Wednesday, June 30, 2004

The McVie Family Way

This Saturday there will be a McVie family gathering to celebrate my niece’s birthday. The pregnant girlfriend is also invited.

If she attends, this will be the first time I’m meeting her. According to my mom my brother wants to get married already. She is the one who’s not sure.

My ever-sensible sister-in-law and I were discussing the matter over a rapid exchange of SMS messages:
ME: She should not be pressured to marry just for the sake of.
SHE: We told them they should attend marriage counseling first.
ME: Maybe they should concentrate on having the baby first before marriage. One major hurdle at a time.
SHE: I agree. I’ll talk to her about it on Saturday.
ME: Then again, she is from a prominent family in Bicol. Do I dare to dream of family vacations in Bicol in the future? Hahaha!
SHE: YES! Mark and I are already planning it.

As you can see, we McVies never lose our sense of humor even as we sense an opportunity.

Tuesday, June 29, 2004

The Multi-Class Cubicle

He kept staring at me, first at my face then down to my crotch. Then he’d look away, only to stare back again. Soon he was staring at my growing erection, barely concealed by the flimsy small towel, with a mind of its own.

So you know what happened next.

We ducked inside this open cubicle… when I noticed that it was the same one wherein I had sex with Mr. Orgi Peoples! When I locked the door, he asked in impeccable English, “Do you suck?” Ah yes! I thought… subject and verb agreed, tense is correct, and(!) he had a wursh-wursh twang only found among elite school students and inveterate social-climbers. So I answered, “Yah-huh!” in the sweetest, female-anime-character-impersonation voice I could muster.

Soon we were pawing at each other, hands and lips and tongues merging, squeezing, pushing, rubbing. When I went down on him, he uttered between gasps, “Oh! Yes! Oh…! Dude!”

Dude?! Did he just call me dude?

Well, well, well! Swinging from one end of the socio-economic spectrum to the other! Call me a bi-SECxual.

Or maybe a metro-SECxual. Multi-SECxual?

Heck, call me horny.

Boom! Boom! Boom! Let’s Have A Baby Boom!

This morning I woke up to howling winds and dark skies.

When I greeted my mom in her room, she sat me down and asked, “Did you hear about your brother JR?”

“No,” I answered. She peeked out of the open door to check if someone was outside. My mind started racing down the list of possibilities—accident, marriage proposal, promotion, sex-change operation….

Mom had an embarrassed smile on her lips. “Last Sunday he told me ‘Mommy, you’ll be a grandmother again soon.’ His girlfriend is 3 months pregnant.”

I blinked just once. “Oh. Okay.” Pause. My gosh, what’s happening? This is the second unplanned pregnancy I know in two weeks.

What I wanted to say was: “At least you don’t have to worry about me getting a girl pregnant, Mom!” What came out was: “Well, they don’t have to get married immediately….”

My mom cut me off. “But the poor kid! Having unmarried parents…! The stigma!”

My turn to cut her off. “Nowadays it’s a stigma only if the kid goes to a Catholic school and the nuns are strict. How old is the girlfriend?”

“22 years old. So she still needs parental consent if they’re to get married.”

“At 22 years old?!” I rolled my eyes. “Do her parents know?”

“She hasn’t told them yet. She’s afraid her father might throw her out—he’s that strict. If that happens she might stay here with us first.”

Well, well, well.

Well, well.

Oh well.

Monday, June 28, 2004

Actor Reactor

Years ago I read an article in Reader’s Digest which made a mark on me.

The author recounted how one day he saw a man buying newspapers from a vendor who seemed perennially in a foul mood. The man greeted the vendor, “Good morning!” but all he got in response was a gruff, “Humph.” In the next few days the author saw the same thing happen repeatedly. So one day he went up to the man and asked, “How come you continue to greet that vendor cheerfully when he always treats you terribly?” The man answered, “Why should I let him ruin my day? Why let him determine my mood?”

There are two kinds of people: actors and reactors. Actors take an active part on how they live their life; reactors are a more passive lot, trapped by what life throws at them. Actors determine for themselves how they will act and decide. Reactors depend on others to determine how they will act, decide… even feel. True, emotions aren’t something that we have total control over—if you are hurt, then you just are. But what you do about it is what determines your character.

It’s sad to hear of people who insist on harboring ill feelings towards others when they hold in their hands the key to a more positive outlook in life.

Take responsibility for your actions. Live the life you choose. Act!

Now, any reactions to what I just said?

Scenes Sunday

Spent a relaxing Sunday afternoon with Daniel (Daniella thankfully kept to herself.) We watched a few Frasier and Will and Grace episodes. Then we watched two movies, a 1973 thriller Don’t Look Now and an early Pedro Almodovar, Law Of Desire.

Don’t Look Now stars Julie Christie and Donald Sutherland. It’s billed as a psychic thriller, and I suppose when it first came out people found it eerie and the ending shocking. But the only scene which gave me a slight thrill was the infamous love scene between the two leads, and it wasn’t the erotic kind either. It was the thrill of checking if Donald’s “Keifer” would “rear its ugly head” despite the skillful editing and the acrobatics of the actors. It didn’t, and that led a lot of people to wonder if the two were actually doing the deed when shooting that scene. To be fair to both actors, the lovemaking scene looked and felt so natural. It was also unbearably long and boring, which led me to conclude that actual lovemaking is tedious to watch without cheesy saxophone music and bad lighting to heat things up.

Law Of Desire also features sex scenes and heavy breathing, but of the mano-a-mano kind. If Almodovar made his sex scenes as lengthy as the one in Don’t Look Now I’d have instantly dubbed this 1987 movie a masterpiece and a classic. Antonio Banderas pre-Melanie Griffith was achingly delicious as a boy obsessed with a gay film director. The movie wasn’t clear on why he was obsessed with the director, but that only lessened the film’s over-all impact; it didn’t lessen the impact of seeing him clad only in skimpy briefs. Thrice.

After I had my fill of Antonio eye-candy, Daniel and I went out for dinner. There we had fun talking about the stuff we watched and discussing Abba lyrics. Daniel told me he read somewhere that despite writing most of their songs in their second language (English), the veddy Sveedish Benny and Bjorn made only one grammatical error (Daniel forgot which one it was.)

Oh sure, I said, they may be grammatically correct, but c’mon—

The gods may throw a dice,
their minds as cold as ice.
And someone way down here
loses someone dear.
The winner takes it all,
the loser has to fall.
It’s simple and it’s plain;
why should I complain?

Now try reading that out loud like a poem; see if you can pull it off with a straight face.

Thank you for the music indeed.

Hair Apparent

“Hair is central to city life. Hair is the barometer of the soul. Every head puts forth a certain quantity of hair, and it demands tending, fuss, decision. Man is the only animal who owns a comb.”
(Paul Rudnick, Social Disease)

I’m growing my hair so that Ipe can do something about it. I am not sure exactly what can be done to my hair that I will like, so I’m keeping my fingers crossed but not raising my hopes up too high. If hair is a man’s crowning glory, mine is a dull, worn-out tiara. Thank god it’s not a crown of thorns—whoops, thank Jesus pala.

Scenes Saturday

Passed by Leigh’s before dinner for a short, wonderful chat. Finished one-third of her sinfully creamy Oreo Cheesecake. She interpreted what the runes said about my lovelife—I’m to maintain this holding-pattern for the moment. That suited me just fine.

Headed to Megamall to meet Kervs and Patrick. Patrick is Kervs’ friend and the object of his advice—he’s been playing mother hen to Patrick for the past few days. Patrick is beautiful in a little-boy-cute way. He’s exactly the type who, upon entering a place like Bed, all the men would look at him from head-to-foot and whisper under their breath: “Fresh meat… yummy.” Tell Patrick he’s cute and he’ll deny it. It’s a conundrum people with a cute face face: if they deny it, they look insincere; if they flaunt it, they’re so full of themselves.

Headed to Malate to meet Nelz. He saw Norman off at the airport that afternoon, so I wanted to see him post-departure, post-separation.

Malate at around 9:30pm: not too many people yet, so it was easy to get a place at any bar. We hung out at Komiks Café. A slight drizzle forced us inside, which limited Patrick’s chances of eyeballing and being eyeballed by gorgeous men. Tough luck boy, you’re with oldies.

Nelz arrived with Olive and Daniel. She wore a shiny-shimmering-splendid outfit that she shook to show off. I thought she was shaking her bosoms at me as a form of greeting so I said, “I can’t top that!” and shook her hand instead.

Nelz looked distracted, which is as it should be. It would be interesting to talk to him a few days into the week, when he’s back at work for several days already. After two weeks of heaven it’ll take him some time to adjust being back on earth and having both feet on the ground.

Meanwhile, we oldies helped Patrick with his current apple-of-his-eye, a guy named Ponz. They EB’d in LB but now he’s in QC. Kervs lent Patrick his phone so he could contact Ponz; I offered to drive. So off we went on an errand of mercy to pick up Ponz in Anonas.

On the way there Patrick kept raving about Ponz. When we finally got to meet him, Ponz turned out to be quite the looker Patrick described him to be. Two gorgeous guys at the back of my car: a perfect set-up for a g-film.

Back in Malate by midnight: the irrepressible host John “Sweet” Lapus was onstage wearing fairy wings and screaming: “Andami-daming mga bakla!” (“So many faggots!”) He was greeted by an approving roar and clapping from the faggots. “All you faggots here, clap your hands!” Thundering applause. “Lesbians, clap your hands!” Another thunderous applause, but less. “All you straight guys here, clap your hands!” A smattering of applause. John’s zinger was swift: “You hypocrites!”

We met up with Nelz and company at Café Adriatico. Then we headed back to the street party, which by this time was now a full-blown dance bacchanalia: hunky topless men in flimsy white pants gyrating onstage while the men below danced and ogled them.

Lost Kervs and the two kids in the crowd. But it was easy for Kervs and I to find each other via SMS; the two, unfortunately, didn’t have fully-functioning phones. We ended up searching for them for most part of an hour—we had to because they were hitching a ride with us back to LB after the party. So I told Kervs, “Just leave a text message, and let’s just chill out in Café Adriatico.”

Relaxing with Kervs in the Café, I thought, this is how like to spend my time—connecting with friends. But part of me also wanted to dance the night away back at the street party, connecting to a larger sisterhood. Yet Responsible Me was telling myself, “Stay put. It’ll be easier for the two kids to track us down if Kervs and I stay put.” True enough, they eventually found us. But Ponz still wanted to party some more. I felt like a mother with a daughter pleading, “But Mom! The party’s just starting!” Well, the night belonged to the young ‘uns. So I told them, “Okay. One more hour.”

So Kervs and I ended up sharing halo-halo and potato chips while playing mom-and-dad to two kids who wanted to party that night.

On the way to LB with Patrick and Ponz in the backseat, I was trying to stay awake while driving. Kervs couldn’t keep his hand to himself. He kept holding my hand and caressing my thigh; I kept pushing him off. “The kids are at the back!” I wanted to say.

By the time we got to LB, it was already daylight. Patrick went with Ponz to his dorm. When I entered Kervs’ room, I immediately changed to shorts. Kervs got his huge hotdog-pillow off the bed. A minute later we were both fast asleep.

Friday, June 25, 2004

Cuz This Is Trailer! Trailer Night! (Wooo!)

The perks of being a manager: my computer can download certain stuff other computers in the office cannot, like movie trailers on

Lemony Snicket’s A Series Of Unfortunate Events looks great, with Jim Carrey playing Count Olaf. I’m a big fan of this series of children’s books, because it does not talk down to kids. That’s why it’s also a hit among adults. The movie’s production design is gorgeous! And the quick sight of Meryl Streep in this not-just-for-kids movie made my heart pound faster. Definitely something I wouldn’t miss.

Another trailer that got me interested: AVP (Alien vs. Predator). The sight of two of the most recognizable and ferocious outer-space creatures in cinema going alien-to-alien has awaked the inner sci-fi geek in me.

Speaking of sci-fi, the trailer for I, Robot left me cold. Will Smith’s latest looks like they made Isaac Asimov’s cautionary tale into an effects-heavy man-versus-machine action movie.

One of my movie guilty pleasures is J-Lo’s Anaconda. It is actually a fun, no-brainer movie with a lot of over-acting by Jon Voight, a lot of big-butt acting by J-Lo, and not much acting by Eric Stoltz. It made a lot of money and helped propel the career of Jenny From The Block into Bennifer-dom. So it comes as no surprise that there’s now a follow-up movie, Anacondas: The Hunt for the Blood Orchid. The premise is simple: another band of outsiders go up the Amazon River in search for a rare orchid and stumbles upon, what a surprise, more and bigger anacondas! Plus it’s mating season so there’s even a snake orgy scene.

A curious trailer is Constantine. Based on the Vertigo character, this Warner Bros. movie stars Keanu Reeves as the title character and Rachel Weisz (from The Mummy and The Mummy Returns and The Mummy Revolutions... oops, wrong franchise.) Somehow, I cannot wrap around my mind the thought of Keanu playing “a man who lives between heaven and hell,” according to the official website. Then again he played Ted whose excellent adventure brought him face-to-face with God and Death, so I suppose he qualifies.

If you’re as lucky as I am to have high-speed internet connection, watch those trailers on

Thursday, June 24, 2004


Sigh. There’s nothing funny to write about.

My life this week has been about work, work, work. And although I handle comedy shows, there is nothing funny about my work right now.

All work and no play makes McVie a dull show.


Monday, June 21, 2004

You Live, You Learn

June 2004 is about to end. The year is halfway over already. Time flies when you’re having… whatever. What new learning do I have to show for the past six months?

[1] I need my personal space. This need is as much physical as it is emotional.

I realized this one day when I woke up beside Kervs with a lower backache. We shared his bed with a huge cylindrical pillow (one of those “hotdog” pillows) and so I had to sleep mostly still the whole time. Normally I toss and turn several times when I sleep. I go through several positions—on my stomach, fetal, flat on my back, on my right/left side. That process actually relieves the pressure off my lower back (especially the curled position, as I read in a recent medical article in the newspapers.)

What does this mean? If I’m to sleep with someone every night, either we share a king or (more appropriately) queen-sized bed or we have our own individual beds.

(Of course I had no way to know this beforehand. So now Kervs and I know better. That “hotdog” pillow has got to be pushed aside. There can only be one more hotdog in his bed, and that’s mine, mwhehehe... kidding!)

[2] I want an escape hatch, an exit plan, an eject button. Don’t box me in, don’t clip my wings. I hate being pushed to a corner. Don’t give me “you must” but rather “you may.”

My personal space is huge. It is my emotional and spiritual comfort zone, and I am wary of trespassers and land-grabbers. Anyone who imposes land reform on my comfort zone is courting resistance from this hacieñdera.

What’s the way to my heartland? I shouldn’t feel pressured. Allow me to make it my decision, my choice.


I must also learn to consciously challenge myself and step out of my comfort zone. Face my fears, court discomfort deliberately. Take chances.

[3] I have my social life, my sexual life, my personal life. Soon I will need to put more attention on my spiritual life. When you see me staring off into space or admiring nature, it’s me attempting to connect with the Infinite.

Bitter Sweets

At The Podium with the whole family to celebrate Father’s Day, I was getting bored waiting for our lunch to arrive so I decided to step out of the restaurant and walk around a bit. I went to the Leonida’s stand where they sell extremely expensive genuine Belgian chocolates—imported daily from Belgium no less, all the better to justify their exorbitant prices.

I had been warned of how expensive they were and I did see the sign: 45-something pesos per gram. But I thought, “Gee, how heavy are they? How much grams can a small truffle weigh?”

So without any further thought I told the lady behind the counter, “Four of those, and four of those, and three… no, make that four of those too.” Twelve pieces, because all in all we were eleven and I wanted an extra piece.

The lady placed the foursomes in three separate bags, and placed them on this high-tech weighing scale. I saw the total amount in pesos flashed on the indicator. And the lady just had to announce loudly so that the people around could hear, “Nine hundred twenty pesos, sir.”

Nine fucking hundred pesos for twelve pieces of candy?!

Only my Piscean acting skills and unflappable nature saved me from an embarrassing situation. “Please have them wrapped,” I said without batting an eyelash while pulling out my wallet. She placed all three in a big, expensive-looking paper bag.

Back at the restaurant instead of offering the chocolates to everybody I just placed the bag of candies aside. “What’s that?” my sister asked, curious. “For later at home,” I whispered. By that time my younger sister, her husband, my older brother, his wife and my nephew and niece would have gone back to their respective homes.

I swear one day I will get my sweet(s) revenge. I’ll fly to Belgium and charge an arm and a leg for every gram of Choc-Nut, Serg and Curly Tops.

Sunday, June 20, 2004

You Choose by the Pet Shop Boys

First time I heard this song, it struck me how mature and true it was. At that time the lyrics were oh so relevant to me because I was just coming out of a bad case of unrequited love, with me doing the “he-doesn’t-love-me!” drama queen part. When I heard the line “you won’t get drunk by accident, you’ll choose,” I knew that Neil Tennant and Chris Lowe have indeed learned their lessons well.

I like how they linked love with personal responsibility. It is love not as a noun but a verb, not just an emotion but also a decision.

He’s gone.
You’ve lost.
Stay behind
and count the cost.
You try.
You lose.
You don’t fall in love by chance.
You choose.

It’s a decision
made over time.
Should you take a risk
and start to climb
the steepest hill—
only to find
halfway there
you’ve been left behind?

Choosing to love
is risking a lot,
and trying to change
and to give all you’ve got.
But don’t pretend
it comes out of the blue.
You take a chance
and see it through,
and if it’s refused—
what can you do?
Continue hopefully?
Start anew?

Lick your wounds.
Buy your booze.
You won’t get drunk by accident,
you’ll choose.
Don’t blame him
for refusing your bid.
He didn’t decide to love—
you did.

Learn the lesson.
Take the blows.
You didn’t fall in love by chance,
you chose.
Play the sad songs.
Sing the blues.
You don’t fall in love by chance—
you choose.

And I Saw Pink

I went on a movie binge this Saturday. At the Pink Film Festival at Megamall I watched two documentaries by Nick de Ocampo, Happy Together by Wong Kar-Wai, and Hamilton McLeod’s inter.m@tes all in one day.

Of the two documentaries, what struck me was Nick’s 20-year old film Oliver which showed the life of a gay live performer. At the end of the film Oliver performed his famous “spider-man” act: he shoved this bundle of very long string inside his ass and tied one end on stage. He then “danced” all over the place, mimicking a spider’s movement while slowly uncoiling the string from inside his ass, much like a spider spinning her web. It’s an amazing sight to behold: Oliver would coil the string all over the stage—around beams, on the wings, on strategically placed nails all over the place—while dancing to pulsating music. In the end, he got entangled in his own web, a metaphor for how poverty had trapped him to that lifestyle.

I saw Happy Together on the big screen years before in another film festival. What amazed me in this film was Tony Leung’s performance—he transformed himself so completely that years later I didn’t realize that it was also him who played the lead in “In The Mood For Love” and “Hero”. The late Leslie Cheung was also radiant as Tony’s amoral and immature lover.

I was most interested in watching inter.m@tes because it was co-written, produced and directed by a Brit but the movie is situated in Manila and stars some of the more underrated Filipino actors both on screen and stage. Plus, the script was written and shot in English, so I wanted to know how our local actors fared in that department.

The negative points first: some of our actors are lousy in English and it shows, glaringly so. I even suspect Simon Ibarra’s and William Theo’s lines were dubbed by others. They were both so uncomfortable speaking the Queen’s English, their acting became too deliberate, too self-conscious. It didn’t help that the dubbing of their lines was too haphazard; it further emphasized how inadequate their grasp of spoken English.

The use of English was also a curious choice. They could have gotten better performances had the script been in Filipino. Plus some of the lines were too contrived: Toby Alejar’s character utters the line, “If he had enough chutzpa to steal ______ from ______....” I mean, who the hell uses the word “chutzpa” in a conversation?

The English lines hampered some of the actors’ performances; they seemed like they’re from another world. But the others benefited from this.

Ian Veneracion was a revelation. Clearly he was very comfortable speaking in English. His portrayal of an amoral, unapologetic, partner-hopping, closeted action star was so fearless and on the dot. It’s a measure of his achievement that while I was consciously admiring his actor’s skills, I was also convinced that I was watching his character. If I had the power I’d nominate him for Best Actor in this role.

Migui Moreno also turned in a fine performance (but the dubbing was spotty in places). And he had better command of his Filipino-English, so his acting was more natural. The scene in the car where Ian was trying to get Migui to go down on him was priceless—humor, tension and pathos seamlessly ping-ponging from one to the other and back.

Raymond Bagatsing also speaks English well, but his portrayal of an effeminate photographer was a little too deliberate and self-conscious.

Over-all the movie was spotty, and the portrayal of gays on the Internet almost a caricature at times. But some fine, humorous performances helped liven up this movie.

Saturday, June 19, 2004

Another Curveball

I was at my office desk when I received her picture message via MMS. I took one look at the image on my cellphone, double-checked the text and triple-checked the sender’s name. Then I stood up from my desk and started walking out the office, all the while punching the “call” button on my phone.

Unfortunately she answered hers before I could step out of the office: “Hello.” I could hear a smile in her voice.

“WHAAAT—?!” I screamed into my phone. Several heads popped out of their cubicles. A production assistant who was walking in front of me stopped in her tracks and turned around, with an “I-didn’t-do-anything-wrong!” expression clearly on her face. But I paid no mind to them all.

She was giggling on the other end of the line. I waited until I was at the outside corridor before speaking again.

“But you’re not suppose to get pregnant!” I said.

“But I am,” she replied. She had stopped giggling and her voice took on a more serious, whispering tone.

“And you know who the culprit is, I suppose?”

“Of course. Who else could it be?”

I stopped pacing the corridor and leaned against the wall. “Well,” I said, “and he had just gotten his girlfriend pregnant again, didn’t he?”


Wow, what feisty, fertile sperm cells this guy has! I thought.

She laughed and said, “You know, my friend ______ says that my life is the funniest sitcom she has ever seen!” Damn right—her life can easily eclipse The McVie Show.

Oh well. She can handle this.

Delete From Memory Bank

The corridor was dimly-lit. The little red lights placed near the floor provided just enough light to make out shapes, bulges, curves, general features. Men of different sizes and shapes prowled the corridors, peering intently thru the gloom, sizing each other up.

I spotted an open cubicle. I planted myself at the doorway, my eyes on the look-out for a prospect, a fuck for the night. In this place a guy is reduced to mere sinewy shoulders, bulging pecs, a thick cock, a tight ass, a cute face. If I’m really lucky I might get a guy who has at least one of the above. If I’m just lucky I might be able to get a guy.

After a minute, one guy stopped in front of me. Tall, about 5’7”, and lean in an underage way. His hair is endearingly unruly, like I imagined Harry Potter’s hair to be. He flashed his little-boy-lost smile. I nodded my head, and stepped into the cubicle. He followed in, and I locked the door.

The lock had barely clicked shut when he reached out his hands and started fondling my chest. I heard his breathing go faster, deeper. His hand went lower and as he kneeled down he took off the towel wrapped around my waist.

After working wonders with his mouth, he climbed back up and I started nibbling and licking his ears. He moaned and said, “It’s my pirst time here.”

I pretended I didn’t notice the p at first. “Really?” I asked. “Well then… I’ll make this memorable for you.”

I plunged my tongue in his right ear. He moaned even louder. “Ahhh!” he said. “I will not porget you eber,” he whispered between moans.

That’s when when I started losing my hardness. My mind was going, “If he keeps on talking…!” I decided to concentrate on sucking his nipples.

He had an inspiration. He suddenly whispered to me, “Hey, you wanna orgi? Let’s orgi!”

“Or-gi?!” I repeated.

“Yeah! I’ll go outside and get one more. You want?”

Oh, he meant orgy. Geez.

“No thanks,” I said, planted my lips on his and plunged my tongue in his mouth. That shut him up.

Minutes later, both of us spent, he stood up to leave. I was about to open the door when he said, “Wait. There are many peoples outside.”

Peoples? I sighed inwards. Memo to me: either conduct interview first, or stick to body language only.

Thursday, June 17, 2004

“Papa, Can You Hear Me?”

This Sunday will be the first time the McVie Family will celebrate Father’s Day sans titular head. But my older brother will be there together with his wife and two children, so he’ll count. And who knows, maybe even Daddy might be there in spirit… literally. Where’s my “I-see-dead-people” officemate when I need her?

Maybe we’ll have lunch at Dad’s first. Then we’ll watch “The Sixth Sense” on DVD. I can play Madonna’s “Oh Father” on repeat mode. And we’ll crack “dead dad” jokes the whole day.

Okay, so the chances of doing all those are unlikely. Except for the “dead dad” jokes—I’m sure we’ll all be up to it.

And since it’ll be Father’s Day maybe I should start looking for a Papa. Or I could be one myself! Papa-kainin, papa-aralin, papa-sayahin… at papa-pakin! Mwhahaha!

Wednesday, June 16, 2004

“Love Spelled Backwards Is E-V-O-L!”

If I can have any role I want, I’d love to play a villain, preferably a Disney villain. Villains have all the fun… and the great lines to boot. They can chew the whole scenery and spit out the most delicious zingers, comebacks and quips.

Sure, most budding badings secretly wish they’re Ariel, but it’s Ursula who steals Triton’s crown and most of The Little Mermaid. The supporting animals in The Lion King are hilarious, but no one gets to slink so slyly like Scar. And Hell hath no fury—and funny—like Hades in Hercules.

My two most favorite movie villains are played by the same actor. Alan Rickman was Hans Gruber in Die Hard and the evil Sheriff of Nottingham in Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves. In the former, his lightning-quick switch from international thief to role-playing “hostage” is a delight to behold; he delivers his lines as if he’s always gnashing his teeth. In the latter, he steals most of the movie from Kevin Costner’s Prince of Thieves by gobbling up whole scenes.

I love playing villains because they allow me to let loose the devil inside. Revenge can be sweet yet sugar-free; it’s sin without guilt. Because in reality God or karma keeps an evil-calorie count and I have to exercise restraint.

So once in a while allow me to have my evil thoughts and fiendish musings. I’m just pigging out without paying for it.

Tuesday, June 15, 2004

And It’s Only Tuesday

There’s a party going on right here, a celebration to last… well, I hope for the last time. It is our vice president’s last day, and in her honor they’ve put up a videoke machine right in the middle of the office.


Okay, I will admit to a secret fantasy—I’ve always imagined me being the lead singer of a band, performing in front of a rapturous crowd. In fact I already thought of a pitch for a movie: a rabid Beatles fan travels back in time to just before the Beatles form. He meets up with John & Paul and convinces them to form a band. He becomes the fifth Beatle, and he “steals” songs from John and Paul by “composing” such classics as Eleanor Rigby, Yesterday, A Day In The Life and other groundbreaking songs. Both Yoko and Linda fight over him. In his boredom he also starts “composing” Stairway To Heaven, Tainted Love and Billie Jean. In the end he survives a murder attempt by Mark David Chapman by shoving Yoko (yes, she succeeds in hooking him) a bit to the left.

But let’s go back to the present—someone just finished singing Bituwing Walang Ningning (A Star Without Sparkle), and she could not hit the high notes. Now it’s Hopelessly Devoted To You, and the woman singing in a thick Visayan accent is crying because our boss is leaving. But she still manages in between sobs to pull off the “But now / there’s nowhere to hide / since you pushed my love aside…” part. She’s singing “huplis(sniff)lee (sniff)deevoted to (sniff)yu.”

I decide to go into the conference room, where the remnants of the pritson (piniritong letson, or fried “roasted” pig) are getting cold. Still, free dinner always tastes great.

Someone is now singing the Village People classic, YMCA.

As much as I want to go out and watch Dawn Of The Dead, I still have work pending. Tomorrow the Pink Film Festival opens at Megamall, but I cannot catch the 6pm showing because I have a 7pm brainstorming. The opening film is about the local gay internet scene featuring several pretty Filipino actors, directed by a Brit.

The familiar piano opening of I Will Survive is now playing. My gay officemate is belting out, “At first I was afraid / I was petrified…!”

Oh well… who needs the Pink Festival?

Where’s the weekend when you need it?

Quote For The Day

“Debbie pressed her face to the car’s tinted windows. The limousine came to a stop, and a team of bodyguards leapt out. Debbie sighed and wished she could have bodyguards; she soulfully coveted a life worth threatening.”

Paul Rudnick, Social Disease, 1986

It’s Going To Be A Bumpy Ride

We’re launching a new show this weekend. The days leading to the launch will be filled with planned activities, additional work, last-minute requests, corrections and revisions. To top it all off, I’ll be attending a two-day 9am-5pm seminar Wednesday and Thursday. There goes my workout sked for those days.

There are days when you wish they contained more than 24 hours, that you had a clone, that you had more people working under you. I swear, when this week’s through I’m going to treat myself to something extra yummy special. With lots and lots of cream.

Monday, June 14, 2004


The course of true love never did run smooth. That’s why I drive an SUV.

Then there are those who drive a Ferrari or a Lamborghini. Talk about fast love.

There are those who drive a station wagon, or even a Winnebago. They’re dying to fill up the back with bags of groceries and baby carriages.

Of course there are the taxis, cruising around the city for their next pick-up, a paying customer whom they can engage, perhaps even in small talk, for several minutes, maybe even a few hours.

Some go on car-pool—several people along for the ride, but still they get off one after the other.

There are also those who love by the bus-load. (No wonder buses have become the favorite pulpits for evangelists.)

I’m on a joy-ride on the highway of love. One of these days I’m going to be flagged down and caught. And the ticket will read: “Driving without a license.”

Weekend Joys

Spent the weekend in LB, first hanging out with Kervs on Saturday then hooking up with his friend Ipe on Sunday. Ipe is dark skinned but his face lights up at the smallest excuse. Like most creative people I know, he jumps from interest to interest, sometimes at the same time. He is a jack-of-many-trades, mastering them all—his current incarnation is hairstylist/stained glass window maker/wall-climber. I’m sure his wall-climbing skills will come in handy when putting up stained glass church windows featuring well-coiffed saints. (Just once I’d love to see a crucified Jesus with a shampoo-commercial perfect hair shot, with Mama Mary and Magdalene looking up at Him, with shiny, flowing locks instead of those silly veils and headdresses. But I digress.)

I tend to gravitate towards certain people because of their joie de vive. Ipe can enjoy 5 bottles of beer on a Sunday afternoon and then conspire with Kervs to whip up a mean dinner after and still manage to gasp in awe and cower in suspense while watching Spirited Away for a second time. He promised he can style my hair. Now, that’s a dream I’ve never achieved for 38 long years. If Ipe can do the unlikely, I'll call it the Iper Cut.

Kervs said he wanted more gay friends around him. Ipe is a welcome ingredient in his mix of friends, which also include a fair share amount of straights. Boy, girl, bakla, tomboy so goes the children’s chant. Friends can be of any form and persuasion, so long as they are true to you and let you remain true to yourself.

Saturday, June 12, 2004

Game Portion: Say, Say, Sayings

Combine a well-known quote or line (whether from literature or popular sayings or even clichés) with the title of a song:

[1] Beauty is in the eye of the tiger.
[2] An apple a day in the life.
[3] An apple a day keeps feeling fascination.
[4] Real men don’t leave me this way.
[5] If at first you don’t succeed, try a little tenderness.
[6] The best things in life are free as a bird.

Your turn. Go!

McVie Says

“Life is complicated as it is. Love is just as complicated. Why go out of your way to complicate things?”

“An uncomplicated relationship is not necessarily boring. It’s just one item off your ‘Headaches of the Week’ list.”

“When in doubt, doubt. At least you won’t be half-assed about it.”

“Between food and sex, food is more reliable. Between great food and great sex, sex wins hands down. Between Brad Pitt and Colin Farell—why not?!”

“The course of true love never did run smooth. That’s why I drive an SUV.”

“One does not choose his sexual preference; one can only choose to accept or deny it. I chose to be fabulous!”

Friday, June 11, 2004

“Pop Quiz, Hotshot!”

My officemates were playing this pop-quiz game, and their “what-if” question was this: if you were another person, would you fall for/have a crush on/court yourself? Pretend you’re another person and you met your own self. Would you like you enough to court you? (For straights, your “other person” should be of the opposite sex; for gays, the same gender.)

When they asked me, I didn’t hesitate to answer: “Yes, I’d find me interesting. I like myself, actually.” Then I walked back to my desk.

There I pondered the question some more. I know my negative points, and while some of them can be a turn-off for me, my other traits more than make up for them. But here’s the rub: while I may like me, there are other guys who’ll interest me more than me.

Let’s pretend I enter a bar full of men, including me (whom we will call “Me” for clarity’s sake.) I realize Me won’t be the first person I’d look at because, physically, I am not my type. (Which I think is easily explainable in psychological terms: we don’t necessarily look for a mirror image of ourselves.)

But going past the physical, once I get to know Me and figure out what Me is like, then I believe I wouldn’t mind hanging out with Me. I’ll hit it off quite well with Me, because we have the same sense of humor and interests.

Will I want a long-term relationship with Me? Hmmm. Well… lifelong friends, sure. But have Me as a boyfriend or “husband”? I don’t want to live with a mirror image of me.

What I found interesting is that almost half answered “no” to that question. Genuine lack of self-esteem or pa-humble effect? Honest self-assessment or safe answer to an embarrassing question?

You, dear viewer: would you fall for your self?

Wednesday, June 09, 2004

City By Night

Last night on my way home, while crossing the Marikina bridge (the one along JP Rizal, not the bridge along Marcos highway), I noticed there was a light mist covering the city. The powerful lamps along the river cast a yellow glow on the water and on the riverbank park, but the mist muted the glow and added a sense of… was it romance? Danger? Sadness? Excitement?

The bars and restaurants along the riverbank were still very much awake, even at midnight. There were numerous cars, motorcycles and bikes parked; people were hanging out in pairs and in groups. Intrigued, I turned right after going down the bridge, then right again, then parked.

Before I could step out of Orlando (my car), I noticed a car parked across the road from where I was. The window on the driver’s side was down, and a man around early 30s was talking to two guys standing beside the car. One of the guys was tall, about 5’11”, lean and muscular in a tight tee. The other was shorter, around 5’4”, stocky in a “close-to-being-fat” kind of way. The man in the car obviously had his eye on the taller dude; his eyes kept darting in his direction, taking him in from head to foot. The shorter guy, though, was the one who kept business going; he was talking most of time for his taller companion, who would time and again lean into the car window, cocking his head as if to listen to some whispered enticement. Then he’d giggle, stand up with his hands in his pocket, and look at short guy who would start talking and gesturing again.

After a while it seemed they reached some sort of agreement. The short guy was gesturing towards the direction of the main street outside the park. Then the three shook hands. The two guys started walking away from the car, which started up and drove away... towards the main street.

Curious, I stepped out of Orlando and walked out of the park towards the main street. When I got there, I saw the car parked along the street, with the engine running. Soon enough, the taller guy stepped out from another corner and started walking towards the car. He climbed into the passenger’s seat, and then the car sped off.

Well, I said to myself, at least someone’s going to get lucky tonight. Thank god this is Marikina; no gay serial killings here, unlike in Quezon City.

Then I noticed them: a guy in shorts and polo shirt standing several meters away, then another in an all-black t-shirt and jeans ensemble standing way further down the street. My, my, my!

All over the city our incumbent mayor, Marides Fernando (the wife of MMDA chief Bayani Fernando) placed billboards proclaiming “Marikina City In The Pink Of Health” and made pink the official color of the city: pink men’s urinals, pink sidewalks, pink signboards on jeepneys. Perhaps she doesn’t know that the Pink Purse is doing brisk business in her city of pink.

I walked back to my car and climbed in. My watch said 12:50am… my gosh, I was watching this little negotiation drama unfold for close to an hour! Go home, get some sleep, I told myself.

I drove off, the park still brightly lit in a yellow haze, a blanket of mist tucking people to bed….

Tuesday, June 08, 2004

Thundercats Are Go!

Today I’m walking with a slight limp on my left knee.

Last night we had a farewell party for our division VP. They were playing Beyonce’s Crazy In Love, and I started copying her moves from her music video.

Uh oh, uh oh, uh oh, oh no no! I sashayed down the dance floor, hips swaying and hands swinging, uh oh, uh oh, uh oh, oh no no! and then suddenly drop on all fours I look and stare so deep in your eyes and then twist and turn and on hands and knees while singing I touch you more and more every time and of course I just had to top Beyonce’s performance so I flipped-and-tumbled, slammed onto the wall, twisted and dropped and turned-turtle and all the while lip-synching to the song.

When I got home my left knee was groaning, my right palm was throbbing, and my back was complaining. Throughout the night I kept flip-flopping in bed, twisting and turning to get a comfortable position. This morning at the gym I decided to just do cardio and forgo weights until tomorrow.

Sigh. The spirit is Beyonce, but the flesh is Madonna.

Monday, June 07, 2004

Akong’s Ring-A-‘Ding

I re-discovered this piece written by Akong Bongcaras right after the first movie came out. Akong’s part of the comedy improv group SPIT. Not surprisingly, he’s also a writer for GMA-7’s comedy shows. And so, with full credit where credit is due, I now give you…

A Scene from “Gaylord of the 'Dings”
Part 1 “Federasyon of the 'Ding”

LA Lopez as Froda
Bernardo Bernardo as Ganda-Gandalf
Arnel Ignacio as Legs-golas
and Allan K as The Bal-rouge (as in Moulin Rouge)

Fly kaagad ang Federasyon ng 'Ding papalabas ng minahan ng Moria-Carey, keri pa rin ng malditang si Froda ang singsing. Pero bago sila makalabas ng lungga, may-I-appear ang higanteng ng bakulaw ng anino at apoy, si Bal-rouge, kasingtaas ng sampung Melanie Marquez—butas pa lang ng ilong niya iyon. Pudpod na ang heels ng stiletto ni Legs-golas pero parang anino pa ring sumusunod si Bal-rouge sa likuran nila.

Nikew! Bekit be teye tekbew neng tekbew? Nepepegid ne ekew! Bekit hindi mene teyew megtegi se deleweng lengge ne iyewn?
(Naku! Bakit ba tayo takbo nang takbo? Napapagod na ako! Bakit hindi muna tayo magtago sa dalawang lungga na iyon?)

Gaga! Hindi lungga iyon! Ilong iyong ng Bal-rouge! Siya nga yung humahabol sa atin eh! Gandalf! Gandalf! Ano ba ang dapat nating gawin?

Correction! Ganda-Gandalf! Emphasis on the "Ganda". Hay naku! Walang sinabi ang beauty niyang Bal-rouge na iyan sa beauty ko! Kaya yan ng powers ko!

Sege nge Gendelf!
(Sige nga Gandalf!)

Excuse me Froda, sinabi nang Ganda-Gandalf ang itawag nyo sa akin! Bueno, magtutuos kami! May gusto bang sumama sa inyo sa akin?

Mauna ka na! Age before beauty!

Bruha! Pilayin kita diyan eh!

Sa pagkakataong iyon, hinarap ni Ganda-Gandalf ang higanteng halimaw na si Bal-rouge habang tumatakas ang walong ka-Federasyon sa makitid na tulay. Kinuha ni Ganda-Gandalf ang kanyang baston at ang espada si Glamding, nag-strike-a-pose (vouge), ni-recite ang lyrics ng “Papa Don't Preach,” at hinarangan ang daan ni Bal-rouge.

You shall not pass! Ako si Ganda-Gandalf! Alagad ng Sikretong Suklay-at-Gunting! Taga-hawak ng makapangyarihang Blower! You shall not pass! Kahit bangs mo ay hindi makakadaan! Walang sinabi yang apoy ng iyong Pangkulot! You shall not pass!


You shall not pass!

Hindi pwede.

At bakit hindi pwede, aber?

Eh paano, Two-Diamonds iyang tinapon mo! Wala akong tira! Yan na ang pinakamataas na baraha, gaga!

Ekele ke be neglelere sile ng bridge?
(Akala ko ba naglalaro sila ng bridge?)

Gaga! Naglalaro sila ng Pusoy Dos! Tayo ang nasa bridge! At kapag hindi tayo umalis, baka lahat tayo ay masinghot pa ng naglalakihang ilong ng Bal-rouge! Diyos ko! Hindi ko kailanman pinangarap na maging kulangot o pesteng ahem ng bakulaw na iyan, ano!

You shall not pass!

Eh sa wala ngang tira eh!

O sige na nga, ako na titira... O bunot! All-up, siyete-pares, sin-flores, hagip pati high!

At sa mga katagang iyon, gumuho ang Mahjong wall ng Bal-rouge kung kaya nahulog siya sa malalim na bangin.


Umuwi ka na at kanina pa walang makain ang mga anak mo!

Hiningal sa pagod si Gandalf sa quorum, este, sa tagisan nila ni Bal-rouge. At habang patalikod na siya upang balikan ang mga ka-Federasyon niya, sumulpot bigla ang tuchang ng ilong ng Bal-rouge at pinuluputan ang hita ni Ganda-Gandalf. Nahila pababa ng bangin si Ganda-Gandalf at bago mahulog ay napakapit pa siya sa dulong bato. Napasigaw at mabilis na humabol sina Froda at Legs-golas papunta sa bangin.

Gandalf! Gandalf!

Mga hunghang! Sinabi nang Ganda-Gandalf! Emphasis on GANDAAAAAAAAA!

Nakabitiw na si Ganda-Gandalf sa bato at tuluyan nang nahulog sa bangin. Lumuha ang buong Federasyon sa nangyari, pero sa isang mata lang, para siyempre wagi ang dramatic moment.

Nekew! Peene ne yen! Wele ne siye! Wele neng teteleng se eten se eteng menge pekekepegsepeleren! Peene ne ngeyen eng Federesyen keng wele ne siye?!
(Naku! Paano na yan! Wala na siya! Wala nang tutulong sa atin sa ating mga pakikipagsapalaran! Paano na ngayon ang Federasyon kung wala na siya?)

Alam mo Froda, wala akong naintindihan sa sinabi mo. Kaya tama na iyan, fly na tayo!

Pereng eyew keng emeles ditew. Beke meeligtes pe netin siye.
(Parang ayaw kong umalis dito. Baka mailigtas pa natin siya.)

Ano ka ba? Let go and let's go! Tara lets, hobbits! Dali, sayang ang araw! Papantayin ko pa ang tan ko sa legs ko. Legs ko, este, let's go Binggo!

Eyekew! Eyekewng emelis!
(Ayoko! Ayokong umalis!)

Tara na! Sige ka, may moomoo diyan!

Sige, tere ne!
(Sige, tara na!)

And they did not move.

It Must Be The Rain

Here comes the rain again
Falling on my head like a memory
Falling on my head like a new emotion…

Feeling a bit muted today. Not sad, just… gray. Like the skies today.

Maybe it’s because today there are some things I have to do at work that I’m not looking forward to at all. Hay naku, can’t wait for our new boss to come in. I hope he can shake things up. Wala lang, para maiba lang. Otherwise, I’ll be thinking of flying the coop once again, with or without any financial increase.

Boredom… Ennui is the half-sister of Solitude, and she is making her presence felt on this rainy Monday afternoon.

Or maybe this isn’t boredom but a desire to rid myself of unwanted responsibilities. Can’t I just be responsible for things I choose? Then again, I chose this job; I can choose to leave it too.

Ano ba ito?! Maybe I shouldn’t be singing a Eurythmics song, but a Bangles song:

It’s just another manic Monday (woo-o-woo)
Wish it were Sunday (woo-o-woo)….

Sunday, June 06, 2004

Got To Believe In Magic

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban was enjoyable, still quite faithful to J.K. Rowling’s book. That’s why it is ho-hum in parts… so what else is new?

Well, the kids are older and more fetching to look at, especially Daniel and Emma. Their acting can still stand a few more years of maturity (Daniel’s weakest scene was during his dramatic highlight in the snow, when he found out Sirus Black was his godfather.) The tone is darker and grittier, both in Privet Drive and in Hogwarts. Some of the characters from the first two movies were pushed back to give way to new ones.

To speed things up, the movie ended up choppier than the first two. But remember, the third book is longer than the first two, but the third film is the shortest of the three. No wonder transitions were nonexistent at times.

Luckily for me, I forgot to review the book before watching the movie. So I was puzzled: [1] who threw the stones inside Hagrid’s hut to alert the kids of the arrival of Buckbeak’s executioner? [2] how could Harry’s dad drive away the Dementors with a spell when he’s already dead?

So when the answers were revealed, I experienced the same sudden rush of thrill I had when I first read the book. And if only for that moment, I was enthralled—by Rowling’s magic, conjured with a wave of Alfonso Cuaron’s capable wand.

I really hated the freeze-fame ending, though. Ugh! (But the end credits roll using the Marauder’s Map was cool.)

There’s Got To Be A Morning After

The Day After Tomorrow harks back to all the 70s Irwin Allen disaster movies (think The Towering Inferno and The Poseidon Adventure) with one clearly visible advantage—the advances in visual effects technology.

Thus we have the spectacle of a towering wall of water crashing down Manhattan, tornadoes tearing Los Angeles apart, and the coming of a second Ice Age in speeds the attention-deficient MTV-and-Playstation-generation would appreciate (plus the freezing effects were a lot—pardon the pun—cooler than Mr. Freeze’s in Batman Forever.)

They ditched the schmaltzy theme song (the title of this episode refers to Poseidon’s Oscar-nominated ditty.) But what they retained were the individual life stories of Very Important Characters interspersed between the “Ooh!” and “Ah!” spectacular set pieces. Ostensibly they’re there to provide the drama, the human interest that will hopefully connect with the viewers.


I plunked down one hundred thirty pesos (I watched in Greenbelt 3, so sue me for being sossy) to see CGI (computer generated images), not to see Ian Holm reduced from playing Bilbo Baggins to Amado Pineda. I wanted to see Manhattan go under water, not Jake Gy-howdoyouspellhislastname-ll underplay. I wanted to see planes and buildings come crashing down instead of heavy-handed dialogue delivered so clumsily you could hear the “clunk!” after the actors say the line (“I made a promise to my son. I’m going to keep it.” [clunk!])

Noticed though how New York is the most abused city in the movies. King Kong made it his romping ground. The Ghostbusters had to save it from an ancient evil that came back in the form of a Stay-Puff Marshmallow Man mascot. The aliens in Independence Day blew up the Empire State building and destroyed the Statue of Liberty. Godzilla tried to do a King Kong but ended up giving birth to mini-Godzillas in a sequence that looked like a deleted scene from Jurassic Park. Why does Hollywood love to pick on New York and trample on it? Is this some sort of an East Coast versus West Coast kind of thing?

To be fair, The Day After Tomorrow showed Hollywood wiped out by tornadoes. After years of seeing New York landmarks being trampled, blown up, or covered in post-apocalyptic rubble, it was nice to see the Hollywood sign torn down by a twister.

And while it was a throwaway joke, it was funny to see the reversal of roles at the US-Mexico border, where thousands of Americans started pouring into Mexico to escape the winter storm.

The Day After Tomorrow is really a typical Hollywood summer blockbuster movie: heavy on special effects, light in character, plot and theme, and totally forgotten the day after tomorrow.

Saturday, June 05, 2004

When He Manages, Man Ages

“Just when I thought I as out, they pull me back in!” – Al Pacino as Michael Corleone in The Godfather Part III.

Early this evening my boss, the vice president of our division, called me in her office. She’s retiring this month after 18 years of service and now she’s finishing off all her assignments before she goes on leave.

She told me they were formally promoting me to manager. I’ve been functioning as one since last quarter of last year, but at that time there was a moratorium on hiring and promotions. It’s only now that they were given the go signal.

I still don’t know the full implications of the title, especially regarding finances and benefits. But her announcement came at an opportune time.

When my dad died, there were changes—both subtle and otherwise—in my life. I was seriously contemplating leaving my present job. I even used my time in Bohol for assessment.

But except for some dissatisfaction with the amount of workload and some company-wide processes, I’m pretty much happy where I am. And with the arrival of the new company president, plus my new boss on June 16, suddenly there’s excitement as to the changes these two high-level officers will initiate, both within our division and throughout the company. Suddenly I’m excited again. I want to be in the thick of things when changes occur.

So for now it looks like I’m staying put. I’m giving our new bosses a chance, so they’ll need my support as well.

Now… what was that she was saying again about a car plan, hmmm?

Friday, June 04, 2004

Puff Piece

I did not quit smoking, I just stopped.

Let me explain.

I used to smoke half a pack a day back in college. When I first tried quitting, I lasted 6 months. But then I lit one again, and that was that. The next time I quit smoking, I was smoke-free for about 5 months and then... puff, puff, smoke, smoke.

I realized I smoked because I needed to occupy my time and my hands, usually while waiting—for a meeting to start, for a ride, for the food to arrive.

First I had to find an alternative to smoking. While waiting I’d reach for a book or magazine instead. Or play games in my cellular phone. Soon I saw no need to puff a cigarette while waiting.

Then I threw away my lighter. I also stopped buying cigarettes, and bummed off others instead. After a while it became really embarrassing to keep bumming off friends, so I did it less and less. Pretty soon I stopped asking for a stick.

More importantly, I made an important paradigm shift. I realized I put too much pressure on myself if I say “I quit smoking.” So I just said, “I stopped smoking.” Meaning if I puff once in a while, I don’t feel bad because, in the first place, I didn’t quit. My self-esteem remains intact.

Today my mouth doesn’t crave for nicotine at all. Yes, I admit to puffing once in a while, usually after a very heavy meal. But now I prefer to put a different “stick” in my mouth.

Nowadays my oral fixation is of an organic kind.

Wednesday, June 02, 2004

Relax, Watch A Movie... Win A Bike

Yesterday I was so busy editing and preparing for a presentation to our new boss that when I looked up it was already 10:30pm. This morning I skipped gym and went straight to our presentation which is still on-going at this very moment. I just snuck out.

There are times when I love being busy. I’m productive and at the same time I’m distracted from random thoughts and concerns that range from the trivial (“I need to lose more inches off my tummy”) to the troubling (“Why do I still have this disquiet re my dad’s death?”) But while my mind is distracted, my body gets tired and restless.

Times like these, I need a juicy… cock.

Which reminds me: at a dinner party, Daniel/la told me how he/she would sometimes direct people (especially our former classmates) to The McVie Show whenever they’d ask him/her, “So how’s McVie?” However, he/she always warns them to watch out for the, err, explicitly gay content of some of the episodes.

I told him, oh let them see it. They’re adults, they can handle it. And if they cannot, no one’s pointing a gun to their heads. They can easily log off.

Well, they might be reading it while their kids are beside them, Daniel/la argued.

In my mind I rolled my eyes. And I dropped the subject.

I Miss U Much! (Oh, I Miss U Much!)

There are times when I feel so butch, like when I’m changing a flat tire or when I go gaga inside a hardware store. Or when I come in for work, see that our office TV monitors are on RPN-9 (we only monitor our channel and the competitor), ask “What’s on?” and is told incredulously, “You mean you don’t know?! It’s Miss Universe!”


Unlike most gays I was never into beauty contests. The only beau-cons I was interested in were local gay beauty contests… and only because of their hilarious Q-&-A portions (“If you had a choice, what would you choose for our country—El Niño or La Niña?”) The idea of statuesque beauties parading their feminine glory does not appeal to me at all. The last time I tuned in to a Miss U contest, Miriam Quiambao’s spectacular comeback from a pratfall earned her a shot at the crown.

Well… we just found out that Miss Philippines failed to make it to the semi-finals. So now our monitors are back to local programming.