I thought of “Season Sex” but that was too easy. Besides, I can’t even promise myself that I can live up to one whole season of sheer sexcapades, so I tho—ah, uh… hmmm.
Hmmm!
Okay McVie, snap out of it. (snaps)
Now where was I? Oh yes.
People have noticed the change of photo. Some preferred Smiling McVie versus Pensive McVie. Actually I was channeling Lookout McVie or Perv McVie—minutes before that picture was taken I saw a cute guy looking out of their office window in the tower beside ours.
The masthead was an obvious choice for me. I took that shot when we were in Bohol Beach Club back in December of last year. No filters, no Photoshop. It was simply a beautiful day at the beach. That particular photo also happens to be the current wallpaper on both my office laptop and on our iMac at home.
For me that image evokes escape, joy, calm, relaxation, home and peace. I still want the new season to be fun, irreverent and silly. But more than that, I want the new season of The McVie Show to be an online oasis for those who can appreciate irony, tongue-in-cheek and tales from bathhouses and bars.
In other words here’s to more of the same, only I’ll try to do better.
Friday, June 29, 2007
If Only For The OBB, Listen!
And the first entry for season six is about a podcast.
At this point I must admit that producing these podcasts have been fun, fun, fun! I kinda missed editing—audio or video—which I used to do almost on a daily basis back when I was working in a TV network.
That’s why Part 3 of the Nelz Chika series features a bitchin’ OBB that I would best describe as “My Heart Will Go On” Jack and Rose movie dialogue version meets LOVE “Kailangan pa bang i-memorize yan?” Radio. Obvious ba na nagwala ako dito sa part 3?
Part 3 has: dual citizenship, high tide or low tide, Mexico, sharing of lives, keeping one’s identity in a marriage, faulty romantic movies, romance novels, and Air Supply.
And for the third time, I was able to keep my podcast under 20 minutes!
So click on the link here or under “Talk Is Cheap!” and enjoy.
(Watch out for Part 4. Good luck to me.)
At this point I must admit that producing these podcasts have been fun, fun, fun! I kinda missed editing—audio or video—which I used to do almost on a daily basis back when I was working in a TV network.
That’s why Part 3 of the Nelz Chika series features a bitchin’ OBB that I would best describe as “My Heart Will Go On” Jack and Rose movie dialogue version meets LOVE “Kailangan pa bang i-memorize yan?” Radio. Obvious ba na nagwala ako dito sa part 3?
Part 3 has: dual citizenship, high tide or low tide, Mexico, sharing of lives, keeping one’s identity in a marriage, faulty romantic movies, romance novels, and Air Supply.
And for the third time, I was able to keep my podcast under 20 minutes!
So click on the link here or under “Talk Is Cheap!” and enjoy.
(Watch out for Part 4. Good luck to me.)
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Monday, June 25, 2007
The Detached Episode
(McVie’s note: My apologies to those who have previously read this. Part of the joy of writing is not knowing when inspiration will strike. After I posted the episode below, I left for home. Actually I went to the bathhouse, had sex a couple of times, and then went home. It was on the drive back home that I realized there was a missing “portion” in The Detached Episode. Now I’ve included it here. To those who have previously read this episode, please do plod through it again. And to those who are reading this for the first time, lucky you.)
* * * * *
I think it was during grade seven that I watched Sa Kaharian Ng Araw (In the Kingdom of the Sun), a play written in the 70s by Mr. Onofre Pagsanghan and several of his students at that time. The Dulaang Sibol production made a huge impact on me at that time because of its story and its staging.
Kaharian is about two friends, Ponce and Paulo, who journey through different kingdoms on their way to the Kingdom of the Sun. The two friends have different reasons for embarking on the journey: Ponce for fame and fortune, Paolo for his friend. To go through the kingdoms of Rain, Wind and Darkness/Night, the two have to make sacrifices and give things up. The sacrifices become more difficult as they get closer to their goal. Paulo, the loyal and supportive friend, is forced to give up an item closest to his heart, his guitar. At the Kingdom of Darkness/Night, Paulo is forced to make the supreme sacrifice; he stays behind so that Ponce can reach his goal. When Ponce arrives at the Kingdom of the Sun, he is shocked to find it empty; the only occupant is the lone Sun King who’s been dying to pass on his crown and his empty kingdom to the rightful heir—the one who reaches the Kingdom by sacrificing everything and everyone in the process. The last line uttered in the play is by Ponce who screams, “Hungkag!” (“Empty!”) as he falls to the ground.
Sibol is a high school theater group with a limited budget but with unlimited creativity. The whole production ingeniously used existing materials to fashion costumes and sets that were not realistic but rather evocative. Thus long strips of blue cloth became a river, thin black cloth became curtains of darkness, while strips of long white cloth were stretched and shaken to evoke the power of the wind.
When I was in third year high school, Mr. Pagsi decided to restage Kaharian. From a wide-eyed spectator who fell in love with the play, I was now part of it. I was in the koro with the rest of the undergraduates; the major roles were given to the seniors as per Sibol tradition. But I was happy to just be able to sing the songs and be part of creating that magic onstage that moved the audience.
* * * * *
I consider myself a man of modest ambitions.
I’ve always wanted to act onstage; I’ve done that several times, even surpassing my modest expectations. Heck, I never aimed to perform on the CCP stage and upstage the great comedian Lou Veloso in one hilarious scene, but I did (it helped a lot that Lou was playing a corpse, hahaha). I never thought I’d be cast in a lead role, but Lito Casaje took a chance and my name was top-billed in a Dramatis Personae production staged at the Goethe Institute (unfortunately I only consider one performance of mine to be great; the rest were so-so passable). And I never thought I could cry onstage, but under my friend Ron Capinding’s direction I was able to do just that in a TA production.
I wanted to be a film director; that has not yet materialized. But never in my wildest dreams did I consider directing a play, and I ended up directing Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream for TA. While adult critics weren’t exactly enamored by my irreverent take on the Bard’s classic comedy (the enchanted forest became Forest Disco, the fairies became sequin-studded clubbers, and The Fairy King Oberon and Fairy Queen Titania were dressed as Elvis and Diana Ross respectively), the student audiences lapped it up.
I never saw myself as a writer. I always thought I’d end up in the performing arts. Even as an adman my imagination, creative ideas and presentation/persuasive skills are more valuable than the ability to write copy. Writing copy is minimum expectation. In advertising a good writer is someone who can cram three or more selling points in one 30-seconder. A good writer is someone who can submit 50 name studies in 30 minutes. A good writer is someone who can coin phrases like, “juicy-licious” and “bilog ang mundo” and “chikletin mo baby!” But here I am, blogging away. It’s not that I needed an outlet for the frustrations of being a copywriter; nope, the default outlet for us advertising folks is a drink, preferably with an alcoholic content of 5% or higher.
When I was in high school, if I were asked what I wanted to be when I grow up, I’d say, “I want to be an actor.” In college that answer became, “I want to be a director.” After college it became, “I want to be happy.” Around two years ago my friend Leigh said, “You cannot make ‘happiness’ your goal in life. Happiness is a by-product of achieving your goal.”
So now if someone asks me what my ambition in life is, I’m at a loss for a quick and easy answer. It’s not that I don’t have goals I want to achieve, it’s just that I’m not that compelled to achieve them. It’s not that I lack drive; I’ve proven time and again to myself that if I latch on to a goal, I often achieve or even surpass my expectations. It’s not that something or someone is holding me back either.
I think it’s more of a case of detachment.
Part of me thinks that achieving my goals is well and good. Failure is always a possibility; if I fail, then I get up and try again. But another part of me knows that the moment I reach my Kaharian ng Araw, I will find it bare and empty. Or at the very least, the victory is only for the moment. Give it a few more minutes and then you’d realize that in the larger scheme of things, it’s just a small victory—for you alone.
Sure, one can try and prolong the inevitable obscurity. But Beowulf’s writer is now known as “Unknown,” and given a few more centuries maybe even the great manuscript itself will join its author.
So I do good deeds. And I do selfish acts. I even allow myself an evil deed now and again—okay, okay, more often than just now and again. But I do them with a clear-eyed view that in the larger scheme of things, these acts really matter only to a few others and me. In fifty years most would have forgotten about it. After a century no one who actually remembers me will be alive. I, just like the rest of humanity, will be forgotten.
Detachment doesn’t mean being uninvolved and staying at a safe distance. Ironically it also means living in the now, because only then can one experience the happiness that reveals itself when one lives in the now. One must engage in life before one can actually detach oneself from it.
It means one appreciates the huge picture, and is willing to do things just because. It means embracing the fact that obscurity is inevitable—and be at peace with it. It means recognizing that we have the right to be part of the universe, but also acknowledging our place in the billions and billions of stars.
Maybe that’s why I am so drawn into the performing arts, especially theater. Live performance is the most ephemeral of the arts. The moment it is done, it resides only in the imperfect memories of those who witnessed it. (Yes, some shows are video taped for documentary purposes, but that’s not the point.) The moment the last of those witnesses die, even the most magnificent of performances—even those that out-Olivier Olivier—will vanish forevermore. And yet, I have never felt more alive than when I’m actually “in the zone” during a performance, when my whole being is totally concentrated on just being “in the moment” onstage. No wonder theater continues to thrive today despite all the odds stacked up against it.
So: ask me what my ambition in life is in the here and now, and I might say, “To stop figuring out what my ambition is and just live, love and laugh.”
* * * * *
And leave. Because everyone leaves, eventually. So I leave you with Max Ehrmann’s classic “Desiderata”:
Go placidly amid the noise and the haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible, without surrender,
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even to the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons;
they are vexatious to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain or bitter,
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs,
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals,
and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love,
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment,
it is as perennial as the grass.
Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be.
And whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life,
keep peace in your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.
* * * * *
I think it was during grade seven that I watched Sa Kaharian Ng Araw (In the Kingdom of the Sun), a play written in the 70s by Mr. Onofre Pagsanghan and several of his students at that time. The Dulaang Sibol production made a huge impact on me at that time because of its story and its staging.
Kaharian is about two friends, Ponce and Paulo, who journey through different kingdoms on their way to the Kingdom of the Sun. The two friends have different reasons for embarking on the journey: Ponce for fame and fortune, Paolo for his friend. To go through the kingdoms of Rain, Wind and Darkness/Night, the two have to make sacrifices and give things up. The sacrifices become more difficult as they get closer to their goal. Paulo, the loyal and supportive friend, is forced to give up an item closest to his heart, his guitar. At the Kingdom of Darkness/Night, Paulo is forced to make the supreme sacrifice; he stays behind so that Ponce can reach his goal. When Ponce arrives at the Kingdom of the Sun, he is shocked to find it empty; the only occupant is the lone Sun King who’s been dying to pass on his crown and his empty kingdom to the rightful heir—the one who reaches the Kingdom by sacrificing everything and everyone in the process. The last line uttered in the play is by Ponce who screams, “Hungkag!” (“Empty!”) as he falls to the ground.
Sibol is a high school theater group with a limited budget but with unlimited creativity. The whole production ingeniously used existing materials to fashion costumes and sets that were not realistic but rather evocative. Thus long strips of blue cloth became a river, thin black cloth became curtains of darkness, while strips of long white cloth were stretched and shaken to evoke the power of the wind.
When I was in third year high school, Mr. Pagsi decided to restage Kaharian. From a wide-eyed spectator who fell in love with the play, I was now part of it. I was in the koro with the rest of the undergraduates; the major roles were given to the seniors as per Sibol tradition. But I was happy to just be able to sing the songs and be part of creating that magic onstage that moved the audience.
* * * * *
I consider myself a man of modest ambitions.
I’ve always wanted to act onstage; I’ve done that several times, even surpassing my modest expectations. Heck, I never aimed to perform on the CCP stage and upstage the great comedian Lou Veloso in one hilarious scene, but I did (it helped a lot that Lou was playing a corpse, hahaha). I never thought I’d be cast in a lead role, but Lito Casaje took a chance and my name was top-billed in a Dramatis Personae production staged at the Goethe Institute (unfortunately I only consider one performance of mine to be great; the rest were so-so passable). And I never thought I could cry onstage, but under my friend Ron Capinding’s direction I was able to do just that in a TA production.
I wanted to be a film director; that has not yet materialized. But never in my wildest dreams did I consider directing a play, and I ended up directing Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream for TA. While adult critics weren’t exactly enamored by my irreverent take on the Bard’s classic comedy (the enchanted forest became Forest Disco, the fairies became sequin-studded clubbers, and The Fairy King Oberon and Fairy Queen Titania were dressed as Elvis and Diana Ross respectively), the student audiences lapped it up.
I never saw myself as a writer. I always thought I’d end up in the performing arts. Even as an adman my imagination, creative ideas and presentation/persuasive skills are more valuable than the ability to write copy. Writing copy is minimum expectation. In advertising a good writer is someone who can cram three or more selling points in one 30-seconder. A good writer is someone who can submit 50 name studies in 30 minutes. A good writer is someone who can coin phrases like, “juicy-licious” and “bilog ang mundo” and “chikletin mo baby!” But here I am, blogging away. It’s not that I needed an outlet for the frustrations of being a copywriter; nope, the default outlet for us advertising folks is a drink, preferably with an alcoholic content of 5% or higher.
When I was in high school, if I were asked what I wanted to be when I grow up, I’d say, “I want to be an actor.” In college that answer became, “I want to be a director.” After college it became, “I want to be happy.” Around two years ago my friend Leigh said, “You cannot make ‘happiness’ your goal in life. Happiness is a by-product of achieving your goal.”
So now if someone asks me what my ambition in life is, I’m at a loss for a quick and easy answer. It’s not that I don’t have goals I want to achieve, it’s just that I’m not that compelled to achieve them. It’s not that I lack drive; I’ve proven time and again to myself that if I latch on to a goal, I often achieve or even surpass my expectations. It’s not that something or someone is holding me back either.
I think it’s more of a case of detachment.
Part of me thinks that achieving my goals is well and good. Failure is always a possibility; if I fail, then I get up and try again. But another part of me knows that the moment I reach my Kaharian ng Araw, I will find it bare and empty. Or at the very least, the victory is only for the moment. Give it a few more minutes and then you’d realize that in the larger scheme of things, it’s just a small victory—for you alone.
Sure, one can try and prolong the inevitable obscurity. But Beowulf’s writer is now known as “Unknown,” and given a few more centuries maybe even the great manuscript itself will join its author.
So I do good deeds. And I do selfish acts. I even allow myself an evil deed now and again—okay, okay, more often than just now and again. But I do them with a clear-eyed view that in the larger scheme of things, these acts really matter only to a few others and me. In fifty years most would have forgotten about it. After a century no one who actually remembers me will be alive. I, just like the rest of humanity, will be forgotten.
Detachment doesn’t mean being uninvolved and staying at a safe distance. Ironically it also means living in the now, because only then can one experience the happiness that reveals itself when one lives in the now. One must engage in life before one can actually detach oneself from it.
It means one appreciates the huge picture, and is willing to do things just because. It means embracing the fact that obscurity is inevitable—and be at peace with it. It means recognizing that we have the right to be part of the universe, but also acknowledging our place in the billions and billions of stars.
Maybe that’s why I am so drawn into the performing arts, especially theater. Live performance is the most ephemeral of the arts. The moment it is done, it resides only in the imperfect memories of those who witnessed it. (Yes, some shows are video taped for documentary purposes, but that’s not the point.) The moment the last of those witnesses die, even the most magnificent of performances—even those that out-Olivier Olivier—will vanish forevermore. And yet, I have never felt more alive than when I’m actually “in the zone” during a performance, when my whole being is totally concentrated on just being “in the moment” onstage. No wonder theater continues to thrive today despite all the odds stacked up against it.
So: ask me what my ambition in life is in the here and now, and I might say, “To stop figuring out what my ambition is and just live, love and laugh.”
* * * * *
And leave. Because everyone leaves, eventually. So I leave you with Max Ehrmann’s classic “Desiderata”:
Go placidly amid the noise and the haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible, without surrender,
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even to the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons;
they are vexatious to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain or bitter,
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs,
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals,
and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love,
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment,
it is as perennial as the grass.
Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be.
And whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life,
keep peace in your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.
Monday Lesson
So I entered the bathroom in a bit of a rush, my bladder screaming bloody murder. I headed for the nearest urinal, fumbled a bit with my fly, flipped my bird out and whooooooooosh, ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! The stream of my piss equaled the spine-tingling sensation of relief coursing through my back all the way to my toes.
Having relieved myself, I took in my surroundings. The restroom seemed quiet. It was just me insi—or wait! That’s when I heard it. Coming from one of the three toilet stalls to my right; a familiar sound but unfamiliar in the given setting.
Huurrrgk! Zzzzzzzzzz-huurrrrrrrrrrgk! Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz-huuurrrrrrrrrrrrrrgk!
Someone was fuckin’ snoring.
Whaddapakshet?!
Worried that it was one of my officemates (he was complaining a few minutes ago how sleepy he was), I bent over and peered under the space between the floor and the stall walls. The guy was seated in the middle stall. But his shoes and pants were all wrong—my officemate was not wearing formal brown leather shoes and khaki slacks today.
Huurrrgk! Zzzzzzzzzz-huurrrrrrrrrrgk! Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz-huuurrrrrrrrrrrrrrgk!
Most likely I didn’t know the guy. And he sounded like he really needed to get a few Zs. Poor guy must work in the call center on our floor, where everything’s bustling 24/7. And the only quiet place he could find was the bathroom. So I left the guy in peace.
Lesson for the day: Relief can come in piss and quiet.
Having relieved myself, I took in my surroundings. The restroom seemed quiet. It was just me insi—or wait! That’s when I heard it. Coming from one of the three toilet stalls to my right; a familiar sound but unfamiliar in the given setting.
Huurrrgk! Zzzzzzzzzz-huurrrrrrrrrrgk! Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz-huuurrrrrrrrrrrrrrgk!
Someone was fuckin’ snoring.
Whaddapakshet?!
Worried that it was one of my officemates (he was complaining a few minutes ago how sleepy he was), I bent over and peered under the space between the floor and the stall walls. The guy was seated in the middle stall. But his shoes and pants were all wrong—my officemate was not wearing formal brown leather shoes and khaki slacks today.
Huurrrgk! Zzzzzzzzzz-huurrrrrrrrrrgk! Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz-huuurrrrrrrrrrrrrrgk!
Most likely I didn’t know the guy. And he sounded like he really needed to get a few Zs. Poor guy must work in the call center on our floor, where everything’s bustling 24/7. And the only quiet place he could find was the bathroom. So I left the guy in peace.
Lesson for the day: Relief can come in piss and quiet.
Sunday, June 24, 2007
The Nelz Chikahan, Part 2
The second part of my conversation with Nelz: around the islands, Norman staying in the Philippines versus Nelz going to Canada, cold weather fashion, adjusting to Canada, their Hungarian programmer, DINKOCs and meeting Norm’s parents.
Click on the link under “Talk Is Cheap!” found to the right, to the right… and enjoy.
(Part 3 coming soon.)
Click on the link under “Talk Is Cheap!” found to the right, to the right… and enjoy.
(Part 3 coming soon.)
Congratulations, Gibbs!
(Gibbs, feeling ko ikaw na ang magta-top, kahit na ba bottom ka. CHOZ, CHARING! Hahahahahahaha!)
* * * * *
As I predicted, Gibbs Cadiz’s score of 9.8 topped my 9.7 in Berate My Blog (my gosh, I wish I was talking about penile inches, hahaha). His blog is not just well-written; it also has cultural, social and artistic relevance. Calling him “the wonderful and very talented writer” in my acceptance speech didn’t hurt either, ahahaha!
So Gibbs, let me just walk down the ramp and wave to the crowd one last time before I pass on the crown, the sash and the scepter to you (and I just said Berate My Blog is not a beaucon—indulge my fantasy, please). You are now the highest berated one in Berate My Blog. Do us proud with your acceptance speech.
And may there be more 9.7s and 9.8s to come!
* * * * *
As I predicted, Gibbs Cadiz’s score of 9.8 topped my 9.7 in Berate My Blog (my gosh, I wish I was talking about penile inches, hahaha). His blog is not just well-written; it also has cultural, social and artistic relevance. Calling him “the wonderful and very talented writer” in my acceptance speech didn’t hurt either, ahahaha!
So Gibbs, let me just walk down the ramp and wave to the crowd one last time before I pass on the crown, the sash and the scepter to you (and I just said Berate My Blog is not a beaucon—indulge my fantasy, please). You are now the highest berated one in Berate My Blog. Do us proud with your acceptance speech.
And may there be more 9.7s and 9.8s to come!
Friday, June 22, 2007
The Nelz Chikahan, Part 1
Nelson “Nelz” Agustin (check out his site here) is the only one I personally know who is legally married to another man, a Canadian named Norman Gludovatz. Nelz now resides in Canada.
Recently he returned to Manila to attend the wedding of his friend. Since it’s a rare occasion to have Nelz here in the flesh, and an even rarer occasion to meet a married gay Pinoy (to another gay man, mind you, not to a woman—which is common here in the Philippines, but that’s beside the point) I asked him if he was willing to be interviewed regarding his marriage. So one evening Nelz went to my office to go on The McChika Show.
We ended up talking for two hours, touching on different topics. Since two hours is too much to download, I’ve decided to trim it down and cut it up into several parts. The first part is now uploaded in The McChika Show in MyPodcast.com (click on the link here).
So sit back, eavesdrop and enjoy Part 1 of The Nelz Chikahan.
(photo courtesy of NelzOnline)
Thursday, June 21, 2007
I’m Properly Berated
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I stumbled upon Berate My Blog through Thadie’s blog. Curious as to how the two ladies of BMB would rate The McVie Show Season 5, I left my URL in their comments page then waited. And waited. And waited. Until it dawned on me that maybe the ladies also have day jobs. So after three hours of checking their blog for results (impatient me!), I decided to leave it well enough alone.
The following day I forgot all about it. Then the next. Then the next.
Later today I got an email notice: it was from a blogger named Mark Xander who’s a vegan and so cute and talented and uber-healthy to boot—I know, I know, it’s beside the point but indulge me, now shut up!—congratulating me for getting the highest score so far in Berate My Blog.
Ows?!
So I go there to check.
Oh.
This is their review.
* * * * *
Review: The McVie Show, Season 5
Graphics - Most of the photo composition is ad agency whizbang, so put this in a folder, you photog wannabes.
Content - The blurbs for films and 'where we went' pictorials are only asides for what's most titillating here - the pointblank portrayals of bath house drama. To think this is the way it has worked in bath houses for millennia really intrigues.
Style - Who wouldn't be taken with the combo of 'breezy and matter of fact' and erudite wherever you zoom in? This blog is a showcase!
Recommend - Ad positioning that's not too 'in your face' , smaller font for the oneliners maybe?
Rating - 9.7
* * * * *
All right peanut gallery, quiet please!
Now, where was I?
So anyway I had to make a response of some sort. (But before that I checked out Mark Xander’s blog and did you know that he joined and won the Hari Ng Negros pageant in 2006 and has posted pics of his top ten choices for the 2007 pageant and they’re hot, hot, hunks?)
Er, where was I again?
So anyway I had to make a response—this is sooo Groundhog Day! Cut! Fast forward! Cue! Roll VTR!
Here’s my response:
* * * * *
(orchestra plays "Bituwing Walang Ningning" theme, up then fade out; applause dies down)
Oh my god, I didn't expect this!
As Sally Fields once said, “You like me, you really like me.”
Okay, okay, breathe, breathe! Whew.
My opening line is the most cliché line I could ever open with, but hey, that’s why they’re clichés. It’s overused because it’s true.
In the spirit of the title of your blog, let me take this time to berate:
I would like to berate the Two Lovely Hags of Berate My Blog. You’ve now put pressure on me to maintain and even surpass the rating you gave to my show. It’s a very happy pressure—much like someone pressing his crotch against mine. Whew! Is it getting hot in here or what?!
I would like to berate the owners of the bathhouses here in Metro Manila. They should be paying me for promoting their establishments to non-gays and females. (Heaven forbid the Two Lovely Hags should ever want to tour one! Lord, the earth will open up and swallow all the clients should the two step inside the premises.) Uhm, dear owners, how about a discount? Hehehe.
I would like to berate Blogger and my friend who introduced me to Blogger. It it weren’t for Blogger’s format, the Two Lovely Hags would have seen—especially in my earlier posts and in my earlier seasons (but they wouldn’t count, cuz they’re technically separate blogs)—that my episodes aren’t all about bathhouses. I also talk about cruising in gyms, in bars, in… oops! On second thought, let’s leave that well enough alone, shall we?
I would like to berate my friend, the wonderful and very talented writer Mr. Gibbs Cadiz. He taught me to put my Google Ads where they are right now—in your face. Me being a good soldier of advertising, I just followed whatever he said. Shame on me. Given that my total earnings after two months is a whopping $0.02, a re-layout should seriously be considered. (Gibbs, do I really name-drop? Hahaha!)
I would like to berate The Vegan Prince Mark Xander, for congratulating me for my score. Shucks, I hate to have to be the one to over-score such a cute, smart, talented and uber-healthy hunk of a blogger like him. Gosh, and he was even the first to congratulate me! Am I blushing nah buh?! Shyeeeeeeeth. Now I’m diyahe na to Mark. I’ll make tago-tago na among the bushes in the vegetable garden—mind you, an organic vegetable garden, ha!
I would like to ber—
(orchestra starts blaring theme of “Rocky” very loudly as the Two Lovely Hags push McVie off the stage)
* * * * *
Now if I can only score this high when I go into bathhouses, I’ll be a happy camper.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
“Still Life” Full Trailer
And now, ladies and gentlemen (teka, may “ladies” in the house ba?), may I present the full trailer of Still Life, a film by Katski Flores. An official entry to the Cinemalaya 2007 Philippine Independent Film Festival, the film stars Ron Capinding and Glaiza de Castro, with Irma Adlawan and the special participation of John Lloyd Cruz.
Coming soon.
Coming soon.
Second McChika Episode
“Mean Boys And A Dead Giveaway”
Here are a couple of excerpts from the conversation between Mr. Businessman and me. The first part was about our old “letters” or tapes we made. We mentioned Mark, who was our kabarkada since grade school who died in a car accident when we were in first year college. The second excerpt is the two of us talking about two Best Foreign Film nominees, “Pan’s Labyrinth” and “The Lives Of Others.” SPOILER ALERT! We got so carried away we mentioned the dead giveaway—literally—of an ending for “Pan’s Labyrinth.”
So click on the link on the right.
(This episode features excerpts from the song “The Magic Position” by Patrick Wolf. His album of the same title is out now.)
Here are a couple of excerpts from the conversation between Mr. Businessman and me. The first part was about our old “letters” or tapes we made. We mentioned Mark, who was our kabarkada since grade school who died in a car accident when we were in first year college. The second excerpt is the two of us talking about two Best Foreign Film nominees, “Pan’s Labyrinth” and “The Lives Of Others.” SPOILER ALERT! We got so carried away we mentioned the dead giveaway—literally—of an ending for “Pan’s Labyrinth.”
So click on the link on the right.
(This episode features excerpts from the song “The Magic Position” by Patrick Wolf. His album of the same title is out now.)
Saturday, June 16, 2007
And Thus A Podcast Was Born
It was the great William Shakespeare who said, “Action speaks louder than words.” It was my quotation-loving Communication Arts classmate who, in a heated argument in class blurted out, “Action speaks louder than voice!” Howling laughter ensued, tensions were defused; but she was never able to make her point after that.
When my high school barkada broke up in college, some of us kept in touch with those who studied abroad via voice tapes. Yes folks, we recorded ourselves on analogue cassettes and sent them via snail mail (or through their parents or relatives who’d go and visit them abroad from time to time). We continued that tradition until a few years after we graduated from college. Then life and work took over our schedules and we stopped that tradition.
Recently a good friend of ours residing in the U.S. is going through a rough time in his marriage. So we decided to revive our tradition of sending “voice letters” but this time in digital form and sent via email.
My kabarkada—let’s just call him Mr. Businessman—and I sat down one evening in his office and just prattled on. Because we’ve known each other for years, our conversations tend to go this way and that. We eventually got sidetracked into a conversation about the business of bathhouses.
When I was editing our conversation for our U.S. friend, I thought of just chucking out that whole part about the bathhouses. But then I thought, maybe it’ll be an interesting topic for others.
Thus, The McChika Show was born.
(Actually I got myself a MyPodcast.com account because I got tired of commenting on The Dan & Rye Show as “Anonymous.” So I already had the medium; suddenly I had content.)
I don’t know yet how The McChika Show will evolve. Its first episode, “The Business of Sex” is something that falls under “The Conversations No One Hears” category. Will The McChika Show be a show where people “eavesdrop” on conversations? Or will I also have more “traditional” episodes wherein there’s a host, there’s an interviewee, and there’s a topic discussed? I don’t know yet. And that’s what’s fun about it.
Anyway, on the right column below “What’s McVie Doing?” is the link for the podcast, under the heading “Talk Is Cheap!” Go ahead and listen. You might just want to act on it and go seriously into sex as a business venture after listening to this. After all, action speaks louder than voice.
When my high school barkada broke up in college, some of us kept in touch with those who studied abroad via voice tapes. Yes folks, we recorded ourselves on analogue cassettes and sent them via snail mail (or through their parents or relatives who’d go and visit them abroad from time to time). We continued that tradition until a few years after we graduated from college. Then life and work took over our schedules and we stopped that tradition.
Recently a good friend of ours residing in the U.S. is going through a rough time in his marriage. So we decided to revive our tradition of sending “voice letters” but this time in digital form and sent via email.
My kabarkada—let’s just call him Mr. Businessman—and I sat down one evening in his office and just prattled on. Because we’ve known each other for years, our conversations tend to go this way and that. We eventually got sidetracked into a conversation about the business of bathhouses.
When I was editing our conversation for our U.S. friend, I thought of just chucking out that whole part about the bathhouses. But then I thought, maybe it’ll be an interesting topic for others.
Thus, The McChika Show was born.
(Actually I got myself a MyPodcast.com account because I got tired of commenting on The Dan & Rye Show as “Anonymous.” So I already had the medium; suddenly I had content.)
I don’t know yet how The McChika Show will evolve. Its first episode, “The Business of Sex” is something that falls under “The Conversations No One Hears” category. Will The McChika Show be a show where people “eavesdrop” on conversations? Or will I also have more “traditional” episodes wherein there’s a host, there’s an interviewee, and there’s a topic discussed? I don’t know yet. And that’s what’s fun about it.
Anyway, on the right column below “What’s McVie Doing?” is the link for the podcast, under the heading “Talk Is Cheap!” Go ahead and listen. You might just want to act on it and go seriously into sex as a business venture after listening to this. After all, action speaks louder than voice.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Young Looks? Olé!
I still get a kick out of hearing people tell me, “Whaaat?! You’re 41? You don’t look it! I thought you were younger.” Their guesstimates range from late twenties to early thirties. One decade knocked off my age—not bad, right? I know it won’t last, so I might as well take advantage of it while I still have it. Bathhouses, here I come hahaha!
Which makes me wonder: do I also join my oh-so-younger colleagues and start using Olay Total Effects? Hahaha.
What’s my beauty secret? (Secret! Charing.)
Really, I have no beauty secret. In fact, I have no beauty, period. Hahahahaha!
I have no secret regimen, no secret oil or cream or moisturizer or any product. No, I do not even spread cum on my face—although, oooooooh! Kinky! Hahahaha!
I remember when I was fresh out of college and working at the CCP, I was still getting zits. Then one day a theater actor told me how he maintained his smooth skin despite having to put on make-up for every performance. He washed his face using just plain water; no soap (not even the kindest, gentlest soap available), no moisturizers, no nothing. (Well, he used Pond’s to take the make-up off, but after that, nothing.)
So I stopped buying the glycerin soap Pears (it’s a U.K. soap that was more affordable than the very expensive Neutrogena). Soon after that my face broke out only rarely. Then a few more years later I realized with a jolt that I’ve been relatively zits-free. Now I don’t remember anymore when I last had a zit on my face.
But I cannot say for sure that it was my water-only policy that cleared my face. For all I know, it was just age that kicked in.
I now have more white hair on my head, though I never bothered to hide them or have them dyed. I used to get shocked whenever I’d see a strand of white on my beard; now it’s not surprising to see at least three or four strands of white. I suspect in the next few months that number will increase exponentially.
The lines permanently etched on my face do not bother me anymore also. At first it was just lines on my forehead; now there are lines under my eyes and when I smile, crow’s feet appear on the corners of my eyes. The only lines that bother me now are the numerous ones on my neck; they’re a dead giveaway of just how old I am. Whenever I see myself alongside others in the pictures taken in Bed, I immediately notice how everyone else’s necks are flawless. Hmmm… hello, turtlenecks? Hahaha!
Another reason why I look young is because I think and feel young. It helps that I work out so that I keep my body in shape, preventing creaks and pains from creeping in. More importantly I always make it a point to keep in touch with the younger generation. It is to my personal and professional advantage to know what preoccupies the kids these days. Staying in touch with them helps keep me feeling young; touching and feeling the young, though, is a different matter altogether. Pedophilia na po yun; bitay po yun.
But in the end, there’s really a fair balance to all this: I may be blessed with younger looks, but that means I don’t have a product I can endorse. Patas-patas lang, kumbaga.
What would you rather have: younger looks or product endorsement?
Which makes me wonder: do I also join my oh-so-younger colleagues and start using Olay Total Effects? Hahaha.
What’s my beauty secret? (Secret! Charing.)
Really, I have no beauty secret. In fact, I have no beauty, period. Hahahahaha!
I have no secret regimen, no secret oil or cream or moisturizer or any product. No, I do not even spread cum on my face—although, oooooooh! Kinky! Hahahaha!
I remember when I was fresh out of college and working at the CCP, I was still getting zits. Then one day a theater actor told me how he maintained his smooth skin despite having to put on make-up for every performance. He washed his face using just plain water; no soap (not even the kindest, gentlest soap available), no moisturizers, no nothing. (Well, he used Pond’s to take the make-up off, but after that, nothing.)
So I stopped buying the glycerin soap Pears (it’s a U.K. soap that was more affordable than the very expensive Neutrogena). Soon after that my face broke out only rarely. Then a few more years later I realized with a jolt that I’ve been relatively zits-free. Now I don’t remember anymore when I last had a zit on my face.
But I cannot say for sure that it was my water-only policy that cleared my face. For all I know, it was just age that kicked in.
I now have more white hair on my head, though I never bothered to hide them or have them dyed. I used to get shocked whenever I’d see a strand of white on my beard; now it’s not surprising to see at least three or four strands of white. I suspect in the next few months that number will increase exponentially.
The lines permanently etched on my face do not bother me anymore also. At first it was just lines on my forehead; now there are lines under my eyes and when I smile, crow’s feet appear on the corners of my eyes. The only lines that bother me now are the numerous ones on my neck; they’re a dead giveaway of just how old I am. Whenever I see myself alongside others in the pictures taken in Bed, I immediately notice how everyone else’s necks are flawless. Hmmm… hello, turtlenecks? Hahaha!
Another reason why I look young is because I think and feel young. It helps that I work out so that I keep my body in shape, preventing creaks and pains from creeping in. More importantly I always make it a point to keep in touch with the younger generation. It is to my personal and professional advantage to know what preoccupies the kids these days. Staying in touch with them helps keep me feeling young; touching and feeling the young, though, is a different matter altogether. Pedophilia na po yun; bitay po yun.
But in the end, there’s really a fair balance to all this: I may be blessed with younger looks, but that means I don’t have a product I can endorse. Patas-patas lang, kumbaga.
What would you rather have: younger looks or product endorsement?
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Troikaster Technical Support
“Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends.” – The Beatles
Because MGG is acting up a lot lately (don’t worry guys, Migs is working hard to fix the problem), I offered to help host the link to access Part Two of the Vince Interview Podcast. This is so that Rye and others will not be forced to utter profanities they don’t want, hehehe.
Here is part two!
Download this episode (right click and save)
Because MGG is acting up a lot lately (don’t worry guys, Migs is working hard to fix the problem), I offered to help host the link to access Part Two of the Vince Interview Podcast. This is so that Rye and others will not be forced to utter profanities they don’t want, hehehe.
Here is part two!
Download this episode (right click and save)
Monday, June 11, 2007
He’s A Mac, He’s A PC
It’s fascinating watching the two together on stage (not for the first time as I had thought), talking about themselves and the other. What’s even more fascinating is sizing up the two and contrasting their different personalities—Steve is the joke-y one who makes fun of himself, while Bill looked humorless and not receptive to jokes on his behalf, but is easy to quip about others.(You can download either an audio or video podcast of “Steve Jobs and Bill gates at D5” at http://www.apple.com/hotnews.)
Sunday, June 10, 2007
The Trinomial Equation
(activity area of Alabang Town Center) + (interiors of Glorietta) + (exterior and greens of Greenbelt 3&4) = (Tri Noma Mall)
Tri Noma is like The Greatest Hits of Ayala Malls.
You have a huge activity area.
Just outside the cinema level (top level) is a huge garden, with lots of trees plus waterscaping (unfortunately, the fountains don’t have water yet). They were smart enough to place most of the restaurants, bars and coffee shops around this area and along the exteriors of the mall. Near the activity and cinema areas are the fastfood chains and the foodcourt.
Unlike Mall of Asia, it is not too sprawling to be a pain on the feet to explore. And while it’s not too predictably laid-out, it’s not too confusing either. For me it’s my immediate favorite mall. Parking is quite plentiful, though the parking space area is more compact than other Ayala malls.
And these are a couple of reasons why I like Tri Noma:
Soon to open: PowerMac Center!
Wish ko lang I have a MacPro to justify buying one of their bags, hahaha.
More photos in McMultiply here.
Tri Noma is like The Greatest Hits of Ayala Malls.
You have a huge activity area.
Just outside the cinema level (top level) is a huge garden, with lots of trees plus waterscaping (unfortunately, the fountains don’t have water yet). They were smart enough to place most of the restaurants, bars and coffee shops around this area and along the exteriors of the mall. Near the activity and cinema areas are the fastfood chains and the foodcourt.
Unlike Mall of Asia, it is not too sprawling to be a pain on the feet to explore. And while it’s not too predictably laid-out, it’s not too confusing either. For me it’s my immediate favorite mall. Parking is quite plentiful, though the parking space area is more compact than other Ayala malls.
And these are a couple of reasons why I like Tri Noma:
Soon to open: PowerMac Center!
Wish ko lang I have a MacPro to justify buying one of their bags, hahaha.More photos in McMultiply here.
Saturday, June 09, 2007
The Third Podcast, Part 2
Now up and about here. Be warned: Mig’s site sometimes acts up. Patience and clicking “refresh” are virtues. :-)
Not Another CB Episode!
This week was hectic. My ECD and my art director were both on leave. Plus we had two major projects that had the artists and I doing overtime work every night of the week.
So I leave you with Not Another CB Episode!
(Warning: the following episode contains a reference to the song “Stars” by Simply Red. If you are not familiar with the song, then the silliness of that reference will be lost on you.)
* * * * *
Meeting someone you know in the bathhouse is often an awkward first few seconds. Then the duration of that awkwardness will depend on how you’re related to the other person. Is he an industry acquaintance? Is he a former classmate? Did he know you before, when you were not yet out? Is he your parish priest? Is he your uncle who’s a priest? Is he the father of your friend? Is he your father?
One time I went to CB during the middle of the week. I got in, went straight to my locker, changed, and headed for the showers. I took the farthest corner stall. As I was showering, I heard someone go into the stall at the opposite corner and turn on the water. Curious to see the kind of crowd in CB that night, I craned my neck so I could look above the eye-level divider separating the stalls from one another and check out the newcomer.
It was my cousin.
Oh. My. Gawd.
Sensing that someone was looking at him, he turned and looked towards my direction.
I panicked and quickly moved forward while ducking my head to hide my face behind the divider. Wham! My forehead hit the tiles. Suddenly there were stars.
“And aaaaaaaaaaa-I wanna fall from the stars
Straight into your arms, and aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa-I,
I feeeeeeeeel you—I hope you comprehend.”
I wasn’t just simply seeing stars; it was playing in my head as I reeled and placed my hands on the wall to steady myself. Dios ko, I thought, award talaga ‘tong humampas ang ulo ko sa tiles!
“I hope you clap your hands!”
Ok Simply Red, just shut up now.
I took a looong shower. I waited until he finished showering and left. Then I waited for a couple of minutes more before I stepped out of the showers and quickly, furtively went straight to the second floor to hide in the safety of shadows.
You see, that particular cousin of mine has been a nurse in the US for more than 10 years now, ever since he graduated from med school here. I knew he was back here on vacation, but I thought he was in Bohol the whole time. Even back then I sensed he was a kindred spirit. The stereotypical giveaways were all there: working out, a penchant for tight shirts, vain with his looks, an addiction to posing for the camera, the slight arching of his eyebrows, the ever-so-slight swish underneath his gestures that only a fine-tuned gaydar can detect. But being his cousin, I never felt an imperative impulse to settle the issue: Is he or isn’t he? It simply was a non-issue.
Huwell, huwell, huwell! Now I know.
While standing in the shadows I quickly mulled things over. Did he recognize me too? If he did, will he try to avoid me? What if I bump into him? Or what if he didn’t recognize me? What if he tried to pick me up? What if he suddenly grabbed the family jewels? (Does “my” jewels become “his” jewels as well because of family ties? Wait. This is getting too weird. Stop.)
I decided that should we see each other, I’d acknowledge him. Hey, what else can I do, right? I don’t want to leave—I just got here! Heck, I paid the entrance fee too! And I don’t want to avoid him the whole night. There’s nothing more awkward than two people trying to avoid one another in the maze-like corridors of a bathhouse. We’d be moving too fast and always on the lookout. We’d be too busy avoiding each other that we won’t be able to slow down and enjoy the buffet spread for the night.
With that resolve, I steeled myself and proceeded to do my rounds. Nurse McVie, now on duty.
Turned out my cousin left CB after showering.
Whew.
* * * * *
I also bumped into powerbottom.ph that night in CB. Well, actually I didn’t bump into him; he went up to me and asked, “Are you McVie?” Before that night my only contact with him is thru YM; I’ve seen him via webcam. But still I did not recognize him in person, so I am thankful he approached me and introduced himself. In fairness he looks much impressive in person, with powerful-looking shoulders. He had a benign, very friendly, almost innocent smile. Hehehe.
* * * * *
Thank goodness I didn’t have anymore “star-thudded” surprises that night. My forehead hurt for like 15 seconds only. There was no bump or bruise afterwards. The embarrassment to myself lasted a little longer than that.
So I leave you with Not Another CB Episode!
(Warning: the following episode contains a reference to the song “Stars” by Simply Red. If you are not familiar with the song, then the silliness of that reference will be lost on you.)
* * * * *
Meeting someone you know in the bathhouse is often an awkward first few seconds. Then the duration of that awkwardness will depend on how you’re related to the other person. Is he an industry acquaintance? Is he a former classmate? Did he know you before, when you were not yet out? Is he your parish priest? Is he your uncle who’s a priest? Is he the father of your friend? Is he your father?
One time I went to CB during the middle of the week. I got in, went straight to my locker, changed, and headed for the showers. I took the farthest corner stall. As I was showering, I heard someone go into the stall at the opposite corner and turn on the water. Curious to see the kind of crowd in CB that night, I craned my neck so I could look above the eye-level divider separating the stalls from one another and check out the newcomer.
It was my cousin.
Oh. My. Gawd.
Sensing that someone was looking at him, he turned and looked towards my direction.
I panicked and quickly moved forward while ducking my head to hide my face behind the divider. Wham! My forehead hit the tiles. Suddenly there were stars.
“And aaaaaaaaaaa-I wanna fall from the stars
Straight into your arms, and aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa-I,
I feeeeeeeeel you—I hope you comprehend.”
I wasn’t just simply seeing stars; it was playing in my head as I reeled and placed my hands on the wall to steady myself. Dios ko, I thought, award talaga ‘tong humampas ang ulo ko sa tiles!
“I hope you clap your hands!”
Ok Simply Red, just shut up now.
I took a looong shower. I waited until he finished showering and left. Then I waited for a couple of minutes more before I stepped out of the showers and quickly, furtively went straight to the second floor to hide in the safety of shadows.
You see, that particular cousin of mine has been a nurse in the US for more than 10 years now, ever since he graduated from med school here. I knew he was back here on vacation, but I thought he was in Bohol the whole time. Even back then I sensed he was a kindred spirit. The stereotypical giveaways were all there: working out, a penchant for tight shirts, vain with his looks, an addiction to posing for the camera, the slight arching of his eyebrows, the ever-so-slight swish underneath his gestures that only a fine-tuned gaydar can detect. But being his cousin, I never felt an imperative impulse to settle the issue: Is he or isn’t he? It simply was a non-issue.
Huwell, huwell, huwell! Now I know.
While standing in the shadows I quickly mulled things over. Did he recognize me too? If he did, will he try to avoid me? What if I bump into him? Or what if he didn’t recognize me? What if he tried to pick me up? What if he suddenly grabbed the family jewels? (Does “my” jewels become “his” jewels as well because of family ties? Wait. This is getting too weird. Stop.)
I decided that should we see each other, I’d acknowledge him. Hey, what else can I do, right? I don’t want to leave—I just got here! Heck, I paid the entrance fee too! And I don’t want to avoid him the whole night. There’s nothing more awkward than two people trying to avoid one another in the maze-like corridors of a bathhouse. We’d be moving too fast and always on the lookout. We’d be too busy avoiding each other that we won’t be able to slow down and enjoy the buffet spread for the night.
With that resolve, I steeled myself and proceeded to do my rounds. Nurse McVie, now on duty.
Turned out my cousin left CB after showering.
Whew.
* * * * *
I also bumped into powerbottom.ph that night in CB. Well, actually I didn’t bump into him; he went up to me and asked, “Are you McVie?” Before that night my only contact with him is thru YM; I’ve seen him via webcam. But still I did not recognize him in person, so I am thankful he approached me and introduced himself. In fairness he looks much impressive in person, with powerful-looking shoulders. He had a benign, very friendly, almost innocent smile. Hehehe.
* * * * *
Thank goodness I didn’t have anymore “star-thudded” surprises that night. My forehead hurt for like 15 seconds only. There was no bump or bruise afterwards. The embarrassment to myself lasted a little longer than that.
Friday, June 08, 2007
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
The Third Podcast, Part 1
Chikahan with Gay Idol Vince, pt. 1 is now up in MGG! Click on the link to listen to it online. Or you can download it and listen to it later at your convenience.
This is one of our most relaxed podcasts so far, thanks to Vince who was a great guest.
This is one of our most relaxed podcasts so far, thanks to Vince who was a great guest.
Monday, June 04, 2007
Mr. Generous
Before there was F, before there was E, there was CB. Club Bath is the mother of bathhouses here in the metro. Back in the 90s, after I had graduated from cruising in movie houses and public restrooms and from frequenting massage parlors, CB was the only place I’d go to if I felt particularly frisky and wanted a safe place to scratch my itch.
Back then I already noticed this particular guy: around 5’6” or 5’7”, Fil-Chinese looking (more “Fil” than “Chinese” though), about five years or so older than me. He had a pretty well-built body—full pecs, bulging biceps and triceps, and an almost six-pac. I say “almost” because there was a thin layer of fat all over him, like the kind when one eats really well and lives the good life. Okay, so maybe I’m romanticizing his layer of fat. In other words, his body is not that cut and well-defined, but he’s got the bulk of a guy who seriously works out.
Anyway.
When I first saw him I didn’t approach him; he looked like someone out of my league. He’d always be standing in one corner with his hands crossed over his chest, sometimes not moving from that spot for minutes on end. Very patient, very aloof. But after sighting him several times in subsequent visits, I decided to make a move. Well, well, well! Bongga wagi lola n’yo! He turned out to be quite the aggressive one. He was also the rare one who insisted that he do all the work; if ever I tried to reciprocate, he would just gently move my hand—or whatever body part I was using—away. What a generous, selfless gentleman! (Must be Jesuit-trained, hahaha.) After that, every time we see each other in CB we eventually end up doing it. He became my first and only fuck buddy.
When I changed jobs and worked in QC, I discovered F so I stopped going to CB. I lost touch of Mr. Generous. When I moved back to Makati last year, I renewed my membership in CB.
When I was there recently I bumped into Mr. Generous. Almost 4 years have passed since we last saw each other; he didn’t recognize me at first because of my hair (I used to be semi-kal back then) and my goatee. I could see changes on him too. His hair has more white especially on the sides, making him more mature-looking. And the effects of age showed on his body; you know how, when a person grows old, his body sort of “deflates”? Like someone let the air out, making his body look not as packed and full as before? But the muscles are still there. For a man his age, he actually looks very good.
He placed his arm around my shoulder and led me to his room. And just like that, it was as if the years between our meetings disappeared. He was still as aggressive as ever, maybe even more so. Practice makes perfect, right? And boy, did he perfect his tongue skills! He devoured me, like a man who just ended his hunger strike and discovered the buffet table.
While he was busy having his fill, I accidentally grazed the fingers on his left hand and felt metal. I looked down. But then he started licking the area between my balls and my glory hole. Shit! I couldn’t concentrate. With much difficulty I made a mental note: “Ask. About. Ooooh, yeah! Ring. That feels gooood! Later.”
Jump-cut. (Let’s pander to the Board of Censors, shall we?)
After I wrapped my towel around my waist, I held his hand and fiddled with his ring. “I’ve always been married,” he said.
Cut to my facial reaction: Ah! Eh…. Iee. Oh. Uh!
“But I don’t remember you having a ring before,” I said.
“That was before. Now I feel more comfortable with myself,” he said. “Before I used to take it off. Now I just let it stay on my finger.”
Tambling!
I guess people are capable of thinking and doing anything just to be able to live with themselves. Well, whatever floats his boat, I say. Whether I agree or not regarding his infidelity is not the issue here; I’m just happy for him that he’s not struggling with himself anymore.
To this date I only know the following about him: his name (whether real or a pseudonym, who cares?) and that he’s married (whether they still live together or they’re separated, I never bothered to ask).
And one more: his tongue should be classified as a deadly weapon.
Back then I already noticed this particular guy: around 5’6” or 5’7”, Fil-Chinese looking (more “Fil” than “Chinese” though), about five years or so older than me. He had a pretty well-built body—full pecs, bulging biceps and triceps, and an almost six-pac. I say “almost” because there was a thin layer of fat all over him, like the kind when one eats really well and lives the good life. Okay, so maybe I’m romanticizing his layer of fat. In other words, his body is not that cut and well-defined, but he’s got the bulk of a guy who seriously works out.
Anyway.
When I first saw him I didn’t approach him; he looked like someone out of my league. He’d always be standing in one corner with his hands crossed over his chest, sometimes not moving from that spot for minutes on end. Very patient, very aloof. But after sighting him several times in subsequent visits, I decided to make a move. Well, well, well! Bongga wagi lola n’yo! He turned out to be quite the aggressive one. He was also the rare one who insisted that he do all the work; if ever I tried to reciprocate, he would just gently move my hand—or whatever body part I was using—away. What a generous, selfless gentleman! (Must be Jesuit-trained, hahaha.) After that, every time we see each other in CB we eventually end up doing it. He became my first and only fuck buddy.
When I changed jobs and worked in QC, I discovered F so I stopped going to CB. I lost touch of Mr. Generous. When I moved back to Makati last year, I renewed my membership in CB.
When I was there recently I bumped into Mr. Generous. Almost 4 years have passed since we last saw each other; he didn’t recognize me at first because of my hair (I used to be semi-kal back then) and my goatee. I could see changes on him too. His hair has more white especially on the sides, making him more mature-looking. And the effects of age showed on his body; you know how, when a person grows old, his body sort of “deflates”? Like someone let the air out, making his body look not as packed and full as before? But the muscles are still there. For a man his age, he actually looks very good.
He placed his arm around my shoulder and led me to his room. And just like that, it was as if the years between our meetings disappeared. He was still as aggressive as ever, maybe even more so. Practice makes perfect, right? And boy, did he perfect his tongue skills! He devoured me, like a man who just ended his hunger strike and discovered the buffet table.
While he was busy having his fill, I accidentally grazed the fingers on his left hand and felt metal. I looked down. But then he started licking the area between my balls and my glory hole. Shit! I couldn’t concentrate. With much difficulty I made a mental note: “Ask. About. Ooooh, yeah! Ring. That feels gooood! Later.”
Jump-cut. (Let’s pander to the Board of Censors, shall we?)
After I wrapped my towel around my waist, I held his hand and fiddled with his ring. “I’ve always been married,” he said.
Cut to my facial reaction: Ah! Eh…. Iee. Oh. Uh!
“But I don’t remember you having a ring before,” I said.
“That was before. Now I feel more comfortable with myself,” he said. “Before I used to take it off. Now I just let it stay on my finger.”
Tambling!
I guess people are capable of thinking and doing anything just to be able to live with themselves. Well, whatever floats his boat, I say. Whether I agree or not regarding his infidelity is not the issue here; I’m just happy for him that he’s not struggling with himself anymore.
To this date I only know the following about him: his name (whether real or a pseudonym, who cares?) and that he’s married (whether they still live together or they’re separated, I never bothered to ask).
And one more: his tongue should be classified as a deadly weapon.
Coming Soon: The Third Podcast!
Yesterday the Troikasters had a marvelous time interviewing Vincent de Jesus, lyricist, composer and musical director of Zsazsa Zaturnnah Ze Muscial. He was a delight to talk to, a very relaxed and funny interviewee. It was interesting to note that while we went here and there with our topics, the whole interview flowed very naturally and spontaneously. Hear Vincent talk about Zsazsa, Mother Lily, the state of Phil. musicals and his lovelife. And you don’t want miss him diss this famous local dramatic actor! Watch out for the third Troikaster Podcast, coming soon on MGG!
Saturday, June 02, 2007
Pushing Patrick Wolf
…down the stairs, pass the door, and into your eyes and ears.
My friend Leigh’s musical tastes are more adventurous and off the beaten track. The last time she listened to a top 40 tune voluntarily, Casey Kasem still had a career; I on the other hand am so mainstream I can play Casey Kasem in his biopic. So when she lets me listen to some new artist she discovered on the ‘net (oops, does this mean she downloads stuff illegally? ahihihihi) it usually takes me a couple or more listenings before I eventually form an opinion on the music.
Patrick Wolf is one of the rare exceptions.
(And no, it’s not because of his clothes. I saw his pics after I heard his songs.)
When Leigh showed me the music video for “The Magic Position” I immediately liked the melody and the rhythm (it’s often the music that grabs me first; interesting lyrics are an immediate plus). Listening to the song in my iTunes, I reveled at his playful arrangement. It’s the sound of someone who is in love with sounds and tossed everything together in a happy carnival-like soundscape. His voice calls to mind David Bowie at his most fey. The music video manages to capture the slap-dash feel of the music, and the giddy vibe of the song.
O di ba ang straight niya, ‘no?!
This 24-year old knows how to play several instruments including harp, clavinet, harpsichord, guitar, piano, autoharp, kantele, organ, mountain dulcimer, clavichord, harmonium, accordion, theremin, ukulele, viola and violin.
Several lang yun, ha.
And in a February 27, 2007 interview with The London Paper, Patrick Wolf raised many questions about his sexuality: “In the same way I don’t know if my sixth album is going to be a death-metal record or children’s pop, I don’t know whether I’m destined to live my life with a horse, a woman or a man. It makes life easier.” (from Wikipedia)
O di ba ang saya ng attitude?
Maybe that’s the way the younger generation is headed to with regards to sexual orientation. I can imagine there’ll be more Friendster accounts with “It’s complicated” in the status box. It’ll be a free-for-all. Shet, ang gulo n’un.
Anyway, kung may duda pa kayo sa sexuality ni Mareng Partick, watch na lang kayo ng “Accident and Emergency,” the second song from his album.
“O ano, nalokah ba kayo sa video kesh?”
My friend Leigh’s musical tastes are more adventurous and off the beaten track. The last time she listened to a top 40 tune voluntarily, Casey Kasem still had a career; I on the other hand am so mainstream I can play Casey Kasem in his biopic. So when she lets me listen to some new artist she discovered on the ‘net (oops, does this mean she downloads stuff illegally? ahihihihi) it usually takes me a couple or more listenings before I eventually form an opinion on the music.
Patrick Wolf is one of the rare exceptions.
(And no, it’s not because of his clothes. I saw his pics after I heard his songs.)When Leigh showed me the music video for “The Magic Position” I immediately liked the melody and the rhythm (it’s often the music that grabs me first; interesting lyrics are an immediate plus). Listening to the song in my iTunes, I reveled at his playful arrangement. It’s the sound of someone who is in love with sounds and tossed everything together in a happy carnival-like soundscape. His voice calls to mind David Bowie at his most fey. The music video manages to capture the slap-dash feel of the music, and the giddy vibe of the song.
O di ba ang straight niya, ‘no?!
This 24-year old knows how to play several instruments including harp, clavinet, harpsichord, guitar, piano, autoharp, kantele, organ, mountain dulcimer, clavichord, harmonium, accordion, theremin, ukulele, viola and violin.
Several lang yun, ha.
And in a February 27, 2007 interview with The London Paper, Patrick Wolf raised many questions about his sexuality: “In the same way I don’t know if my sixth album is going to be a death-metal record or children’s pop, I don’t know whether I’m destined to live my life with a horse, a woman or a man. It makes life easier.” (from Wikipedia)
O di ba ang saya ng attitude?
Maybe that’s the way the younger generation is headed to with regards to sexual orientation. I can imagine there’ll be more Friendster accounts with “It’s complicated” in the status box. It’ll be a free-for-all. Shet, ang gulo n’un.
Anyway, kung may duda pa kayo sa sexuality ni Mareng Partick, watch na lang kayo ng “Accident and Emergency,” the second song from his album.
“O ano, nalokah ba kayo sa video kesh?”
Friday, June 01, 2007
It’s Friday, And I Really Just Need To Update The McVie Show
Jeez, this has been one hectic week at work. Next week is looming to be another one, maybe even worse.
Sigh. When it rains (goodbye Summer), work pours.
* * * * *
First there was Friendster. Then I discovered Connexion and Downelink (for gay folks only). Plus I got into Multiply. Now there’s Facebook, and Twitter, and I just received an invitation to join Quechup(?!)
Ano ba yan? All these social networks! When it rains, it pours!
It’s not that I don’t want to be friends or be connected with you. But I was never really the groupie type. I choose one group and I stick to it. That’s why I never collected a lot of extra-curricular activities in school—I just had TA and that’s it. Shet, does that mean I’m monogamous?
Ha.
Sigh. When it rains (goodbye Summer), work pours.
* * * * *
First there was Friendster. Then I discovered Connexion and Downelink (for gay folks only). Plus I got into Multiply. Now there’s Facebook, and Twitter, and I just received an invitation to join Quechup(?!)
Ano ba yan? All these social networks! When it rains, it pours!
It’s not that I don’t want to be friends or be connected with you. But I was never really the groupie type. I choose one group and I stick to it. That’s why I never collected a lot of extra-curricular activities in school—I just had TA and that’s it. Shet, does that mean I’m monogamous?
Ha.
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