You gotta love the 50's {No Margie! Yer cake didn't turn out so well}

I know I wasn't born back then, {but I know a few people who were and they turned out pretty ok}, but I wish I was born or was already alive during the fifties. During the fifties, you could actually fantasize about Marlon Brando or Paul Newman or Cary Grant or Gary Cooper because they were still alive  and they possessed the youth and the masculinity that made that generation cum in their drawstrings! Nyargh! Damn, I wish I was born during the fifties. I mean, dudes, Hollywood men had spunk back then and most of them actually studied acting.  Now all you get is Zac Efron.  I mean he's cute as a toilet paper roll and all but I don't think America's National Twink Zac would be starring on a play or a film adaptation that would require him to shout "STELLLLLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!" on top of his lungs.

Gary Cooper.  Yum.

Another thing that I like about the fifties are those propaganda films that disguise themselves as instructional films on almost any kind of topic.  They're downright idiotic but they are insanely funny.  I love the narrator dude who acts like he's The Voice of God {he prolly was} and tries to tell them characters to do this and do that and be careful of this and be careful of that.  Maaaaaaaan, I miss the fifties {minus the Cold War, the segregation, the fact that being gay means yer crazy, the mandatory fire and brimstone sermon from the Sunday pulpit in suburbia yadi yadi yadi}. Then again, I am thankful for not being a baby boomer because that would mean I'd be in my 60's now or prolly dead.  Meh.

Gary Cooper.  Yum.

Watch the propaganda/instructional film on cooking for first time housewives. Margie, here doesn't know how to cook but the omnipotent god of the 50's helps her by humiliating the hell outta her then teaching her the ropes of basic housewifery.  After a few more jabs at Margie's female psyche and a little bit of instructing and tweaking and consulting the Book of Shadows,  Margie transforms into Julianne Moore housewife extraordinaire and bakes the motherfucking cake.  Notice in the video that when Margie's husband comes back home from the pictures work, he doesn't hear The Voice of God and just wolfs down Margie's Cold War Surprise. Now that's a 50's happy ending.

Gary Cooper.  Yum. 

These things make me dizzy

Many taxi's in Beijing have these interactive screens for passengers to play with. Kinda like those kiddie puzzles that you have in restaurants to keep kids from getting bored while waiting for the food. I happen to ride one of these taxis with my boss while going to one hospital in the business district (my boss had some sort of aneurism in his ovaries or something) and I happened to sit on the side of the cab with the interacttive tv. Curious me started playing with it, and sincethe screen was all in Chinese, I kept on asking my boss what this was and what that was, which caused him to nosebleed. It wasn't fun (not the nosebleeding, that was fun), the screen made me dizzy as hell. I felt like puking. These things are dangerous, yo.

I'm creaming in my pants right now.

And its not because of porn!  You may think that all Omar does is download porn all day {nooooooooo you are seriously mistaken my friend, because I only do that on Wednesdays! HAH}. I do use the internet for other shit.  Omar's gotta learn some culture, ya know.  So what made me cream in my pants? Well this did






To know more about the YouTube Symphony Orchestra, visit their site on this LINK YOU IDJIT

Quikies

The Kite Runner just made me cry.  Fucking movie made me cry. I just snotted on my keyboard. I'm sticking to porn next time.

TALES FROM THE BIG SMOKE VOLUME 1 - Kasper, Sparky and Ling Ling

A note to the reader:

This is a true story.  All the events written on this post happened for real {like no shit dude}; and in order to protect the innocent, the weary, the hungry and the humble of heart, names of the people have been changed. Some of the scenes can be graphic, so be warned. So yeah, continue reading.  But don't say I didn't warn you {Wilhelm Scream}.

I recently met up with a friend of mine who also works in Beijing.  Let's just call him Kasper {which all of you know is not his real name}.  Kasper has been in Beijing {on and off} for a good number of years. He's Dutch, gay, tall {well, he's Dutch} and he's a proud member of the non-American Democrats {lets just say that if he could marry Obama... he wouldn't, but he'd def finitely do a Monica}.  I met Kasper by accident about nine months ago in a bar with Stu {the Jewish stripper who is now a dog sitter in the Promised Land of Obama Country which they call New York} when I was still living in the Upper East Side of the Noodle Kingdom {the Northeast}.  When I moved to the Big Smoke it was Kasper, along with some other friends of mine who have been living in the Jing, who I always touch base with. 

So yeah, I met met up with Kasper last night because he texted me that he had to tell me about something that happened to him recently.  So we met up for drinks at some bar and asked him what was it that he was so eager to tell me.

Kasper, like the Dutch guy that he is, finished his pint of Qingdao and ordered another pint.  The suspense was killing me {yawn}.

He drank a few gulps and then proceeded to tell me his tale.

I was riveted.   I think I smoked a pack or something while listening to his story.  It was like a movie even - like David Lynch trying to do a comedy with Kevin Costner in it. 

Here's what happened.

Kasper, who is kind of tired of his job, the universe, the human condition, being single and his two cats that constantly piss on his mattresses decided to just call it quits.  No, he wasn't planning to off himself.  He just wanted to do something different for a change, like have a mini break or a mini breather.  Like get laid.  Kasper, a gay Dutch man in his prime, needed to get laid that night.  It was a Friday, and he just came back to his apartment from a looooooong day's work  to discover that his bed smells like cat piss.  As he was changing the sheets and contemplating whether to put the cats in his microwave or his washing machine, it dawned on Kasper that hadn't had sex in quite a while. It was prolly the cat piss that got his hormones all riled up or it was prolly the stress at work or maybe it was just good old Mother Nature reminding him to use his gonads.  Kasper needed to get laid that night.  So after doing the sheets and nuking the cats, Kasper took a shower and went to the place where every single gay guy in heat in a big city has gone before - the public toilets  Y  confessional gay bar.  Yes, Kasper went to the gay bar, alone. BRRRR

Culture note.  If you happen to stop by the Big Smoke and yer gay, the best place to go to  and to be gay is HONG KONG. Okay, Beijing is not that bad. Really.  Gone were the days when our Chinese gay and lesbian comrades used to cruise each other in public parks and squares or in public toilets or in subway stations or in abandoned alleyways and such {that is so 80's} Dude, we just hosted the Olympics yo.  Beijingers do it in style now. When the Chinese gays and lesbians finally figured out that you can actually be gay and lesbian in a public space as long as it is done in a "harmonious" fashion, they decided to build gay bars {and there's fridae.com}. There is  a gay bar in Beijing.  So yes, gay tourists, you can have gay fun in Beijing - as long as you do it "harmoniously" - like no flag burning and shit and praying in the middle of Tiananmen Square.  None of that! You are allowed to wear rainbow pins though {as long as it is not more than 5, yer safe}.

OK, where were we? Oh yeah, Kasper. Gay. Gonads. Gay Bar. 

Kasper went to the one known gay bar in town - DESPERATION DESTINATION. Its not actually the only gay bar in town, I believe there are some, but its where all the gays and lesbians go to on a Friday night.  OK, its the only gay bar in town.  And being the only gay bar in town, a gay guy has a risk of overexposure.  One of the first things I learned in my Gay101 course back in college is that a gay guy must never be overexposed.  He should exude an aura of mystery like that Rose chick in Titanic {the old bitch had the diamond all along, and she threw it back into the Atlantic!}.  Young gay boys and girls, learn from Rose - A woman's heart is  like a deep ocean of secrets; you'll never know what you'll get {?}.

Lucky for my friend Kasper though, he follows the rule of two  - that is: if you go every Friday, yer desperate; if you go every Thursday and Friday and Saturday, you do it for a living; if you go every month on a Sunday, yer a Mormon or in a commited heterosexual relationship that was signed, sealed and tested in California; but if you go  twice month, yer mysterious {I dunno why, but that's what it said in my Gay101 textbook so don't ask me, ask Simon and Schuster}.

But to go alone in a gay bar, is brave.   And I have to hand it to Kasper, he was one brave and horny guy that Friday night.  YOU GO GIRL! Well he went.

So he went to Destination.  As usual, the place was packed.  He saw the regulars,  the ones who do it for a living,  the lesbians, the fag hags, the Mormons, the out of towners, the bicurious, the soul searching 16 year olds who were actually thirty but they just looked like they were 16 year olds and some newbies.   Being a gay Dutch dude, Kasper went to the place where he was most comfortable and safe, he went to the bar area and ordered his drink. After a good number of Qingdao's and some vodka red bulls.  He was drunk.  And still no lay.  

When he was about to give up, pack his Dutch ass and go home,  a guy smiled at him from across the bar.   A tall {not as tall as Kasper though}, lanky  European in his mid 20's smiled at him and approached his side of the bar. He introduced himself.  Let's just call him Sparky.  Sparky's Polish and he's only been in Beijing for about a week or so.   Truth be told, Sparky was kinda cute, in a Ramones kind of way {like if yer into old skewl punk rock with a hint of EMO on the side, Sparky's definitely for you}.  And Sparky was not wasting any time flirting with Kasper either.  It was like the night before the elections - Sparky was the GOP ticket and Kasper was Pennsylvania.  Drunk Kasper was about to cast his vote when Sparky said something to him

Can you be my master?

and then he said another....

You know you can do anything you want with me.  Anything.....

and another...

You can bring me to your place and you can tie me up somewhere near your bed and I can watch you sleep.

and another...

I can be your pet if you want. You can feed me in a bowl.


and another...


Have you got any toys?

{I'm guessing he's not talking about Legos or Transformers action figures}

Talk about pitbull with a lipstick. 

Kasper maybe Dutch, but he's not into those kinks. He looked at Sparky the Polish Dog in the eye and told him that the night was young and we'll see and all that crap. Sparky smiled, ever confident, wrote down his number on a piece of paper and walked away but without forgetting to turn back and smile again at Kasper.   I had to interrupt him. I had to ask why he didn't say yes. I mean, there's this guy in front of him, who was in serious need of some loving and some Alpo Prime Cuts and basically offering himself for the night to satisfy his gonads and all.  I mean what more could he have asked for? I was pretty sure that Sparky was potty trained since Kasper did tell me that Sparky had to excuse himself once to go to the men's room so what there was no problem in that department.  And besides, Sparky the Polish dog might just put the fear of God to Kasper's cats.  Kasper just told me that he wasn't really into those kinks.  He was more the vanilla type, he says.  He woulda said yes if it stopped in Can you be my master bit, but the feeding bowl and watching him sleep just creeped the hell outta him.  

With Sparky gone to another part of the bar, Kasper called out the bartender and ordered another beer and went to a corner where he could stay inconspicuous for the time being.  In that corner of the bar, he clung to his Qingdao and mulled about what just happened to him.  Then a guy went to his corner and smiled at him.  A Chinese guy.  Cute.  Younger than Sparky, about 20 he figures.  Short.  Nice, cropped hair.  No piercings or anything.  No EMO clothing.  Just plain a plain normal tee print and jeans and sneakers. And he was fit.   Yum. Kasper's type.  Let's call him Ling Ling.  Kasper, still wary about his experience with Sparky the Polish Dog, was trying to go slow and making safe small talk.  Ling Ling turned out to be ok.  Well,  lets just say that the conversation didn't involve any dog food or potty training so it was alright for Kasper.  So, Kasper decided to flirt a little.  Ling Ling flirted back.  One flirt led to another so Kasper decided to pop the question - he asked Ling Ling if he wanted to spend the night at his place.  Ling Ling said yes.  Kasper did the victory dance in his head.  {The Miss Saigon Soundtrack was playing in mine} .

As Kasper and Ling Ling were leaving Destination,  Sparky happened to pass by.   It couldn't be avoided since there was only one exit, Kasper acknowledged Sparky with a nod while Sparky gave Kasper a sad smile and Ling Ling the Death Glare. Ling Ling clung to Kasper and smiled at Sparky.  It was clear who won Miss Saigon that night.  Damn I love gay happy endings.

Well the story is not yet finished my friends.  

Let me have a smoke break first.

MUZAK PLAYS to the tune of "Reasons."

BACK.  Man I'm so gonna miss Zhong Nan Hai's

Where were we?  Yes.  Kim nails Chris. 

Kasper brings Ling Ling to his apartment.  Good thing he changed the sheets and nuked the cats. Once in the apartment,  Kasper sets the mood by lighting candles all over the apartment and turning on the cable tv {there was no music and they were going to have sex anyways so yeah} to some nondescript channel - CNN. 

Ling Ling sat in front of the TV watching the world unfold infront of him and listening to Wolf Blitzer tell the world that they're the best political team on TV (for the nth time! We know already!} while Kasper fixes himself a drink.   Kasper sits beside Ling Ling, puts his arm around him and sorta leans in to kiss him.  Ling Ling sorta squirms and smiles a little at Kasper and tells him:

I'm shy.
 
Then Ling Ling and went back to watching CNN.  Kasper, a bit puzzled and still horny, finishes his bloody fucking Mary  as Anderson Cooper makes his own signature "Magnum" look on TV. Kasper tells himself that this was not the night he was expecting.  He was trying to remember where he put Sparky's number.  

After a minute or two, Ling Ling finally got bored of Wolf Blitzer yapping on TV and turns to Kasper and asks him if they could take a shower together. 

Now were talking, Kasper says to himself. 

Shower. 
Nothing happened. Just soap and warm water. He thinks that this is some sort of weird form of Chinese foreplay.  Like those indipendent films he watches. 

Bed.  He's in his boxers.  Ling Ling is in his skimpy undies.

Kasper moves in to kiss Ling Ling when Ling Ling did something Kasper never thought that a guy that he would pick up in a gay bar would do. 

Ling Ling screamed. 

Ling Ling didn't just scream.  Ling Ling screamed like a girl.   And Ling Ling didn't scream just like a girl.  He screamed like a girl in a Japanese porn flick. 

This

freaked

Kasper.


Totally freaked Kasper. 

He was like
WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT ALL ABOUT?!

Ling Ling tells Kasper that he doesn't put out on the first date.

Kasper was like,  
Am I missing something here?


I mean I have to sympathize with Kasper here. My friend met the dude in a gay bar.  They flirted.  He asked him to come back to his place, the dude said yes.  It's not like he invited him to watch CNN.  They went back to his place to do the gay deed.  The guy did not look stupid or anything.   He was actually well educated and shit. 

This was just not Kasper's night. 

Adding salt to Kasper's throbbing wound, Ling Ling said

Can you wake me up early tomorrow morning so you can sit on my feet while I do my sit ups?

Kasper told him to get the hell out when he wakes him up later.
Thing is, Kasper's still horny.  I mean, damn, twice in a row.  {I did tell him that he shoulda picked Sparky}.  With or without Ling Ling, he needed to get off.  He jerked off.  He just needed to consummate this horrid day with some sort of absolution, an ejaculation, albeit from his right hand.  Damn, he could even get off listening to Wolf Blitzer tell the world that they are the best political team on TV.

So Kasper spanked his Dutch monkey, not even bothering to go to the other room, beside Ling Ling.   It was HIS room anyways.  Ling Ling was all hot and bothered though, making girlie Japanese porn sounds.  As Kasper was trying to imagine anyone, anything {even Wolf Blitzer} aside from the present company, he was also contemplating what he did in his past life to deserve something like this.  Two in a row.   A Polish dog and a Japanese porn wanna be. 

He came. It was not much. But it was an ejaculation.  It wasn't spectacular, but it was better than Ling Ling or Sparky or even Wolf Blitzer. 

Seriously.  Life can be a bitch sometimes.  

The universe decided to play a practical joke on Kasper. She probably wanted to teach Kasper some sort of lesson about the mystery of the cosmos and all that crap.  He still doesn't know what that Friday night meant in the whole scheme of things. Kasper may never know.  But the cosmos is wise.  When a mystery unfolds in front of you, there is no choice but to let it unfold.  Let it take its course. So Kasper acquiesced, ejaculated rather. Maybe he might actually figure out what that Friday night meant. Someday.   


So ends tonght's Tale from the Big Smoke.


A word to the wise.
Never go to a gay bar alone.  You'll never know who you'll meet.  There's always Anderson Cooper and Wolf Blitzer.  




 

WHOA. YES THEY DID.

First,  let me congratulate my American friends both here in the Noodle Kingdom and in the US for a very successful election {regardless who won, I believe it was very successful; and yep, I do have Republican friends yo}. It's clear that America has made a decisive choice, and its also clear in my mind that Americans have grown up a little.  Dudes, today, you have earned the world's respect. If not the world {believe me it is the world}, then you have earned mine.  It's not just because you chose the first African American president elect {although it is very much worth mentioning as it is very much historic; but lets not forget that he's also Hawaiian. hehe}; nor was it because you chose a Democrat to steer your country for the next four years.  Politically, I think it's mainly because that a great number of you chose to take a decisive risk.  The Americans chose a person who was {which is highly operative for president elect Obama} an unknown over a seasoned opponent; who, in my opinion {some may disagree though} was significantly different from the outgoing American President. What struck me though was that most Americans are do not just want a non-Bush president, they wanted something else - a paradigm shift.  It may not have been a full 360, mind you, but I think it was a perfect 180 or almost.  The point is, it was significant enough.  So significant that even the Republican Party were stunned by the turnout. Millions of Americans going to polling stations and waiting for hours in long queues, a good number of them even voting for the first time. "Maverick" would be best word to describe all the Americans who voted today, regardless of party affiliation.  Like I said, you have earned my respect and the world's.

I woke up today with a positive energy.  I dunno, maybe it was Barrack  Obama. Maybe it was because I woke up with a really massive hard on.  Maybe it was Sublime's Santaria that started to play in my head the minute I opened my eyes.  I dunno, but today, I woke up with so much positivity.  I was floating while walking to work singin "I DON'T PRACTICE SANTERIA. I DON'T HAVE NO CRYSTAL BALL. IF I HAD A MILLION DOLLARS... WELL,  I'D SPEND IT ALL."

I was at work in a meeting when my friend from the Upper East Side of the Noodle Kingdom gave me a text message.  It said

OBAMA WON! OBAMA WON! 奥巴马赢得!

And I said, HOLY. MOTHER. FUCK! In front of my workmates. They asked my what the matter was.  I told them the news.  Surprisingly, they cheered. The irony was, not one of the 25 people in the room were Americans.  We went to lunch, and I could hear a number of expats, mostly students and Chinese shouting ''Obama!" "Obama!"

Man.  And I couldn't help it but text and call people. I couldn't help but to be genuinely happy.  I'm never really into politics, it felt like somebody landed on the moon or something, or Paris Hilton had chlamydia. I have to admit, I'm sure glad that I am alive to witness something important as this. In many ways I guess, this world would not be the same world again. Cheesy, but true. Somehow, I could taste it in the Beijing air.  Prolly the carbon emissions.

And yes, they did.

Nuff said.

Must Reads

One of the best articles I've read in a long time.  HERE YO.

QUICKIES . The 80's

You wouldn't believe what just popped out of my television when I turned it on tonight - Sarah Jessica Parker with 80's hair and a one piece and leotards. I almost choked on what I was drinking.  The movie is no other than GIRLS JUST WANT TO HAVE FUN {Sarah Jessica Parker, Helen Hunt, Shannen Doherty}  I can't believe the clothing, the hair {oh the hair!} and the color back then.  And don't forget the MIDI music! I miss the 80's dude.  I mean, I was a wee boy back then with no trace of armpit, leg or pubic hair but damn, I sure want to see my sisters wear those ugly leotards and sport ginormous hair that reeked of chlorofluorocarbons. 

I miss the 80's man.  Sure people were dying of AIDS in every corner and they were blaming it on gay people and shit, and the Soviet Union and the US got gazillions of nuclear weapons that might have accidentally taken off and killed half of the world's population, and apartheid was still kewl in South Africa. Fuck yeah, come to think of it, the 80's were not so kewl if you think about those shits.  But dude, food was cheap, i was young, there was Sesame Street, and maaaaaan I miss wearin skimpy shorts and cartoon tees and eating my boogers. O

Shlong Post: Karaoke. Beijing Marathon.

I have to confess that the last 3 weeks have been really terrible for me. I won't go into details but it has just taken a toll out of me and I needed a breather of some sort.   Three days ago, my horoscope told me to chill and relax because my Dharma is getting fucked up.  So that I did.  After three long weeks of isolation, I decided to social.

I met up with my Brit friends last night in Sanlitun {the touristy bar district in Beijing} because it was one of them Brits' birthdays.  I love meeting the Brits. It's like every time I meet up with them I always meet new people.  Just last night I met an American girl who is Scientology curious, an American dude slash artist who spoke awesome Chinese {well he's Chinese American}, two really kewl German girls who are on an internship with EU based NPO's and  and American dude who can really sing a good Ray Charles cover.  The experience always makes me feel refreshed after {and drunk}.  Its prolly because of their youthfulness, or them just being sort of a weird bunch {in a good way}, or the alcohol or just plain nice and old company, but fuck I like meeting up with them.  OK, it was one of them Brits birthdays yeah.  After finishing up with a Cabernet and two pitchers of ice cold margaritas, one of them suddenly had an idea of going to a KTV bar.  I dunno if some of my readers are familiar with the word KTV but it just means karaoke here in China.  I've told you in this blog that I am not a huge fan of karaoke. I mean, I can deal with karaoke for an hour but after that I just get bored and shit.  I mean, I usually sing songs but in my head and shit but not really in a karaoke bar. Its like I always end up sitting in the corner finishing a pack of cigarettes after my threshold hour.  Speaking of KTVs, the Chinese really take their KTV's seriously.  The KTVs in Beijing {and I reckon in many big cities in China} are so swanky and ginormous. They're also expensive {We found that part later on}.

Suprisingly though,  I was able to stay and have fun for the whole time.  It was prolly because that I was so drunk.  I even sang a coupla songs {I don't remember them though, I think it was an Annie Lennox song and one was a Green Day song, meh whatevs}.

I was so drunk and tired and sleepy that night so I decided to crash in the Brits' place.  I met their puppy Lyka {named after the first dog in space,  but Lyke the Brits' dog doesn't understand Russian though}.  The pup kept slobbering me {she's the touchy feely kinda puppy} and I've been told that she loves to bite.  Nice.  My kind of pup.  {Speaking of canines, I have another interesting story to tell you which involves another canine}. So yeah, I slept and woke up early like waaaaay early for me on a Sunday mornin' {9 am},  I never got to say goodbye to them Brits because they were all still asleep.  I took the taxi goin' back to my apartment hoping that I could make it there in twenty minutes because I was still sleepy and I completely forgot about the Beijing marathon {in which my boss was runnin'}.  I never made it to my apartment. I was almost there, like only 500 meters more then I'm in my apartment, but the road was blocked because of the marathon.  I had to wait for the road to be opened which means I had to just sit there on the side waiting for the marathoners to finish passing by.  I couldn't cross the road because there were like a gazillion policemen guarding the roadblock, they prolly woulda shot me if I tried.  So yeah,  I stayed {nothing much I could do really} there and watch them pass me by.  Man,  I have to hand it to these dudes,  it takes major balls and ovaries to run a marathon.  I mean, I like running, but I dunno if I can run 46 km non stop.  I prolly woulda bled to death trying.  I took shitloads of pics , but I ccouldn't post all of them here. So here are some.

there were a lotta shirtless dudes 

like this one for example.  he wasn't running though.  he was mostly panting. 

this dude reminds me of the dude from REM

the dude ran with two flags the whole time! FTW I woulda bled to death doin that.

love this picture

the cutest dude in the marathon.  OK there were a lotta cute dudes but this one gets my vote.  we kinda had a moment.  I was takin pictures and he kinda slowed down and looked directly at the camera because he thought I was takin his pic {I was takin the police dude's pic}. i nodded at him and he nodded.  he smiled and i smiled. then he left the course and we checked in to a run down motel and we made babies to last us till the next winter.  

Who's Joe the Plumber?

OK.  I was watching the final debate on CNN and I heard Mc Cain spoke of Joe the Plumber several times in his spiel.  I turn on the friggen tv after a whole week  of not watching any tube show and whatnot and I hear Joe the Plumber this and Joe the Plumber that. Like, who the hell is  Joe the Plumber?  That really piqued my curiosity. So I decided to google the bloke and these are what I got {believe me, these are the ones that made it to the shortlist}.

OK.  The dude's a caricature. Nuff said.

Not. so. hot.  And he works for bloglines.

erm. no. thank. you.

ooooh. likey likey.  but he's in mongolia, so he's not technically joe the plumber.

hawt. and her name's Jo. But I'm looking for a Joe. :(















OK. I gave up googling the bastard. So I YouTubed him and lo and behold, this is what I found.

Like whoa. There really is a Joe the Plumber - and he called Obama a Socialist. No wonder Mc Cain kept sayinghis name like its his fucking mantra. 

So much for equal opportunity fuck :(
Damn I guess I should settle for Mario then.

QUICKIES. Bob Dylan. My floor obsession. Charlie Horses. The Loooooove Doctor.

First.  Bob Dylan is the bomb.  THE BOMB.  I don't care if he's old or if its folk or country yada, but I love his songs.  What can I say, I like his poetry because it speaks volumes.  I'd like to list some of my favorite Bob Dylan songs here, just in case you haven't listened to any Bob Dylan song {if you haven't then you seriously need to google the old fart and download his shit}.  Here are my top picks.

HAWT BOB DEELAN

Ballad in Plain D

To Ramona

Shelter from the Storm

Workin Man's Blues

House of the Risin Sun

Knockin' on Heaven's Door

Mr. Tambourine Man

Spirit on the Water

Like a Rolling Stone

Take Me as I am

With God on our Side

One Too Many Mornings

Talkin' New York

Man of Constant Sorrow

The Wicked Messenger

I've been cleaning my floor yet again. I dunno, its like I have this constant love affair with my mop and my floor.  I love cleaning it, especially when I'm in my boxers and sometimes even in my birthday suit {thank God for the trees that hide my windows. PLANT TREES yo.}

I had one major bitchin' Charlie horse 5 nights ago.  I woke up at 3 am with this bitchin pain on my right leg and I actually screamed in pain :(  It hurt like shit dude.  Took me about 10 minutes to actually stop the pain.  I was massaging my cramped leg, just touching it like and it actually helped.  THAT FELT GOOOOD.  I actually moaned some {ok a lot}.  My upstairs neighbor prolly thought I was gettin laid or summat. Meh.  I need more potassium in my system. 


I've been playin the loooooove Doctor yo.  And I feel giddy as shit.  I feel like fuckin Audrey Taotou in Amelie. See there are these two dudes who kinda like me sorta in the not so brotherly way more like Biblical Leviticus Sodom and Gomorrah type of way like.  They kinda saw my friendster {yeah I still have one} profile ages ago and we chatted on a few occasions.  Each of them tellin' me their woes of being young {they just turned two decades this year}.  Lets just call them Bob and Dylan.  Bob's EMO and Christian and has just dropped outta college and Dylan's a med student and Christian and detests porn of any sort.  Both are in the closet trying on their late grannies' stilletos and both have told me that they liked me.  I did tell them that they were cute and shit {they were} but they were far too young for me.  And besides Cupid has already pierced my ass mouth ears nostrils   heart{!} with his sword of love - and yeah I love my mystery man.  I ain't tellin his name on this blog because I'm way superstitious about this kinda shit. I did tell them that if I were younger and in the same country and available and all the crappy excuses I could make yadi yadi yadi yadi, I'd date them and we'd marry and have Christian kids in a nice suburban house, with a dishwasher, widescreen tv, a dog named Julio and a cat named Julia.  Two days ago, each messaged me separately {they hadn't known each other yet}, askin how I was.  Both were still single and looking for someone to devour still were kinda hopin that I'd put out.  I actually had to point out to them that I am in China and there's the South China Sea {they're both in  the Coconut Republilc} and me putting out would not really be possible.  Then an idea came to mind. Oh yes, I'm the LOOOOOOVE GENIUS.  Why not introduce these two kids to each other? I mean, they're both young, in heat, and starving for some good old fashioned closeted brother to brother loving. So I did.  And like an outsourced customer service agent I pimped them to each other while pointing out to both of them their similarities  - Christian, gay, closet, stilletoes, puberty.  Voila! Three days later,  Bob tells me in an offline message that he is in loooooooove.  Dylan tells me that he's gonna visit Bob soon up north and he plans to woo his EMO ass with dead flowers and angry Christian poetry.  Meh, young love. Makes me wanna puke.  Its still fuzzy though.

I felt so good matching them up.  I'm feeling like Oprah minus the vagina and boobs. 

QUIKIES, Lily, her friend and her friend's boss on a Thursday night out. Stu and his search for the American Dream. The Wrath of a Woman Scorned... among other things

Friday night in the Big Smoke and I am at home - something is definitely wrong with me.  I think it's me aging.

Talked with my Russian friend Lily {again not her real name}.  She's not going out on a Friday night either.  Friday nights are overrated anyways. Meh.  She went out and got trashed last night.  Thursday's the new Friday yo.  Well, her friend, let's call her Lily's friend, flew to the Upper East Side (me old city, how I miss the cold) with her 30-something boss  for some business and a whole lotta pleasure.  So being the good host, Lily took them for a Thursday night out.  They drank whiskey and some chinese moonshine.  Lily's friend's boss got so trashed that she started doing acrobatics in the middle of the dancefloor.  Turned out that Lily's friend's boss used to be a circus performer {no she didn't eat elephants, she used to do death defying back bends}.  Let's just say that she had the crowd going last night.  Lily's friend's boss got offers from the guys looking to get laid that night and she had one special offer from the club manager if she could work in his club full time.  Some Thursday night eh? I wish I was there. 

Stu, my Jewish slash filmmaker slash chef extraordinaire slash one time stripper friend is back in the Land of Milk and Oprah in search of his American Dream. He's looking for a job now {GOOD TIMING STU! I HEAR LEHMAN BROTHERS IS HIRING}.  He sorta misses China. Well Stu, China misses you too! Uncle Mao misses you most dude!  By the way, if the job hunt doesn't turn out well, there's always the street corner dude.   Prostitution never goes outta style my friend.

Fakebook is really getting to be more than a social networking site.  Its more. Much more.  It's more than just a social utility where you can share with your friends and shit.  You can also diss yer ex-es in Fakebook.  Take THIS  for example.  I pity the dude.  Like what Rose said in Titanic,  "A woman's heart is as deep as the ocean and shit." That's one angry woman.

VAGINA POWER

now this is whut i'm talkin about. she knows her shit yo.

What to do when the world economy is on the brink of a major super duper recession?

1. Vote right.  Hell yeah.  For those of you citizens of the world who are about to have a major election, try to choose the right candidate.  VOTE PARIS!   Vote for the candidate that focuses on issues - MAJOR ISSUES (like should citizens have more grocery coupons and shit). Remember, the world is a neighborhood.  Your choice affects the Circle of Life. Like they say, "One home's trash, is another home's, well...  trash too).

2. Get a piggy bank for chrisssake.  I'm serious.  The world needs more piggy banks.  Why? If all the ordinary people know how to save,  then we can probably buy out them multi nationals and transnationals and banks and megalomaniacs with our piggy bank savings! Like we'd smash them piggy banks on their corporate heads and make them count the pennies! That would be so hot. And besides, more piggy banks would create more jobs and shit (betcha didn't think of that huh).  But then again they'd outsource it to China, so meh.

3. Donate to charity. Help people who need help.  Charities need your help too, especially in a recession.  Like dude, have you ever heard of the PASS IT ON philosophy?  If not, google it.  I can't explain it 'coz I'm too lazy and hands hurt (don't ask).  So yeah, donate to a charity or a foundation.  Like, my foundation for example - Help Omar Go to Thailand so He can get a Butt Lift Foundation.  I accept paypal donations too.  Mack me if yer interested. :)

4. Buy a bike.  Low maintenance and no crude needed.  And besides, its good for yer prostate.

5. Write to your congressman.  Ask him/her wtf is he doing with the money that you pay'em to make yer shitty life a little less shitier.

6. Have a garage sale.  For real.  People like trash.  Sell anything, yer tv.  yer phone.  yer soiled underpants. yer class ring. yer pubes.  yer dog. anything goes.  The world is ending so it doesn't really matter.

but...

IF THE SHIT HITS THE FAN AND COMES SPLATTERING ON YER FACE.

I've got one advice for you. YES YOU DUDE.

7. Don't panic.  So yer losing yer house. So yer getting a divorce. So yer husband's cheating on you.  So yer bank closed.  So the world is about to end. Fuck that shit.  Life is short.  Everything is an illusion and shit. 

relax.

take a deep breath.

play some chillout music.

grab a smoke.

drink your non-chinese milk.

and call yer mom to tell her that you'd be crashing in for a bit. 




there.....

feel better?


good.



hope that helps.

Working. Weekends. Visits. Zara. Knee Sex.

Old News. I work like a whore.
Latest News. I work like a whore's whore.
So much for that eh.

It's Friday. I've got a visitor from my old city from the Upper East Side of the Noodle Kingdom. To keep her anonimity, lets call her Lily. Lily Hernandez (of course not her real surname) arrived at the Beijing Train Station last night and will be staying in the Big Smoke (which is suprisingly boasting of clear skies these days) for a coupla days or so. She needed a break, she says. I was willing enough to be the gracious host. I miss the bitch.

Lily has been to Beijing so many times that she lost count and interest. The reasons why she came to Beijing were

1. To see me and catch up
2. To go dancing with me
3. To visit a gay club
4. To take a picture of the Olympic thingamajig place which is near my apartment (about a 20 minute run to be exact)
5. To go to a gay club (yeah she's that desperate)
6. To buy something at ZARA's

Now, reasons 1-5 were doable and shit, but reason 6 was like, what's a Zara?
She was like, "It's a clothing store. Spanish. Nice. Expensive sorta but not much."
I was like, "OK, where is it."
She was like, "Let's Google it"
(my apologies for using the word LIKE too much. I just like using it. LIKE SHIT YEAH)

It turned out that Zara was this sorta swanky something clothing store thats located in this swanky something mall located at the business district in Beijing which they call THE PLACE (like whoa) that boasts of the largest ever TV screen in the whole wide world (so they say, still gives me a stiffed neck when i look at it).

So we went to Zara. AND DAMNIT I'M BLAMING LILY FOR THE PURCHASES I MADE! The hat was just way too nice and the top was cheapfordable ($11). I'm never shopping with Lily ever again. Ever.

So I made my purchase, whilst Lily was in the fitting room trying to force herself into a size 4. I decided to take a smoke break.

While I was smoking, two Chinese dudes (one dude and one dudette) approached me. They were asking me if it was OK if they could take my photo. I was like, "What for." They said it was for some fashion magazine. It brought tears to my eyes, I tell ya.

I was wearing a Vera Wang gown, $5 flipflops, a $10 Armani pig print top, a $4 pair of shorts, a T-back, A hot pair of Jiimmy Choos, a pair of $2 sunglasses that I bought in some Chinese market, and a pair of and 5 NO 4 NO 3 2-day old boxers. What is this world coming to? I figured I'd go along and shit. So I made my best Zoolander pose (not really but you know what I mean). After three clicks they said thank you and I did tell them to at least smudge my face a little if I was on the WHAT'S HOT WHAT'S NOT page.

Anyways, I went back to Zara and found Lily proudly fitting into a size four. I was like "Whoa dude, yer boobs and yer ass look bigger."

She bought the shit and we went shop hopping. Good thing I got no more money so yeah.

We were too dirt poor to get a cab so we took the subway. On the subway we started to have knee sex. I have this annoying habit of tapping (or shaking or whatever) my left leg while I am seated (like in church, commodes, hospitals, gay clubs, drug busts, peacekeeping missions, cultural attache meetings and shit like that) and while I was doing that thing with my left leg, my knee was disturbing Lily's knee. So she asked to stop fucking her knee. And that's how it started. 8 stops and my knee was still doing her knee. I almost came.

I hate Beijing really.

It's all superficial.
fleeting.
impersonal.
mundane.
transitory.

But I love my Zara top.

on being hungry.

Yes.  I'm hungry right now.  You see,  I don't have anything on my fridge.  Not that I don't have money to buy fiid and shit,  I just keep forgetting to buy groceries.  I must confess, I have been living on take outs for the past 2 and a half months that I have been in Beijing.  Not entirely my fault, the hotel would not allow me to use the gas cooker.  Safety precautions they say.  But its there.  They should have not put it there in the first place.  I asked for another cooker.  They gave me an electric thingamajig, that doesn't work. They have yet to replace it.  So here I am, two months later, still living on fried rice take outs, instant noodles, cheerios (with mayonnaise), oreos (with mayonnaise), Micky D's and KFC's and the whole blah blah yadi yada. 

And I'm still hungry.  I need proper food.  Like real food.  One that includes the 5 basic food groups.  Or is it 6? Meh.  I'm hungry.

UNTITLED

Chapter 2

The Second Joyful Mystery – The Visitation

At 3 am, Mario was awakened by sounds emanating from his kitchen. He hears soft clanging sounds of pots and pans and someone humming a tune – a Billie Holiday or maybe an Ella Fitzgerald song. He kept thinking about the tune and which song it was, and he was sure he’s heard of it before. Forgetting the fact that there was someone rummaging through his stuff in his kitchen, he lay on his bed for a minute or two thinking about that elusive song. Then finally giving up, he told himself that he would eventually remember it after a day or two. And besides, it was 3 am and it’s been a known fact that human memory doesn’t function well at this ungodly hour. Then he realizes that he had been doing it again – losing track of one mental thought by segueing to another mental though that is somewhat associated to the primary thought. (Mario is like that, a one minute attention span kind of guy. Compared to Mario, a fly has more mental focus on things at hand – like the turd waiting to be feasted upon, for example).

He mentally kicks himself for losing track of the pressing matter at hand. There was someone in his kitchen and from the smells of it, that someone was cooking.

Did he forget to lock the door? Is it the building manager? But what the hell was he doing in my kitchen at 3 am? Am I dreaming? This must be some weird dream, Mario tells himself. He tried to pinch himself, thinking he was in some weird dream that David Lynch probably directed but when he felt the sting of his pinch he realized that he indeed was awake, and there was someone in his kitchen.

Scared off of his wits, he tried to summon his inner caveman and took hold of the nearest blunt object on his bedside table – a big fat aroma therapy candle, lavender scented, decorated with sea shells. He figured that he could try to whack the living daylights out of this intruder or whatever that is in his kitchen right now concocting those aromas and humming that tune which he couldn’t, for the life of him, name.

Carefully and quietly, Mario creeps outside his bedroom and stood beside the wall that leads to his small kitchen. The kitchen light is turned on, Mario notices. He could still hear the intruder humming a nice and clean and full tempo hum and it seemed to be getting louder... or closer. Then the humming stops. And so did the soft sounds of pots and pans from the kitchen. His apartment becomes still and quiet. He could hear his heart beating. A bead of sweat slowly descends from his forehead to his left eyebrow. For the first time in his life, Mario is scared shitless.

This is just a dream. Just a dream. Just a dream. Just a dream. Just a dream. Mario repeats the words like they are Hail Mary’s. His whispers break the silence in his apartment and when he realizes that he’s already the one making the sounds, he stops and slowly creeps sideways toward the kitchen door, prepared to strike the would be attacker with the aroma therapy candle.

Grasping the candle with both hands, he holds his breath and mentally prepares himself to face the kitchen door and strike. Then he realizes that he was not alone on this side of the wall. He hears breathing from his left. It was surely not him for he was holding his breath. He could feel the warmth of the breath beside him... He’s more scared than ever. He was going to die. For sure he was going to die in his flat in dirty underwear. In his mind he pictures all his friends and family and all the people that touched him. Each of them, one by one, he tells them goodbye. Life is just cruel he says to himself.

“And you are one melodramatic fuck. Stop picturing your friends and family and your past bed partners! They’re bombarding my head like crazy. I swear, you people watch too much day time soap operas!”, a sweet feminine voice on his left said. “And to be honest, the picture of your grandmother cooking in the kitchen followed by a naked 18 year old Billy sniffing your jockstrap doesn’t really go together!”

Mario turned around and in the faint light that came from his kitchen, saw a heavy set brown skinned woman, wearing colorful ethnic clothing topped with what looks like an African head dress. She stands a couple of inches shorter than Mario, one foot slightly in front of the other, with hands on her waist and is smiling like she is the reigning Miss America.

Mario screams out of surprise. He didn’t even think of hitting the woman in front of him. He just screams and screams. But he noticed that no sound was coming from his vocal chords. He stops and absently drops the candle in his hands and screams again. Again, no sound. He looks at the woman.

“Now, I will give your voice back if you promise, IF YOU PROMISE not to scream,” the big brown woman said with a motherly tone. “You promise?”

Mario nods shakily. He’s sweating like a pig on a hot summer day.

Then the woman says, “No you’re not being truthful, now Mario. Something tells me that if I give your voice back now you’d scream and wake the living daylights out of the people in this building,” she said with eyebrows raised while wagging her finger. “You do know that if I can take off your vocal faculties that I could also take other things from you?”, she tells him. She waits at the stunned Mario to respond with an akimbo pose and she adds, “Yes, Mario, I know your name.”

“But how?”, Mario asked the woman then suddenly realizing he relinquished his voice back. The woman doesn’t feel threatened anymore and apparently, so does Mario. He is curious.

The woman softens and tells Mario, “I know many things about you Mario. I know about your mental segues, and your interest in elevator music, and your fascination with porn and your masturbatory activities – TEN! What the hell were you trying to prove?”, she scolds, “Even porn stars don’t ejaculate that much!”. Then she softly adds, “And I also know about what happened yesterday morning at the kindergarten.”

Mario hung his head upon hearing those words. He’s not really shameful, but he felt naked in front of the fat brown skinned woman. Then a stray tear drops from his right eye to the floor. He’s shaking. He knows that he’s on the verge of crying or bawling even and he is trying to suppress it. He takes heavy breaths and his nostrils are flaring and he feels warm all over. It’s always like this when he is about to get an emotional outburst, and he hates it. He cries like a deranged widow, truth be told. But he rarely cries. In fact he hasn’t cried in a long, long time. Ever since that day, he hasn’t cried. And in a flash as if triggered by some earthquake, memories suppressed came rushing in and blended itself to the present and everything that he was at the moment. And at that moment, Mario admitted to himself that he was in fact, one lonely and sad individual.

Then the tear drop on the floor became two. Then three. Then four. Then five. The floor to which he was standing was slowly starting to form a small puddle. Mario was crying for the first time, ever since that day. Loneliness was pouring out of his eyes and his skin and everything that was him.

Then something happened. He felt being embraced. The fat brown skinned lady who triggered this flood of suppressed memories and tears was embracing him. A warm embrace it was. He felt being lifted and being removed from everything that was of his body and of his apartment. He felt so light. So light that he now knows what a feather, airborne feels like. It’s like his outpour of sadness was replaced by something else. He felt happy but not laughing or smiling. He knows that he was feeling something different. Something he had never felt before. The closest feeling that he could associate with this was orgasm during sex. In his 29 years, he only had a couple of orgasmic sex. One was when he was 16 when a 45 year old guy gave him a blow job in a run down theatre in Manila and the other one was his first ejaculation when he was 13 back in his old room masturbating to Jockey underwear ads on the Sunday paper. Both were all quick, barely 20 seconds the longest. Now he feels like he was having a thousand ejaculations at the same time, only that he was not ejaculating through his penis. He was ejaculating all over. His eyes, his pores, his nails, his ears, his orifice, and every opening in his body were ejaculating except his penis. His whole body was convulsing. His mind felt like exploding. He was making incoherent sounds but he understands what he was trying to say.

Don’t make it stop. Please, don’t make it stop. I love this feeling, so don’t make it stop. I want to stay in this state so don’t make it stop.

Then everything around Mario went pitch dark.

Chapter 1

The 245^th Monday and 10 Ejaculations

I never thought I’d say this but I think I’m addicted to porn, and masturbating.

Just today, I masturbated for 10 times. 10 times. That’s like a record for me – on a Monday, nonetheless... I mean, who jerks off on a Monday? And ten times even. My last ejaculation barely ejaculated. I swore I could hear my dick letting out a silent cry to stop it already if I didn’t want him to fall off, in my last, almost dry orgasm.

I know I have a problem. So what? I mean everybody has problems and issues and all, mine is just more defined – excessive masturbatory practice.

Yep. My dick is chafed. It doesn’t hurt, but it stings a little.

It’s not like I’m a sex addict or anything. I just happen to like watching porn and jerking off. Free porn of course. I don’t have the money to subscribe to anything paid. I don’t even have a credit card for crying out loud. Not that I want one. I had this friend once who got buried in debt and was hounded by the credit card company for buying shitloads of, well, things. Yeah, I do the casual sex from time to time but I prefer beating the bishop. It’s less risky, I guess. But I guess it’s more of the act itself. I like masturbating. Truth be told, I like masturbating more that the act of sex itself. Why? Don’t ask me. I just like it, period.

It’s Monday again. Never liked Mondays, to be honest. Its just boring and long and well, very Monday-ish. Monday, actually kind of sounds like ‘mundane’, come to think of it. Maybe that’s why they called it Monday. This is actually my 245^th Monday here in China. Not that I am counting, but I realized it just now. I have already spent 245 Mondays of my life here in the Noodle Kingdom. Wow. That’s a lot, I think.

I had a long day. I was teaching kids this morning. I was teaching them this song about the parts of the body. They were 6 year olds and they were getting bored so I had to improvise. So I taught them the song. It’s a funny song come to think of it, with funny actions and dance moves and all. A total classroom hit for kindergarten teachers. And the kids were laughing and at each other and at me. We were kind of having fun. Then in the middle of the song, for a split second, I realized something. Something very important. So important it was that it showed on my face for that split second while I was doing the song and dance number with the kids. Some of the perceptive little buggers even noticed it. I noticed it.

You see, I had this epiphany, this overwhelming knowledge that I could no longer deny. I guess I have known it all along but I didn’t act upon it. And to seriously deny this fact would mean to seriously deny myself altogether. I realized something important while I was singing the song with the children, turning round and round with bended knees and flapping arms and head bent with my tongue out like some senile person waiting to die – I had to admit that it was a funny song. I realized that I didn’t belong there or anywhere within a 50,000 mile radius.

I don’t belong here. And it was time to leave.

And in the middle of the song while the kids were singing and turning round and round with their head and knees bent and tongues out, arms flapping and all – I stopped singing then took my bag and left without a word.

I heard the children saying “goodbye teacher.” The Chinese assistant teacher was shouting my name and telling me that I still had 15 minutes left and 3 more periods to finish. I didn’t bother answering. I just left the building and never looked back.

Mario has left the building.
Ho-hum.

I walked for hours. It’s October and it’s really cold in this part of China. I was wearing a t-shirt, a pair of worn out jeans and a letter jacket. I didn’t bother taking a taxi. I just walked and walked till my feet complained then I took the bus going back to my flat. I opened my door and looked at my flat for 5 seconds and I was debating if I should fix myself something to eat or just sleep.

I wanted to make some early dinner but then I was too lazy to make one. Besides, all my fridge had was one lousy rotten tomato. I wanted to order take outs but then again I realized I wasn’t that hungry.

But I was horny all of a sudden. Out from nowhere, my libido was telling me to turn on the computer and browse for free porn. I did. I went to the porn site, opened some videos, undid my belt, opened my zipper and took out my dick. Five videos and ten ejaculations and thirty Kleenex tissues later, here I am – talking to myself in this monologue voice that reeks of National Geographic.

It’s time to leave.

It’s time to leave.

It’s time to leave.

I kept saying that to myself. Even when I was watching porn online and doing the work of my human hands. It’s time to leave. Even when I was smoking my last stick of cigarette, I was saying that over and over, sometimes even in mid exhalation I was muttering the words.

It’s time to leave.

It’s time to leave.

It’s time to leave.

I went to my bedroom without brushing my teeth or changing my work clothes. I kept saying the words over and over and over again. And like a Buddhist mantra that releases a Buddhist person’s soul to some form of nirvana or something like it – those four words released my whole body, mind and spirit to the world of soft, quiet slumber.

{ untitled } - The Beginning

He stares at the semen on his hand. In his mind it looks like an abstract painting hung on some swanky metropolitan museum for modern art. It could actually pass for an artwork. With the right frame and canvass, one unsuspecting art connoisseur with loads of dosh would actually buy the mess he made and it would set him for life. Well, at least for a good number of years.

Trying not to spill a drop on the floor, he quickly reaches for the Kleenex to wipe off the cum. He throws the used Kleenex in the trash bin beside his computer desk – workstation he calls it. The trash bin is brimming with used Kleenex tissues with dried up and some freshly manufactured cum – 30 in all. He has masturbated 10 times today. Truth be told, he hates ejaculation in any form. He likes the sensation but he detests the mess.

He closes the porn site and turns off the computer then lights his last cigarette and looks at the window. A quiet song is singing in his head. Some classical music he heard two days ago in an elevator. It had violins and piano and a cello. It was sad, and he was kind of puzzled why they would use a sad song as elevator music. Nobody actually bothered to pay attention to elevator music – muzak as some brainy toads would call it, but one out of ten people who ride elevators actually do. Mario Peccado is one is one of them – 29 years old… an advocate of free online porn… a chain smoker… a teacher… gay, but not proud... and a guy who pays attention to elevator music.

Hey HO! Let's Go.

Yes I am alive. I know I haven't blogged in months and I have no excuse except I that I couldn't write. Yes, I have what you would call a Blogger's Block. I shall attempt to write something tonight, substantial or otherwise.

Here we go.

I am based in Beijing now. I've been here for almost a week. I finally was able to get out of THAT city. But don't tell anyone to what I am about to tel

l you, okay. I miss THAT city. Well, how can I not? I lived there for 7 years for crying out loud. Now, Beijing. The Big Smoke. The Big B. The Olympic City. Beijing is so hyped up right now that it could run for a democratic/republican/independent whatever nomination. It's polluted as f*ck. No wonder they call it the Big Smoke. The day I arrived in the Big B, I could not see a single edifice farther than 100 meters. And to top that, the weather was humid. And I was carrying 8 pieces of luggage (see picture below).

Anyways, I decided to move to Beijing NOT BECAUSE OF THE OLYMPICS, but because my clients are based here {yes I still whore my ass despite the fact that I am turning thirty this November} and its closer to almost {well, almost} any place in China, flights and trains and all.

I already have my flat set up. It's way smaller than the flat that I shared with Wendy – two bedroom, a tiny vestibule that can pass as a bathroom, a kitchen in which I cannot use the gas stove {building policy, but there is a friggen gas stove – they should've just removed the friggen gas stove if I am not allowed to use it}, AC{thank gawd}, cable {like actual cable with foreign channels} and the whole shebang. It's small, yeah, but I like it. Why you ask? I don't have neighbors in me building. All the other rooms are offices during the day and are empty as a Ben Affleck movie at night. You know what that means eh? ORGIES, PARTIES and SACRIFICIAL RITUALS! WOOOHOOO! I can't wait to run nekkid and drunk. My flat is fairly new as I can still smell the paint. I like the place. It's so obscure and I get some sort of privacy and autonomy. Opposite my building is a huge college dorm building for foreign students. There's a coffee shop at the ground floor called “College Perk” with the same logo as “Friends'” “Central Perk”, only that there's no Jennifer Aniston {Thank Gawd}and the coffee's just ok-ish but real expensivo.

I miss Changchun {me old city}. I miss the visibility and the way the locals speak Chinese. Beijingers have “R”'s in every word they say {well not every word but you can notice the r's every time they say something}. I miss my friends in Changchun. But I needed to leave, move on, explore new horizons and shit.

Anyways, I have almost finished unpacking and shit and my clothes smell like sawdust. Good thing they already delivered the washing machine when I got back from my run so I spent half of the day washing my clothes.

*!*!*

I miss this one guy. I ain't telling you his name. But yeah. I miss him. I miss taking showers with him. {Well he gives a good scrubbing, yo}.

^%^%^%

I've been watching a whole lotta TV lately {cable}. For the first time in years, I was able to sit in front of the tube for two whole hours. I couldn't believe CNN could be so riveting.

@$@$@$

My internet connection is super duper fast. Well, I paid for it. You know whut that means....... PORN.

&*&*&*&

I had a meeting yesterday with one of my clients. Let's just say that this particular client is not in my favorites list. I'll give you the cliffnotes version. Let's call this client Charlton Heston. Charlton Heston acquired my services for some yadi yadi. Since it was money, I took the job. You know me, I never say no to money {*Omar genuflects in front of Chairman Mao's smiling 100 Yuan face and makes the sign of the cross}. Wrong move. The client is bordering insufferable. Insufferable I tell ya. I tried almost every tactic in book short of blowing the dude. He's just not sure about what he wants and whenever he gets all rattled up he blames the help (moi). Sucks being a whore, but hey, its a living. A friend and colleague actually advised me to go slow and sorta lead him to a firm decision or some sort of commitment. I followed this friend's advice and guess whut? Didn't work.

Okay, So I was in a meeting with Charlton Heston. I haven't even sat down the chair and he starts barraging me with all these yadi yadi yadas that I am not doing what I am paid to do and shit and that he and his committee is not satisfied about the outcome and shit like that.

{Backgrounder, Charlton and his committee asked me to do a project and I agreed, provided they provided me the actual material for the project. Before I agreed, I briefed Charlton at what I actually do and the method and the means that I will employ should I accept this project. Charlton said he was ok with it. To clarify, I repeated to him him that this is what I do and these are were the means that I employ and shit. He said he was ok with it. So, I said yes. What went wrong then? The material came in trickles. The committee didn't like the means that I employ to do the project – It led me to the conclusion that Charlton didn't consult his committee or he didn't consult them that well since he was always flying from one city or country. Then he blames me. Of course, blame the help when the shit hits the fan}.

So he goes on and on about me not being prepared for the meeting and not even bothering to answer the issues he and his committee pointed out in his last email. I wanted to say something real bad ass at that moment but I held my tongue. Because if I did, it wouldn't have accomplished anything. I came meeting to do business and clearly, he wasn't. He was livid. But I was having a good day so I let him go on and on and on. Yap yap yap yap yap. I even acted contrite just to feed his ego. You see, Charlton was angry because I was incompetent and his justification was that I didn't came prepared for the meeting and that I don't even have a hard copy of his last email, which was the topic of the meeting that day. The clincher is, this whore did not receive any email from Charlton Heston. Old Charlie forgot to send me that one important email that would have justified his frustrations for the project by projecting the whole failure to the hired help because he was flying from one city to another. I knew there was no email from the start of the meeting. I wanted to point out that to old Charlie but he wouldn't let me. So, there I was channelling the beautitudes and trying to be meek and humble of heart.

Finally. I dropped the bomb. I asked Charlton, “What email are you talking about?” {with matching, meek and humble facial expressions plus eyelashes}. He says “What do you mean what email, THIS EMAIL {points to the paper his holding}.

MY MOMENT!

I looked at the paper. Looked at him and said, “I didn't receive this email. Your last email was dated XXXXX. I can check it now in my inbox if you wish. If I'm wrong, then I will apologize, my mistake.” He flinches. He runs to his laptop and checks his files. No email. Couldn't find anything. NADA.

Then he looks at me. I look at him {still with the meek and humble of heart expression and eyelashes and shit} and I said, “May I?”.

He steps aside. I open my Gmail account. I typed his name {I tag all my emails. THANK GOD FOR GMAIL}. All the emails he sent me appeared. All dated. But the one email that he was holding in his hand was no where to be found.

He is silent.

I look at him {still humble but with a slight smile forming, but hardly noticeable}

I cough a little.

I excused myself to the bathroom. Once I closed the bathroom door. I did my best Robert de Niro impersonation from Taxi Driver and I did my victory dance. I texted a friend and told him I'd buy him to have his 7 o'clock free because I was gonna buy him a drink that night.

I went out of the bathroom, and there is Charlton Heston, still checking for the lost email that was never sent.

I sat down beside him and I asked him if he could hand me the hard copy. He did. He's subdued now. More meek. More humble. Mind you, I could've shat on his face and repeat every insult he told me. But I didn't. I didn't come there for a pissing contest. I went to that meeting to do business and to actually salvage something of the project that he and his committee were royally fucking up. It was tempting to actually say a word or two, but the dude was already wounded. And besides, it's inhumane to kick a wounded dog.

He was trying to compose himself. He was rather red. I kept coughing small coughs because I was trying not to laugh. We continued the meeting. He wasn't being Moses now. We were doing business.

I learned a lot after that meeting. A lot.

But the most important lesson that I learned that day was about being quiet in a tumultuous situation. Silence is not a weakness. It's a sharp sword that cuts deep. Shallow waters make a lot of noise, but you don't find the treasure chests under shallow waters. You find the pirate booty in the quiet depths.

THAT AND USE GMAIL MOTHERFUCKERS!

GMAIL FUCKING ROCKS!

{By the way, I hope whoever is reading this shit that I am writing actually doesn't think that I am talking about sex! It's not. I actually do have a job}

It's 9.30 am...

... and I am awake. I have only slept for barely four hours but I feel fucking great.
I rarely get days like this {they probably come in trickles in one's lifetime} and when I actually do get them {like today}, I celebrate it like there's no tomorrow. I'm more of a what happens tomorrow kind of guy. But today is just NOW for me.

thought for the day

I could never stop bullets from hitting me.

BEING A YOMO & BATTLING YOMOPHOBIA

I just realized that I say "yo" a lot recently, not only in blogging but in real life conversations. It's Wendy's and Davin's fault {suuuuuuuure, go blamin' other people for yer own shortcummings}. Wendy and Davin say yo like it's the new gospel of the new millennium or something and it kinda rubbed off on me. They'd be saying it like this:

1. What's up, yo.
2. Nice duds, yo.
3. Yo00000, dude............
4. Alls I'm sayin is......... , yo
5. We're not laughin' at you, yo.... We're laughin with you
6. Yo, yo, yo!
7. The computer's not workin, yo.
8. S'all good, yo.

Now I'm saying "yo" more than them. It's becoming chronic, yo. {*slaps himself}. I think I'm becoming a yomoseskwell. This is not good. There are thousands, if not millions of yomophobics out there who'd beat the crap outta my brown scrawny ass if they here me say "yo". This is not kewl, yo. Waaaaay unkewl.

Why can't the world just be accepting of yomo's? If the world would be like that, just accepting and embracing people's differences and celebrating them, fuuuuck the world would be such a better place and I'd prolly cum all over myself.

Yo.