is ganging up on me and my poor memory.

As for our toys, they are now buried in their respective resting places. Some in the yard, some on the roof, some changed ownership without our knowing it and others reduced to dog poop courtesy of another dog of ours that I happen to remember who bit everything that looked juicy including my father's arm, whereupon our neighbors decided that the dog was rabid and proceeded to make a recipe out of it. Unlike the dog Whitey, whose true story the conspirators will probably take to their graves, I still remember the toys very well. And even if they eventually died, its okay because they have served their purpose. Even for a short time, I knew what it was like to be a rich kid.

Silence

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Like everybody else, I am appalled. I have spoken about it in great lengths with my friends but I feel that I have not said enough. However, words are empty and meaningless and will not change anything. So many things that went wrong, so many things that if were done differently would have made a whole lot of difference. But here, today, I am not gonna dwell on those things. I am not an expert. My views on those things are mere speculations of a passive bystander. Instead, I want to take this time to be silent... silence I want to offer for those who died in the tragedy and for those of us left on its wake.

Life still goes on. But it will never be the same.

Good Day, Sunshine

I am now officially living in my own time zone. Of course, I'm gonna miss all the benefits of a graveyard shift but it is also refreshing to be updated with all the going-ons around me. More importantly, it feels great to be at the office in the morning, smelling fresh from a morning shower, with the rest of the morning workforce.

Risen From The Fiery Depths

"Abandon all hope, ye who enter here."

Meet Dante. He is my voodoo doll.

I have always wanted one, most especially at times when I wanted to hurt someone without actual confrontation. Call me a coward all you want but that's how it is.

But now that I actually have one, there is not one person that I want to prick needles with. There is always that girl next door. Hmm. But it seems so petty so I won't even waste my energy on that.

Anyway, I got my doll's name from the writer, of course. He is one of my favorites although God knows I'll probably be dead before I get to finish reading any of his works. If I do get around to reading them, I'll probably be the first person in history to die of profuse nosebleeding.

Where was I?

Being a voodoo doll, I had wanted a more menacing name for him. One of the names that came to mind was Charon, the ferryman of the underworld who, coincidentally, also figures in the first book of Dante's Divine Comedy. Unfortunately, although it implies menace, it just doesn't sound right for the very reason that it sounds like a cute girl's name. It sounds like Karen. I knew one Karen from Day Care and another Karen who was my seatmate in elementary. Both girls were cute. On a side note, when I was a kid, my brothers and I used to watch this show entitled The Young Hercules. Apparently, it was very popular because when the show ended it's run, the producers had this dumb idea to do a rerun, this time dubbing the whole show in Tagalog. So there was this scene where Hercules went to the underworld and met Charon for the first time. Their conversation went like this (everything pronounced in Tagalog):

Hercules:  Sino ka namang matanda ka?
Charon: Ako si Charon. Bangkero ng mga kaluluwa sa kabilang mundo.
Hercules: Sharon?
Charon: Hindi!!! Cha-ron! Mukha ba akong artista?!

Admit it, that was hilarious. The ferryman of the underworld, a movie star. Not Sharon Stone, the silently sinister bitch (also a writer) in the movie Basic Instinct, but Sharon Cuneta who, despite her apparent lack of cuteness, sings cutely the song Mr Dreamboy (or was that Mr DJ?) to the detriment of the word cute. So I settled for Dante whose main protagonist he named after himself and in the first book, Inferno, literally went to hell. Morever, Dante is also the name of another movie star. I am referring to Dante Rivero who almost always gets the role of the villain or the grumpy old man who makes everyone around him miserable. And he does look scary.

I actually have another voodoo doll, of a different color from Dante. His name is Montressor, from the vengeful guy who buried his friend alive in his wine cellar in the short story The Cask of Amontillado by Edgar Alan Poe, who is also a personal favorite. However, I have assigned Montressor as a permanent decoration to one of my bags so it's usually just Dante who keeps me company.

My voodoo dolls have yet to serve their real purpose. But make no mistake about it. They are voodoo dolls and their purpose will be fulfilled. Someday. So if you value your life, try to avoid becoming the object of my wicked voodoo spells. Don't annoy the hell out of me and get out of my way.

"Nemo me impune lacessit." (*evil laugh)

Song of the Moment: Don't Stop Me Now

I'm burning through the sky yeah!
Two hundred degrees
That's why they call me Mister Fahrenheit
I'm traveling at the speed of light
I wanna make a supersonic woman of you

I know. It's another one of my Queen fixations but I need to drown out Shakira's Waka Waka coming from the next room and this song is the only song in my phone that is loud enough to do the job. Don't get me wrong. Waka Waka is an okay song especially during the height of the recent World Cup. It was great for community singing while watching the games. But the World Cup Series is over and when you hear it one million times in one day it's annoying. It's great that my neighbor finally had another song that she likes other than songs from the Steps and this choice is obviously an improvement. But, seriously, one million times? Give Shakira a rest already. Or better yet, start paying royalties.

Since we are on the subject of Queen, it case you are blind and missed it, please check out 1:40 of the video. Is it weird that I'm finding his overbite and spittle sexy? I know, I'm creepy so it's probably just me. And it is a great song. I do not care about the gay innuendos of the song. Freddy was gay so it should not be surprising that everything he did and made were gay or had gay hidden meanings.

I have the hots for a dead gay man. I should probably be institutionalized. Freddie, darling, wherever you are, I hope they are treating you well if not giving you the royal treatment that you so rightly deserved. If not, give the bitches a slap for me, will you?