ANNOYING NANG WITH HER BRATATAT BLABBERMOUTH

MONDAY MORNING. I always enjoy commuting on my way to work, regardless of the possibility of being late, I consider an early morning jeepney ride as an essential soothing factor which is as relaxing as coffee, not unless the traffic is wicked and the morning temperature is utterly humid.

There I was, sitting, riding on the tricycle, when I saw my officemate (let's call her simply "Nang"), who was seated on another tricycle which was catching up behind. Quickly, I turned my face in the opposite direction, to escape her line of sight.

Nang is a nice old lady. But that is the problem, she is too nice that it ranges under the classification of "annoying". If she would see me, she would definitely make some silly gesture of saying "HI". She was children's TV show host incarnate.

Apparently our tricycles were heading in one direction, which is the Jaro Cathedral area, where people would ride the different routes of jeepneys which drove to the city proper.

When I got there, I rushed up and waited to ride a Jaro CPU jeepney with hopes of not ending up on the same jeepney with Nang. My attention was caught by a spunky and attractive campus chick which seemed like your average Jolina cutie. When a spacious Jaro CPU jeepney pulled over, I rushed to take a good seat, which was at the end of the jeepney. When Miss Spunky got in, I made a millisecond prayer that she would sit on the row across rather than within my row, or beside me.

Unlike other hot-blooded males who think sitting beside a foxy lady is a yehey thing, obviously, so that they could get a chance to feel the side of her legs, her thighs, or probably rub with their elbows and inhale the shampoo on their hair, their cologne, not to mention taking glances or even stares at the tiny hairs on the back of their neck, like staring at a delicacy that could make mouths wet up.

Thing is, though, sometimes, you couldn't see their faces.
I, on the otherhand, would prefer these attractive chicks to sit across so that, even though you could not "feel them", you could have the chance to admire their beauty (may it be great or simple), like an admirer of a painting which delights the eyes with visual ecstasy.

Just before I was going to hold up my hand to pay my fare, Nang stepped in with a warm greeting and sat beside me. I greeted her with a smile, yet inside, my soul was crushed to find that the solemnity of my morning joyride was about to fall apart.

Nang's superhuman attributes included 1. Her inhuman nice-ness. 2. Her unstoppable conversationality (a mouth which, though never was it very loud or never did it emit decibels that could disrupt one's balance, but it DOES talk like a machine gun with a silencer. A conversationalist which could go on even though nobody's listening… it is as if she was vying for a name on the Guiness Book of World Records). And 3. Her reeking odor.

Nang was perhaps one of those superstitious 18th-century women who believed that it was bad to take a bath on Fridays, or if whenever you had a period.

And so she began blabbering, humming actually, for the way she talked was never loud, just continuous. Like a machine. Like an electric fan which gave off a funny rusty squeak. Her topics were pointless trivial, utter DUH. I did my best to be accommodating, giving off cut & paste replies:

"…huo (yes)…umhmm… huo…umhmm…"

There was a reason why I intentionally do not join and hitch a free ride with my parents' car, for they were also heading for the same office building as I am. And there was a reason why I don't feel a great sense of regret or loss with the fact that I do not have my own car to drive myself to office anymore for the past two years now. And that is because I enjoy my morning joyrides.

And it was ruined because of my smelly, non-stop, humming topic box of an officemate was on the same jeepney as I. I hate this needless conversation that she does. At office, I could just easily excuse myself and move to another perimeter where she does not exist. But in this case, it is a violation of my personal peace. How then, indeed, can I just tell her to shut the hell up without sounding impolite or offensive?

It got excruciatingly dull and annoying that I had to gradually ignore her, and focus my attention upon the scenery outside the jeep.

After a while, her attention was diverted unto a couple with a baby, which was situated beside her. Thank God my prayers were answered. Apparently, they were having a bit of a problem. They were trying to pay their fare with a five hundred peso bill. Since it was too early in the morning, the jeepney driver had no change for such a large amount. Nang befriended them instantly then and there on the jeepeney and offered to pay the fare of these strangers. Normally, it is the driver who would usually give out the grace of mercy by granting the family a free ride. But it was Nang who stepped up and paid for their ride. It was rather unusual in urban culture to be extraordinarily kind to strangers nowadays. To do such would sometimes make people think that you must be some kind of fool. But what Nang did, although odd for modern urban standards, was a gesture of pure goodwill. I was ashamed that I was thinking insults to this woman who turned out to be one of the last living urban saints.

just DUH!

d family, mi tatay, mi nanay und mi utols watched SWAT...twas oki...twas a good thing that the cinemas were able to extend the showing of this film... we all thought twas KICKASS!

afterwards, i joined mi "other" barkadas". clem, chubby, nina, shahab, & i... we all went to chill out @ d coastal road. there, we just simply pulled up beside the road, hung at the back of chubby's pickup with our two thermos containers, which had coffee and tea. we also had some nice breads, chips, & chichacorn... man...nature trippin on a sunday afternoon. the vegetables made the chill better.

MAXX & BRAK !!!!!!!!!!!

i was supposed to like go out with my friends clemente & shahab, on some friday nite out, only to find myself spending the entire night here at project xxa1, playin pc games & wandering the internet.

then did i wander about the sites of my currently favorite cartoon series THE BRAK SHOW!!!!!!!!!!



if not for the fact that theyve been showing reruns of the same singular season, my friday and saturday nights would be a self-imposed detention at home, fixated upon the psychotic world of BRAK and his extremely bizarre family. strangely, i feel at home with these bozos!

THEN....
there's one of my favorite comicbook characters:
Sam Kieth's creation : THE MAXX
this IMAGE comics series which was almost perfectly adapted on MTV's LIQUID TELEVISION in the 90s, is SUPERB! ...and I fucking miss it!



The story centres around The Maxx, a vagrant that has lost his memory and keeps having dreams of an outback land where he thinks that he might be from. The only person that The Maxx trusts is a social worker named Julie Winters. Soon a series of grisly murders begin happening, and when Maxx discovers the murderers are a bunch small hungry creatures that he has seen in his dreams he starts to wonder whether his dreams are just that.


I MISS THE MAXX DAMMIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

EFOT NI JOEY & KRIS

Panfilo Lacson must be very upset at Joey Marquez and Kris Aquino for stealing his thunder. Just when the nation’s attention is upon Jose Pidal, the Mike Arroyo “Incredible Hulk” issue, all of a sudden the presses stop to make way for a non-sensical, all-too-trivial issue of the Kris Aquino-versus-Joey Marquez squabble. All of a sudden, issues of physical injuries, grave threats, and sexually-transmitted diseases have been the headlines. While it should not really have anything to do with us (as my friend Eugene would put it; they (Kris & Joey) could dance the hully-gully for all I care!), we could not deny that the masses have turned their attentions upon these two hype meisters. No matter how dumb and irrelevant this topic is, the masses love to focus their attention unto it, even if it means we have to put the issue of our government’s stability aside (in the back seat, for that matter).

It is a hopeless case of two people who should behave their public personalities in the first place. On the right corner is Joey, a public official, a mayor, who, without question, would fail the so-called morality check that is gradually being established by the government. And on the left corner, is Kris, who is the popular showbiz daughter of a national hero. In one way or another, she has been stained by scandals and controversies about the men in her life, including the playboy she is now suing. A daughter of the Edsa hero, and a fine upstanding woman who has become an icon herself for becoming the country’s first woman president. With all things considered, she should have lived a disciplined life, and not act like a bratty stray poodle that chases after rabid mutts. Shameful, shameful. Tsk tsk. Some people may give Joey Marquez a sympathetic credit with the excuse that he’s a “man” and is forgiven for his boyish “naughtiness”. But no, society should not tolerate a Jerk like him. He should not have been given a title of mayor in the first place. A person who inflicts even the slightest of harm upon a woman, is not a man at all. He is a childish pig, a Bondying, who has no grasp of his manhood. If these allegations by Kris are true, Joey Marquez is a Bondying.

If there is one thing in common between the Joey-Kris garbage and Lacson’s Incredible Hulk Hype, is that the players concerned all reek of stink. They’re both little duels between two parties who are better off killing themselves. Do you trust Kris? Do you trust Joey? I think they’re both spoiled-brat monkeys who itch for attention and satisfaction. Do you trust Ping? Do you trust Mike? I think they’re both power-hungry, corrupt pigs. It would honestly give me total satisfaction to see them all go to hell. But hey, I am entitled to my own pissed-off opinion. If you think Mike is such a good guy, fine. If you think Ping is such a good guy, fine! If you think Joey didn’t hurt or abuse Kris, fine, I bet that in no time, you’ll see your showbiz idol do his regular perverse hilarity on TV, making semi-rated R chauvinistic jokes. If you love Kris so much, go on and rally with the rest of the other beauticians and the moviestar magazine collectors who, all of a sudden, act like some women’s rights activists. I’ve sometimes had daydreams of a better Philippines, the little patriotism left in me still yearns that we can all learn the value of loving this country. But God knows that I hate each and every kababayan who thinks this Joey-Kris issue is as important as, say, solving the government’s instability, poverty, and peace & order situation.

Tonight, before I sleep, I will take my time to pray to the Lord. I will make a wish. Lord, I pray that Joey and Kris will have LBM. Give them A MONTH of LBM. Make them feel the divine wrath. A sanction against hostility. Nobody gets hurt. Nobody goes to the press. The headlines will be clean of their presence. For they shall have a busy week scoring diatabs, and buying more toilet duck. They shall forget their annoying argumentative crap and just be focused on one thing: the bubbling sensation they feel in their digestive system. Lord, the country is poor, the government is crumbling. If Joey and Kris will be allowed to zombify the nation into some dumb hype, the grim future of the Philippines will have a swift certainty. So please. For the love of this land. May Kris and Joey have all but efot.

THE MUNDEIGHS

(September 22, 2003)
Oftentimes Disturbing

Let me guess…

You woke up this morning with a sigh "I hate Mondays!" It feels like you need a crane to pull you out of your bed whenever this happens. There is a minty spirit that makes your eyes remain on a state of drowsiness. Your muscles and limbs feel like jello, that you'd want to just slither and crawl out of bed and into the table where your coffee awaits.

While your coffee may have given you the jumpstart for you to go take a bath, get changed and be on your way to the office, you find yourself back in the hellish state of Monday-whining. Graphically, it is most especially whenever you stare at your typewriter or PC, the bunch of files that you have to work through, and the boss who seems to always have his eye on you. If it were in the Star Wars universe, you'd swear he had one of those floating spy drones always focusing on whatever you're doing.

There is that moment when you suddenly space out, dreaming about lying on the couch with a large bag of chichacorn and some blue pepsi, while watching the cheesy afternoon dramas on television, awaiting for the vendor of steamed sweet corns to pass by wailing "maiiiiiiiiissssssss!!!" The humidity of the afternoon sun, along with the tranquility of a weekday lazily spent at home. It is the definition of nirvana on a Monday with your staplers and the sound of a PC printer making drum noise. Your mind shoves too far that it actually wishes to add another day to the seven days of the week. Maybe if you'd be a member of some obscure religious group that believes working on Mondays is sacrilegious, maybe that could cure your hate for this day. But then again, after awhile, you'd start hating Tuesday. So what's the use?

You'd best adjust your work level to robotic. In the tradition of the Pied Piper of Hamlin, you turn on your little radio to zombify you to an active work level. Just hope the noise that you generate around your supposed perimeter of audio privacy doesn't annoy your boss.

But worry not, Friday is just around the corner. Making a big deal out of it would only make the days go longer. Tuesdays may be a bore, it's like an extension of the Mondays. Wednesdays, you decide to pass by the bars, hoping it was Friday, or perhaps boggle out your eyes staring at college girls on their way to so-called "ladies-nite" Wednesday parties. On Thursdays, though, jologs are going up and down their phonebooks trying to decide who to ask out for a weekend date. I'd rather spend my Thursdays hooked on TV with Angel and Buffy. And then, comes…ahhhh…. Friday.

When you think about how annoying a severe case of "the Mondays" can get, then you'd better make a mental note to yourself of getting enough rest on the weekends. As I end this mildly uninteresting write-up, I listen to that 80's song from the Boomtown Rats singing "Tell me why… I don't like Mondays!"

OH BABY, BABY…CHONG-CHING-CHONG-CHING-CHONG

Oftentimes Disturbing
(september 20, 2003)

I would have just easily let go of this subject matter. After all, it is of pure opinion, and I know many people hate my opinion, but majority of them just don’t care actually. But I could not easily let go of this subject matter…not after the tragic accident that happened days ago.

You know what I mean. The crowd of people who made victims of themselves when they attended the F4 concert. By victims, I meant not only the mega expensive cost of their concert tickets which, I heard, range from 500 pesos, up to 10,000 pesos, but those who spent around 24,000 pesos on hospital bills because they were transformed into vegetable condition overnight, with the stampedes and the wild hordes of millions which jampacked themselves, turning the event into virtual, literal sardinas situation. Yes, there were issues of mismanagement and poor planning on the part of the organizers (sad observation that I’ve witnessed to be true of concert events here in Iloilo). The suing of the organizers is one issue. The insanity of the chinovela fever is another. As a non-fan who actually has no right to criticize the people who are stuck with this hype, I am greatly disturbed.

I could not imagine, in my most bizarre imagination, that there will come a time when dorky Chinese soap operas would create such madness in the Filipino community. Years ago, when I was watching an Egyptian channel on cable TV, I saw this sport which was actually like horseracing. But instead of horses, the jockeys were riding camels. I was stuck on that channel for around half an hour, giggling and staring with shimmering toddler eyes, for it was an awesome wonderment to witness such a far-out sport. I was kinda hoping it was going to be the next big thing that could come out of foreign television. Instead, we have these wimpy, silly-ass, boyband-inspired garbage: Meteor Garden, Poor Prince, My MVP Valentine…. GEEEZ!!! MY MVP VALENTINE?!!! What kind of title is THAT? What’s next? MY 143 LABOR DAY?

I thought the Mexican/Spanish telenovelas were the worst of the hypes that came out of television industry. At least Marimar had nice large …um… larger than life acting skills to keep us interested (you should hear the tone of my voice when I say “interested”). And at least, Betty La Fea is hilarious (Q: Do you watch Betty La Fea? A: I invoke my right to privacy!). I never imagined that some oriental boyband who try hard to dress in J-Pop (J-pop) fashion would have their own misadventures on television. And even give themselves a name like Fantasy Forever. SUS! Daw brand ka deodorant! To top it off, the name of their TV show is Meteor Garden. No wonder NASA reported that an asteroid (or meteor, for that matter) is about to collide with the Earth sometime 2014. Perhaps when the Lords of the Galaxy knew about the hype of the chinovelas, they decided to end the existence of mankind. Man has existed in intolerable silliness for too long, it is time to replace them with post-inferno mutant-zombies!

But that’s what “HYPE” is all about anyway. It may be the most stupidest thing you’ve ever seen, smelled, or tasted, but it may have the potential to become adored by the public to the point that its presence is felt everywhere, that you can just barf out the nausea. Hype is what made F4 be seen in softdrink billboards, in millions of posters, in little stationeries, in bags, shirts, jackets, underwears, candies, or whatever merchandise it could land into. If they have such a thing, I would gladly buy an F4 tissue paper so that I could see Dau Ming Su’s face wiping the brownish green stain on my dinosaur ass (my apologies to those eating).

I feel sorry for the victims of the tragic madness of the F4 concert days ago. All the madness and fever. All only went straight to the trash, and gave them serious injuries. In serious honesty, I don’t blame them. Amo na ya trip nila. God knows that if it was Nirvana Unplugged, Alice In Chains Unplugged, or Bjork having a concert, I would be that dumbass zombie who would spend stupid amounts just to see it. Hype is sometimes such a bad thing. But at least, I’m not patronizing some wussy oriental boyband that sings lousy remakes. HAHAHAHA! (I wish that Egyptian camel race would be the next uso! tripxyde@yahoo.com)

itz 11:06 in the morning and i have been SO busy since this morning working on my websites, resumes and this new blog