The Magical Tumbong

My Get Psyched Mix

2012-02-11T04:32:00.000-08:00

For those who don't give a damn:

Metallica - Blackened (6:41)
Arch Enemy - Silverwing (4:08)
Sigur Ros - Goobledigook (3:08)
Symphony X - of Sins and Shadows
Testament - Dog-Faced Dogs (4:02)
Iron Maiden - The Wickerman (4:35)
Broken Social Scene - Shoreline 7/4 (4:53)
Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros - Janglin' (3:50)
Lil Rob - Summer Nights (4:27)
The Roots - No Alibi (5.21)
Infectious Grooves - Violent and Funky (3:49)
Cody Chestnutt - Serve This Royalty (5:43)
Overkill - Give a Little (4:42)
Metric - Help, I'm Alive (4:45)
The Haunted - Choke Hold (3:43)

The Labor of Text

2012-02-04T02:58:00.000-08:00

Reading a novel you don't like is similar to unnecessary pain - it's painful and not necessary.

Okay, that was a stupid opening sentence. Bear with me on this one, folks.

After a semester-long hiatus from school, I began the second semester this school year with axes to grind - or to be more accurate, final papers to submit - with my former professors.

One of the aforementioned professors, whose class I took two years ago, required us to review a book without reference to any secondary text. The paper, then, must be grounded on our experience as a reader of books. This forced me to dust off one of my books that, for almost four years, I have refused to touch from my bookshelf because it bored the living shit out of me after a couple of chapters.

The reason why I forced myself into reading something that I find a pain in the ass to read is to hopefully get the book off my list. Working on a deadline should have instilled a sense of urgency in me to run through the pages of the book.

No offense to Eco (it turns out that Baudolino is a fine text from an objective point of view), but for that semester when I was supposed to finish this paper, I just can't get myself to analyze it for academic purposes. I finished the book, don't get me wrong, but I found it such a bore that I abandoned writing the paper. For that, I finished the semester with an INC for that subject.

Even though, I eventually got to submit the paper a couple of weeks ago, it still pisses me off for not getting this done earlier.

Oh well.

Album Review - "Forgiveness Rock Record" by Broken Social Scene

2012-02-01T04:08:00.000-08:00

Broken Social Scene is one of the few bands that I adored after college, the time when I sort of stopped rummaging through the Internet for new music.

Back story: I voraciously downloaded MP3 songs from obscure bands using my 56.6k modem a full decade ago. Doing the math, it took me to download two songs within an hour, a terrible rate compared to how we can download an entire album in a matter of minutes this day and age.

Anyway, where was I? Ah yes, BSS.

I was completely blown away by "7/4 Shoreline" and "Fire Eye'd Boy". The intense passion for music wrapped in indie aesthetics was perversely present in their songs. After procuring their album late that year, I was a full convert of the Scene. The compelling energy and organic song arrangements was truly refreshing that I can't help tap my foot just thinking about the songs playing in my head.

With "Forgiveness Rock Record," the energy is a bit hushed, in my humble opinion. The album is not as upfront with its confidence and I mean it as a complement. Whereas "Our Faces Split the Coast in Half" was a visceral outing, World Sick" takes listeners to a walk in the park on autumn, the leaves as sullen as the grey season.

But then there are reminders of yesteryears in this album. "Chase Scene" makes me think of Beastie Boy's "Sabotage" if sung by Mamas and Papas. Let that sink in for a while. And then there's "Meet Me in the Basement," an instrumental that seems to grow and grow until it can't fit in your head anymore. It's that awesome.

But the real gem of Forgiveness Rock Record is "All to All." I assume it's sung by Emily Haines of Metric fame. If not, skip the next few paragraphs.

If so, I would like to renew my love for her.

Let's just get some things out of the way first. I adore Metric and listen to "Old World Underground, Where Are You Now" like a slut smokes cigarettes. Haines seems more comfortable in that band as opposed to BSS, where Leslie Feist imposes so much of her presence in the band that it's difficult to tell the other female performers, at least for me. But "All to All" is a testament to the band's genius outside Feist and an affirmation of Haines' talents to captivate. Kinda like what she did with "Calculation Theme."

There's really not much to forgive in this album, really, because no one's at fault. I think the term people normally use is "effortless."

Genital Wash Ads

2012-01-25T01:58:00.000-08:00

Two ads about the same product (one for women, the other for men), but their respective messages are radically different upon using said product.

This ad is about keeping your private part clean and fresh. Nothing more.

This ad is about hooking up with hot chicks with the hope of engaging in a menage a quarto later that evening (or morning if he works at night).

3 Jobs that I Respect Because I Won't Have the Courage to Do Them

2012-01-24T02:45:00.000-08:00

1. Comedian

2. Professional Wrestler

3. Porn Star

Animal Wrongs

2012-01-21T01:55:00.000-08:00

No offense to ChicBoy, which serves tasty food at affordable prices, but their logo looks terrible.

I'm no vegetarian, but I find it disturbing that some restaurant logos glorify their meat products - may they be chicken, beef, and pork - by portraying them as happy and glad to be served in cutlets on the dining table.

First, why would they be happy? Why would people assume that animals are willing to offer their body to satiate the appetites of many? I honestly don't think that the squealing pigs and wiggling chickens, once their throats are slit for the blood to pour, are expressions of exultation.

It is merely their way of saying, "get me the fuck out of here."

Put the situation the other way around: If cannibalism is legal and people are slaughtered and made into bulalo or giniling, I don't think using this image as a restaurant logo would make for a great company branding, either.

2012 Checklist

2011-12-31T07:06:00.000-08:00

Finish edits on Grade 3 Worksheets I made last year.
E-mail my English professor and ask for a chance to finish and submit my incomplete final paper a year ago about Umberto Eco's "Baudolino" before the current semester ends.
Drop a subject that I have no intention of retaking.
Submit request to the Dean to take my foreign language exam in German, hopefully the second semester of next year's school year.
(Re)Learn German.
Actually learn the history of Anglo American Literature.
Read the required books I failed to read from previous years in school (Wild Sargasso Sea, The Age of Innocence, The Sound and the Fury, My Antonia, Surfacing, and other shit).
Buy a new QWERTY smartphone (hello, Samsung Galaxy Y Pro or LG Optimus Pro).
Buy Zoom G2.1(u), Behringer Compressor/Sustainer, and a Squire Stratocaster.
Buy an MP3 player (either an iPod or something from Sony).
Go to Baler and try out my luck in surfing.
Get that goddamned album released.
Learn how to cleanly sweep, tap, and divebomb with my guitar.
Go to Tagaytay again.
Be better at my relationship.
Relax.

Shotgun Thoughts

2011-09-11T09:25:00.000-07:00

- Read "Who Moved My Cheese?" by Spencer Johnson. Using a simple narrative about rats and cheese, the book talks about keeping a close eye on the possible changes that may take place. It's best to prepare for the worst in life to move on and enjoy success once again.

After reading the book, I felt the proverbial nail hammered in my thick skull. This year for me has been about change and I need to adjust much quicker to the ebb and flow of time. Since applying much of the concepts presented in the book, I think my life has gotten much more organized. 2011 can be salvaged, after all.

- I've been in the fix of making a quick buck recently. Looking at the available ways, most of the ones I saw involve direct sales, which is potentially a big problem to me. Normally, talking to people and encouraging them to buy a product they don't need is not my cup of tea. But age and experience made me change my perspective towards things. I don't have to like what I'm doing, but I will probably have to do it anyway. As the saying goes, necessity is a bitch.

- Finding a job is like finding a partner. Will it provide me long-term happiness? Does it offer a reasonable compensation package? Do I like the people working there? So many questions, so little time. Five months in, and I'm still having a blast at my work. So, is this the one? Time will tell.

- This past Friday, jeep fare from office to home has gone up from 20 to 21 pesos. Not good.

- Four instant noodles in a day is bad for your health, but good for your pocket.

Righting

2011-08-29T08:31:00.000-07:00

Rene O. Villanueva, God bless his soul, is far from being one of my favorite teachers in college, but he is one of the most memorable. He was, for the lack of a better word, a highly interesting character who has little respect for public opinion, especially of our college block. He hated our class because he thought we were some of the dumbest Philosophy students he has ever met, although my money's on the fact that our class was held at 7:30 in the morning, which contributed much to his dour mood.

I have personally been on the receiving end of his barbs during a graded discussion when we were asked to read a children's book in front of the class - something that I did sloppily while chewing on a bubblegum throughout the duration of the presentation, I may add. My stupid ass deserved the earful, and it has made a fun anecdote to our class, even nine years past.

Another favorite Villanueva moment of mine was when he correlated the trend of wearing baggy pants to the elephantine size of the wearer's testicles. Snarky bastard.

But nothing compares to the validation of getting a relatively high score from him for a story I wrote as part of the course requirement. My half-assed fiction started out as a joke - the original plot was that there was no plot - but as I wrote more words to it, the story developed into something more poignant than I could ever imagine. A little bit amateurish in expression and communication of thought, yes, but the overall message is striking. Up to this day, this is my Whistler's Mother, Mona Lisa and The Scream combined, and perhaps the sole reason why I continue to write up to this day.

For all my boasting and self-fellating, I've decided to post the story here since I lost my soft copy years ago. Does it suck? Do YOU suck? You be the judge.

Sa Dilim

Yes! Makikita ko na sila ulit! Matagal-tagal ko na rin silang hindi nakita. Sa Brick Road sa may Sta. Lucia East Grand Mall ko huling nakita ang bandang Delubyo. Napakagaling talaga nila! As in, sobra! Ang galing ng tunog nila! Saksakan ng husay ang gitarista nila, mararamdaman mo na parang may pinapatay na tao sa bawat pagtugtog ng nota. Hayop talaga and drummer nila, ang bilis humamoas ng drumkit niya, parang makina na hindi napapagod! Yung bassist naman nila, nakakagago pag tumugtog, ang bilis ng kamay at nakakaaliw kapag nagsosolo siya sa kanyang bass guitar. Yung kumakanta, haha, sobrang astig! Mukhang papatay ng tao! Isinisigaw nya ang kanyang poot at galit sa kupal nating gobyerno at mga walang kwentang institusyon! Pero di bale, sa tingin ko ay magugustuhan mo pa rin ang Delubyo. Da best!

Tara! Kanina pa kita inaabangan sa harapan ng bahay nyo! Wow, astig ng porma mo ah! Handa ka na ba? O bilisan mo at dalhin mo na ang mga ticket natin! Ss, baka naman makalimutan mo pa yan! Hnidi tayo makakapasok kapag wala yan, haha! Kuha mo na? Tara na! Oy teka, may dala ka bang extra na damit na pampapalit mamaya? May dala ka bang tubig? Pera, meron? Okay, ayos na pala. Sakay ka sa harap.

Eto, pakinggan mo yung kanta nilang "Sa Dilim." Hayop intro nyan, akala mo tahimik yhung buong kanta, pero -- BAM! PArang isang malakas na suntok ang sumalubong sa iyong tenga! Haha! Aliw talaga yung tunog! Nakakahigh! Nasubukan mo na bang magdrugs? Subukan mo, gagaan ang pakiramdam mo. Tapos pakinggan mo pa yung Delubyo, ayos ka na nun, Uy uy eto na yung paborito kong parte ng kanta -- JAN-JAN-JAN-JAN-JAN-AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! DAN-DAN-DAN-DAN-DAN-DAN -- PA-TAWARIN-MO-AKO-SA-DILIM!!!!!!!!!! Haha da best!

Woohoo! Uy bat ang asim ng mukha mo? Gutom ka ba? Eto, may brownies galing skul kanina. Masarap yan. DELUBYO!

Ei nandito na tayo. Pucha, ang liit naman ng lugar! Teka, parada muna natin yung kotse.

Kailangan natin iwan yung mga importanteng gamit natin dito sa loob ng kotse. Baka mapagtripan tayo ng mga gago sa loob. Lagi mo akong sundan sa loob! Marami mga drogistang gago! Sabihin mo lang kung may nanggago sa yo, uupakan ko! Inom ka na muna ng maraming tubig sa jug mo bago tayo umalis. Baka uhawin ka habang nagwawala tayo mamaya, hahaha! Ok na? Tara na. Baka tumutugtog na ang Delubyo!

Shet ang daming tao na nakasaksak sa entrance. Mga Pilipino nga naman, walang talaga disiplina. Hawakan mo lang ang braso ko. Sisingit tayo papasok sa mga tao na ito. Uy tignan mo, ang laki ng mga braso ng mga bouncers. Astig hehe. Oy! Walang tulakan sa likod! Mahiya naman kayo sa mga tao sa harap! Please lang! Leche talaga itong mga jologs. Nakakagago. Ok ka lang dyan sa likod? Trangina, ang sikip. Aray! Ano ba, pare?! Wala namang tulakan! Oy! Aray! Ano ba!? Bosing, papasok kami! May mga ticket kami. Anong mamaya? Shet! Sino na tumutugtog? Tapos na ba ang Delubyo? Tangina! Tara na nga! Ayaw ako kausapin ng kumag. Alis muna tayo dito! Bwiset! Balik tayo sa kotse.

Haaaay naku. Bwiset. Hindi tayo makapasok. Hintayin na lang nating magsialisan yung mga iba run, magsasawa rin yung mga kupal na iyon. Pero, nakita mo yung mga bouncers kanina? Hayop talaga, nakakatawa! Galit na galit sila kanina sa mga jologs na tumutulak galing likod! Haha! May nagpaputok pa ng baril para pigilin yung mga nanggugulo. Layuan sila kaagad? Kita mo? Kita mo rin ba yung isang babae dun na umiiyak sa tabi? Grabe, takot na takot yata eh. Parang ngayon lang nakakita ng ganitong klaseng gulo sa buong buhay niya. Kawawa naman siya, hahaha!

Oo nga pala, tawagan ko lang si erpat. Status report. Excuse me lang ha? Hmmm..... Hello, Dad? Nandito na po kami sa Kampo. Ang liit po ng lugar! Grabe pa nga kanina Dad, nagkagulo sa entrance ng Kampo, nagkainitan! May pulis na nagpaputok ng barili! Grabe! Ano po? Hindi, ok lang kami. Wala na po ata yung gulo. Ok... Opo, sige po. Hindi, ok lang kami. Mamaya na lang po kami uuwi. Ok, aagahan namin. Ok bye.

Shet, bat ko sinabi?! Mali! Mali! Dumulas lang sa dila! Shet! Dapat hindi ko sinabi yung gulo! Shet! Hay naku, pinagsabihan tuloy ako sa telepono. Bahala na, leche. Tara na, baka wala na gaanong mga tao sa entrance.

Bwiset, andami pa ring gma tao! Walanghiya, papasok na tayo! Sisingit na lang ako sa mga bouncers. Kapit ka ng mabuti sa braso ko. Manghawi ka ng katawan, kung kelangan talaga! Papasok na tayo! Tabi! Putang ina mo rin! Boss may -- araw, ano ba?!

Pasensya na, natagalan ako! Leche naman kasi yung mga jologs dun sa pila. Sinisingitan ako! Tangina hindi na lang ako umimik, andaminila. Wala na silang mga tickets, nakalibre pa ng beer! Oinapasok na lang sila siguro ng mga lecheng bouncers na yan! Tangina sayang lang yung P200 na ginastos natin! PAti ba naman sa concert, may politika pa rin? Shet. Di bale. Eto na Red Horse m. Alam kong hindi ka umiinom ng beer, pero tikman mo ito Masarap yan, iba ang tama haha!

Nauuhaw na ako! Ahhhh tubig! Walang tubig! Ang init talaga dito! Shet! Ang tagal naman ng Delubyo! Mag-aalas-dose na! Pagod na rin ako! Kakaiba tsong, napapagod na ako sa kauupo lang dito sa bar! Haha! Ang init-init kasi! Nadidihydrate na ako!

Grabe, tignan mo yung mga tao! Ang gulo, haha! Basa pa yung sahig dahil sa beer. Delikado yan, baka madulas yung mga naguguluhan sa harapan! O, bat tumigil yung mga tumutugtog?! O, sino naman ito!? Bwiset naman tong host na ito, paingles-ingles pa, magtagalog ka na lang, Barok!

Oi! Sumunod na lang kayo sa sinasabi niya, baba na sa speakers! Puta pare-pareho lang naman tayong naghihirap dito sa lecheng lugar na ito! Sige na, baba na kayo sa stage! Hindi naman kayo tutugtog! Tangina talaga, mga Pilipino, walang disiplina!

Ano ba problem mo? Kanina ka pa tahimik dyan at hindi ngumingiti dyan ah. May problema ba? Nanay mo? Diba nagkasakit siyang noong Agosto? Anong nangyari? Ulol. Ba't hindi mo sinabi sa akin kaagad, para alam ko na rin? Kaya ka pala tahimik. Sorry. Sorry talaga, kanina pa naman ako dada nang dada dito. Nakakahiya. Papano na yan? Pupunta kayo dun? Bukas? Sa Amerika? Kelan balik nyo? Ano? Ba't...ganon?

Hindi ka maintindihan... Ba't hindi mo sinabi sa akin kaagad? May problema ba sa ating dalaawa? Ok na tayo, diba? May ginawa ba ako? Alam ko, may pagkakupal din akong tao, pero...

Ok lang yan, basta gawin mo ang nakakabuti para sa yo.

Gusto mo pumunta sa ibang lugar ngayon? Sobrang init na talaga dito. Hindi ko na kaya ang init. Hayaan mo na ang Delubyo. Wag na lang natin silang hintayin. Saka ko na lang sila papanoorin, baka sa susunod na taon na lang. Ok lang ako. Haha, sobra ka naman, parang hindi na tayo magkikita. Tara na nga sa kotse.

Tignan mo ito, kung kailan tayo papaalis, saka naman nawala ang mga tao sa entrance. Bwiset, parang conspiracy, haha. San mo gusto kumain? Sa Domino's? Tara, puntahan natin. Palit lang ako ng damit.

Anong order mo? Libre na kita, huling gabi mo na naman dito sa Pilipinas. Nasiyahan ka ba sa concert na pinuntahan natin? Hindi? Ako rin. Haha.

Sarap. Nakakapaso ang cheese sa dila.

Tara na.

Pagpasensyahan mo lang muna ang katahimikan ko. I want to embrace the silence, ika nga. Haha, baduy ko.

First-Half Failure

2011-07-17T22:35:00.000-07:00

2011 was supposed to be a turning-in-a-new-leaf phase for me. Somehow, I'm still stuck in the gutter.

It all started with my plan to post at least two blog entries a week at the beginning of the year. The idea is to not only track down the things that are happening in my life, but also help improve my writing, which has taken a hit after years of not writing for the Tumbong. I also tried my hand, for the nth time, on setting a weekly schedule for me to follow. I wrote the things I had to do for the week on a spiral notebook and crossed them out if I'm done with them. Throughout the first few months of the year, I think I could change my old ways - unkempt, purposeless, uninspired and simply doggone tired of disappointment. I actually woke up every morning with a sense of urgency that was lacking in the previous years. My work rate improved, relationships were at an all-time high, and I was actually reading books in preparation for the next discussion at school. For the first time in quite a while, things were looking up.

But then, one of my teachers called my attention regarding my absences exceeding the maximum (a phantom absence that I honestly cannot remember), I found out that the paper I submitted for school during the first semester needs to be rewritten, and I had to delay writing a 30-page final paper for one of my classes. Everything else went to shit from here. The blogging became more infrequent and planning every week became a chore. (And why wouldn't it be, especially if every day changes at the last minute?)

I lost track of it all. I reverted back to my old, undying habits of poor sleeping and procrastinating on my tasks. I wake up everyday no longer with optimism, but with the feeling that something will undoubtedly go wrong. And I again have to adjust to the changes, to tweak my plan until the original has been erased in place of this new plan that puts on hold everything I want to achieve not just for me, but for the people I love. It's sickening.

And talking about something else going wrong, it did. June 5. It's perhaps the single reason why I stopped blogging in the meantime. I still refuse to talk about it because of how it represents me, aside from the fact that it's a sensitive issue that may raise the ire of people. However, I'm over with what happened and the consequences I have to live with as a result of my actions. Somehow, it was a sign to show that I was leading down the misguided path. And for something so gruesome and terrifying to have happened on that day was my light at the end of the tunnel. There's still hope, as they say.

To wash off the guilt, I worked late hours and did advance work for the group. The office has become my sanctuary of sorts; nobody gives a rat's ass about my personal life and that's fine. I like the anonymity that an office space creates because everything's about business. You can talk about your problems to people willing to listen, but that can only be done during breaks. At work, I rarely take any breaks due to the piling of work, which explains why I have no time to process the things that have happened in my life so far and why I feel so empty and devoid of empathy. What I feel is shame and only way that I know how to redeem myself and get rid of this foul feeling, if not dampen it, is to just work long hours and feel useful. Is that bad or good? Am I avoiding the issue instead of confronting it? Probably both. But it won't matter much in the end.

From the layers of issues that I have to deal with, including the ones not mentioned on this post, 2011 is looking to be a stinker. Sure, there were highlights and gems worth taking note by looking at my previous posts for this year. However, a really smart guy once said that people will be remembered best not by the success they had, but how they were able to overcome adversity and obstacles to get their life back on track. Somehow, my feet got stuck in a bear trap and I can't get out of it.

I really need to finish what I started. Try to write new blog entries and set a schedule every week, regardless of how palpable and temporal both really are. I really do stupid by saying this since I've been mentioning it every since the year started. But I need purpose, damn it!

This is going to be harder than I thought.

Band Matters

2011-05-29T05:09:00.000-07:00

For the past five years, I have had the privilege to fulfill a childhood dream of becoming a lead/rhythm guitarist for a heavy metal band. It all started at an unfortunate band practice in 2005, as my guitarist friend and I were looking to form a group covering Iron Maiden and Sepultura classics. The band came full circle when one of the drummers we've jammed with years before brought along his friend who was the vocalist of their previous band.

We all gathered and talked about jamming some of their songs until eventually, we shifted from their sludge metal sound to a more thrash, speed metal direction. It was at this point that everything fell into place. We composed a couple of songs (basically aping the twin-guitar melodies and tremolo picking that mid '90s Swedish metal was heralding) and practiced them for a month before getting booked to nearby gigs here and there to fill out the slots. The first gig we played was at Purple Haze, Marikina and we performed at 3:30am in the morning while my entire family was there waiting for us to perform. Despite the hazy hour, the crowd seemed to have enjoyed the set, probably because they were blown away by the screams and growls of a petite, female vocalist. It was a memorable gig that foreshadowed the things to come.

Along the way, we finally had a bassist on board, who was a very proficient lead guitarist in the mold of Zakk Wylde and Tony Iommi and was part of the one of the most underrated metal bands in the '90s . Not to mention, he had an impressive collection of contacts to different event organizers that landed us more gigs we could possibly ever dreamed of.

The first couple of years playing in a band is one of the most rewarding experiences that I have undergone as a music lover. Although there is nothing more fulfilling that listening to Marty Friedman bust out his chops on "Tornado of Souls" or scouring the Internet using our 56.6kbps modem for obscure bands like Von, Anal Cunt, Fudge Tunnel, Fuck I'm Dead, Pig Destroyer, and others that have turned my world upside down, the experience of talking to other bands and receiving compliments from people who are equally passionate in the art encompasses everything that I have ever felt.

This is what made me want to be a part of a band in the first place. It's not about getting drunk and acting like an asshole during gigs. Performing music is the residual effect of the love I have for the art, which has helped me overcome obstacles and problems in my life. People perceive these metal bands as noise or cacophony, but they do not have any idea how much it has helped me get through some of the depressing stages in my life. And I want to share it to everybody by making, or at least trying to make good music that strives to make people want to pick up an instrument and continue the legacy of music, not just as an aural experiment, but as a life-changing experience.

So why all this teary-eyed musing? Because after years of playing and performing with the band at different bars and regions in the country, I've undergone a serious loss of passion for the band. I've felt it in 2009, where different priorities and expectation have forced me to stop practicing with my guitar for a while. Once you start seeing the big picture after you graduate from college, get a job, and start saving money for your future family, suddenly the band immediately takes a back seat. Because of said responsibilities, I go into gigs late and without turning my guitar or warming up my fingers, which must have caused some of the terrible and most ear-splitting gigs we've had every since we formed. I do feel guilty about it, but even if I do practice and recall some of the songs days prior to our next gig, my other responsibilities overwhelm me and forces me to drop the guitar once again.

What made my loss of passion to music even harder is the fact that some of the other members are doing the same. Back when we started, I wouldn't imagine them to have children at such an early age and constantly moving jobs to land a work with a high-paying salary. Although their shift of focus nowadaystowards family is understandable, it leaves the band with little functioning parts. I try to chip in and offer insight and some new riffs and material once in a while, but I know I can do better. Worst part of it is that I can't give them that satisfaction.

Let it be known that I'm not planning to quit the band to take care of my own business. Oh, hell no. I've poured my sweat out, literally (the numerous sweat spots on the stage where I stood during the gig would be proof), and have been constantly embarrassed on stage a couple of times now. I have played gigs with a broken string, out-of-tune guitar, bad amplifier and I'm still standing.

Much of my memories regarding our band is filled with bane and frustration, but overall, it's an old-fashioned romance of kindred spirits I wouldn't trade for anything in the world. I wouldn't have been able to perform in front of thousands of people during the 2006 Muziklaban Grand Finals and rubbed shoulders with a lot of popular heavy acts in the country if I wasn't part of this band. Not that these events are pivotal in making me soldier on with the band, but there is so much that has happened through the years that is difficult to leave behind. Being part of a band has become an indelible part of my identity, even though I don't flaunt it like other people do, and to leave is to turn not only the page, but only in a new leaf. That's not part of my plan, though. Despite my appearance and slightly conservative lifestyle, I still have that metal spirit that burns in me and I want to see it bear fruit with our band.

It's not over.

Fashionably Fucked

2011-05-28T05:41:00.000-07:00

Slave to the Grindhouse

2011-05-10T03:18:00.000-07:00

Enough with the dreariness for now and let me talk about something not depressing and esoteric for once. As I have written a couple of weeks back, I celebrated a milestone when I shifted jobs, from a glorified link monkey to an actual writer/editor. I have nothing bad to say regarding my previous work, as I learned a lot about SEO during my time with the company. However, after a year with the company, I got stuck doing the same thing over and over. My professional and personal growth stopped, so I have to transfer from this sinking ship before I become consumed by the sea of mediocrity. Maybe I'm just not up to snuff with organic link building or SEO in general, although my interest with said industry remains at a high.

But I do feel better when I write. There's something peaceful and beautiful in the solitude of writing. It makes me feel in control of everything. My words don't tell me what I did wrong or the mistakes I've made (unless my boss says so). I create my own world where I flail my strangeness and nobody gets hurt, nobody cares because no one's there. Simply put, I'm glad my back to my comfort zone.

But why did I leave in the first place? Writing didn't provide the most professional growth a couple of years ago when opportunities were limited to adult copywriting and article writing, both of which I did in stride. But enjoying my time writing about shemales and armoire cabinets for the 394205 made me realize that things aren't going to get better from here. So like my most recent job outing, I got rid of pornography and keyword variations of "wood armoire cabinets" from my vernacular and went on board as a technical writer for this impressive-looking company. However, there's really nothing impressive about a company that doesn't really have any writing involved. Apparently, I'm a "course developer." Not really bad by any stretch because I get to play around with Adobe Captivate and create instructional videos. Except there's one thing: that's not what I applied for. Off I go again.

Looking back at my employment record, I never lasted more than two years with a company. It's sort of sad because, from the moment I was introduced to the team of my latest job, I felt old, literally. Most of my co-workers, if not all, are two years my junior. Worse, some of them are working with a better job post than I am. I'm not being bitter about my situation -- which puts me in the best possible position at the moment -- but staying at one work and breeding longevity gets people to places. Simply put, my impatience with life proved costly, in addition to poor choices along the way.

That, and I really need to get my shit on track. Really. I've been wallowing in the mess that I've created and it's time to emerge from the pool of suck.

R.I.P. to Quirkiness

2011-05-03T02:32:00.000-07:00

I miss the quirkiness. Everything's just one big mass of reality.

The Post-Fallout

2011-04-12T12:24:00.000-07:00

March sucked ass. A month that was supposed to be highlighted by my latest job transfer that would trigger a pleasant turn of events was overshadowed by my incompetence on other aspects of my life. Maybe it's the fact that I find myself once again adapting to an office-based work schedule that prevents me from spreading out work throughout the course of the day like my previous home-based job but I'm at wit's end and experiencing some kind of mental block that prevented me from finishing my paper on time.

I feel embarrassed. I held the teacher who I was supposed to submit my paper to early this week in high regard, only to come up short and probably disrespect her in the process. I still have a chance to redeem myself and submit the paper within the week, but working through my disgust and contempt towards myself would probably delay the process even further. May God save me and my bastard ways.

Restless - a word that I keep playing out with my body a couple of days already. Apparently, making strange facial expressions, walking around aimlessly, and facepalming myself repeatedly before going to sleep is not going to make matters better for me.

Jesus. This is turning out to be a pretty uncomfortably incoherent rambling. Better make myself clearer now.

I recently am having problems with confusing images from the particle world. I've been seeing a half-empty cup on a tall glass of water. I refuse to see the forest in the trees. As a result, my blindness forces me to wrestle with my emotions and preventing me from moving on. Embracing my situation and do something about it has always been the way to go. I had been treading the right path until recently, when things just got too heavy to bear.

The more I talk about this, the more I want to pin down my failures on the fact that I stuff a long, hard turd down my throat and pretend that it's the tastiest bratwurst I've ever had (no homo). Weeks ago, I just learned of the reason why I got an INC on my previous class last year. Upon meeting up with the teacher, she tossed the paper I submitted last year on her table with green markings all over the pages. I took it home and tried to browse it, but the vomit color of her words splattered on the paper made me want to puke myself. After this, I really wasn't the same then. I got easily pissed off about the simplest things and just coasted through a lot of stuff going through with my life. Granted, it is not the best way to deal with failure, but I need to express my displeasure. I just didn't know how to channel it in a positive way, which left some of that bad juju fester in my mind and affect my decisions. If only my brain could take a dump...

I should try and get back up. I should take a page from broken-down, bloodied, and stubborn professional wrestlers - their brave stupidity (or stupid bravery) has allowed them to entertain the fans and carve a legacy for themselves despite risking their bodies and well-being in the long term. My life's not for me, but it's for the people who I care for. This goes without saying, but I'll say it anyway (I love the sheer absurdity of this cliché) , that I will win in the end, haters!

There. I feel better.

Maddening March

2011-03-21T02:09:00.000-07:00

I don't have basketball fever, not until the NBA Playoffs kick in (Go Magic!), but March is the time of the year when the buck has to stop, everything must go, I have to place my foot down, and every terrible clichés found in the Book of Terrible Clichés. Just as the NCAA Basketball is sure to provide television viewers with sad endings, great upsets, and awesome finishes, March is when I have to rush and submit final papers in school along with my obsessive compulsiveness to work, my stress level is at an all-time high, and, for some strange reason, lots of personal shit gets unfurled under the blanket. Might not make for great television, but the drama and tension-filled days leading up to the deadlines of my respective papers will surely provide action-packed moments until the final buzzer.

I'm not the most level-headed person in the planet, but I do try my darnedest to keep my insanity in check. However, with emotions running high this time of the year, as well as the foreseeable sleepless nights that will surely put me in a dour mood, I won't be able to help but unleash some of my badness from time to time. Thus, consider this as my advanced apology if you ever get caught in my emotional and psychological crosshairs. Didn't mean to pour out my anger or irrational behavior towards you, as it is all circumstantial and perchance. Let's still be friends, m'kay?

Since I've learned to take things slower and easier for me this time around, I put the reading materials for my papers away for the time being, and instead spent time cleaning up my room, which I last cleaned roughly a year ago. After years of procrastination, I finally bought a big plastic crate where I will transfer my undergraduate stuff from an old, dusty cardboard boxes. Well, I already have transfered it, and it left me feeling a little bit bittersweet.

I always have negative things to say about school, whether it was from my college years or my current graduate studies, but it was for the wrong reasons. After browsing through some of my notes, I was not because of the mediocre grades I got on all of them, nor was it the sufferance towards my ennui during the final year as an undergraduate. But rather, I decided to be miserable. I could have been happy, spent more time with my friends, drank as much grub as possible, and took things less seriously, but instead, I did the exact opposite. I abstained from the pleasures of my youth, which led me to being this reclusive, ingratiated, misunderstood twat that was enclosed with his own world, his own problems. Never did he realize that if he only tried to break free from the four walls that enclosed him, he would uncover the mortifying truth, that he was perfectly fine and that he's an idiot for being so overtly melodramatic.

Goddamnit. if only I had the ability to time travel with the presupposition that it won't cause a butterfly effect, then I'd slap the 2005 version of me silly.

Catching Up With the Actual Tide

2011-03-14T13:23:00.000-07:00

Image from www.nydailynews.com

The whole world picked up the news regarding the earthquake and tsunami disasters in Japan this past week. Even I, who was isolated behind the four mighty walls of the academe from reality while sipping coffee and reading Umberto Eco, caught up with the information via text message from girlfriend. Then, during class, after talking about the requirements to be submitted before the end of the month, we cannot help but mull over the horrifying details of the incident: an 8.9 earthquake magnitude, followed by a tsunami waved that reached as high as 24 feet, and around 60 confirmed deaths, with 200 people missing (at that time).

Once the class commenced and knowing that there's still time to kill before the color coding ban is lifted, I immediately visited a computer shop in the campus to read more on the Internet about the earthquake and tsunami that struck Japan. Better yet, I viewed the screaming video reports from news sites that cover the events as they happen.

There's a disgusting beauty that is revealed to you after seeing tragedy with your own eyes; a wave of dark liquid mush with an estimated height of three feet containing debris of building and houses engulfing a bountiful farm area, a violent flood slamming onto the supports holding the highway, not knowing whether the cars driving through that road would meet their end, gasping for air while being carried by the rushing water toward certain doom.

It's sickening, devastating, and terrifying all at once while watching the videos, drawing back these feelings from the Ondoy experience that struck our cities from two years past. However, at the same time, there's an unsaid sublimity within the derangement in the events that took place, one that reveals a hint of bloom amidst this hot, stupid mess that the victims are in.

These powerful portraits in life serve as a reminder that nothing is sacred and that everything one has achieved and built upon throughout the years can be washed away in a matter of seconds. Everything unfolds the way it should be towards a determined end that satisfies the mean, and all of this is done with a reason. Simply put, there's something bigger working beyond the machinations of this world, beyond our wildest imaginations. Some call him God. The Greek tradition refers to this as the Prime Mover. But whatever 'It' is, the message sent is undeniably loud and clear.

(See what I did there? I mentioned God and alluded to the concept of predetermined existence in The Magical Tumbong. Furthermore, I just mentioned 'God' and 'tumbong' in the same sentence. What the hell is happening in this world?!)

Indeed, these past events that took place in Japan is indeed horrible and I refuse to draw something positive out of the situation, as if there's a moral to be learned. Let the victims grieve their losses and breathe from the tragedy that has suffocated them. However, if there is something to be said - the most important, in fact - it will never be.

Catching Up With The Tide

2011-03-11T09:16:00.000-08:00

I feel guilty for not being able to update my blog as I would have wanted to. However, it was necessity that prevented me from making my usual 2-posts-a-week updates of what's down with me. Being stricken by sickness, in addition to the piling tasks of my academic studies, and a healthy dose of laziness that unfortunately kicked in during these past few weeks have stunted my fabulously prolific - albeit subpar, content-wise - blogging.

With regard to being sick, it was only a matter of time before my body caught up me. Apparently, charging through life at breakneck speed with a can-do-everything candor and the delusion that I have tiger's blood has left me bedridden for days. It's a tough pill to swallow, having your plans derailed by a measly flu and compromising you from your commitments. With that said, I took a different approach with how I work things out in order to prevent from contracting the shivers. So far, taking it easy on my work while appearing to focus on my studies is working out fine, at least, for now.

Spatial Someone

February was a stinky month for me, but I was able to come up smelling roses at the last minute when I celebrated my third anniversary with girlfriend. Since there was no 29 for February of this year, I had to compensate by spending the anniversary on the last day of February and the first of March.

My first gift was a big-ass scrapbook, which is perhaps the manliest thing you could give to your loved one. I let my unbridled creativity loose during the hours working on that darned beauty of a thing, but something humorous happened during the artistic process. While extending my back to paste glittery stuff for my scrapbook, I felt a sharp pain on my lower back for a split second, the kind of pain that haunts people in their sleep, and let out a squeamish scream that would make Boy George proud. Imagine a 36-storey building knocked down when hundreds of trucks ran through the first floor. Now, replace the building with a spinal cord and the trucks with a phantom hand that triggered the pain. I think that's what happens when your back "gives out" or something.

So it's official: I'm old. Again. But that's not what irks me. It's the fact that my back gave out the first time not by playing sports, defending myself against crooks, or playing scrabble at a tender age of 42. Noooooo. It had to be this pretty image.

The next evening, a simple celebration was in order: namely, a penthouse dinner at my sister's apartment, with Pochero that I helped cooked as our main course, followed by a hearty serving of fruit salad and a glass of sparkling grape juice. We capped the night off by watching Morning Glory starring Rachel McAdams, Harrison Ford, and Diane Keaton (fluffy film but great performances by the lead stars) back at her place.

Again, seems like an ordinary evening from a regular couple acknowledging their love for each other. It's not a weekend trip to a retreat house or a belly bursting buffet at a swanky restaurant, but I'd rather let the lasting relationship we have built throughout the years speak for itself. Now, I may not be much of a person, but I truly and definitely love her. Our relationship has been a life-changing experience that took me to hell and back to her arms. It was a blessed hellride of sorts, but this is no mere attraction rides - this is forever. And as with attraction rides, you never want them to stop. You'd want the loops, swerves, curves, flips, dips, turns, to go on and on and on until your brains blow out. I'd ride our love even without my seatbelt on and I will definitely spend eternity and beyond with her by my side.

EPIC

My absence from the blogosphere has prompted me to spend more time with people whom I haven't seen for quite a while due to conflicting schedules. My girlfriend and I have spent a number of occasions with this man, who I shall refer to as EPIC MAN, a former co-worker from previous companies. Our random encounters actually started off years ago when girlfriend and I saw Jennifer's Body at the cinemas and wanted to get rid of the acrid taste of the film that clung on our palette by spending a bottle or two with people from our phone book. Upon contacting our choice people to no avail, we were left with no choice but to contact EPIC MAN in hopes of helping us forget everything about Jennifer. After a couple of drinking rounds with Sir EPIC at Padi's Point in Cubao, the wee hours of the night actually turned out pretty well and ended on a positive note as we talked how we settled with him after numerous people turned us down for a drink, thus prompting my girlfriend and I to call him "second choice" guy, among other silliness.

Not until another year and a half that we met again. However, this time, no movies were to be extolled from our memories - just songs to be sung at a trashy yet convenient videoke bar (in Cubao, no less) after drinking our souls off at this ridonkulous bar at Pioneer called Central. (Sidenote: chocolate + vodka = Soco = Charlie Sheen = Winning.) Of course, known for his amazing singing prowess, EPIC MAN blasted through the greatest of great hits, all while taking a video of himself in his heartwarming, gut-wrenching, and stomach-churning rendition of Aerosmith's Amazing.

So what of Lord EPIC? Let this serve as a tribute for all his accomplishments: for his courage in facing off difficult song choices at videoke bars, travelling the face of the earth to beckon the call of alcohol, and for delivering a smashing good time without the sex and drugs. Definitely NOT the sex. Cheers!

An Ass Crack in the Sky

2011-02-21T10:09:00.000-08:00

Before I begin my posts that's basically a carbon copy of my previous, self-defecating, and ingratiating rants, I'd like to begin to talk about how awesome Black Swan was. I saw the film a couple of weeks ago with girlfriend and was just waiting an opportune time to review it in this blog.

Holy hell, did this movie deliver! Darren Aronofsky comes up with some of the most arresting stuff seen in cinema, both stylistically and essentially, and he was able to conjure beautifully haunting moments that leave you breathless. I, for one, am not too sure of the Kafkaesque elements that were plastered throughout the course of the film, but I generally dug the whole psychological violence that laid the blueprint for the stunning finish, or at least that's the impression I got from watching the film.

What separates Mr. Aronofsky to others in terms of craft is not only the dedication to detail and strength of storytelling from beginning to end, but it is only how he leaves the door open for critical study of his work, whether it be on an academic setting or just small talk at the office water cooler. Really, if you think you got Requiem for a Dream or have understood the beautiful sadness of The Wrestler (for which I also wrote a substantial review on my previous blog), then you're sadly mistaken. Sure, you may have glimpse portions of its beauty and sublimity, but as a whole? Judging from the film's transcendence from its impetuous climax, which left me at the throes of speculation and wonder as to the number of the truck that just hit my senses at full speed, it's safe to say that the consumption and regurgitation of Black Swan as an entirety, along with timeless works of art, is a monumental impossibility. I applaud you, sir.

I have never met a person who didn't like Natalie Portman. Even more surprising is that I never have heard a person who lusts over her physical beauty, like the way boys whack off their dicks at every Megan Fox sighting or awkward teenage girls offer their fannies to Justin Bieber. With Ms. Portman, an unequivocal number of people like her, have a crush on her, found her adorably sensational, or all of the above. (Up to this very day, I, for one, am guilty on all accounts).

Black Swan only amplifies the love for Ms. Portman as her charged performance, in particular, the transformation from a fragile white swan to the dangerous and seductive black, was the culmination of the promise that she hinted in Anywhere But Here, which I consider her finest thespian outing until her flawless achievement with Black Swan usurped this idea. Also, despite the overt sexuality of Black Swan, I feel that her risqué moments in the film did not change my views towards Ms. Portman as an untouchable, otherworldly woman impervious to sexual fantasies. This is a good thing, I think, unless my penis betrays me.

Although I would not recommend Black Swan to all, I sincerely believe that any discerning viewer out there, regardless of how casual you may appear to be, after watching the film, will undress is details into its bare essentials in their memories again and again. By then, everybody will have deemed it worthy of their time.

Which brings to me, and perhaps the start of this entry's downward spiral to crapdom.

February, regardless of how much I try to make it a good month, always manages to find a way to screw me, both physically and mentally. Not to get into the dreadful specifics of my life, but nothing's going according to plan. All the pep talk I wrote on previous entries of this blog for the purpose of reminding me to stick to my goals for this year and never letting them go are merely words emptied by my inability to actually substantiate them into reality.

A couple of years ago, especially after college graduation, I was having a blast, a renaissance of sorts, because I got to finally get free from the prison of academic institution and into the world of office hierarchies and jolly jeeps. And after years of searching with the aid of people who I met in my professional career, I subconsciously have finally found who I really am and what my role is in this world.

Right now, however, everything's a hot goddamn mess. The lines between self and other is blurred as I found myself treading the Other side, pretending to be something else, which I'm really not. But because of repetition and pigheadedness, I may have become something that I didn't bargained for before. I am fully aware that there is a great part of me that is conscious of my uneventful transformation, but just like the greatness of Black Swan, destiny just sweep you off your feet as you land on the back of your head, paralyzing you until blood trickles from your neck and into the pavement. You immediately lose your life, your joie de vivre. Until I do something about this, I'm about to.

But why? I'm tired, man. I want to take a breather, just sit, enjoy the company of loved ones, and not worry about studying for school, reaching ideal works in my work at home, and other things I'd rather not reveal here. It's a pain, I tell you.

To end this entry, I'll play Dr. Phil here and give you golden nuggets of advice that you should take with you in your life moving forward. First, NEVER take MA classes unless you're fucking sure what you want to get out from it. I assumed I knew, and right now, I'm miserable. Second, learn how to divide your personal from your professional life if you're working from home. 'Nuff said.

BLEED IN THE EAAAAAAAAR!!!!!

A Whole Lot of Nothing

2011-02-16T07:03:00.000-08:00

It always happens to me, immersing myself to a lot of things, fending off sleep just to get things done from my to-do list, only to find myself waking up at noon the next day like an aftermath of a drink or two gone wrong, while my nephew lingers on from her cribby throne (or throne-y crib, whatever fancies your fanny). What makes this situation worse is struggling to recall the specifics of what took place these past few days. I vaguely remember the structure of my cold, calculated daze, but the warmth of it escapes me.

Such is the bane of trying to go ubermensch on everything and everyday, starting at the beginning of the year. With so much in your mind, you start to forget things, get distracted by short-term goals, experience physical and mental difficulties, and such. Interestingly enough, it is exactly what I signed up for, so for me to whine and bitch about my predicament is like complaining why the earth is round.

Unlike the mythology of the primordial Titan named Atlas, I was not fooled to carry such a huge task paramount to my life's nuisance. Neither am I a fucking Titan, so that's two strikes for me. I chose the beauty of the madness and thus must bear the consequences of its fruit. The question now is for how long my body can take up the weight before my weak body gets crushed by hubris.

Let me die by trying, please?

Four Things I Learned in Star City

2011-02-09T10:07:00.000-08:00

1. Star City has no company website

For shame, Star City marketers. For shame!

Online presence has become much more valuable than ever, since more and more people are logging in to search for various information and services. I have never been to Star City before, which is why girlfriend and I planned to go there to do something different. Since we don't know squat about the amusement park, instinct told me to access the Internet and run a search on Star City to see whether it was open on that particular day or not (it was, from four in the afternoon to midnight), how much is the entrance fee, and so on. After minutes of deep searching, it turned out that dozens of info-sites, good and bad, have littered the online scene in hopes of filling the virtual crater left by the no-longer- existing company website.

Too bad, since there are lots of online marketing possibilities that Star City could indulge themselves in with the existence of a company website. Four words, Star City marketing team: Ads and banner placement! That and, of course, the all-valuable information that will allow them to connect with their consumer market.

2. Strange set-up (at least for a moment)

Walking past through the long-winded corridor jam-packed with vendors selling PhP50 female short, Spongebob pillows in different variations, and couple shirts, I was surprised that Star City looks too cramped for its own good. After walking around and looking for the good rides (to be found outside, which only occupied a quarter of the amusement park), all of the rides are to be found indoors.

It immediately reminded me of Worlds of Fun, a passable amusement and arcade center found in select commercial malls nationwide, and I'm not sure if it's a good or a bad thing. What I'm sure of, however, is that I expected Star City to be open-air and such, just like Enchanted Kingdom or Payanig sa Pasig (remember that one?). Nonetheless, at the end of the day, I didn't mind the design of the park after diverting my attention to the rides.

3. I miss the feeling of having my genitals get ripped off by the sheer velocity and speed of thrill rides

More than a decade ago, I hated thrill rides. The horror started when I rode Anchor's Away at Enchanted Kingdom. My sisters and uncle opted to sit at the very end of the 'ship' and I obliged, not knowing of the sheer horror that would await me minutes from now.

I honestly did not remember a lot during the ride, expect that I was pale as winter, my face painted the expression of the Apocalypse, especially during the peak of the swing, and the ride had to be stopped minutes early because my uncle was screaming to have the ride stopped.

Holy shit. My hands are sweating like a broken faucet as I am typing this suppressed experience of mine.

Anyway, I eventually got over the fear of thrill rides and understood the concept of having your life hang in the balance while cherishing the moment. An eventful visit at Six Flags in California cured me of this irrational disease, in particular Batman: The Ride, a themed attraction ride in which the seats are attached overhead, thus exposing the legs and feet of riders who dared try it. That was awesome, at least in 1998.

I can't remember having rode a thrill ride before visiting Star City but it definitely felt like eons ago as my heart pounded and feet sweat in anticipation of the Viking to start, which is similar to Anchors Away at Enchanted Kingdom, if I'm not mistaken. Once the Viking mounted its furious swinging, with my groin starting to feel like it's going to come off, from that point on, I felt at home.

4. Girlfriend now knows I scream like a girl

Girlfriend stayed put due to dizziness from the previous rides we've taken. And so, like a teenage Japanese schoolgirl, I boarded the Star Flyer, a smaller version of Batman: The Ride, as it blitzed through the loops and turns of the track in less than a minute, which was too short for its own good. After heading back to my woman, she asked why wasn't I screaming during the ride. I said I was screaming like hell and that it was an awesome, albeit short ride.

Still not feeling well, girlfriend let me ride the Zykloon Loop, the standard roller coaster ride of Star City, by myself. After the Zykloon has traversed the Loop and made this eager beaver happy, I headed to girlfriend who was sitting at the bench near the food stands. At that point, she was suppressing a laugh while confirming if the high pitched squeal of a prepubescent girl that she heard from the ride was mine. After proudly confirmed her worst fears, she simply nodded and said that she indeed heard me during the Star Flyer ride, who she originally taught was a little girl.

I still don't know why I'm proud of this fact.

Meursault in Motion

2011-02-06T14:19:00.000-08:00

I have been in a literary bind lately, having read novels both borne out of responsibility for class discussions and sheer interest. I was a fair reader years ago but, as expected, professional life almost seemed to have killed every ounce of passion that I have for the arts. Therefore, it was a breath of fresh air that I am able to restore the remnants of my fragmented appreciation for fiction, although I had to be forced to such daunting task. You have to at least give credit to required readings in school.

"The Stranger" by Camus, however, was not part of our reading list. My recollections with Camus can be traced back to my senior year in college when I was simply blown away by "The Plague," his crowning achievement, in my feeble opinion. What a monster of a book. It's like "The Stand" by Stephen King, only much, much better (Sorry, King fans). The uncompromising bleakness and deadness of the novel was also able to capture the purposelessness I was feeling for life at the time. Camus's straightforward prose and existential musings highly interested me back then, although it was only now that I followed up my literary sojourn with the French author. Better late than never, so they say.

I feel sympathy for Meursault, the novel's main protagonist. He simply allowed life to take control of his actions, which ultimately led him to his downfall, or rebirth, depending on which perspective you identify the most. To Meursault, nothing mattered, nothing made any difference. Nothing. Such is a cautionary tale as to what would happen if people put this certain loss of life at the pedestal.

It is easy to deny the gift of life; after all, death is certain, life is not. I don't want to die knowing that I did nothing, that there's this emptiness that may relegate me to a vacuous state, which have plagued the previous years of my existence. Not to get too cerebral or in-depth with this pretentious shit, but I need to find inspiration. Everyday is a battle, and sometimes I falter in my purpose, my agenda to survive. But there will always be beauty in all that we pursue. It may not be blatantly imposed in our actions, but it could be simmering in the background, like a wallflower hanging on the ground. I need to see these things, to remind me that all is good and that I keep treading the right path with my identity intact.

I saw "Love an Other Drugs" this past weekend.

Return of the Damned

2011-02-02T13:27:00.000-08:00

...of some sort.

In the middle of 2008, I decided to shut down Damned in Blue and created in its place this blog site that you are currently enduring to read in agony. Writing on the Tumbong is a turning-a-new-leaf moment for me, as the Damned carried a lot of baggage that I was able to unpack and shelved in their proper drawers from my past, so there was no reason to write on a blog that dwelt on memories already set in stone. Thus, from the ashes of the great deep emerged this shiny new asshole of a blog. Now, if you could only visualize the image of a huge, clenched asshole rising like a glorious phoenix, emblazoned with hope and redemption, or in this case, shit and giggles.

However, before I nailed the final coffin on the Damned during that time, I downloaded all the blog posts via the "Export Posts" option on the backend of the blog. The truth is, I can't erase them. It's like deleting the contact of your best friend, whom you've shared awesome things with in the past but is currently living at a distant place, from your e-mail and phone book.

Therefore, it was only a matter of time before I eventually dust off the old posts and publish them again, which I eventually did almost three years after.

I like comparing similars. I like putting Megadeth and Metallica side by side to see which band emerges on top after Mustaine fled to form a more technical and intricate take of music that he played with Hetfield and Co. back in the day ("Tornado of Souls". 'Nuff said). Same with my guitar playing compared to my band-mate's chops (he wins by a landslide, by the way). In relation to that, after recovering the Damned posts, I will now be able to compare Tumbong with my previous blog.

Turns out, after skimming through some of the posts, I deem myself as a better and more realized writer before than today. Maybe it had to do with the attractive web design of the blog or maybe because, as most poets would claim, depression and depravity fuels the mind to flights of artistic and creative fancy. But I just enjoyed reading the Damned. After having published this entry, I would come back to read them again and recall the things that happened in the past.

Let's face it: I think that, at some point in our lives, we have to turn back to the past and use it as a barometer on how far we've come to be. After all, the past is merely a present that happened moments ago, so it's not like we are totally removed from what we were eons ago. And as far as following the continuous progress towards fulfillment, the regression of my professional life continues to scald my flesh. I think I've covered this aspect on my previous post, but the revelation of the Damned may have deepened the wound inflicted by my own actions, or lack thereof.

Somehow, the urgency for life has sputtered and the drive slowed down to first gear. This isn't what I bargained for.Where's the swagger, man? Where's the fucking mojo in me that carried the I'm-bored-because-I'm-better-than-you mantra?

Goddamnit.

Goddamnit

2011-02-01T03:58:00.000-08:00

Goddamnit.

I have officially returned to my former weight when I was still a fat high school kid. All the hard work and determination of slimming down and shedding unnecessary fat in order to have reached the weight that I have successfully maintained for the past decade were all for naught. Granted, I'm not really fat in appearance, but those who have seen me for at least two year would definitely notice the heavy difference - nobody can hide 15 pounds of gained weight out the ass. Pumping irons may have saved me from a flabby reality, but still, gaining 15 pounds in two years is amazing for all the wrong reasons.

Goddamnit.

I blame the seat. I blame the personal computer. I blame the addiction of sorting through all that wonderful shit everybody finds on the Internet. Sigh. I know, I know. There's nobody to blame but myself. Had I been much more proactive physically, had I consume less cheeseburger in one sitting, blah blah. But let's face it, it's much more convenient and fun to have a scapegoat for all your shortcomings. It's one of the luxuries in life, so might as well make full use of it while I wallow in French fries and milkshake.

Goddamnit.

I have stopped preaching that change bullshit I've been mentioned during the start of the year. Not that I don't believe in it anymore, but it's probably time to be a little bit more meek about trumpeting my future unless I want my ego to take another hit into the deeper depths of disillusionment. Out of the handful of opportunities I have engage this past month, only one bit the hook, but I never pulled the line and sinker on this one for financial and practical reasons (although looking back at it now, I seemed to have made a huge mistake). The other four opportunities I've invested time in, I have failed miserably, or at least that's what their lack communication via phone or e-mail is sending.

That really sucks. I think I've reached a realization that, after all the year I've spent going on cruise control with my professional life, everyone else I know or those within my age bracket have blitzed past me like roadkill. It's a frustrating epiphany, giving rise to what-ifs and what-could-have-been, but it's simply a matter of shoulda-woulda-coulda. There's not point in dwelling over things that you could have done better, but it's a matter of learning from all your stupid mistakes, be humble, and always, ALWAYS shoot for the stars, man. I sound like an anecdote from those Chicken Soup for the Soul books, but hey, everybody should have their gay moments, at least twice a week.

Two Weddings and an Empty Room

2011-01-30T09:01:00.000-08:00

And so it came, every parent's worst nightmare: their daughters getting married. There's really nothing more sobering than having your daughters - in this case, two - leaving the 'rent's nest and flying into the arms of their male counterparts whom they will live with and love forever.

Of course, I wouldn't be too sure on the 'nightmare' thing. However, judging from my dad's eyes as he was walking up my sister to the isle this past weekend, I can clearly feel the bittersweetness of the whole ceremony that was somehow released from that sheer image I just witnessed.

Wait, scratch 'nightmare'. I think 'bittersweet' is a much appropriate word for this matter.

Before we begin, I simply must start off this entry by telling you what happened after the wedding, which was almost a disaster for one reason: I hosted the damn thing. As requested by my to-be-wed dear sister and since I did not have anything to contribute during the preparation of their wedding, I begrudgingly agreed to emcee the reception program.

I'm not really confident with my public speaking skills, having zero experience at it, but I felt I could rely on my reporting skills that I use in class. However, one thing that I forgot about my reporting skills is that they are below-average and subpar, and so I proceeded to master the ceremony by rushing with my words while my cue card violently quivering from my nervous hands and my face drenched in sweat. It was almost an embarrassment, but I'm no freaking amateur when it comes to making an ass out of myself in public, and so I eventually got comfortable with my role as that host people make fun of because he's lame and stupid. Oh well, I won't be receiving calls asking for my amazing hosting skills.

Now onto real matters. Just a brief prologue: my eldest sister was wedded at the San Antonio Church on December 2009. The event was solemn and peaceful, but for some reason, I was never overwhelmed by the fact that my sister, who I have had bouts before in the past but has grown to love immensely as a sibling due to our proclivity for weird things and celebrity tidbits, was leaving the proverbial nest that was our house. Maybe it was due to the fact that they were set to live a couple of block away from our us, roughly a 10-minute walk from our home. Because of that, I always got to see her with her husband and carrying her adorable, googly-eyed baby girl a lot, which is definitely a great thing.

But this time, however, the wedding of my second elder sister kinda choked me up a bit, especially after seeing my father, who I only saw cry when her mother passed away more than a decade ago, shed tears before handing my sister to her groom-to-be, a very nice fellow, I must say. It didn't help that most of the female principal sponsors were pretty unabashed in letting their emotions flow. My girlfriend, who was seated at the opposite side of the altar as one of the secondary sponsors of my sister's matrimony and admitted of having wept as well, immediately looked at me after my father led my sister to the altar. But I turned away.

Let it be known that I'm a big cryer, as those close to me who has seen me cry over a goddamn video game or after having consumed copious amounts of alcohol would attest to this. But for some reason, I don't want people to see me cry at this event, even my loved ones. Maybe I felt the inevitable sadness that my sisters would eventually get married and leave the household, just like my father must have felt back then and there. This may be an overreaction on my part because I would still see my sister almost every day since they will be living just the other side of our street, roughly a 7-8 minute walk and an addition 3 minutes dedicated to ruin her day, should I decide to.

But it's not the physical space that I'm referring to here; rather, it's the figurative language that a marital bond dares not say - eventually, everybody leaves where they came from for their life partners, and those who are left behind have to deal with this absinthian reality. And this thought is what almost made me cry and not want to cry at the same time. I have to be strong with the realization that everybody, including I, will soon tread their own path in life and that it would be a sobering progress, to say the very least.

And so, I'm currently left with an empty room where both my sister sleep in. It's a fairly large room, twice as large as my current room, with a personal bathroom. I'll be moving in there soon once my sisters completely pack up their stuff, which is taking quite an eternity, to say the least, while my soon-to-be former room will be turned into a playpen for their soon-to-be babies in the not-too-distant future. But then again, we can't rush time to its reality.