My ass hurts like hell. My flat smells like burnt bacon.

I had a rather long and tedious day. I had to go to the bank this afternoon to take care of some things and while I was going to the bank I had an accident. I slipped on one icy pavement. It hurt like hell. I was listening to my mp3 player and shite, walking and trying to act cool because I was listening to this podcast about Jesus {I know kinda lame but I love Jesus so sue my ass. And besides it was really a kewl lecture about the historical Jesus given by this Stanford doctor shite... I know I'm a nerd.} So yeah, I was listening to this podcast and then all of a sudden, I saw the skies open up to me {no Jesus or Holy Ghost in the guise of a dove or anything, just the sky} and my ass started hurting like hell. I fuckin slipped! In the middle of a slightly busy thoroughfare. Talk about an embarrassing situation. My first reaction was to look around if anybody was looking. Luckily a Chinese couple who was across the street were the only people who saw me. I mustered whatever dignity that I had left of me and stood up and limped to the bank. A word of advice to the people who are interested in coming to the Noddle Kingdom in the winter time, be careful of slippery and icy pavements because they are so common here. Avoid them like a plague. First it can cause serious damage to your hip or leg or back, if you happen to fall real hard {heard that one foreigner had to go to the doctor to have a hip replacement surgery or something... then again, she was a septuagenarian} and second it's really, really, really, REALLY DIRTY. Imagine frozen goo.

I got a call from Nina while I was at work. The building people were trying to get into my room because it smelled like something was burning. Turned out that my incense pot was "burning". Before I left for work, I made sure that the incense wasn't burning and shit. I always made sure that I don't leave anything burning {I had other "incidents" in the past concerning burnt pots and pans}. With the incense, I always put it out with used, dry ground coffee and it always worked and all, except today. When I asked Nina to ask the building people to open my room just to make sure, they saw my room filled with smoke and it was coming from my incense pot. The dried up coffee was burning!

I had to talk and to apologize to the building people when I went back from work and to promise them never ever ever EVER to put dried coffee on my incense pot again. WTF, I'm still gonna burn my incense.

So yeah, today was an embarrassing day for me. My ass hurts like hell and my flat smells like burnt bacon.

BAH HUMBUG!

Like I said last year, Christmas isn't just what it used to be. With Britney Spears and Paris Hilton turning back to Jesus, the United States ever weakening dollar {mind you, it's not only the Americans that are affected by the weakening dollar} and homophobes being more creative in the yuletide season, to name a few, why the hell should you celebrate Christmas?

Don't despair though. For those of you out there who have gotten tired of the Yuletide Season and for those of you who think that Christmas is just way overrated, here's a holiday for you

Chrismahanukwanzakah!

And, the best part is, you don't even need to send greeting cards to your BFF's and frenemies and your exes and your estranged relations.

HAPPY CHRISMAHANUKWANZAKAH!
and enjoy the free food!

An Indecent Proposal

One woman at the office after work asked me this question.

"Would you like me to ride you?"

I was like...

"Can you say that again, please?"

She then said...

"I said would you like me to ride you? It's late and it's hard to get a taxi."

Finally understanding her statement, I said yes.
SHE RODE ME.
But before we got in her car, I did tell her the right way of offering a ride in English, just in case she offers other foreign coworkers if they wanted a ride.

Well, if it were Milo Ventimiglia ...


...who asked me the same question.

You wouldn't hear me asking for a clarification. And it would be a different story altogether.

On Blogging in The Noodle Kingdom ...

... is no picnic lemme tell you. It just isn't. The world's soon to be largest internet user is more anal than a bottom in jungle heat. And when I say anal, I mean Freud/Jung/Bel-Ami/Republican anal. It pisses me off, mind you. Blogger, Typepad and Wordpress, the three blogging giants in the blogosphere are blocked in the Noodle Kingdom. And so is Wikipedia, BBC {from time to time}, Flickr, YouTube and many others . Do you know how hard it is for me to post a blog? Or to wiki something? Or to google a whatnot or a whuchamacallitsthetipofmetoungedamnit?! Or to browse some honest to goodness porn!?! It's hard lemme tell you!

HAAAAAAAAAARD! {Omar screams at the top of his lungs while looking up at his ceiling while making a fist out of his right hand then punching the nothingness above his head twice... oh yeah there's some drool on his chin too... for effect}.

Beastie Boys is playing in my head right now. Don't ask me why, I like their beat. Whosit, you say? Ask yer mom. Yeah it's old, so what?!


What gives anyways? Why the blockorama? Well, you have to thank the LLAWERIF TAERG. And what is exactly the Llawerif Taerg {GFW to us here in the Noodle Kingdom}? Click on the link above stoopid.


There is one consolation though. I am not alone. The rest of the almost 300 million users in the Noodle Kingdom plus the expats who work here suffer the same fate. YAY! All is not lost tho. There are ways to climb the wall. Thank Jizzms for that. It's slow and everything, and its not 100% full proof, but hey I need my online time. I surf, therefore I am.

It makes me wonder though. With The Noodle Kingdom's internet users rising at a super lightning highly dramatic overexposed Keira Knightley pace, how will Big Brother keep up with the X Ray vision?

Are you there Neo? When will you tumble down my rabbit hole?


NB
Big Brother,
If you are reading this {which I'm sure you are}. I heart the Noodle Kingdom!!!!!!!! Me likey likey! Cheap food and beer and smokes. Likey likey. Seriously though, I wouldn't be here if I didn't. Well, it's just me, I don't know about the rest of the expat community here. But I'm sure they feel the same way. And oh yeah, world peace and shit.

The Confessions of an Insom{a}niac XVIII - It is oh, so quiet...

Yes. Not a sound to be heard except my PC humming now and then. It's so quiet in my flat right now, in fact, it's real quiet in my building right now.

I have to confess that for the first time in months, I actually feel quiet and relaxed. And it's not even 10 pm. I just got out of the bathtub feeling all fresh and squeaky clean. An incense is burning by my window. My whole flat {and probably the whole floor} smells like an Indian temple or an ashram.

I'm loving this. The quietude in my flat, in my whole building. I wish it was like this every night. The quietude filling my senses and leaving me drunk with something short of bliss all night. And the feeling will linger on till the morning I wake up.

I just realized that I am living a"noisy" life. I am surrounded by noise 24/7. Cellphones, computers, TV, radio, cars, buses, taxis, airplanes, audio players, hi fi's, lo fi's, home entertainment systems, alarms, plastics, metals, wood, paper, office machines, household appliances, buildings, footsteps, chatter, arguments and negotiations, shouts and whispers, work, pubs, nightclubs... everything, produces a certain vibration. A sonorous reverberation of something that echoes the unnatural. I even find eating and sleeping is "noisy" sometimes. It's all a part of living nowadays, noise. I guess noise is one among the many things that humanity has to pay in exchange for modernity. The comforts of Urbania, from the can opener to the supercomputers are never free. They all come with a price tag that is not payable in any legal tender. Yet we pay for it every single heartbeat. Silence has become a luxury for us city dwellers. The world has become one noisy place because of man and his incessant need to modernize.

Even the aliens probably hear the noise that we make from outer space. Sometimes I wonder what they think of us. Maybe they think that we talk too much. That we rarely think things through before we act. That we have too much bravado as a race but not enough {com}passion as a society. Or perhaps, they're also the same, these green , purple, red, yellow, { insert any color here } beings from another planet. Perhaps, they too, are a race of beings that thrive and live and capitalize on noise.

Today was a noisy day for me. It started with my alarm ringing, followed by my cellphone. Then I do my morning absolutions. Then I work. Then I had to move some of my things {mostly books and other stuff} to my new flat downtown {which is 5 times noisier than the present area where I am at}. Then I answer phone calls again. Computer. Work. Taxi. Food. Then I clean up my flat. Then I am annoyed by the obnoxious hotel guests housed on my floor who happen to like shouting at each other's faces for no apparent reason. Phone. Internet. Water dripping. Washing machine. Phone.

This in fact, was just a usual day for me. Except for the obnoxious hotel guests on my floor, I live this life everyday. I am not complaining, mind you. I am just being observant. The quiet that I am experiencing now is one of those rare and precious occasions that I selfishly crave for sometimes. The auspicious silence in my flat gives me an opportunity to be still and to slow down and even to stop and think. I remember that credit card commercial about some things in life that money just can't buy. This is definitely one of those, priceless moments. The irony is that I don't even own a credit card.

I remember back when I was a bit younger. There was a time when I lived on a hill not far from Urbania. In fact, the only thing that separated me from the metropolis was this huge lake. It was just hours away from the city but it was like a totally different world up on that hill. I was surrounded by mango trees and frogs and lizards and snakes and God knows what. I used to live almost everyday waking day of my life in such quietude that the silence and stillness became noise apparent. There were times, back then when I used to really dislike the stillness around me. Sometimes I would go down the hill and take the next bus to the nearest city so I could breathe the fresh carbon emissions and just eat real food {fast food}. I needed to escape the quiet, the trees and frogs and the fresh air. Right now, in precious and quiet moments like these, I remember that year when I lived on that hill surrounded by mango trees and frogs. I get that funny feeling inside whenever I think about that hill. I guess it's nostalgia or probably a mild case of ulcer or heartburn. My memorable moments on that hill was the rooftop. At night, I would go up the rooftop to go for a quick smoke. I would sit and admire the lake and city skyline in front of me. Urbania is pretty from afar and so still. She was pretty, Urbania. Pretty she may be, but was more mesmerized by the sky above me. The night sky from the rooftop was beautiful. Stars would bathe me and bless me. I would lie on the concrete roof and look at the night sky and just admire it for hours. It was beautiful and sacred. It was something that I can never find across the lake.

I grew up on that hill. I wrote poems there. I burned most of them after a year. But I sometimes find reciting the lines in my head. I came up there as a boy and I came down a young man. The quietude on that hill taught me a lot things. Things, that I still carry until today. I am reminded of that hill whenever I have quiet moments like these. I am reminded of the stars above me and how mesmerized I was upon seeing those thousands upon thousands of gigantic balls of gases burning for eons suspended in space and outliving time itself. I am reminded of Urbania in front of me, beckoning me to come and embrace her. She looked so quiet and still from afar. Now after all all those years, after embracing Urbania and all that she held and possess, I look outside my window and I realize that I am at the other side of the lake {although there is no lake}. I look up to the night sky and wait for her blessing. I am not even waiting for her to bless me, just some some semblance of recognition will do. Through my window I look up and wait. But I see no stars.

And back to our regular programming

I'm here at the coffee shop after a client meeting and I decided that I just needed a cuppa joe to warm my balls because its just damn cold here right now. So here I am drinking my cuppa in my favorite coffee shop in the downtown area of my city and I'm just loving it. The coffee's not that expensive, the place is real homey and bohemian chic with nice sofas and cushions and all and I get free and unlimited wireless connection. I just realized that I really have a crappy ass slow Internet connection at my place. It's just ass crappy slow. An 80 year old having an erection is faster than the Internet connection at my place.

On the brighter side of things. I already told my boss that I will be resigning by the end of January next year. I'm through working for the system and shite {yeah right}. I guess I need some change. I need something new, or something sorta new or something whatever. So that means that I will be moving out of my flat coming January 2008. I'm kinda excited {OK I'M REALLY EXCITED}. I'll be moving in with a friend of mine in the downtown area. She lives in a big flat with two bedrooms, nice kitchen and a spacious living room where you can actually do cartwheels. Didn't I say she has Internet connection? {a fast one}. The only downside is that she doesn't have a bathtub. I am soooo gonna miss my bathtub. I think I'll be using my bath tub on a daily basis from tonight until late January.

I'm starting to miss my flat already.

more to come folks.

Brando's here

I'm sorta giddy.

FIRST SNOW IN FREEZEVILLE, ON BRANDO, KARAOKE, 2 GIRLS 1 CUP

It's official. Winter has come to my part of the Noodle Kingdom. We had our first snow today. It happened on my way to work and I could just feel that it was gonna snow {Well, I also happen to see the weather forecast this morning}, and it did. It's been snowing for almost ten hours now and lemme tell you, it seems that it doesn't want to stop. I'm not complaining though and apparently so does my guest for this week, Brando. He loves my city to bits. He raves about the noodles and even the snow because it doesn't melt that fast, unlike in London. He couldn't believe how ridiculously cheap things are here. And then there is karaoke {KTV for the Chinese}. Him and some of my friends sang till their vocal chords and my ears bled of ABBA. What can I say, they like to sing and they're pretty good at it, especially Brando. I don't think I'm cut out for karaoke though. It's not that I don't like it, in fact I could stand it for an hour and prolly enjoy some songs {like if its from Nirvana or Meatloaf} but I don't think I could go on for hours. I'm just amazed at the fact that my friends could sing to almost non stop for over 3 hours, and I am not exaggerating.

Brando and I are in a coffee shop right now. We've been here for over three hours now. I'm stitting here, blogging and emailing while he plays with his SLR. The coffee shop is really nice, very homey and bohemian at the same time. I like this.

A friend of mine provided a link via yahoo messenger telling me that I should check it out because it was way too funny. Lemme tell you that it was just gross. No, it's not just gross, it wasn't even remotely funny to me. Some people might even think it's funny or mildly erotic but this is not definitely my cup of tea. Don't say I didn't warn you though.

GEEK FOREVER

It dawned on me just now. I am a geek, and I will always be one.
and...
I am cool with it.

overheard in new york... one of my new obsessions.

You have to admit, us human beings love to listen to other people's conversations. Deny it if you must {I'm surely gonna do if I am asked}, but you just can't help but listen when you "accidentally" hear other people talking. Other people's business are actually interesting, especially if we just happen to overhear it in a restaurant, on a bus or the tube, or in the streets...

This is what overheard in new york is all about - overheard conversations which are waaay too funny not to be shared.

Here are some samples

Older woman: Excuse me, miss?
Younger woman: Yeah?
Older woman: Your veil, your burqa is very beautiful. I didn't know your people were allowed to wear it in bright colors.
Younger woman: It's not a burqa, it's a poncho. I'm Jewish. It's for the rain. I got it at TJ Maxx.

--53rd & 7th

Overheard by: Pam

Girl #1: I noticed his abs. Girl #2: I noticed his ripped shirt. Girl #3: Wait, so neither of you noticed his huge erection? --F train Overheard by: Michelle

Guy: Hey, I'm lookin' for a book.
Lady behind the counter: Um, okay. Did you have any particular one in mind?
Guy, laughing: No. Hell no. I don't fuckin' read. I'm just lookin' for something I can take over to Central Park so I can get hit on by chicks who think I'm smart and shit.
Lady behind counter: Try Nietzsche.

--Barnes & Noble, Broadway between 82nd & 83rd

Cashier: What will it be?
Customer: Large bucket, large fries, four Diet Cokes.
Cashier: Is this for here or to go?
Customer: Does it look like I can eat all that here?
Cashier: Chill, bitch... I don't know your life!

--KFC, Brooklyn

Mother: Don't you ever do that again! [slaps child hard]
Child, calmly: Well, are you happy with yourself?

--Union Square

Overheard by: Miranda

chilling pilgrims

I'm chilling with my friend right now, Shaz. She's in London and I am in China. We're both listening to reggae songs that she's playing in her flat in East London. She's French and studying London. I could picture her dancing to the music with a cigarette in hand. Truth be told, I miss her dearly. The downside of being a pilgrim is that you are never in one place for a long time. You are always on the move. Shaz is a pilgrim and I am a pilgrim. But right now, we are just two pilgrims, chilling.

judi 16 going on 17...

You gotta love Dame Judi Dench. This is one of the reasons why.
Enjoy

oh boy oh boy it's the soy! {Who da thunk! Edition}

I am so multi tasking right now - I am doing the following things

1. blogging, while... 2. working on another website, while... 3. trying to write a quick email, while... 4. smoking my fourth {AND LAST} fag for the day, WHILE... 4. dancing to JUMP by the Pointer Sisters {I am eternally trapped in the 80's time warp}

EAT YOUR HEART OUT MOTHER OPRAH!

Anyways, I was googling and doing my usual site hopping a while ago when I chanced upon this article from some guy named Jim Rutz who claims that soy based products {specifically soy milk} make people gay. And I quote :

Soy is feminizing, and commonly leads to a decrease in the size of the penis, sexual confusion and homosexuality. That's why most of the medical (not socio-spiritual) blame for today's rise in homosexuality must fall upon the rise in soy formula and other soy products. (Most babies are bottle-fed during some part of their infancy, and one-fourth of them are getting soy milk!) Homosexuals often argue that their homosexuality is inborn because "I can't remember a time when I wasn't homosexual." No, homosexuality is always deviant. But now many of them can truthfully say that they can't remember a time when excess estrogen wasn't influencing them.

Who da thunk!!!!!! Really! Come to think of it, I always experience this funny feeling in my stomach whenver I'm wolfing down my lunch tofu or whenever I drink soy milk. OMG!!!!!! It's giving me goosebumps right now. Somebody buy me some hetero pills fast! Ok. Mr. Rutz {who hails from the Megashift World Wide Church} claims that his sources are in fact, scientific. How can I put it gently? Ok. Well, Mr. Wino can just kiss my partly soy fed f@gg*t ass. I don't give a flying soya fuck! Tell it to the 1.4 billion Chinese people who consume soy products on a daily basis. Clearly, his sources are far more veritable than the general opinion of the scientific community {which does not exclude the positive and negative benefits of adding soy to the daily diet}. I heart soya. I may not consume it on a daily basis but I love it. And besides, I trust my sources better!

MEMORIES OF HALLOWEEN. GYM GIRL. DOING THE CROW. DREAMS. BOOKS & THE LADY BUG IN MY TEA

Halloween, is just 3 days away in the Noodle Kingdom! And nobody cares around these parts. Frankly, I don't think Halloween is that much celebrated in Asia. I mean even in my Coconut Republic, it rarely draws a lotta attention. Yeah, you have the usual jerk o' lantern displayed in malls and shops and massage parlors and brothels, and of course there's the staple Monster's League {Dracula, Frankenstein, Britney Spears post Grammy Opening yada yada}. But you'd rarely see kids outside wearing costumes and knocking on some person's doorstep to ask for candy. Asians don't have the Halloween spirit in them - kids all dressed up in costumes and trick or treating, while the grown ups dress up in costumes and go to Halloween parties to get drunk and/or laid. My mother, when she was in California, found the whole celebration of Halloween interesting and disturbing and pretty funny. She had to chaperone my nephew {who was 8 at that time}, all dressed in some costume with make up and all. My sister was on duty that night and her husband {who's now an ex and on steroids at 50 something} couldn't be bothered. So my mother was on kid detail. So there she was, outside with my nephew along with prolly a hundred other kids in costumes and make up with their mom/dad/grandma/grandpa/babysitter/lawyer/trust fund adviser in tow - all saying TRICK OR TREAAAAAAT! She told me she would've enjoyed it but she had to think of a lotta things. She had to keep looking at the map that my sister gave my mom. You see, my sister gave her a route to follow. There were only certain houses that my nephew had to trick or treat, because she knows the people who live there. Then she had to keep her eye on suspicious looking people who might be child predators {gay-ish looking men... white... in their mid forties to early fifties... with sunglasses...}. Then she had to check the candies in my nephew's candy bag because she had to take out any suspicious looking candy or whatnot {there was a poison candy scare at that time in America}. And then she had to watch my nephew's candy intake. My mom told me that Americans were weird. First, parents spend money for a costume and buy shitloads of candies so they could give it away to other kids who knock on their doors while their own kids go outside to knock on other people's doors so they could ask for the exact same candies that they bought for the other kids. I mean where's the logic in that {mom's words}? Then parents are worried about the safety of their kids {predators} and the sweets thats been given to them by their own neighbors. Mom told me that Californian's are very health conscious. No sugar for you. The adobo is swimming in oil. Too much rice. One soda per week. Drink your juice. Milk. Organic. 5 meals a day. yada yada yada. But then when it comes to Halloween, kids binge on candies like ecstasy pills on a rave party.

"But when I cook Filipino food, they complain that its too oily and fattening {the kids don't mind though}, but when it's Halloween it's free for all! You know what I think? i think they should just buy the candies and give it to their kids and not to the other children. That way, there would be no problem for poisoned candies, kidnappers. It's all too problematic for the adults. The children don't complain about my cooking?!?!?! I think they like my cooking! Little Mic Mic eats a lot of rice when I cook. See? They love my cooking! Don't you miss my cooking anak?"

When my mother was retelling me the story, I couldn't help but laugh. I picture her, wearing this Middle America housewife dress with apron and all, with a middle America smile on her face while she gives adobo wrapped in aluminum foils to the kids trick or treating on her doorstep. I only went to a Halloween party once, and it was here in the Noodle Kingdom and it was yeaaaars ago. Wendy and Jane dragged me to go to a Halloween party in one club and I said, what the heck I'll go. So I grabbed my Navy Seal wife beater and put on some camouflaged jeans and went to the party. I was going as an ex Navy Seal who got caught going down on my lieutenant something something who resembled Kurt Russel in Stargate. The party was ok. Mostly a bunch of twenty somethings {some older} wearing the same Hairy Porter costume. Frankly, nobody was creative enough to prepare. Well except one. I think it was this guy from Chicago who went as Oscar the Grouch. He really prepared lemme tell you. I gave him an A- for effort. Anyways, there I was dancing to the same song and drinking my beer when one girl in a Goth costume started dancing with me. She was kinda purdy. Petite I would say. We were dancing. She lit up a fag then gave it to me. I smoked it and then she lit up another fag and smoked it herself. She was giving me this look! You know, the look that the human species give that is worthy of an episode for National Geographic or Animal Planet. Like "nyaaawrrrr". She was getting closer and I was trying to get Wendy's attention so she could cut in, but she was busy chugging her beer and dancing. I was getting anxious. Then she asked me what my costume was. I told her "Don't Ask, Don't Tell." She got the message. Clearly I think because after the song she went dancing with another guy in a business suit. Sucks being the only gay guy in that club. One thing, if I'm ever gonna go to a Halloween party again, I want it to go to a party with a mixed crowd. No offense to straight people, but imagine if you go to a party where you are the ONLY straight guy / gal there. You'd prolly think it would suck. Or not. Whatever, I want to go to a Halloween party where there is a good chance that the guy in the vampire costume would at least sink his teeth in me by the stroke of midnight. And I want a better costume. I already have something in mind. I want to go as the Highlander but in a kilt, with a sword and in Jimmy Choo's. Of course, there's the Scottish accent. I still have to work on that, though. Speaking of Halloween, Gym Girl, is getting hitched! I had the unfortunate chance of meeting her again three weeks ago. As I was leaving the gym, there she was in her full gym girl glory {without the umbrella}. She politely grabbed me and took me to a corner and told me that she was getting married. I had to give her the "ohmygodcongratulationswhenisthebigday???" face and act when she told me the BIG news. Apparently, she answered an online personals ad "met" one British guy who works in the city at some company, 50-ish, single {let's hope} yadi yadi and they went out on a date, there was a chemical reaction with the kung pao chicken, sparks flew and the rest is post coital history. I am actually happy for her. Genuinely. Well, I'm more genuinely happy for me, actually. As long as she is happy, I am willing to give way to true love! I asked her if they already picked a date, but she told me it was still under negotiation. She is still asking for my number though. She told me that she kept calling me so many times after that dark, stormy night. I told her my phone got stolen while I was on a bus to work and I still haven't bought a new one {thank God my phone didn't ring at that time}. She did ask me to be his future husband's best man during her wedding. I had to pretend I didn't understand what she was saying but I did tell her that I would come to her wedding. Wouldn't miss it for the world. I'll even take pictures, I told her. I told her to keep me posted on the date so I can prepare a gift and shit. What about your phone?, she asks. I told her I'll buy one soon and I'll tell her my number the next time we meet. I'm praying the Brit doesn't change his mind. She does, indeed, look happy. Radiant, like an incandescent bulb circa 1920's. Speaking of health and fitness, I am happy to tell you guys that I can officially do the crow pose. I have been doing yoga on and off lately because of the crazy schedule but every time I go to the gym, I do yoga as my stretching and warm up exercise and I practice doing the crow pose. Then one day, lo and behold, Omar can do the crow!!!!!!!! {does the victory dance, and sings "OMAR CAN DO THE CROWOW! OMAR CAN DO THE CROWOW! OMAR CAN DO THE CROWOW!}. The sweetest part is, I think the cute trainer at the gym actually saw me doing it. I'm still shy around him. I''ve actually talked to all the trainers in the gym {MEN AND WOMEN BOTH, I'M NOT THAT SLEAZY!} except him. Sigh. He's not like all Alpha Male you know - all pumped and exuding of cavemanism. He's more like a Beta Pup. Nufff. {Omar takes a deep breath then whispers his mantra of the month: I am not a slut. "I am not a slut. I am not a slut... I am not a slut... I am not a slut... *just a little sleazy*... I am not a slut..."} I've been having weird dreams lately {what's new}. I woke up this morning with a vivid recollection of my dream. I was on aircraft bomber, tied to this superduperbatmanmegatronATOMICBOMB that would destroy all of humanity, and I was smiling... and hard.


I have been reading some books lately. I just finished "Kafka on the Shore" last month and maaaaaaaaaaaaan it blew me away. If some of you guys are into books with small fonts without pop-ups you have to read Haruki Murakami. Just read him, and you'll understand why I put 13 a's in "man". I'm now reading Marina Lewycka's "A Short history of Tractors in Ukrainian". I was reading it while I was having my haircut today. The stylist asked me what was funny but my Chinese was limited to "ME ORDER FOOD, HOLD SPICE" and "YOU HAVE FIRE FOR SMOKE SMOKE?" to explain why I found the book funny, so I just told held the book up and told him that this was funny. I'm drinking Lipton Tea now. You see about 2 months ago, I bought like 100 tea bags of Lipton tea { I'm Asian and they were on sale! so sue me}, without even thinking that I rarely drink western tea. The catch is, that they were about to expire in 2 month's time. So here I am, trying to beat the expiration date. I haven't gotten sick or anything so it must be still ok. I'm actually beginning to like tea, I think. In fact, I'm drinking it every morning now. It's gonna be my caffeine substitute for a while. I was drinking it this morning then I suddenly felt something moving on my tongue. It tasted kind of iffy so I spat it out. It was a lady bug on its back, with it's feet moving frantically as if she's trying to tell me "Why did you try to eeaat meeeeee?" Poor bug, I thought. It must've been horrible being in somebody's mouth. I apologized to the ladybug and set it free to the wild {outside my window} and I prayed to the universe that I wouldn't be reincarnated as a bug. Please not a bug.they get squashed or drowned in expired tea. A dolphin would be nice. That way cute guys in tight swimsuits get to ride me in some Marine Park, AND PEOPLE GET TO WATCH! Or I could be in a movie. Damn.

feelin good

Despite of my recent bouts with life and the human condition, which was epitomized by my previous blog post, I'm feeling good. Why so? Well fuck! Shit happens, move on and start living life and fucking enjoying it! I keep forgetting that that was and still is, my life slogan. Plus, I'm writing again. and damn it feels good to be actually putting my laptop to good use aside from browsing free porn

{by the way, if you any of you out there who happens to read this and is an x tube member, look for the vid where two French guys - one blond and one suspiciously Latino/Asian looking - are doing it in an RV while a French TV show plays in the background. I tell ya, it's worth seeing. Clearly the best 20 minute video in xtube! And if you do have the full length feature, please I BEG YOU please send it to me by email or by post *I am willing to give my address and someone else's credit card number! Just send it in a non suspicious looking brown envelope that says HANDLE WITH CARE, socks inside!}

Where was I? Oh yeah, happy. feeling good. Yep, yes sirree.

I do have to thank some people though

My fans (slaps myself) - all 3 of them. Fernando, Sunshine and Keith. Thanks for asking me to write some and bearing with the melancholy.

My friends here in the Noodle Kingdom - Nina, Chu, Joseph, the Serbian crew in Beijing, Wendy and Jane.

My friends in North America - Ry, Poppa Reed, Davey, Sunshine and Keith (I thanked you twice already so if you have the full version of that French video SEND IT TO ME PLEAAAAAAASE)

My friends in Europe, Tanja and Shaz. Tanja, thanks for the letter. I sent one to you and Shaz in pdf format. PDF is the way to go honey. Google it and download it.

Auch, thanks for bearing with me.

Jepoy, thanks for trying to cheer me up.

Rex and Dreux, thanks for the IMs.

Fernando, thank you for the support and the pompoms and the cartwheels and the back flips.

God, I still like to have my refund if possible.

There you go. So expect more posts in my friendster, vox and blogger blogs. And one request, dear random reader, if you do read my blogs, I'd appreciate some comments good or not so good. I need to know where this is headed and your comments and/or suggestions could be helpful in figuring it out. So yeah, expect more post. If not, bombard me with emails demanding for one.

Oh yeah, one more thing. I'm starting to have Jesus abs now.

The Confessions of an Insom{a}niac XVII

It's past midnight and I am sitting in front of my laptop, shivering and trying to put my thoughts into words. Lately, I have had a difficult time putting thoughts into words. I guess I am in what most people would call, a funk. I recognized that weeks ago, and yes, I still am in it, if you must know. I haven't given my floor the proper attention it needed, I haven't been giving my body the proper attention it needed (I have been skipping showers). I guess that's why people call it a "funk", because most people who are in it kind of smell funky.

Today, I did not go to work. I called in sick. Tomorrow would probably be the same case. I was in a cab going to work and was already running late. The traffic in my city has become horrendous. There used to be a time when a five kilometer ride would only take 10 minutes on an early weekday morning - and that's rush hour already. That's not the case these days, with more and more new moneyed Chinese buying European and Japanese made cars to accentuate their modern new moneyed lifestyle. There used to be a time when all I see on the roads were Jetta's and the FAW cars made in China, and the quintessential Chinese tuk tuks. Now, it's all about Hummers, Bentleys, BMWs, Benzes and whatever designer car you could think of for the filthy moneyed, and Toyotas, Nissans, Audis, Buicks, and whatever's in season for the not so filthy moneyed Chinese. Even mopeds have woofer speakers with surround sound and DTS. I miss the Jetta's and the tuk tuks. Maybe that was the reason why I was riding taxis, because they were Jetta's. So there I was, looking outside the cab window, counting the car models and I wasn't even thinking about work or being late. Then I stopped counting cars. I called work and told them I was sick. After calling them, I paid the cabbie the fare and ate junk food at the nearest Mc Donald’s. On mid bite, I again told myself that I was in a funk. I didn't like it and I didn't like saying it to myself, but hey, I had to start from somewhere. I finished the malnourished burger that I was eating and wandered around the city.

It is not easy admitting that I am in the state of funkness. But then again, most things in life aren't easy. Even shitting is not easy. You have to exert a decent amount of effort to push that turd down the toilet. If the turd is the size of a Buick, then you have to exert more (some pray, others count sheep). But when you hear that "plop", that distinct sound of your turd dropping or should I say, diving into the toilet water, that is music to your ears. There is relief. And a beautiful relief that is. It's like a long awaited exhale. I am, to put it bluntly, in a midshit crisis. There is this Buick hanging down my orifice and both of us, unlikely partners, are waiting for that beautiful "plop" to resonate in my bathroom.

I am shivering. I just got out of the bathtub because I finally pushed myself to write something. My window is slightly open to let the air in. It's -1 Celsius outside but I don't care. I need that air even if it shrinks my balls to the size of raisins.

I scan my flat. It's clean. It has a lot of things - things from the Philippines that I have brought here and things that I have accumulated for five years living in China. Books, notebooks, shoes, candles, boxes, plants, more books, trinkets, posters, rocks (I collect them), post its, pencils and pens that I stole, lighters, rugs, lamps, coins, plates, glasses, pots and pans, chopsticks, spoons and forks, bottles, feng shui things, clothes, letters, papers, receipts, bags, this and that. If I could count them, every little bit of thing that is inside my small flat, I believe it would number to more than a thousand, probably two utmost. It's amazing, how a person can accumulate so many things in a short span of time. Every laundry day, I empty my bag, wallet and my pockets and I find a receipt or two, spare change, an anonymous pen and sometimes even a paper clip or a post it. It made me think. Human beings, in general, like to accumulate, to collect and to gain things, material or otherwise. It's an incessant need. It's part of our being human. I look at my flat and I see things from the notepad that I just wrote on, to the 3 year old trainers that I bought for less than 20 dollars. Things. My things. An aggregate of my material consciousness. I say to myself

"This is me".

This is me. This pair of three year old trainers that ran on Chinese soil and pavements and stepped on God knows what. They also had the privilege of running in one quaint town by the beach in the Philippines two summers ago. They're all worn out all over - ragged and screaming for recycling. This is me. In these sticks of sandalwood incense that I bought about two weeks ago, which I always burn when I want to relax in the tub while listening to Ravi Shankar. This is me. In the rocks on my bedside table that I have collected over the years in al my travels in China. Smooth, rough, small, midsized, shiny, dull - all holding significant memories of places and people. This is me. In these bottles that stand guard by my window. This is me in these coins and notes in my wallet. This is me, in this computer that I zealously clean because I keep thinking about the 7,000 yuan price tag that came with it every time I use it. This is me, in these boxes big and small. This is me, in these spices. This is me in these plants, living and dying at the same time. This is me, in the cigarette that I am smoking now. This is me, in these candles that are burning. This is me, in these letters written by friends, families, lovers, schools and bosses - each containing words that either mean something or nothing of significance to me. This is me, in these trinkets and mementos here and there, some acquired through my travels, some given as gifts by people I have known. This is me, in the coffee mug that I am drinking right now, almost empty and begging for a refill. This is me, in these pirated CD and DVD collections that kept me awake and sane and running in most days. And the books. This is me, in these books that scatter themselves in my small flat. Books that I have read and haven't read. Books that made me laugh and cry. Books that made me think. Books that I found interesting. Books that I found boring. Books that I bought solely because of the cover illustrations. Books that were handed down to me. Books that I "borrowed". Books that I believed and criticized. Books with words and phrases and lines that are embedded in my memory. Books that I have come to love and hate. Books that recite themselves in my head when on a Monday morning.

Me. All of these things are extensions of myself. Resonances. Reverberations. Echoes.

I have come to a point in my life when I discovered that I am landlocked by contingencies. Contingencies that became either because of mere circumstance or Darwinian determinism - the orientation of my gender, the color of my skin, the air that I breathe, the locus that I currently inhabit. Contingencies that became because of the choices that I have made. For the choices that I have made, I have no regrets. For the circumstances that happened to present and impose themselves, I no longer hold any grudge. I believe that I am far too old to hold grudges. Grudges are for 12 year olds. I am not too old either.

I believe that I hold more strength and wisdom now than yesterday. I believe that I have learned more today than in all the days that came before that taxi ride to work. Learning is an odd and a beautiful experience. Right now, I am in that process of learning. I picture myself as a seed, germinating under the earth, breaking out of my shell, pushing in all directions, gathering the strength so the I could shoot up to the heavens and reach the bowels of the earth at the same time. A dialectic trying to break into a resplendent chorus. It's a painful experience. Now I can honestly say that I now how water in a kettle feels like when it is being boiled. I never liked chemistry as a teenager, but I feel like those chemicals that students play with in Chem Lab 101. Chemical change, I've always thought, is not a pleasant word. But it happens every moment. It's happening to me right now. Like boiling water in a kettle, my molecules are intensified and put to the test. Some are broken and released as vapors but some remains. And what remains, is still me - somewhat "purified" but undoubtedly intensified.

I realize that I am changing. I am in a kettle and the heat is breaking me in all directions. I am beginning to question my life not so much in the aspect of what I have become or what lead me here but more towards the aspect of what I want to be. Is it painful and excruciating, the whole process? Yes. Would I have it any other way? No. I have come to see that it is in fact beautiful. I am changing. I am becoming stronger. I am becoming wiser. I am becoming older. I am patiently coming towards to what I want to be. And it is beautiful.

This discovery lead me to another realization. Like the water releasing vapors through the mouth of the kettle, I may have to learn how to let go. I have always believed that I am a bedouin. A nomad. I have always told myself that I have no home (at least not yet), and that I have to search for it and when I find it I can truly say that I am home. I was mistaken. Nomads do have a home. They have themselves and each other. They move as solitaries and as communities together, walking towards the horizon, their sole boundary. They acquire things along the way. Knowledge, languages, fabrics, food, customs, norms and tools that they would use in their journey. But when it is no longer useful, when it becomes an excess, a remnant of their previous journeys that would stifle their present journey, they let go. They have to because they know that they will acquire new ones. I am a bedouin. I have a home. And I have to let go.

I look at my flat and all the things in it. And I tell myself that these things are extensions of me. They are echoes of people, places, experiences of previous journeys and my present journey. I look at my flat and I realize that its quite small, yet I feel like its already a continent explored. I know every nook and cranny, every crack, every leak, every tile, every smell and texture of this flat. I am in love with it and all the things that it holds. But I will move on. I will leave this flat someday and move on. For my home is not located in this flat. It's under my skin. I will take some things with me when I go. Things that I hold dear and useful to my next journey, but I will part with many things too. I will miss them. I will miss the smell and feel of them. I will miss the memory that they hold. But I will leave them and move on. Nostalgia is only significant up to a certain point. As a young man, I have celebrated nostalgia and made love to it like it was my rogue muse. The slightly older version of me will still continue to celebrate it, but with one thing in mind - that I am married to my life and not to my past. I am almost at the end of my writing. My hands are giving up on me and its almost 4 am. After this, I would sleep content at the knowledge that I have in fact already let go of certain things. And I shall wake up tomorrow knowing that I am not the same person as I was yesterday. I may not even drink the usual morning coffee and instead go for tea. I may just do that tomorrow. In fact, I will do it. Water in the kettle, Omar. Water in the kettle.

Girl, you made my day!

I personally believe, that this girl has already made her mark in beauty pageant history. Kinda reminds me of the gay beauty pageants in my Cocont Republic - trashy,skanky production numbers and hilarious question and answer portions. I'm missing it already. The only difference is I think she really believed in what she was saying. I seriously hope not.

mind your language,

Sigh.

I was on my blogging hiatus {and I still am, by the way} when someone told me over the phone about the Desperate Housewives Season Premiere that started this and even this. There's even an online petition for ABC to make a public apology {which they did - well fucking 45,000 petitions should scare their corporate asses!}. The Philippine Government and The Department of Health and the Philippine Medical Association made their statement about the said episode. Even Michelle Malkin joined the fray. Now if Michelle Malkin has an opinion for this hoopla, then this must be seriously funny. So I watched the episode in YouTube just to see what the fuss was about. I even played it a coupla times just to make sure I heard it right. And I thought it was mildly funny. Mildly insulting, yeah, but funny. OK, before any of you start throwing me Filipino stones or racial remarks or whatnot, look at me profile just for a sec. Now go back to reading me blog after you look at me profile.

What gives anyways? Am I bothered by it? I'd have to say no {so does the person who told me about it, who works for the health industry in UK}. I would be greatly insulted if it was Felicity Huffman's character who said it. I do watch DH and I am an avid fan. If you are a DH fan, you know that Teri Hatcher's character tends to border on ignoramus annoying and whining bitch. So please try not to kill Teri Hatcher, because I still wanna see her character get crabs or chlamydia {or both}. It was her character speaking. And I do have to say this, she's really good at playing Susan.

Now the writers of DH, that's a different matter. Were they irresponsible? Maybe. Was it right for the Filipino Bandwagon to ask for a public apology? Maybe. Was the joke even funny? Maybe {if you don't take it out of context - that Susan's a stupid, annoying bitch}. Was Susan's line racist? I wouldn't think so. Was it race related? Most probably. Comedy is such a risky business.

When you deal with comedy, you deal with shitloads of things. But mostly, you deal with things that offend other's sensibilities - that's why it's funny. As to where to draw the line, I dunno. Why ask me? I'm no expert. Leave it to the holier than thou people. They're good at that. But I do agree that a line has to be drawn somewhere.

I am very ambivalent on this issue because I've seen how Philippine TV works. TV shows and soap opera's and comedy skits in the Philippines are actually no better than their American counterparts. It's funny if you make sexist remarks on an afternoon game show, if you degrade a dark skinned homosexual or a flat nosed ulikba {dark skinned person} on prime time television. Many Filipinos find it funny. Well, I don't. The name calling - BUMBAY, CHEKWA, BAYOT, NEGRO, MORO, EFFEM and the like - doesn't strike me as something funny either. What's really funny about this whole Desperate Housewives incident is that there has been a lot of clamor from my Coconut Republic but they never even bothered to scrutinize our own TV programs. If you want to see anything racist or sexist just turn on your own fucking television. It pains Filipinos to hear people from other countries talking about us in a mildly derogatory way but when it comes to us talking about other races and our own people even, we turn the other way and laugh it off as a harmless joke. I'm just glad that in all this quagmire someone has actually something substantially good to say about it.

If the writers of DH wrote the line in such a way that it would've still been funny yet not that all race related {it would've been hard lemme tell ya, but not impossible}, then this wouldn't have started anyways. But at the end of the day, comedy is still comedy. If I make a real good fat person joke, it would be a big hit for a lotta people except for many people with weight problems. In the end, no matter how politically correct we are in comedy, there's always bound to be one person, if not a certain group who'd be offended by it. Life, in technicolor.

I think the whole issue here centers on the use of language. Language is a powerful human facility. It's the only human tool that can easily express and elicit thoughts and emotions with a split second. Say the English language for example. The English words for GOD, SEX, MONEY, PEACE, WAR, FUCK and LOVE can be understood by every human being on this planet. That's how powerful language is. Language as a human facility, changes and evolves. It's inevitable. Like any other tools, language has the tendency to hurt and inflict pain if used irresponsibly. But it also has this great potential to become a catalyst of cultures and societies. Songs, films and television have all been part of that catalyst. There's a sentence in English that might be useful for the occasion - MIND YOUR LANGUAGE. And I'm not just telling this to the writer's of Desperate Housewives. I dunno how, ok. I'm no expert. I sure as hell have a potty mouth. But maybe if we do start minding what we say - even a little, then the human race could actually have a future.

On Good Old Larry

Creepy Tuesday

I was not supposed to blog till next month { i needed a breather on life }, but I just had to post something because I need therapy or something remotely close to it because i am so scarred right now. Be warned readers, this is a lousy blog post { like the others were not, meh }.

I just came back from the gym, dripping wet. The weather forecast this morning said it was going to rain, and it did. Stupid me forgot to bring my manbrella { meaning an umbrella for men that really looks like an ordinary umbrella, but my itsy bitsy machismo nature just doesn't want to accept the fact that men in general, gay men included, do use umbrellas - thus the name manbrella which is totally lame, I know }. So yeah I'm dripping wet like a stray dog trying to find my master while Michael Jackson's "Ben" is playin' in the background. That is not the reason why I am blogging though. I'm just saying it rained a lot today { I told you this was a lame post }.

The reason why I am blogging right now is because of this girl that I met at the gym.

*The phone is actually ringing right now and I am never gonna answer it. It has Kathy Bates written all over my caller id.*

I didn't actually meet her, per se. She approached me while I was doing my shoulder presses. She asked for the time. I told her what time it was { it was a quarter till six... later during the interrogation, I noticed that she had a wristwatch on }. I thought that was that since I told her the time already. Then she went on to ask if I was Chinese. I told her no. Then it began. She went on about that she's been to Singapore this and that and she wants to make friends with me this and that and that she wants to learn English this and that and that my Chinese was quite ok for a foreigner this and that and where was I working this and that and where do I live this and that and where was I from. She hasn't told her name yet and she hasn't asked for mine either when that monologue was taking place. I should have just walked away { I know Nina will tell me "I told you so" } but I didn't because I wanted to win the Ms. Congeniality title because I'm sure as hell won't win the photogenic award or the swimsuit or the question and answer. Segue ... This is what I really don't like about myself. I CAN'T SAY NO. A while ago, I was at the bookstore and I saw a book on SAYING NO. I shoulda bought the fucker instead of the Murakami that I have been salivating on for months. I'm fucking hopeless, that's what I am. Back to the post.

So she finally asked for my name. I told her my Chinese name and she gave me her English name. Then she asked for my number. I told her my number { hit me with a brick Nina, and make it a double }. I shoulda given her the wrong number. Fuck why do I keep forgetting the giveyourfakephonenumber tactic whenever some creepy person that reeks of Kathy Bates in Misery asks for my phone number. I am fucked, big time.

It was a good thing that her cycling class was about to start so she said goodbye and shit. She did try to persuade me to go join her in the cycling class. I wanted to tell her that I wanted to pump iron and look stupid coz maybe, JUUUUST maybe the cute trainer would come to me and show me the proper positions........... but I held my tongue. I told her that I had to finish my routine. She let me go then, thank heavens. And I thought that it was finally over. But like any other suspense thriller that is set in a gym under a rainy weather with The Carpenters music playing on the background, it gets worse.

An hour passes. I was finished with the weights and I was now doing sit ups. My mp3 player was playing Meatloaf so I was totally psyched in my sit ups and shit. Then I felt a tap on my shoulder. IT WAS HER !!! { Wilhelm scream sounds in the background then Carpenter music plays - Don't you remember you told me you loved me baby.... music fades } She was asking me if I already have someone special. I could've told her I'm gay but it would've made matters worse { believe me, it would've, not unless the gym that I am currently enrolled in is a gay gym }. Hoping that it would shut her up, I told her that I have one but SHE is now in the States. I shoulda told her that my girlfriend is here in China. It actually gave her hope. Fuck I so suck in making up stories. Then she asked me about my opinion in marriage and shit and I told her that I didn't believe in the idea of marriage. Then she asked if I was ok with interracial relationships then I told her I was. Then she asks if I can have a Chinese girlfriend, fuck I said yeah its ok {coz I was ok with interracial relationships}. All these questions were asked while I was doing my situps which was really annoying so I had to stop doing sit ups. Then she went on that she's ok with interracial relationships and if I could introduce her a nice foreign guy, someone nice and shit as long as the guy is not black. Now I had to stop her and ask why. I mean fuck, I'm sure that she's prolly just misinformed or whatnot so I told her that I do have friends who are black. She said blacks don't smell good and they "look different" and they have a different way of thinking and shit like that. Don't smell good? Look different. Well I know that some Europeans still do it but armpit hair is just so 17th century France. And with her WAY OF THINKING, anything would absolutely be radical and visionary. Fuck, how racist can you get? She must have sensed my annoyance so she decides to change the subject. She asked me if I think she's beautiful. I wanted to say that her skin was a bit on the dark side and that I preferred whiter complexion on women, but I digressed. I just told her that I had not understood the question. She asked me if I've traveled I told her yes. Then she asked if I have been to Tibet and I told her not yet. She said that the two of us could travel together. I told her I couldn't because I BARELY KNOW HER I didn't have any travel plans just yet. Then outta the blue, she tells me that her boyfriend was a firefighter who was killed in action 2 years ago. I actually felt sad for her for a minute or two. Still, that didn't give her the right to say those things and to even bother me. I just about had it so I told her that I would go back to my work out and all. She reluctantly agreed and told me hat she was going home herself {GOOOOOO!}. It was raining hard outside and she asked me if I would be able to go home ok. I told her YES, she said she could bring me to my place. I told her I could do it by myself. I was clearly getting annoyed and I think it was already registering on my face. Finally, I did decide to make it clear to her that I had to go. I made a bee line for the showers and stayed there for 30 minutes praying that she would get tired and go already. When I went out, Kathy bates was nowhere to be seen. But it was still raining hard outside so I decided to wait till the rain stopped. Then my cellphone rang. Fear, like no other that I have felt before was creeping though my spine like somebody injected me with a cocktail dose of sodium pentothal, pavulon and potassium chloride. I looked at the number and it was an international call. Thank God I am Catholic! It was my friend in Singapore. I answered the call since I was killing time while waiting for the rain to stop. I was telling him about this creepy girl when all of a sudden I felt another tap on my shoulder. I HONESTLY THINK I MUST HAVE DONE SOMETHING GRAVELY WRONG IN MY PAST LIFE. There she was, all fresh from the showers holding an umbrella like some villain from a comic book ready to kill the superhero {who is my gym instructor who's as cute as a peking duck on a summer's day}. Oblivious to the fact that I was actually having a phone conversation, she tells me that she could drive me to my place so I wouldn't have to wait for the rain to stop. I told her I can go by taxi and I made it clear to her with a sorta annoyed face. I told her she can go ahead and not to worry about me {my friend was still on the other line, listening and laughing at my predicament}. She tells me that she can wait with me since she's waiting for her mom. It was clear that there was no mom in the picture because when I do decide to walk in the rain and take my chances of finding a taxi, she opened her umbrella and followed me and told me she'd come with me. I asked her about her mom, and she made some lame excuse about her mom still being in the showers and whatnot. Truth be told, I was really getting scared of her more than annoyed. I saw myself being crippled and handcuffed in her basement and dying there and being eaten by rats and roaches and maggots AND I HAVEN'T EVEN FUCKING WRITTEN MY GREAT AMERICAN NOVEL YET! FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK.

Thank God I found a taxi, I ran toward the taxi, opened the door said a quick goodbye and told the driver to drive me ANYWHERE JUST SOMEWHERE FAR FROM HER like Hong Kong. She said she would call me. I never looked back. All the while my friend was still waiting on the other line and I almost completely forgot about him.

I honestly do not know what to make of this nights incident. This is actually the creepiest of all the Tuesdays I had in this lifetime combined. I did have a creepy girl experience two years ago and it was also horrible I might add. But compared to this girl at the gym, Julie was fucking Snow White. Gym girl actually makes Julie look like Mother Teresa of Calcutta. Gym girl is just plain fucking weird... and desperate. I can't feel sorry for her. Well not right now. I'm still pissed. Maybe tomorrow... I may have to change schedules in my gym. Go on stealth mode for a couple of months or so. I sure as hell won't be quitting, fuck I paid for it already. And the gym is actually a nice place where I can tune myself out. I chose that gym because it was far from the people I know and it was fairly new and nobody knew me there. Nobody actually bothered me there. Well, not until when she came and went all Kathy Bates Glen Close on me.

Nina told me to be careful after I told her my ordeal at the gym. Next time, I will be prepared. I'm brining Nina even if I have to pay her to go.

eat me baby one more time! { volumen1 }

eating out in china can be an experience because there are so many varieties to choose from. part of mea culpa's blog is dedicated to the glory of food. oh yes. food glorious food. so i present to you the first post of Eat Me Baby One More Time. yes people, my loneliness is killing me. and omar eats when he's lonely. hehe. fuck i'm such a corn dog. whatev.

i'm starting with the korean dinner i had with wendy two weeks ago, al fresco style {since its summer here}

gimme a wave mr. barbecue man. mr. barbecue man here wanted his pic taken so we did. he's barbecuing yang rou {sheep meat} xinjiang style. xinjiang is the northwestern most province in china. its mostly populated by muslim uygurs and chinese muslims thus their love for cattle meat. xingjiang barbecue is quite popular in china, in fact it's the only known local barbecue in china. i personally prefer the filipino pork barbecue because its just utterly sinful especially with that lone square of fat waiting for you in the end.

tie ban niu rou {sizzling beef}, fried potatoes with condensed milk, chinese draft beer.
the sizzling beef is usually wrapped around a leaf of iceberg lettuce with some garlic and that ketchup like paste that you see on the left side of the pic. no need to use the fork or chopsticks, just pop them bastards into your mouth and voila! instant gratification. best if drank with chinese draft beer.

On being free - The Confessions of an Insom{a}niac XVI

My Coconut Republic is celebrating its 109th year of independence.

Or so they say...

Historians are at odds and ends when it comes to the true Declaration of Independence. Some say it was earlier, as early as 1521 when the island natives decided to really fight for their right to rock and roll. Others say it was during 1896 when the Katipunan Revolution {led by Andres Bonifacio} began. Still, some say it was 5 decades after the Katipunan Revolution when the Philippines came out of the Commonwealth and became a Republic. There are some critics though who say that country {and the rest of the so-called "Third World"} has not yet achieved true independence. Putting historicity and semantics aside, June 12 is my country's Independence Day, like it or not. And to be honest, I couldn't care less.

I was never the anthem-singing, heart-thumping, flag-bearing kind. Maybe back when I was two feet tall, yes; but now it seems I have lost any sort of patriotism {if you could call it that} in my bone. I have, what you would call a jaded sense of love for my country. I may not be patriotic in that sense but that doesn't mean I do not feel for my birth soil. Fuck, that's why I even have a name for my country {yes, it's not just because I love coconuts and palm trees}. I may not be a patriot but I am a fucking romantic. And romance, in the truest sense of the word, is never and will never be outdated, and it will never be overshadowed by anything less.

Patriotism has become mere lip service or worse, an expensive blowjob that doesn't deliver. Left and right you'll hear declarations of love and valor for the motherland / fatherland / disneyland / lalaland but there is never a fruition of words. Only words - void of meaning, yet so full of semantic cow dung. Funny that Christianity believed in the Incarnation of the Son of {wo}Man - the Word becoming Flesh and dwelling among peoplekind. No wonder my country is losing faith. There is no proof of words becoming flesh with the people on top of the foodchain. Or maybe there is{? which I soooooo doubt} but we just couldn't see it from the vantage point of living with less than 5 dollars a day and with ramen noodles+rice combo whole day meal. Expensive or not, it's useless when you give fellatio to someone with an empty stomach. I may never be the anthem-singing, heart-thumping and flag-bearing kind, but I sure as hell know that my words do mean something and I should be responsible for it.

I have digressed from the topic. I guess I still am a patriot, a jaded one at that but nonetheless a patriot {or maybe its just my empty stomach doing the thingking}.

Come to think of it, what is my topic? {somebody needs a refresher course on Writing 101}. Oh yes, freedom. George Michael sang that song when I still weighed a hundred pounds and he's still singing that song all the way to community service. A rich hotel heiress {that will not be named on this blog for the sake of peoplekind} would so love to sing that song right now. She may have gone back behind bars to complete her sentence just so that the people behind the justice system can prove to the world that there are no excemptions under the law. Good news is she isn't free. Bad news is - then again, neither are we.

Being free these days is like men having multiple orgasms. It is elusive if not a total hoax, a sort of propaganda spread during the Cold War. Say me, for example. I say I am free but I am bound by so many things - by ideas, by people, by institutions, by belief systems, by economies, by money, by power, by pop stars and rock stars, by tv, by internet, by Bill Gates and SteveJobs, by clothing or the lack of it, by sex {or the lack thereof}, by excess or by depravity, by hunger, by trying to fit in a size 6, by yada yada yada yada yada yada fuckingyada.

Funny that some of us {if not most of us} go to great lengths to uphold the virtues of truth and

freedom and even beauty and love. So much so that we tend to forget their meaning or what they used to mean to us. We forgot that they were there all along. We forgot that we were once truthful and beautiful and loving and free.

It is sad to admit {even embarassing on my part} that I have become so jaded of life that I forgot its heart. I have to remind myself with every heartbeat that I can never truly be free unless I realize that - I am already free - true freedom is a state of mind. I may have lost that idea, but perhaps I can find it again. Perhaps. I am after all a romantic, and my curse is never to lose hope, and to find the true beauty in beings and things and to love the universe, naked and all embracing.

many thanks to Boo for letting me use the vid