Anyone and Anything

When I was younger, I had such a vivid imagination that I was able to create for myself three alter egos.  These alter egos each have slightly different personalities and slightly different powers.  Yes, these other-selves have powers -- magical, mystical and otherworldly powers.  They can summon dragons and other mythical creatures; they have weapons powered by mystic gems and the like; they can fly, teleport, move things with their mind.


They are eager companions during boring classes and long trips.  They are heroes of long unwritten adventures.  Most importantly, they were tools for retaliation against school bullies.  In my mind's eye, I see my alter egos use their powers to torment and torture my foes almost to the brink of death and nurse them back to health to torture them some more.  Many an afternoon were spent imagining new and elaborate tortures to my very real tormentors.  It may sound weak, but it was loads better than following them home and introducing them to the business end of a hammer.  I didn't want to be expelled.


School ended and imaginary friends faded.  And ShatterShards became the amalgamation of those three alter egos.  He lost the powers but gained a voice.  My voice.  The voice I use to bitch and rant about my problems; the voice I employ to ridicule my mundane experiences; the voice I muster to give form to my thoughts.  But no matter what aspect I use, it's still my voice, and a facet of my personality.  


It is still inherently me.


And not some mere fabrication.  It does not, however, compute that I am my blog nor my twitter account.  Though they may be facets of my personality, it can not and will not paint a complete picture of me.  But it is still me.


But the internet is a funny thing.  You can reinvent yourself and no one will be the wiser.  But like many technologies, it is its own boon and bane.  In your quest for reinvention, you may forget your self, and the webs of lies you weave may be the death of you.

But on the telephone line

I am anyone

I am anything I want to be

I can be a super model or

Norman Mailer

And you wouldn't know the difference

Or would you?

Who's to say now if the friends you've amassed are friends with you or with the persona you built around you?  And will they trust you again once the travesty of lies and half-truths have been unearthed?  I do not have the answer to that for I fear to tread it.


When I was little, I used to have such vivid imagination that I was able to conjure up imaginary personas for myself.  But it stayed where it should, which is inside my mind, because life is already too bizarre and grotesque as it is for my mental conjurings to add to the fray.










  

I Lost My Phone

I lost my phone last night.  I only had it for six months. 


I was drunk; I was careless; and I didn't really care.  The moment I realized I lost the phone, it took me two minutes to get over the fact and resume drinking and dancing.


I am, of course, sad that I lost it, particularly with the loss of numbers and photos and messages stored therein.  But I have gone past any compulsion to grieve over lost things, unlike before when my phones were almost surgically attached to my hand that losing it causes actual physical pain.


Suffering a love-hate relationship with the phone also helps in shortening the grieving process.  I'm also more concerned over the inconveniences the loss is causing compared to the loss itself.  I have requested for a replacement sim and am using my spare -- and that is the easy part.  Rebuilding my lost contacts, now, that would be the hard part.


And such is the reason for this post.  I have the same number, so if you're up for reconnecting, message me with your name, so I can save your number.  Yeah, posting this is easier than asking everybody I know for everybody else's number.  I know, I'm lazy like that.  ;-)

I Take it Back

I finished another torturous session of kicks and flips and was about to go down when one co-trainee addressed me and said "I take it back."  Just those four words, and no explanation at all.  Piqued by his cryptic talk, I braced myself for intellectual discourse, as is my nature. 


"Whuut?!"  I asked, and promptly gave myself a mental facepalm.


"No, it's nothing," he replied while stepping back to give me access to the stairs leading out of the dojo.  I've been dismissed.  End of conversation.


Given that this was the first time I saw this person in the few sessions that I've attended, I really shouldn't be affected with what he said -- or didn't say.  I mean, come on, by now, I should be confident enough in what I do and who I am, and what other people think of me shouldn't really affect me.


But I'm also paranoid enough and psychotic enough to hark on this endlessly.  Like what I am doing right now.


It could be a positive.  He might have seen me at the start of the session, made some quick judgement, and was proven wrong.  Then for decency's sake, and because he has already talked about me with his peers, he confronts me to tell me that he's taking back his initial negative appraisal, as I have proven him wrong, no matter how unwittingly.


It could also be easily a negative, where his initial positive appraisal had been marred by what he observed during the almost two-hour session.


Either way, whatever he thinks shouldn't really affect me, as his brain isn't my jurisdiction, and attempting to pick on it isn't really helping my cause.  Still, whatever it was that happened there brought home the fact that my three weeks of training notwithstanding, I still am the outsider, and no matter how out-of-the-blue their appearance in the dojo would be, three weeks' attendance can never trump years of camaraderie.  Especially if the new guy cannot even perform a basic cartwheel perfectly.

Jerusalem

"YOU LOOK BLOOMING, who are you dating?"  Jerusalem could only blush and giggle like a schoolgirl in reply.  Typical Jerusalem behavior, the one that endeared us in the first place.  The group has all eyes on Jerusalem, the non-answer to the question sparking more interest than the question warranted in the first place.  No one's eating nor discussing in little groups anymore, as all attention was given to Jerusalem.  Still no answer, only that sweet, adorable smile.

One after another, the group uttered a name, trying to elicit a reaction from Jerusalem.  With each name given, only a giggle and a shake of the head issues forth -- no.  Predictably, more names are given, but still, no affirmative response from Jerusalem.

Stumped, the group gave up as one and changed tactics, slapping Jerusalem in the arms, just enough to hurt the name out.  When asking nicely doesn't work, a bit of manhandling can do wonders.  After a few minutes of laughing banter and not a few exchanges of slaps, Jerusalem did relent.  "Okay, I'll tell," Jerusalem said.

"So who are you dating?" Mirror asked expectantly, a hint of a smile building at the corner of his mouth.

Silence all around the table, all ears upon Jerusalem's announcement.

"I'm dating Night Shift."

----

My eyes shot open and I heard my fist thumping the bed as if in frustration.

What a way to wake up in the morning.

SMP

A: SMP ba talaga?

B: Yes

    ahahaha

A: Why don't we fix that?

B: hahah

    loko loko

A: Ayaw mo ba?

    Don't answer that

    hehe

B: hahaha

    :P

    we'll see

:-)

Something Wicked

I got a message from an old friend the other day asking if I want to watch Deathly Hallows.


I mean, come on, would anyone in their right mind refuse an invite to a special screening of Harry Potter, and for free?!

And VIP tickets to boot!


With such perks, no amount of rush hour traffic from Makati to Megamall will be able to stop me from the two things I like:  movies and free stuff.  The day's schedule did pose a bit of a problem though, with meeting after meeting peppered with rushed reports here and there.


Thankfully, I made it to the venue just a few minutes late.  It was good that I had the foresight to instruct my movie bud to get there early and to arrange for the ticket exchange.


I'm not gonna make a review, because I know I'm not capable of any at the moment.  Maybe after my nth screening, I would be.

Lappy

Lappy is gonna be gone for a while, in aid of a friend.


This means Shattershards would be in a bit of hiatus, which isn't so surprising.  Considering the amount of posts I've churned out this year, I may as well be in hiatus!


Hopefully, I miss my lappy enough to trigger me into writing once more.

Losing Touch

I want to write.  I really do.  But I get sidetracked more often than usual, and I can't seem to fight it off.


But since I can't seem to form cohesive sentences right now, let me inundate you with food.

Chocolate Fire

Cupcakes by Sonja

Enjoy.

Pag-ibig Pa Rin

O musang marikit at kaakit-akit
Ibahagi sa akin mga katagang ninanais
Diwa kong hapo ay 'wag bigyang pasakit
Sa paghanap, paghalaw ay naghihinagpis.

Sa pagkamangha sa nasilayang komediya
Na halaw sa likha ng Dakilang Makata
Tuloy ay naisip na tumipa sa letra
At magpugay sa dula sa lengua Tagala.

Sayaw at galaw ay kagilagilalas
Sa halaw ng himig na buhay at wagas
Puso'y napako sa aking namalas
Na siyang dahilan at nagbabalagtas.

Pag-ibig, pag-ibig at pag-ibig pa rin
Kasumpa-sumapang pag-ibig, salarin
Tatlong kaharia'y napailalim
Sa dusa at dugo at waging malagim.

Salamat sa aking mga katoto
Na nag-imbitang manood ng teatro
Orosman at Zafira, aking ginusto
At nagbigay kulay sa aking Linggo.

Ngayon ako, sa inyo'y nag-aanyaya
Huwag palampasin yaring naturang dula
Inyo itong antabayanan
Sa kuta ng mga Iskolar ng Bayan.

Muna'y lubayan ang banyagang produkto
At ang pilak na tabing na ating gusto
Kayo ay magmadali ng husto
Ang dula ay lamang hanggang dulo ng Agosto.

About that Nasty, Dangerous Stuff that Starts with L

My reputation precedes me, and apparently, my reputation isn't as sun-shiny as I would like to think.  Shattershards shatter more than just shards, it seems.  I'm unfamiliar with the topic at hand, so I will try to modify this rant through words that are familiar to me.


I have always maintained that I choose not to engage in the business.  It is much too cumbersome and complex, and it isn't a prerequisite to anything after all.  Friends, family and officemates alike have at one time or another asked me about my business, or lack thereof.  They cannot believe that at my age, I have not once tried to engage in business.  I'm a non-entrepreneur since birth.


Going into business isn't an easy task.  You engage in it, not only for yourself, but for the public.  Regulatory boards abound, and they require periodic reporting of the results of operation.  The SEC requires that you report annual figures; quarterly figures, if you're publicly listed.  As such, everybody would know if you're operations are favorable or unfavorable, and everybody would have an opinion as to your business endeavors.


Engaging in business also increases your tax exposure.  While the SEC requires quarterly reporting at most, the BIR demands that you report monthly.  Whether your business is earning or is at a loss, the BIR computes for the taxes you have to pay.  Remit too much and you are bound to encounter cashflow problems, remit too little and you may be accused of under-reporting or even tax evasion.


Every business, at its core, is a selling business; it is a marketing engagement.  The entrepreneurs attempt to market their goods to potential buyers.  You can position yourself at the low end to cater to the mass market, or you can improve on quality and target a selected niche.  Either way, the object is to be able to sell your goods.  But I choose not to sell.  It isn't a question of marketability or low product quality, it's a conscious decision not to play the market.


Unfortunately, there are some with considerable capacity to buy and they insist on purchasing that which isn't for sale.  They ultimately get disappointed because no transactions are intimated.  Why blame the seller when there isn't any seller in the first place; when there aren't any products for sale at the start?  Am I to blame for their broken engagements when there wasn't any contract to begin with?  Just because there was a display doesn't mean there are items for sale.  


I do not wish to hear what the rumors say about me, but my habit of knowing stuff nags at me.  Thus I remind myself of this saying:  Caveat Emptor.

Online, Again!!!

Finally, I'm online again!  Thanks to my friend Chance who offered to have my lappy fixed, I can once again enjoy my late night hours browsing site upon site of comic strips, manga, anime and blogs!  No more waiting for sleep to come at night, now I can pass out in front of my computer as should be proper.


As I understand it, the problem was caused by one of my anti-virus programs.  Apparently, it blocked my internet access in its zeal to protect me from infection.  That's why none of the troubleshooting tips I was given seemed to work;  It really didn't touch on the problem at hand.


Now I have my lappy back, its hard drive reformatted, my files intact, and a new arsenal of anti-virus and malware detectors to protect me from harm.  No need to buy a new lappy, which is good, because I don't yet have the money for that expenditure.

Infatuation

...

A:  You've got a big tummy.

B:  Give me three months and it's gone.

A:  As if we'll last three months.

B:  Thus said the player.

A:  I learned from a heart breaker.

...

:-)

The Waist of the Matter.

I put on my jeans which I bought last year and it fit me perfectly. I checked around the waist and it was an exact fit, as if the pants were tailor-made to my size.

I suffered from mild panic.

Rewind a year ago and I still remember my friend and colege blockmate asking me for my size. I told her I was a 28, but normally wear a 29. I'm not much of a fan of tight fits. Knowing better, blockmate insisted that I buy size 30, claiming that it would fit better. Inwardly, I suspected that she doesn't carry odd sizes, thus her insistence in stocks two sizes larger than my actual fit. I didn't bother to argue.

A year has passed since then, and I find myself filling my jeans perfectly at the waist. Living it day to day, I almost didn't realize how much I have foregone this year in terms of extra-curricular and physical activity. Strenuous and excessive amounts of overtime took its toll and has now presented me with a weakened state of physique.

I used to play volleyball regularly twice a week, and when late last year, I met a group of mountaineers, I began joining minor treks and beach outings. I was at my best form then; I felt taller, my scoliosis didn't seem to bother me anymore. I was reading faster and more varied authors, even.

Then the Circus started.

I began losing contact with most of my groups. My twice-weekly volleyabll was replaced with daily overtime. My monthly treks were replaces with weekend overtime. What's even more perplexing was that the more time I render at the Great Place, the more work seemed to pile up. My morning stretch routine was replaced with extended wallowing under the covers; my games replaced by irregular rotations of binge-eating and meal-skipping.

They say it takes at least three weeks to form a habit. I can't even comit two days straight to relearn my morning stretches. Thus, I'm stuck with a screaming spine, prolonged mornings of lethargy, and two inches gained in nine months.

Loss of self esteem doesn't even begin to describe what I'm suffering. I've become alienated from my groups and I only have myself to blame.

A few days ago, Brunswick paid me a surprise visit at the Great Place. He was at the area and decided to rescue me from my mundane existence, if even for a few minutes. Quick updates about the various people I lost contact with ensued, and I was cornered into promising to rejoin the group in the near future. I appreciate Brunswick's going out of his way to reconnect with me. I plan to repay his efforts by re-establishing with my network. My days of wallowing are long overdue, and it needs to stop, effective immediately.

I need to move once more, and in more ways than one.

Astro!

Astro Voice

I have formed the habit of using my earphones to listen to the radio while at work. I find that it soothes me, and minimizes the toxicity I feel. Also, it frees me of unnecessary distractions that would make me lose focus at my work: people tend not to ask questions when they see you have something covering your ears. It does leave me behind of the latest office mumbles and grumbles, but I tend not to delve into those anyways, so it isn’t quite a loss; merely my antisocial tendency rearing its snobbish head.

Last week, as I was listening to my lunch-hour duo run their show, something curious happened: a new listener called in time for one of their more famous contests. I didn’t give too much thought to that, except that the way the caller pronounced Makati was rather odd – it was familiar. The caller was not able to beat the best damn buzzer in fm radio, but he did give her a scare. For that – and probably for M’katy – the caller was awarded a consolation prize.

A few minutes later, I got an sms from EyviCat, inquiring if I were listening to the radio, and informing me that he won tickets to Astro Boy for almost beating Suzy.

Astro Bus
Unfortunately for EyviCat, his work schedule precludes him from being able to attend the premier screening. Fortunately for me, I was one of the first people EyviCat offered the tickets to. And so, mere minutes after 6 pm, I clocked off and set my pace to go to Mega Mall, braving the traffic along Pasong Tamo, and wishing for powers to disintegrate vehicular traffic to get to my destination faster.

I have learned, to my detriment, that taking the bus along Buendia to go to Edsa on a weekday rush hour is the surest way to get late to any appointment. More than the bottlenecks, the constant stops to wait for more passengers will eat your time more effectively than a Hoover sucks dirt. That is why I have learned to brave the MRT, sacrificing my need for personal space in exchange for speed. That is no laughing matter, considering that on its better days, the trains can get so tightly packed, it borders on achieving critical mass, thereby creating a black hole.

I got to the venue at around 7.15, making good time by being a few minutes earlier than the rush-hour horde. I whiled the time by walking around the mall for a better part of an hour while waiting for Gentle to arrive, knowing full well that when organizers tell you 7.30, it means that the show will start an hour hence.

Astro Boy

The movie was good and funny, though it deviated from the original story line to make for a more concise film. Thankfully, its essence was intact, and you can feel for Astro as he makes his way to find acceptance. Both boy and robot, but not belonging to either realm, Astro’s story is relatable in different levels. His yearning to belong and find his place in the world is shared by many people; much like my quest for rocket-powered red boots that would enable me to fly; it is universal in appeal.

Purists for the manga and the anime might have reason to complain about how the film was rendered, but I myself don’t mind. Though I grew up with the anime, I honestly don’t remember much about Astro’s earlier adventures. What I do remember is his unique hairstyle and his omnipresent boots, which is as much of a trademark of Astro’s as his butt machine gun.

The key to enjoying this movie, as with all other adaptations, is to forget the source material. Without something to compare to, movies like this could be experienced in its own separate light, and it frees you from feeling resentment and disappointment that the finished product is inferior to its source, because let’s face it, very few adaptations will ever surpass the awe and nostalgia that the original material brought us.

Astro Voyeur
Going out of the cinema, I suggested to Gentle that we head first to the nearest restroom to releive ourselves of the drink we downed while watching.

There is an unspoken rule when using public urinals wherein you should situate yourself one urinal apart from the next person. Seeing five empty urinals, I made a beeline for the middle urinal to do my thing. I was rather put off when a stranger moved to my left, considering that there is a perfectly usable unit further on either side, and a whole row farther inward of the restroom. Consider my shock when I saw this stranger, through my peripheral vision, start peeking over the barriers into my side of the urinal.

Having let go of control over my baldder, I had no choice but to suffer those invasive eyes until I was able to empty that well of amber liquid. To rid myself of mounting unease, I focused on myself and refused to acknowledge the stranger's existence. After I'm done, I turn to the line of sinks and see Gentle with impish glee in his eyes, having witnessed the stranger's blatant harassment; I roll my eyes at him. We exit the restroom and try to put as much distance between us and the voyeur.

Astro!
Weirdness aside, it was a fun night for movies, and seeing Astro Boy once more was like seeing a long lost childhood friend. Memories become legend, and it was enjoyable stripping those myths to find out the truth hidden in the memory.

Someone commented before that everyting is cyclical, and seeing today's trends, I believe that the statement has more than just a spark a truth in it. With Transformers, G. I. Joe, Fame, and now Astro Boy, making it big, you'd think that we're all back in the 80s.

This is a good time to be young again.

The Search for Narnia

The main allure of reading is its ability to transport the reader to different worlds. The better the author's words flow, the deeper the reader delves into dimensions at once foreign and familiar. That is why when my stress buttons are pressed, coming home to a well-written fantasy is such a boon. Such is the reason for the alarming proliferation of fiction in my room. I need more shelving.

I have a tendency to impose my tastes on others, and anyone clueless enough to ask my opinion on books would no doubt be bombarded by Anne Rice, Stephen King, Neil Gaiman and Jostein Gaarder. I lend my books (if you ask me nicely) on the condition that its conditions be preserved. I tend to become obsessive when it comes to my tomes.

My problem is, I tend to forget who borrowed which.

Among the titles missing in my collection is The Chronicles of Narnia. I found my copy at Booksale years ago, before the first movie was shown, for 150 bucks. Some months afterward, I found that same copy selling at Powerbooks for upwards of 500. I've lost track of who borrowed this book from me. I was secretly hoping that it only got lodged among the things I didn't bother unpacking from my moving from one room to the next (I'm on my third room this year), but alas, the book wasn't anywhere.

Some friends advised me to create a card catalog for my books, as they have already grown too big to commit to just memory. What they didn't comment on was my abyssmal memory to start with. Seeing as Narnia is not the only title I'm missing, I just might consider that advise, only, I wouldn't go about calling my collection a library, at least, not yet.

I'm gonna need all my OC powers for this endeavor.

-----

Magic: The Gathering

I was a fan of this card game way back in high school, although I had more fun collecting the cards rather than playing them. It was such a geeky game, much like Dungeons & Dragons, and I love it.

Back then, one of the prized cards to find was the Sengir Vampire, which is a "cheap" creature to cast considering its abilites. By cheap, it means that the manna used casting the creature was well worth its cost. Imagine my surprise when I saw this online:

You've got to love Gloria, she really stives for universal appeal. I mean, Filipinos from all walks of life hate her now, from geeks to jocks, and all the cliques in between.

photocredits

Playing Hookie

I was everywhere last weekend. Everywhere but the office, that is.

When wanderlust kicks in, you really have no choice but to comply.

Saturday:

Mandarin Oriental, Gateway

Belini's, Marikina Shoe Exchange

Future Bar; Marikina Shoe Exchange

The wanderlust didn't end that night, though. It continued on til Sunday:

John & Yoko's, Greenbelt 5

Gelatone, Greenbelt 3

All in all, it was a filling and fulfilling weekend. No doubt, I went over-budget, but a $20,000 dinner, it ain't.

Love Songs

Contrary to popular notion, the best love songs are not made by crooners. They may have the melody, the voice, and the words to make your heart swoon and make you bawl buckets, but somehow, it feels contrived. The words are easily relatable, but still, there's something missing. And if you put in the fact that they make love songs for a living, it somehow diminishes their song's authenticity. Overall, it creates an impact of cheesiness, rather than the intended romantic effect.

"Cause I don't know where you are

and I don't know what to do

are you somewhere feeling lonely

or is there someone loving you..."

It just doesn't bode well on me. Even with the augmented impact of the melody, it still would not convince me of the longing and helplessness the singer wishes to evoke. Though some people would swear unflailing heart-felt audulation over pieces like these, all I can say is "Hello?!"

"Hey girl, I don't want you to cry no more inside

All the money in the world could ever add up to

all the love I have inside

I love you..."

It is a common flaw in love songs to affect the gut area: that, and nothing else. It appeals to emotion, and oftentimes with nary a thought or regard to other vital functions. What puts me off with this is it tends to demote the emotion concerned into nothing but primal instinct: nothing more or less than fear or hunger. If poets and artists regard love as the greatest and most dangerous emotion known to man, how dare the crooners allude to it with dumb disregard?

More than the words themselves, and their pull on the heartstrings, is it asking too much to expect intelligent lyrics on my love songs? Love is known to make fools of men, but it doesn't mean that songs about love should cater to mere troll-like intelligence. Any song that purports to be a love song with indescriminate spatterings of the word "love" is immediately suspect in my books. It suggests a lack of originality and hints at low vacubulary. The English language boasts of a hundred and one ways to describe food, surely, there are as much words that evoke something as wondrous and multi-faceted as one's affection towards another.

"To see you when I wake up

Is a gift I didn't think could be real

To know that you feel the same as I do

Is a three-fold utopian dream..."

The best love songs, for me, are not done by crooners nor boy bands. Surprisingly, the best songs that evoke love come from sources that make you want to headbang while listening. They may not have the vocal range to describe the physical manifestations of love: its high notes of ecstacy; its lingereing low notes of longing; the rolling hums of contentment; and its siren-wails and whistles of despair; but what they lack at vocal acrobatics, they more than make up for with sincerity. Love, as relayed to by these precious few, is unapologetic, complex, and most importantly, intelligent.

"...Who would have thought it would end up like this?

Where everything we talked about is gone

And the only chance we have of moving on

Is try to take it back before it all went wrong"

For Love, and by relation, love songs, to affect the heart is common: it is expected. The majesty of it all is when love affects not only the heart, but also the mind; when one is able to feel love in spite of one's self. Therein lies the magic; it is there where one will experience the true power of love.

I Miss You by Incubus

Before the Worst by The Script

----

For EyviCat and Gentle, who celebrates their fourth anniversary this month, for making me believe that intelligent love songs can exist.

Shirking Responsibilities: Shang

I bailed out from rendering overtime and accompanying an officemate yesterday in order to watch a movie. I was trying to rest my eyes from work by browsing on the internet when I chanced upon an article about the French Film Festival. The movies are for free. Immediately, I texted some friends, asking them if they are interested.

EyviCat and Gentle responded to the affirmative, so we agreed to meet at the Edsa Shangri-La for the movie. I was at the place at around 7pm; the movie will start by 8. But when I got to the ticket booth, an unassuming sign brought despair to my heart: There are no more tickets to the movie we were supposed to watch. As an addendum to that disheartening sign was another note stating that tickets were to be dispensed 2 hours before the scheduled screening. My being an hour early therefore was nothing, for the tickets have run out an hour before I got there. Disappointed, I informed Gentle and EyviCat of the unfortunate incident.

Seeing as we already took the effort to travel to Shangri-La (EyviCat and I came from Makati, Gentle, from Mandaluyong) it would be a waste of effort if we decide to just go home. We agreed to have dinner in the area instead. While waiting for the two of them to get to the area, I entertained myself by going to the bookstore. Good thing there was a nearby Powerbooks, and though their selection was rather slim, it was enough to while the time away, sifting through books and browsing those that have caught my interest. I was able to add another book (or five) to my mental list of books to buy.

At last, dinner. We spent some time deciding on where to eat. The Mall was filled with establishments that I want to try, but those said establishments are also full of customers. I have no patience with the waiting list. After circling the area for food, we decided to dine at the Green Tomato. Incidentally, this was also the first restaurant that EyviCat recommended as good in the area.

With our original plan thwarted, and lacking the drive to establish new plans, we decided to go home after the dinner. I was home at around 11pm. I'm no longer used to going home early.

photocredit

Food, Anyone?

I was with BartSmithers and Barimel one Saturday afternoon at Tiendesitas. BariMel was looking for furnitures she could use for her new place. BartSmithers and I were there as escorts. While browsing through furnitures and discussing about the "No Photos" rule on the furnitures place, I looked up, and suddenly, my brain just shut down.

It took a while for me to recover, and I just couldn't stop laughing. Concerned, BariMel and BartSmithers asked me what the matter was, so I just pointed at the banner overhead. They looked up, and laughed with me.



I guess one man's pet is another man's delicacy. :-D

Shatt's Night Out

After weeks (months, eons) of staying late in the office, slavishly finishing reports and various other errands, I think I deserve a break. A couple of friends invited me last week to a music event, and, typical of me, promptly forgot about it. I received a text message in the afternoon confirming my attendance to said event. Seeing as this might be my only opportunity to get some me-time before the next set of deadlines, I replied in the affirmative.

8 pm and we find ourselves enroute to Libis for Jam 88.3's annual musicfest. It being a Friday, it wasn't quite a surprise to find the hellish amount of traffic that greeted us. We just whiled the time talking about various stuff and listening to the radio for the live coverage of the event we were about to go to.

We are quite the talkers, when given the opportunity; our long and random talks leading us to various discordant topics, like politics, religion, math and sciences, and all the other topics that would make you unpopular on any kind of social event. BartSmithers lamented about the traffic conditions of the metro, and how setting up a not-for-profit transport conglomerate would be the viable solution to our traffic woes. This, unfortunately wouldn't really push through, for the main reason for being in business is wealth accumulation, and not just capital recouperation. I opined that the solution for traffic is for a government owned and controlled corporation to monopolize the transport industry and make profit out of it, and contribute to the national budget along the way. But the government shouldn't really be meddling with the business sector in the first place, pointed BartSmithers, to which I did agree. The conversation then led to GMA7's quarter-end profit reports, and the billions of advertising revenues they made on just the first quarter of this year.

BariMel then told us of a newspaper article she read involving Jessica Soho in scuba gear being mistaken by local fishermen as a beached whale. Apparently, it was common for whales to get beached on that area, and seeing the news reporter in her wetsuited glory, the fishermen allerted the authorities and wildlife organizations. I commented that had she been underwater, she might have been mistaken for a manatee. This then, led to talks about HornyManatee.com and Connan O'Brien, who, after talking on his show about this fictitious website, was told that doing so was illegal, so he, therefore, had to build the website he was talking about so as not to get penalized.

And still, we are in a jam. Traffic is attrocious, as always, even inside Eastwood, and we had to contend ourselves with hearing Kamikazee perform on the radio, while hearing the live performance booming outside the car. We got to the venue as The Camerawalls were performing their last song. Too bad, I like their songs; they have intelligent lyrics. Fortunately, there are still more bands lined up, and we got to enjoy those.

I do not really like Eastwood. The logic of its architectural layout eludes me, and I easily get lost within the area. Looking at the installed vicinity maps do not help either, and I usually end up going around in circles, without getting to my destination. The non-sensical layout presents itself more so with the new mall-slash-hotel they have erected. We actually got lost trying to park in there, and the arrows on the floor directing traffic does not help our efforts. There are parking slots two-deep, which means one car would not be able to leave until the other car leaves. Even now, the rationale of such escapes me.

The first thing that BartSmithers did after we have established a foothold on the event is to buy us beers. Not a good idea, drinking on an empty stomach, considering that the last meal I had was lunch. Still, one cannot deny free beer when it is offered (haha!), and guzzle, I did. I was already tipsy with that one bottle of SanMig Light. After watching four bands perform, BariMel made the brilliant suggestion of eating dinner somewhere near the concert area, so we could still hear the performances while satisfying our gourmand tendencies.

It was good, being out of the office, even for a night. I have almost forgotten that there are people around other than my officemates. I really need to rethink my work-life balance...