How Not to Spend Sundays – Conclusion

August 14, 2008

Part Doux – with insider dish.

The weather should have been my tip-off but Murphy’s Law (“If anything can possibly go wrong, it will”) was far from my thoughts.

We were headed into the maws of Celebrity Central.  But not without challenges.

Having no direct line to God or at least the gods at the Star Channel, just as I had feared, we had to stand in line.

For an hour.

In drizzling rain.

With other celebrity gawkers.

Me with my bad leg did not appreciate standing in line for an hour feeling like a well-cared for lawn. Na-uh.

The only place I could appreciate being at on a wind-driven rainy day was in bed but I valiantly tried to keep my claws and tongue sheathed as I could sense that my friend was trying desperately to rid me of my ennui. I didn’t want to be a buzz-kill (Pamatay Sigla) so I went along trying to make light of an awful situation.

Relief came when the conga-line was finally directed to begin snaking it’s way towards the studio entrance. In the downpour.

So this is how a studio looks like, I thought unimpressed.  Everything looked cut-down to human size. The PAs were handing out duckpin sized balloons on sticks that I guessed we’d be encouraged to wave – on cue – before, during and after a celebrity’s “performance”.  Will power prevented me from telling the PA outright that I was thankfully declining his invitation to be a trained monkey – I ducked behind my friend and let her carry the balloons meant for us two.

Seating.  Way up.  On rickety plywooded bleachers.  Nearer my God to Thee, I wanted to sing in my head as we headed to the top steps of the bleachers.  It got worse.

Obviously, more people in the studio would indicate the popularity of the show so while the actual seats were occupied in 2 seconds flat, the steps up the rickety plywooded bleachers were likewise offered to the more rabid fans with their banners proclaiming their love for their idol.  This meant, of course, that as an occupant of the highest seats I had three choices if an urge (e.g., hunger, barfing or pissing) seized me, I could: (a) jump down (not feasible because of my bad knee); (b) step on their heads or push them down creating a domino effect (I know it’s evil but, c’mon, it is tempting)  or (c) wade through exasperatedly while controlling my tongue from stabbing their excitement (Oh well).   I chose “c”, an hour into the show, when my bladder threatened to implode and inflict me with incontinence.

I waded down but was intimidated by the sheer numbers I had to wade through again on my way up. Which lead me to option (d) Stay on the floor.  Which I did.

For the next hour and a half.

I thought it was the lesser of two evils. Better than the screams of Mariel Rodriguez’ fans. Or the sight of their darkened butt cracks peeking through their too low-rise jeans.  I wish I was spared that sight but the manifestations of evil demand attention – wherever it manifests itself.

I appreciated the performaces of Gary V. and Charlie Green, the kid from Britain’s Got Talent.

 

The rest ran from cheesy to vile.

Captain Boom – Jon Mullaly a.k.a. Jon Avila in a superhero outfit.  Poor Jon – well if the money’s good. He was there in a promotional tie-up with an upcoming “fantaserye” – “Varga” (Vernie, the chanteuse taking up the cape?). Jon still looks cute, though, even with the fake abs on his costume.  (Note: I’ve seen Jon work-out at the gym where I used to work out at.  Although I am reasonably sure that he’s in good shape, I’m not 100% sure that he possesses the pecs and abs drawn on his costume. Maybe it’s the costume that antes up the cheesiness of his character – look at the second pic – he looks like he has “birthin'” hips.)

Today’s version of the 70’s Apat na Sikat – Christian Bautista, Erik Santos, Sarah Geronimo and Rachelle Ann Go.  Admittedly, they have talent but to sing their lungs out, literally, from week to week has to be downright wrong – can’t their managers negotiate a clause in their contracts to allow them to give their larynxes a rest once in a while? Or better wardrobes?

Ai-Ai in space-drag.  Ample support provided by a bevy of thunder thighs. ‘Nuff said.

They were celebrating Sarah’s birthday that day plus promoting her (then) upcoming movie with John Lloyd (anyone care to comment on how that movie fared at the tills?)  True to form, the creative director of the show decided on a Cotillion-inspired entree prior to Sarah’s actual number.  Unfortunately, Sarah almost suffered a Tara Reid-wardrobe malfunction when her heel caught the hem of her lace and yanked the top when she tripped.  Thankfully, the top held and her maiden-head saved. For now.

Piolo and Sam singing “New York, New York” with Richard Poon. That really went well with the audience…(people, I’m being ironic here if you haven’t caught the drift) The only redeeming factor was the cuteness of Piolo and Sam (I’m not saying anymore lest I get bitch-slapped with a libel suit).

The Gold number.  Inspired by the upcoming Olympics and the arrival of 2 former members of the 80s New Wave group Spandau Ballet – a showcase of the other (read: non-talented) hosts was presented cavorting to Gold (pampalubag-loob or consolation to their fans since these people could neither sing, dance or act with integrity).  I’m not putting up pictures for obvious reasons.  First up, a young love team – the guy was in tennis gear and serving up hits; the girl had the more embarassing duty – she was pantomiming swimming. If I had just tuned in, I might have mistaken her efforts for an interpretation of Rock Lobster by the B-52s. It was cringe inducing.  Others portrayed basketball players, volleyball players, fencers (?), boxers, judokans (incidentally, for me, the saving grace of the whole tableau as he was the cutest and could actually do round-houses).  I was waiting for their representation of the canoeing/kayaking, equestrian, sailing, rowing and triathlon events – none came.  I guess the equipment must have been a bitch to carry.

Despite my litany of complaints, though – I did manage some moments of enjoyment.  As when the the power was suddenly cut-off in the middle of the Gold pantomime. That was funny.  And I’m not being ironic.  It was just that the guys were so fricking into their roles (which, at least, didn’t require that they over-stretch themselves in the acting department) that you could actually feel their disappointment when their miming abilities were cut short by the power outage. As if doing good on this one number would be enough to justify their presence in limelight despite their obvious deficiencies in the talent area.

Speaking of ironies, the irony of a power outage in the network owned by the company supplying power to the Metro was not lost on the crowd.  One host even attempted to make light of the situation. Nobody dared utter “systems loss“, though.  Too controversial, I guess.

I distinctly remember my last moment of enjoyment – seeing the studio fade into a rainy haze as we high-tailed it out of there.

In contrast to our group’s deliberate steps into the maw of an afternoon variety show, our steps from it were abrupt as it was brought on by my companions’ hunger pangs.  Leaving as we did could not have been more satisfying for me since I had breakfast and they had not.

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Technical Difficulties

August 11, 2008

 

I am right smack in the middle of my 52 days (cf. 52 Days) and I am currently going through the whole gamut of emotions from A to Ω.  It’s just bewildering and frustrating to say the least.  Like coitus interruptus.

As a consequence, my mind is kind of on-the-blink right now – my second to the last post is still waiting a conclusion and I can’t think of anything to write about except this notice for my horde of adoring fans (yes, all 7 of you) that my brain is on strike right.  I’d even welcome the stimulation of a brain-freeze if it’ll inspire me to write something.

I’ve nearly done everything to get me out of this funk but no luck..maybe next week. So until then…I’m off to 7-11..


Out of my Mind

August 2, 2008

 

Just got bad news and all I could think of is how much I want you by my side.

If you were here I know you’d listen and understand, things would not look so hopeless, I would not be so lost.

But you’re not here.


How Not to Spend Sundays

July 31, 2008

 

Basically if there’s something I think I need to change about myself is my inability to say “no” to people I like.  Hypothetically, if I were a girl, contraception would be a way of life for me.

Take for instance last Sunday.  All week I was looking forward to sleeping in on Sunday – the week previously I had a panic attack after gym.  I hadn’t had one for years and it kind of shook me up. But I had work so I went through the week and ended up on Friday celebrating the birthday of a friend.

The birthday had the requisite drinks – I can’t abide by beer so she thoughtfully served vodka cruisers to me which is like getting drunk on fruit juice.  Needless to say, I got drunk but since I have work on Satudays (see How To Spend Saturdays), I still had to drag my tired and still hung-over ass to work.  Since I couldn’t go to the gym in the state that I was that Saturday, I was planning to go the following day to sauna-off the 5% alcohol in my blood stream (really, I make a bad job of getting drunk).

So maybe it was the inebriation that caused me to agree to my friend’s plea that I accompany her to a live show on the Kapamilyachannel. Part of me felt like replying “Ok but I’ll be cutting you off from my life after this” but the natural sucker in me (alright, go ahead and see how many jokes you can make from the last phrase) instead asked “What time are we meeting up?”

Big mistake.

If there’s a quality I’d like to be known for, I’d want it to be for being punctual.  Whether I say I’ll be there at 5:30 am or 12 midnight, I’d kill myself to be there on time.  Sunday was no different.  I’d agreed to meet my friend at 8:30 am at the MRT station in Pasay.  I was there at 8:00 am.

Her first text message that morning at 8 am should have tipped me off – she said “The rain’s really pouring.” I refrained from texting back that I knew since I had just gone through it on my way to our meeting place. I backed off since I thought sarcasm that early in the morning was uncalled for. I merely replied by asking her if she was already on her way.  She said she was.

Actually, she said she was already near two more times before she finally texted me that she was already there.

Where we had not agreed to meet. It was 9:20 am.

My cup of bile runneth over but all I could manage to text to her was a trite “If we’re going to stand in line at the studio, I’d rather just go home.”

When we got to the studio, our other friend – the one who got the passes for the live show was miffed that we hadn’t arrived earlier.  In any other situation, I would have been apologetic. That day, I wasn’t.  For two reasons.  We were late through no fault of mine and because I knew instinctively why he wanted to come in early – so he could gawk at the stellar personalities ambling through.

Listen – by myself, I am likewise prone to gawk at stars but in a crowd of star-gawkers I am repulsed by the gawking.  Especially if I feel that the object of the gawking is a no-talent who’s only getting by via cuteness or some other attribute that had nothing to do with entertainment – at least not in the manner that entertainment is usually defined (I know, I am evil).

(End of Part Une – Part Doux with Pix)


Music Du Jour

July 30, 2008

Linkin Park has struck again.

This is “Leave Out All The Rest” from their Minutes to Midnight album.

I’ve always been a fan of the band.  I like the fact that their music is loud and makes sense. And Chester’s a sexy geek – so’s Joe Hahn.

I was lucky that when they came to the Philippines to promote their Meteora album, Eric was able to score tickets for the moshpit – my one and only experience in a moshpit. I still remember the sweaty bodies slamming into each other and me, shielding Eric from the thrusts. It was as insane and intense as I’d expected it to be. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.


How to Spend Saturdays

July 29, 2008

 

Usually weekends are leisure days for the rest of the world. Not for me.

I have work on Saturdays.  It’s kind of aggravating travelling to and from work while the rest of the world’s planning how to spend Saturday night or on a weekend getaway or just sleeping through the day.  But what can I say? C’est la vie.

It’s not all bad, though.  Usually weekends mean less crowds at the gym.  It also means no bosses at work (because they’re enjoying their weekend).  Less traffic and it’s way easier to get a cab.

The cherry on my Saturday’s though is the Salcedo Park Open Market.  On Saturday’s the Jaime Velasquez Park in Salcedo Village becomes an organic market slash open air eatery slash cafe sidewalk where you can watch the well-heeled and, occasionally, the well known browse among the hoi polloi like moi like it was the most ordinary thing in the world.

When Eric was still here, we’d go there and eat our hearts out – on healthy (well, reasonably) and organic food like the delicious Vietnamese rolls with shrimp and meat pungent with the aroma of mint. We’d eat it with two pieces each of juicy pork barbecue (I actually ate mine down to the fat – hey, it’s grilled meat, not fried) and wash it down with buko juice.  For enders, we’d usually get my mom some millet-based suman or one made with mango slices.

Of course, the prices reflected where the stuff was being sold.  Dirty ice cream would be 30 pesos a pop.  The suman would be like 25 pesos each.  The buko juice 25 pesos a cup. Usually, I’d bitch about the prices but not here.  Here rich kids played at being ordinary vendors – until you’re tempted to ask for a discount, at which time they switch to their haute-monde faces and wonder who let you in at the gates.  Well, some of them.

But the appeal of the market was beyond that – it was just fun seeing all the stuff they’d bring down from Baguio and hawk it in this rich man’s enclave like it some Baguio market stall.  One area would have beautiful flowers and orchids like one would catch at Dangwa. The smell at the area where they sell the fresh fish and other seafood was no different from the whiff you’d catch from the wet market in Cubao (although being in an open air setting kind of sanitized the smell a bit).  People would be eating food in the designated areas like they’d do at some tianggian – dressed to hilt with beehive hairdos and the wasp-y pearls.

Last time I went, they had a Kapampangan festival.  They had the requisite carvings from Betis and the parols from San Fernando.

However, I was drawn to my favorite Kapampangan product of all time.

I couldn’t resist so I had halo-halo at 8:30 am for breakfast. And pork barbecue. And Vietnamese rolls.

That day, I added like 500 crunches to my usual number at gym. Had to.


52 Days

July 21, 2008

 

I have a friend who’s a psychic – well, he says he is.

He’s dabbled a lot in esoterica and wiccan lore/practice.  He reads the tarot, palms, does numerology, reads auras and has had his third eye opened by no less than Jimmy Licauco (why he had it closed is another story).  As far as I’m concerned, his credentials are legit.

During the early days of our friendship, he told me about the 52 day cycle.  Apparently, the first 52 days from the date of one’s birthday is supposedly the luckiest 52 days of that person’s life.  Inversely, the last 52 days before one’s birthday are pure hell.

I’m a hard-ass when it comes to believing stuff like the 52 days but what struck me when we had that conversation was how every year, like clockwork, the last few weeks before my birthday is when I feel my lowest, the shittiest things happen to me and depression becomes a way of life.  Like PMS.

So that explains everything, I thought.  So it’s not my fault at all why, for the past several years, I’ve felt like I was juggling emotions ranging from being anti-social, suicidal, homicidal and genocidal from mid-July to early September. It was a relief to know that I wasn’t going crazy. At the very least, I can train myself to expect the worst so the blows wouldn’t pack as much of a punch like they used to.

Like last Thursday, when I got apprehended by personnel of Makati city hall – for littering.  One would think that I’d know better after having worked and practically lived in Makati for more than 10 years – but that day, my inner-stupid kicked in and I was served. 

Thank goodness for knowing about the 52 days, a sense of humor to put my first (and hopefully the last)apprehension in perspective and Eric for telling me about “Details in the Thread” – (“You’re like an island of reality in an ocean of diarrhea”). 

Calm down
Deep breaths
And get yourself dressed instead
Of running around
And pulling on your threads and
Breaking yourself up

If it’s a broken part, replace it
If it’s a broken arm then brace it
If it’s a broken heart then face it

And hold your own
Know your name
And go your own way
Hold your own
Know your name
And go your own way
And everything will be fine

Hang on
Help is on the way
Stay strong
I’m doing everything

Hold your own
Know your name
And go your own way
Hold your own
Know your name
And go your own way

And everything
Everything will be fine
Everything

Are the details in the fabric
Are the things that make you panic
Are your thoughts results of static cling

Are the things that make you blow
Hell, no reason, go on and scream
If you’re shocked it’s just the fault
Of faulty manufacturing

Everything will be fine
Everything in no time at all
Everything

Hold your own
And know your name
And go your own way

Are the details in the fabric (Hold your own, know your name)
Are the things that make you panic
Are your thoughts results of static cling (Go your own way)

Are the details in the fabric (Hold your own, know your name)
Are the things that make you panic (Go your own way)
Is it Mother Nature’s sewing machine

Are the things that make you blow (Hold your own, know your name)
Hell no reason go on and scream
If you’re shocked it’s just the fault (Go your own way)
Of faulty manufacturing

Everything will be fine
Everything in no time at all
Hearts will hold