Show Me The McVie

Many may not realize that my persona online is not who I am offline. But what some people who've met me, even those who consider me their friend, do not realize (and I don't blame them for this) is that my offline persona is also not exactly who I am.

No, I'm not schizophrenic. Just review your Johari window (Google it, for chrissakes) and you'll get what I mean.

What you see are only facets of me. But more importantly, there are things about me on and offline that are for show. Thus, the title of my blog.

Why put on a show? I have my reasons, and I don't need to explain them all to everyone.

But take my cynicism for example. I am actually a hopeful person by nature, and a realist by nurture. However, hopeful isn't exactly as entertaining as despair. Face it, happy endings are precisely at the end because if they were at the start, then there'd be no movie; if they were in the middle, then the movie would be cut short and the audience will leave the moviehouse screaming, "Harang! Bitin!"

I also realize that a surplus of despair and loathing is ultimately tiresome and unbelievable. A series of unfortunate events can make for great children's literature (and a so-so movie adaptation, despite the great Meryl Streep's presence). But a blogful of unfortunate entries is like a blogful of successful sexual conquests; there's a "Yeah, riiiight" quality inherent in them.

So while I often take the cynic route online, it's really to entertain myself and to give voice to that nagging question in my head, "Am I sure?" And that cynical stance is something I make a show of offline as well. Because really, how sure am I?

If you ask me if I'm the kind of person whose glass is half-empty or half-full, I'd reply that I'm in the middle. It's kinda neither here nor there, but then again that's life.

Star Warla!

(This episode is inspired by Leigh and is dedicated to Badinggerzie who made the original gay Star Wars.)

* * * * *

A long, long time ago in a pink galaxy far, far away….

Inside the Death Megastar, a cloaked dark figure pauses in front of a window.

“I sense a disturbance in the Fhworce,” Darth Gayder says. He wore a becoming cape and a helmet that most people will refer to, kindly, as phallic. Or German cut.

“What do you sense, Lord Gayder?” asked Empress Shuck Papatine.

"My junakiz," replied Darth Gayder, with a swish of his cape.

"You have a son?" Empress Shuck, shocked, gasped. "How did that happen?"

"Drunken night, aggressive woman, lonely me... don't ask," Darth Gayder muttered.

"K fine," humphed Empress Shuck, shook his head, and swished away.

Darth Gayder glanced out the window. From afar, a spaceship floated towards the Death Megastar.

"I have you now," he declared.

* * * * *

Inside the Millennium Falcon Videos, captain Handsome Solo was worried. "I have a bad feeling about this," he said, and turned to his co-pilot, a Wookie named Chewbakla. A Wookie is nothing but a bear with a bad hair day. But since it's Chewbakla, its hair is oh-so-flowing, like a hair talent's at a shampoo commercial.

"Aooowwwrrr! Aooowwwrrr!" growled Chewbakla.

"Fucking can't understand a growl you said," muttered Handsome.

He turned to his two passengers, Luke Biwalker and Princess Labia. Luke was weilding a light saber; the Princess was weilding a hair blower, trying to dry the buns on her head. What she didn't know, Chewbakla was inwardly chuckling at her efforts.

"What did I get myself into?" wondered Handsome.

Suddenly the ship shuddered and lurched forward. "We're caught in a tractor beam!" Handsome yelled. "It's sucking us towards the Death Megastar!"

"Oooh, 'sucking'!" Luke said, all excited.

* * * * *

Inside the Death Megastar, Handsome, Chewbakla, Luke and Labia were ushered into the chambers of Darth Gayder.

"At last I have you now," declared Darth Gayder.

"How did you manage to find us with all that space?" asked Labia.

Darth Gayder chuckled. "It was easy, Princess." And a door opened at his gesture. Into the room entered a bounty hunter that looked like Ru Paul, except he had a bizarre helmet that looked more like a carnivale del Rio headgear.

"Lady Gaga?!" said Luke and Labia in unison.

"Who's Lady Gaga?" whispered Handsome to Chewbakla. The Wookie looked sadly at its master and shook its head.

"Hindi ako si Lady Gaga, mga gaga!" yelled the bounty hunter. "I am Fete de la Bobba! THE?!" But he pronounced the last word like "D'uh." And he waved his glittering neon-lined laser gun at them.

"Ay, boba talaga," muttered Labia.

"Ay, Lady Bongga!" exclaimed Luke.

Darth Gayder moved closer to him. "I sense a disturbance in your Fhworce," he said to Luke. "You are not a Biwalker. You are a Gaywalker!"

"Noooooo!" Luke yelled in shock. "I'm straight-actiiiiing!"

Labia turned to her brother. "No, you're in denial, bro."

"What?!" Handsome yelled in shock.

"I should know," Labia continued. "Luke pretended he had a crush on me."

"HU-WHAAAAT?!" yelled everyone in shock. "Aooowwwrrr?!" aooowwwrrred Chewbakla in shock.

Labia raised her hand. "Relax, that was before he found out I was his sister," she explained. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

"Luke has had a crush on Handsome for the longest time," Labia continued. "That's why he got really jealous when he saw Handsome kiss me while repairing the Millennium Falcon Videos."

"But how did you know I was gay, sister?" Luke asked. "For all you know, I was jealous of Handsome, not of you!"

"Because it takes one to know one," replied Labia with a smile.

"What?" yelled Darth Gayder in shock.

"I'm gay too," said Princess Labia. "I'm a lesbian. I'm a labia-loving Labia."

"Ewwww!" yelled Fete de la Bobba in disgust.

Handsome shook his head. "No wonder you had no reaction when I kissed you. Damn."

Darth Gayder raised his hand towards Luke. "Luke, I am... NOT... your father."

Luke looked puzzled at Darth Gayder. "Uhm, and...?" he said, eyebrows raised.

"I am your mudrakels!"

Luke's eyes widened in surprise. "WEH?!"

"Weh," said Darth Gayder.

"Obi Wan Kerokerokeropi never told me about you before he croaked!" said Luke.

And father and son hugged.

"Like father, like son," muttered Fete de la Bobba.

"Correction!" Labia butted in. "Like fudra, like junakiz."

"Correction number two!" Luke butted in also. "Like mudra, like junakiz."

Just then Empress Shuck Papatine entered the room. "You betrayed me!" he screamed at Darth Gayder. And pink lightning flew from his fingers. Darth Gayder blocked the surge of force wtih his pink light saber, but the lightning hit the nuclear reactor of the Death Megastar.

And the Death Megastar exploded in a burst of golden glitter.

* * * * *

(And unlike George Lucas, I promise not to make any sequels nor prequels to this. One is enough.)

The Talented Mr. Ripley, Part Three

Here’s the third and last part of the Fabcast. Listen to the conclusion of CC’s sad experience with online romance. Enjoy!

Download this fabcast (right click and save)

Music credits:
“Crazy In Love” by Beyonce
“Why” by Annie Lennox
“Promises, Promises” by Naked Eyes
“Weekend In New England” by Barry Manilow
“Kung Ako Na Lang Sana” by Bituin Escalante
“Get Lost” by Patrick Wolf

Scenes From Subic

Corporate Closet took the Mazda MX5 for a test drive. He chose to drive the yellow one, even though it wasn’t the kind of yellow he wanted. He’s this close to really buying one. If he does, his moving on would be complete. Bwhahaha! (evil laftir)

The Macallan. Single malt scotch whiskey. 12 years old. It was really f**king great sh*t. My current officemates saw me for the first time in my “dance party Energizer bunny” mode during the first night chill-out party hosted by us. The Macallan (and several shots of tequila) fueled my dance-cardio routine that continued way after the others stopped dancing. Afterwards P, our resident tri-athlete, turned to me and exclaimed: “You should join a triathlon!”

The next night I was again in my “dance party Energizer bunny” mode for the Marlboro Party (so far most people have said that it was the best of all the parties during the Ad Congress). And they spared no expense for it: gigantic LED screens spanning the length of the stage, world-class DJs, Rico Blanco on guitars, live singers, costumed dancers, fireworks, balloons. And the most important element to a successful party? Free-flowing booze, from beer to vodka to whiskey and back! I ended up dancing onstage in front of the DJ’s booth. Hey, it was a Friday evening; I had to make up for my absence in Bed!

Whatsup! Whatsup! “Bugnaw” is Bisaya for “cold” (why there’s Bisaya in Subic is anybody’s guess). No wonder the sodas were also in Bisaya.

Where else can you find a pine tree co-existing with a coconut tree?


To attract the crowds to our booth, we showed the pilot episode of Glee and the Pacquiao-Cotto fight. We attracted maybe two Gleeks. But when we played the fight, there was sudden queue of people wanting to get freebies at our booth.

Chilling out at the beach front with Corporate Closet. If you look closely, you could see our reflection on CC’s shades.

* * * * *

We were in Subic for five days, but by the third night we felt like we were there for a week. I wonder how the Congress would have fared had it pushed through in Baguio.

And no, I didn’t get lucky at this Congress, unlike the last one and the one before—but let’s not get into that.

House About It?

Because our bosses heard our horror stories about our former bold-star-turned-hostess Ms. AP, they decided to pull us out of there and place us in a house that our admin people rented. The good news? The admin peeps were leaving Friday morning, so we could take over the house they were vacating. The bad news? The house is old, as in creepy old. Last night one of our officemates saw someone carrying a fairly large shoulder bag go down the stairs; she decided to follow her downstairs. When she got to the ground floor, no one was there.

“From Kooky House to Spooky House” should be the title of this weekend.

The Talented Mr. Ripley, Part Two

Here is the second of three parts, the continuation of CC's Mr. Ripley encounter:

Download this fabcast (right click and save)

Music credits:
“Live To Tell” by Madonna
“Right Here Waiting” by Richard Marx
“Already Gone” by Kelly Clarkson

Subic Adventure

We needed to set up our booth and event venue for the Ad Congress, so we left for Subic a day earlier.

We arrive around dinnertime and proceeded to our rented house. It turns out to be the house owned by a former bold star in the 80s(?), Ms. AP. We decided to just drop our luggage off and proceed to eat dinner out. But while waiting for the others to finish settling in their stuff, our hostess arrived to greet us.

In just a t-shirt and shorts. With her nipples obviously making their mark.

And her daughter accompanied her; she looks like she’s not more than 10 years old. And she is a special child.

After a few minutes of chatting with the hostess (and attempts to chat with her daughter), we left for dinner. In our shuttle, we raised the weird vibes we got from our hostess and her daughter.

“Did you hear how she talks to her child?”

“Did you notice she was bra-less?!”

“Did you notice how perky she was? Or rather, they were?”

“Was she high, or on something?”

“Was she all there?”

So a couple of us flipped open their laptop and Google’d our host. And it turns out our host figured in a vehicular incident here in Subic—she ran over and killed two people while under the influence of alcohol.

Cue in Psycho music.

When we came back to the house, AP was there waiting for us. She knew we were going to be drinking that night at her patio area, so she decided to join us.

After a few shots she was already drunk and started telling her sob stories. Then she asked two of our boys to accompany her because she needed to pee. While walking her towards the bathroom, the boys were shocked when she suddenly pulled her shorts down, squatted and pee’d. They just looked away as she calmly finished her business.

Eventually they were able to convince her to go to sleep. The guys finished drinking at around 3am, but managed to clean up the patio area before retiring.

The next morning we woke up to the sound of rustling and furtive movement in the patio area. When one of us came out to smoke, lo and behold, he saw four huge-ass monkeys rummaging through our stuff and trash. Two of them had already opened a bag of chips and was on their way to finishing it off. He and the monkeys looked at each other for a second. Then all bolted in the opposite direction, our guy back to his room and the monkeys towards the trees in the backyard.

It’s going to be a memorable Ad Congress for us.

At The Big Dome, In Pics

Cross at the South Gate, the players’ entrance.

Excitement palpable, the crowd lets out its first gigantic roar when they announced the main event up next.

I found it silly and ironic that Ever Bilena would advertise in a bloody sport. It’s tagline? “Beauty in you.” D’uh.

The champ on top of his game…

…and on top of the world.

The roaring, stomping, cheering crowd.

From Araneta to MGM Grand, the crowd cheers for Pacquiao.



The big screens go down in less than an hour, to make way for the PBA.

Big Crowd At The Big Dome

It’s quite ironic that, given my new job, I was never into sports a lot. Except for the Most Valuable Player medal I won back in grade school for volleyball, I was never that athletic. And the only sports I do watch are figure skating and the occasional male diving coverage.

So it was with detached disinterest that I approached my assignment to attend the viewing of the Pacquiao-Cotto match at the Araneta Coliseum. We were there to make sure everything went well.

At first my boss was worried that the venue won’t be full. Glancing at the rapidly filling-up stadium, I told her, “It’s four-fifths full already! Don’t worry.”

Four 30 foot-wide screens flashed the live-via-satellite footage from Las Vegas. The crowd was already reacting loudly to the pre-event fights. And when the GMA-7 plugs came on, a loud boo rose from them. (They didn’t react negatively with the trailer of Manny’s movie Wapakman, but I guess they’ll never boo anything that has their hero in it, right?)

When Manny was shown with Jinky on his right and Willie Revillame on his left, people started hooting. When Willie put his hand around Manny’s hand, people jeered.

The main event: a thunderous roar from the crowd as Many and Cotto start the fight. I wanted to stay outside, by the south side entrance, because I thought I couldn’t stand the excitement magnified more than a thousand times over with this massive crowd. Good thing my boss insisted we watch at the courtside (where the PBA Commissioners are seated).

Great idea.

When Cotto stumbled the first time, the crowd went wild. As in, wild. They stood up, fists jabbing the air, yelling at the massive screens, “Manny! Manny! Manny!” as if the Pambansang Kamao would hear the collective chant an ocean away. And when Manny had Cotto kneeling down again, the crowd was ecstatic, augmenting their cheering with stomping. Every time a 30-foot close-up of Cotto’s swollen face flashed onscreen, the crowd laughed and cheered.

And yet Cotto proved to be a wilier and tougher opponent. His fancy footwork actually helped keep him away from most of Manny’s blistering blitzkrieg punches. And by the eighth round the crowd had a feeling that a knock-out by Manny may be harder to come by.

So when the referee halted the fight on the twelfth and final round, the cheer was massive but not as charged as when Cotto went down twice. Perhaps the crowd sensed victory early on. Perhaps people were hoping Manny could connect that one deadly punch to bring Cotto down, and were disappointed that a knock out didn’t materialize.

Still.

When the lights went on, the coliseum folks gave us the actual attendance figures: 18,303 people. That was 18,303 people roaring, cheering, clapping and stomping; there were more people there than in MGM Grand in Las Vegas. It was truly a massive SRO crowd that I think only a Manny Pacquiao the boxer can attract. (As for Manny the singer and Manny the politician, his appeal is much more limited.)

Post-fight, Mario Lopez interviewed Manny in the ring. While watching it, I received an SMS from my brother: “The post-fight interview with Manny. Where the real butchering happens. LOL.”

The Talented Mr. Ripley, Part One

The Fabcasters sans (sans!) Migs, Tony and AJ, and together with Bruno sans aphorisms and new-to-the-peanut-gallery Apple, met up to hear, for the first time from the seahorse’s mouth himself, the story behind Corporate Closet’s talented Mister Ripley.

Listen to part 1 here (16 mins 36 sec).

Download this episode (right click and save)

Music credits:
“Imaginary Lover” by Atlanta Rhythm Section
“Live To Tell” by Madonna

Shoot!

Out of the blue I get an SMS from my good friend Katski, she the writer-director of the indie film Still Life and one of the guiding forces behind the uber-super-duper-mega-ng-over hit indi movie Kimmy Dora. She needed talents to act gratis for a project she’s directing. What for? I asked. “It’s for a client, some kinda sales AVP,” she replied offhandedly. What will I play? I asked. “Either a salesman or a customer,” she texted.

Well why not, chocnut? For years I’ve always been behind the camera, in shoots for commercials and for TV shows. Never had I wandered in front of the camera, even as extra for crowd scenes. At least now I get to experience what it’s like to do a take over and over again.

So off I went to the location, a car showroom along Quezon Avenue. When I got there I was handed the script, and was told I’d play the customer. Changed into wardrobe (provided by yours truly, of course) and sat down for make-up (feeling ta-artits). I met my co-actors in the scene, the guy playing the salesman and the guy playing the security guard. While waiting I also saw this girl, very Japanese-looking and quite familiar though I couldn’t place where I saw her.

I was handed the script and was told to read through and line-throw with my co-actors. I glanced at the top of the page: “by Raymond Lee”. I nearly fell of my seat. I glanced at the Japanese girl again. OMG, it’s Michiko Yamamoto, award-winning writer of Pagdadalaga Ni Maximo Olivero! She was there as producer.

And so, even if it’s just a mere sales AVP that will be seen by just an exclusive few, I can now proudly say that on my first oncam acting job I was speaking the lines of an award-winning writer, in a project produced and directed by a star-studded, award-winning team.

Bwhahaha. One takes one’s kicks wherever one can.

Gibo + Doods = Giboods

Okay, so Gilbert Teodoro’s running mate is, gasp, Edu Manzano. It’s so showbiz. Game na ba kayo? What were they thinking? “Oh, we can’t claim the moral high ground, like Noynoy. So let’s just fight him with what we clearly have more than him—good looks!”

And the circus continues.

Now Why Didn’t I Think Of That?

My gosh, gays do make good zombies, except for the lack of coordination and finesse in movement. But we can be brainless when it comes to boys.



“Braiiiiiin… I mean, peniiiiiiis!” Hahahaha!

McDesideratahahaha

I once took an online test on what kind of humor I had, and the result was “banter”, which explains why I like making side comments during podcasts. But what that test didn’t measure is the risqué streak in my sense of humor.

There’s a part of me that likes humor that pushes buttons and boundaries, that mocks propriety and that raises a middle finger at political correctness. C’mon guys, why so serious? Yes, there is an element of meanness with that kind of humor. But hey—sticks and stones may break my bones, and all that crap.

For example.

My former art director was struck by polio as a kid, so now he’s got one shorter and thinner leg, plus an impossible-to-ignore limp. Recently he hooked up with one of his officemates, this semi-fresh graduate who, previous to her current position, was employed for a short time as a customer service representative. (Now she’s finding new, er, positions with the AD.) Ever since she hooked up with him, the other officemates noted a marked increase in her kakikayan level—in her clothes as well as her pattern of speech. Needless to say, they are the talk of the town.

When they (my former officemates) were telling me the stories about this “kikay gurl” they recounted how, one evening, she was so worried because the AD told her, “I’m going to the car now. If you’re not there in 5 minutes, I’m leaving you behind.” (LQ? Not really. She just has a penchant for dilly-dallying, and he’s not the type who’d wait for anyone, especially if the cause of delay is kakikayan.) So she was squealing in a loud voice, “OMG! OMG! I’ve to hurry! I’ve to hurry! He’s gonna leave me na! He’s gonna leave me na!”

I looked at my former officemates and blurted out, “You should have told her, ‘Oh stop whining! Run after him. After all, he can’t get that far that fast, right?’” Pause, then gasps all around. I just love saying the things that people are actually thinking of, but have no balls to say them out loud. Thus, the laughter that followed was a mix of nervous, mock-outrage and unapologetic.

Life is already a big joke to begin with. Humor helps one put things in perspective without being bogged down by ennui.

And if you think my humor’s not funny, check out Philippine politics. Now that’s a bad joke.

The Comeback Queen (Amidala)

The year: 2005.

I had been blogging for about a year now. There were a fair number of gay bloggers around, but the blogging world was different back then. Four years is a millennium in blog time.

And from the emerging blogsphere, a brilliant, supernova-pink blog appeared.

Presenting: Third Sex In The City

Writing in fabulous Fagalish (fag + Tagalog + English), Badinggerzie aka Bernadette blazed into the scene like no other. One didn’t need a dictionary to read him; one had to read it out loud to get what he was saying. And yet, his use of a different “language” didn’t exclude readers from his blog, even the closeted and the pa-straight ones who, prior to his blog, had no idea what witchelles, shofatid and jumupostrax meant. What was even more amazing was the way Badinggerzie’s writing was so infectious, it leapfrogged into the straight world and became virals.

In fact, his very first entry evuuur was cut-and-pasted and passed on as an email. This made the rounds in several offices, and even straight people were passing it on. “1 Gay + 1 Gay = 2 Gays” tells the story of Bernadette having a close (and closeted) gay encounter with his shofatid. With the way he writes it, he manages to effortlessly introduce the readers into his writing style while propelling the narrative.

It’s already a feat to have a blog entry become a viral, but Bernadette strikes again! This time he does it by giving a very pink version of “Star Wars”.

He wrote about his love life, his work, the vacations he took, etc. He changed his blog layout several times, and he also started an audio version of his blog (podcasts of him reading selected blog entries). But alas his output slowed down, and by early 2007 he stopped.

Talk about a very looooong blog hiatus.

Now, Bernadette is back-la! Set your pink phasers to “stun” because Badinggerzie returns!

O ayan, Berns. You can now say, “No, I don’t feel aeny preyshyure. Rayt. Naw.” Welcome back to the blogsphere, kapatid.

From Valley Girl To CBD Gurl

It’s been almost a month now, and so far I’m enjoying the noticeable decrease in stress levels due to driving and looking for parking. But more than that, this is the first time I’ve lived independently from my family. No maids, no one to pick up stuff after you. Sure, I have a housemate who has her own maid, but I try as much as possible never to impose.

My friends were pushing me to live on my own, as this will help me build character and be more independent. So what have I realized about myself?

1. I can be very neat, especially if I’m the one who has to clean up after me. My room in Marikina is like one huge bodega that no one bothered to put in order. But here I even fix the bed before leaving for work. I hate going home to see my bed in disarray.

2. I don’t need a night lamp when going to sleep. In Marikina I also don’t have a night lamp, but situated just outside my window is the night light for our backyard (years ago a robber went through our backyard in an attempt to get away). So every night that light is switched on, bathing my room with a soft glow.

3. I was never a pillow hog before. In fact, I can sleep without using a pillow. But now I love having two pillows, one to rest my head on and one to hug.

4. Having the pugs around relaxes me. I especially like how Bruce insists that I scratch his back.

5. It is true: the closer you live to the office, the more likely you’ll be late. I was embarrassingly late for the first few days.

6. Having a female housemate (who’s single now and isn’t dating) is a great chastity belt. My bed is sooo virginal.

7. Salcedo Village on a Sunday is so relaxing. There are still people around, but reduced to almost a fifth of the usual; one of the loneliest sights for me is a city or a school that’s empty of people. And almost everyone is on chill-out mode.

Chat Silayan

I like chatting with Tristan. He’s someone who doesn’t take a lot of things in life, including himself, too seriously. (Well, until he falls hard for someone or some shoulder, but that’s beside the point.)

Recently we just had a YM discussion regarding his role as “Pokpok Blogger Extraordinaire” versus “Gay Role Model and World Peace Advocate” Migs, the Manila Gay Guy.

* * * * *

tristantan28
andami nang pokpok bloggers gaya ni ____________ (another blogger who will blissfully remain anonymous here)

joelmcvie
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
pero teh
iba pa rin ikaw
si ____________ miss philippines
ikaw miss universe

tristantan28
si mgg, ms. america

joelmcvie
hahahaha!
hindi!
si migs, MRS. America!
Hahahahahahahha
may kerida element

tristantan28
korek

joelmcvie
pero mukhang natauhan na siya

tristantan28
kasi naman
ang lola mo binroadcast sa buong mundo
eh ayun inulan ng comments

joelmcvie
HAHAHAHAHA

tristantan28
alam mo naman sabi ko nga sa kanya
role model ka kasi
whether he likes it or else

joelmcvie
baka may balak siyang sirain niya ang image niya
para lang mas makagalaw
at
MAKIPAGLANDI!
hahahahahahahaha!

tristantan28
then he should do a tristan
verb na ito

joelmcvie
mizmoh!
IKAW ang bagong role model!

tristantan28
sige change of roles kami

joelmcvie
Tristan: not just a verb, a way of life!

tristantan28
copyrighter ka nga ate

joelmcvie
hahahaha
Tristan is the new Ideal.

tristantan28
kelangan ko ng world peace.

joelmcvie
world peace... thru having sex with everyone in the world

tristantan28
haha

joelmcvie
world sex IS world peace!
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

tristantan28
ay ay
ang galing!

joelmcvie
dapat gawing T-SHIRT DESIGN mo na yan!
i-copywrite na, DALI!
hahahahahaha

Now My Heart Is Full

by Morrissey

There’s gonna be some trouble,
a whole house will need re-building.
And everyone I love in the house
will recline on an analyst’s couch quite soon.
Your Father cracks a joke,
and in the usual way
empties the room.

Tell all of my friends
(I don’t have too many—
just some rain-coated lovers’ puny brothers).

I’m tired again, I’ve tried again, and
now my heart is full.
Now my heart is full.
And I just can’t explain,
so I won’t even try to.

Underact, express depression—
ah, but Bunnie, I loved you.
I was tired again,
I’ve tried again, and
now my heart is full.
Now my heart is full.
And I just can’t explain,
so I won’t even try to.

Could you pass by?
Will you pass by?
Could you pass by?
Oh...
now my heart is full.
Now my heart is full.
And I just can’t explain
so... slow....

LSS-ing on this since last night, when I stumbled upon it again after years of not listening to it. I got goosebumps hearing it again; the lyrics just cut me to the bone.

But I just can’t explain, so I won’t even try to.

Give Me Some Space!

I immediately fell in love with the flat I’m currently staying in, even though it comes with a price tag way above my original budget. The pictures my housemate sent me did not do justice. But when I visited the place, I immediately said, “Let’s get it!”

It’s not just because we both have our own bedrooms with bathroom. It’s not just because there’s a big-ass kitchen and a maid’s quarters (with her own bathroom too). It’s because there’s a balcony that gives us open space and fresh (okay, relatively) air, plus an unencumbered view of Makati Sports. It’s because there’s parking for Orlando on basement one. It’s because the common area is bare and minimalist, not originally by design but by lack of furniture to fill it up with. But afterwards my housemate and I realized that we should keep things simple. In the end, what we were paying for was a commodity most new condos do not have: SPACE.

So welcome to the final frontier that we found in the middle of Makati:

Here’s the common area, with a most common table. Notice we only have two chairs? We’re not hospitable much, at least in this area. The table is so very North Park, with the steel surface. Left door, housemate’s. Right door, mine.

Reverse angle. Left door, my room. Then the brightly lit area is the way into the kitchen. Middle is the main door. Lamp is housemate's.

Actually we do have a sala set that’s, uhm, rattan. And tossed in for free by the owner. So now we looove rattan. Behind it is the balcony. Taken after Typhoon Santi, thus the iron chair lying down on the floor.

The view of the tennis courts. No cute ball boys, so far.


Meet Bruce the doorstop (above) and Max the enthusiastic, my housemate’s babies. She insists they’re both gay. Bruce loves how I scratch him, and now follows me around the flat. Love these pugs of hers.

What A Thriller

Even if you’re not a Michael Jackson fan, you may appreciate This Is It as a rare glimpse of the man at work. It also gives audiences an idea of the concert that never will be.

It’s a fascinating glimpse, by the way. For a 50-year old, and despite obvious efforts at conserving his energy, Michael still has the moves. Yeah, he never really developed new moves, but the ones he had were still sharp and his body still nimble.

On close-up, he looks scary. His nose is too sculpted. And when he moves, there’s something fey about him. Add the high-pitched voice and the lack of sexual tension between him and the girls onstage, and one can’t be faulted for wondering, “Is he or isn’t he?”

I’m not sure if his concert could have lived up to his desire of taking the audience to places they’ve never been. Sure, it’s a spectacle, but so are concerts of Madonna and Kylie. But I guess of all the solo male artists, only he can pull off that kind of circus. Again, one wonders, “Is he or isn’t he?”

Then again, it doesn’t really matter anymore.

Coming Soon

The Fabcasters, on iTunes. Watch out for the announcement in The Manila Gay Guy… soon!

The Purple People Eater

My theater friends and I have always had this question that no one seems to know the answer: What the hell is Grimace of McDonald’s?! We even asked crew members from McD Katips, and all we got are shrugs. One day Marisse excitedly told us that she asked a store manager what Grimace was, and the reply was that Grimace is a mangosteen, because before McD used to serve mangosteen shake. Oh, so no wonder it’s ube-colored.

Jump-cut to several years later, with the boom of the Internet, Google and Wikipedia. One day Harry messaged us all on Facebook, saying: “FYI, according to Wikipedia, Grimace is an anthropomorphic purple taste bud.”

WTF?!

The reactions of the others were swift. Everyone was joking about it. No one thought seriously about it.

Until now.

This morning I realized, wait a minute! That can’t be right. Assuming that indeed Grimace is a personification of a taste bud, why was he given a negative-sounding name? Why Grimace? It implies that someone ate something anthropomorphically bad.

They should have named him “Yummy” instead. Or for a gayer sounding name, “Ngyarapae!”

Your creative suggestions are most welcome.