Now here’s an interesting movie that they should show in Robinson’s Cinemas.
Friday, October 10, 2008
I Have A Froblem
I recently received a message in my G4M account, from ****25: pre I like u
Curious, I looked at his profile. His one and only picture showed a young guy, kinda cute. Says he’s single, lives in Manila and is sexually adventurous. Hmmm-kay. Then I read his profile message: simple understanding sweet prank
What a joke.
Curious, I looked at his profile. His one and only picture showed a young guy, kinda cute. Says he’s single, lives in Manila and is sexually adventurous. Hmmm-kay. Then I read his profile message: simple understanding sweet prank
What a joke.
Thursday, October 09, 2008
Parental Guidance
Since we were on the topic of sex, I turned to Leigh and casually mentioned, “I wonder if your sister has had sex already—I mean, I doubt if she’s still a virgin.”
It’s to the credit of either the chef at F Word that their beef tapa salad was irresistibly delicious, or Leigh’s unflappable sensibilities—and a sturdy stomach—that she didn’t choke on her food after I said that.
She turned to me and replied, “Er, I have no idea.” Then she laughed and shoveled more beef tips, onions, tomato and mango into her mouth.
“But haven’t you asked her?” I asked. Leigh’s older sister is an ob-gyne, so I assumed that a person who’s so intimate with sex organs and the consequences of sex would be very nonchalant and matter-of-factly bored with the subject.
Leigh shot me a look of exasperation. “No I don’t!” she said. “If she brings it up, maybe I’ll talk to her about it. But you know….”
“Why don’t you?” I probed further. “Wouldn’t you want to know? Aren’t you a bit curious?”
Leigh adapted a tone that I suspect she uses only for children and slow-witted clients. “Well you see, one usually does not think of one’s family in a sexual way. It’s just weird.”
“Well I have,” I said. “Especially the married ones with kids. I’m pretty sure they’ve done the deed. And even with my parents, ha! I mean, we’re seven kids, for cryin’ out loud!”
I think that’s when Leigh stopped eating.
* * * * *
The first time I realized that my parents were sexual creatures was when I was still a student. I really don’t remember exactly when—that’s how much I wanted to block the incident out of my memory. But I couldn’t completely delete it, so while I don’t remember what age I was, I do know that: [1] I was old enough to know about the birds and the bees; [2] our youngest sister was still young enough to be allowed to sleep in my parents’ bed at night (which she often does when she’s afraid of the dark).
Anyway, it was one weekend morning. My two sisters, both younger than me, and I were in our backyard. Out of the blue the younger of the two said, “I think Mommy and Daddy were fighting last night.”
When we asked why, she said, “Because Daddy was pinning Mommy down under him.”
I remember how it took a few milliseconds for the thought to register in my brain. I remember a vivid visual pop into my head, and my mind immediately swiping that visual away, as if an internal anti-virus alert had switched on. I also remember how quiet the older of the sisters was, as though she too knew the implication of what her younger sibling said. And I remember brushing aside my sister’s worries, saying something along the lines of, “Really? Well, maybe not. They looked okay this morning. They didn’t look like they were fighting.” Then I quickly invited them to climb our duhat tree to change the topic.
It took me weeks to embrace the idea that what my sister saw was what I thought she saw. There was no other explanation. And when I confronted the idea head-on, I realized that I could summon at will the initial vision I had when I first heard the news. What’s more, as the years progressed I could actually prolong playing the visual in my head.
I’ve seen my dad in shorts sans shirt, so it was easy for me to extrapolate a visual. Out of respect, humility and a fear of not wanting to be turned on by my own father, I never bothered to fully imagine my dad’s endowment. I mean, I had mentally assigned to him something of an average length, width, and shape, but I never really needed to concretely “see” his willy; my visuals had no private parts exposed.
With my mom it was a little more difficult. I’ve never seen her without clothes; she never dresses up in front of us boys. At best I’ve seen her as she’s quickly slipping on a pambahay t-shirt; her back was always turned to everyone else, so I could only see her back, with a bra and shorts on. Besides, the female anatomy never fascinated me, ever.
So my parental coital visual was always a more vivid Dad and a blurry Mom. Besides, she’s pinned down under him, so that gave me a convenient excuse not to imagine further.
Thanks to my early practice with my parents, I learned how to do that to my other siblings, especially once they got married. There was nothing sexual about my imagining them; it was more of an “I wonder how they…?” curiosity. And my visuals were always of the PG-kind, all tastefully shot and blocked.
(I suspect my younger sister was traumatized by the experience. Still, that never stopped her from having pre-marital sex with her [then] boyfriend and getting pregnant. [She had a miscarriage; that blew her secret wide open. My parents insisted they get married as soon as she was well enough.] Perhaps that’s why she ended up the most problematic of us kids. That may be silly pop psychology, but I’ll take that explanation for now.)
It’s to the credit of either the chef at F Word that their beef tapa salad was irresistibly delicious, or Leigh’s unflappable sensibilities—and a sturdy stomach—that she didn’t choke on her food after I said that.
She turned to me and replied, “Er, I have no idea.” Then she laughed and shoveled more beef tips, onions, tomato and mango into her mouth.
“But haven’t you asked her?” I asked. Leigh’s older sister is an ob-gyne, so I assumed that a person who’s so intimate with sex organs and the consequences of sex would be very nonchalant and matter-of-factly bored with the subject.
Leigh shot me a look of exasperation. “No I don’t!” she said. “If she brings it up, maybe I’ll talk to her about it. But you know….”
“Why don’t you?” I probed further. “Wouldn’t you want to know? Aren’t you a bit curious?”
Leigh adapted a tone that I suspect she uses only for children and slow-witted clients. “Well you see, one usually does not think of one’s family in a sexual way. It’s just weird.”
“Well I have,” I said. “Especially the married ones with kids. I’m pretty sure they’ve done the deed. And even with my parents, ha! I mean, we’re seven kids, for cryin’ out loud!”
I think that’s when Leigh stopped eating.
* * * * *
The first time I realized that my parents were sexual creatures was when I was still a student. I really don’t remember exactly when—that’s how much I wanted to block the incident out of my memory. But I couldn’t completely delete it, so while I don’t remember what age I was, I do know that: [1] I was old enough to know about the birds and the bees; [2] our youngest sister was still young enough to be allowed to sleep in my parents’ bed at night (which she often does when she’s afraid of the dark).
Anyway, it was one weekend morning. My two sisters, both younger than me, and I were in our backyard. Out of the blue the younger of the two said, “I think Mommy and Daddy were fighting last night.”
When we asked why, she said, “Because Daddy was pinning Mommy down under him.”
I remember how it took a few milliseconds for the thought to register in my brain. I remember a vivid visual pop into my head, and my mind immediately swiping that visual away, as if an internal anti-virus alert had switched on. I also remember how quiet the older of the sisters was, as though she too knew the implication of what her younger sibling said. And I remember brushing aside my sister’s worries, saying something along the lines of, “Really? Well, maybe not. They looked okay this morning. They didn’t look like they were fighting.” Then I quickly invited them to climb our duhat tree to change the topic.
It took me weeks to embrace the idea that what my sister saw was what I thought she saw. There was no other explanation. And when I confronted the idea head-on, I realized that I could summon at will the initial vision I had when I first heard the news. What’s more, as the years progressed I could actually prolong playing the visual in my head.
I’ve seen my dad in shorts sans shirt, so it was easy for me to extrapolate a visual. Out of respect, humility and a fear of not wanting to be turned on by my own father, I never bothered to fully imagine my dad’s endowment. I mean, I had mentally assigned to him something of an average length, width, and shape, but I never really needed to concretely “see” his willy; my visuals had no private parts exposed.
With my mom it was a little more difficult. I’ve never seen her without clothes; she never dresses up in front of us boys. At best I’ve seen her as she’s quickly slipping on a pambahay t-shirt; her back was always turned to everyone else, so I could only see her back, with a bra and shorts on. Besides, the female anatomy never fascinated me, ever.
So my parental coital visual was always a more vivid Dad and a blurry Mom. Besides, she’s pinned down under him, so that gave me a convenient excuse not to imagine further.
Thanks to my early practice with my parents, I learned how to do that to my other siblings, especially once they got married. There was nothing sexual about my imagining them; it was more of an “I wonder how they…?” curiosity. And my visuals were always of the PG-kind, all tastefully shot and blocked.
(I suspect my younger sister was traumatized by the experience. Still, that never stopped her from having pre-marital sex with her [then] boyfriend and getting pregnant. [She had a miscarriage; that blew her secret wide open. My parents insisted they get married as soon as she was well enough.] Perhaps that’s why she ended up the most problematic of us kids. That may be silly pop psychology, but I’ll take that explanation for now.)
Monday, October 06, 2008
Back At SM City Marikina
Coming soon! 
Coming soon!
I spoke too soon.
Hey Penshoppe people! This is how not to light your window display poster.
The title is just wrong.
Ang ganda pa rin ng lola mo, ha.
Coming soon!
I spoke too soon.
Hey Penshoppe people! This is how not to light your window display poster.
The title is just wrong.
Ang ganda pa rin ng lola mo, ha.
Friday, October 03, 2008
The Emancipation Of McVie
“Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn’t it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life… you give them a piece of you. They didn’t ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn’t your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like ‘maybe we should be just friends’ turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It’s a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love.”
– Neil Gaiman
* * * * *
I hate it. I stumbled upon this quote from one of my most favorite authors of all time, and it just… argh. Thank god I’ve moved on. Had I read this a few months ago, I’d have flipped. Well, you wouldn’t have seen me flip; I wouldn’t have let you. But my friends would know. And that’s why I refused to be your friend. I refused to be close to you, at least for now. I refused to be your hostage anymore.
I set myself free of you, and that’s that.
– Neil Gaiman
* * * * *
I hate it. I stumbled upon this quote from one of my most favorite authors of all time, and it just… argh. Thank god I’ve moved on. Had I read this a few months ago, I’d have flipped. Well, you wouldn’t have seen me flip; I wouldn’t have let you. But my friends would know. And that’s why I refused to be your friend. I refused to be close to you, at least for now. I refused to be your hostage anymore.
I set myself free of you, and that’s that.
Thursday, October 02, 2008
McVie’s Most Favorite Episodes (Part 2)
When I came out with “Presenting TransGenders: More Than Meets The Eyeliner” episode last year, I thought it was just one of my throwaway episodes, a trivial tribute to the kick-ass Michael Bay Transformers movie. Viewing it again I only realize now how meta-referential I was with this one. And to think when I started writing it, I wasn’t trying to be funny; I was just looking for words that had the syllable “bot” in them.
This episode first came out 04 July 2007.
(You can view the original episode, with commentary, here.)
* * * * *
Presenting TransGenders: More Than Meets The Eyeliner
The KemBots, a new breed of sentient machines tasked with just one mission: to propagate beauty and sass throughout the universe!
The KuluBots, their mortal enemy, who are out to spread stress, worry and wrinkles to all sentient creatures who need at least SPF-15 level of protection.
The BeBots, a friendly ally to the KemBots, these sentient machines are also know as “fag hags.”
The Bi-Bots, a group of sentient machines that have their wires crossed somewhat; they swing from KemBot to KuluBot depending on the situation. In other words, palyado.
The CallBots, a breed of machines designed to entice the KemBots to ride them—for a fee. They are led by MegaDaks, a ten-wheeler notorious for filling up the whole length of Dakota-Harrison streets with the length of his, uhm, exhaust pipe. (After you go through his pipe—or his pipe goes through you—you’ll understand why it’s “exhausting.”)
The Vi-and-Bots, old-timer machines who remember the time when transistors were used, tubes powered television sets, and Vilma Santos and Edgar Mortiz were a love-team instead of a governor with a lot of beef and an executive producer of Goin’ Bulilit.
The Motocross Dressers, a specialized form of two-wheeled machines that transform into big sexy robots with huge hooters and a penchant for lip-synching. Currently they have the soundtrack of “Dreamgirls” on heavy rotation in their CD/MP3 players.
The Emoticons, they’re not really machines. They’re small pieces “of specialized ASCII art (usually two to five characters, always on a single line) used in text messages as informal markup to indicate emotions and attitudes that would be conveyed by body language in face-to-face communications. They are intended to be relatively simple to type, easy to recognize, and most commonly represent stylized facial expressions.” (from Wikipedia)
The Revicons, they’re multi-vitamins. (Product placement! Just like in the movie!)
* * * * *
Is it obvious I’m too busy these days?
This episode first came out 04 July 2007.
(You can view the original episode, with commentary, here.)
* * * * *
Presenting TransGenders: More Than Meets The Eyeliner
The KemBots, a new breed of sentient machines tasked with just one mission: to propagate beauty and sass throughout the universe!The KuluBots, their mortal enemy, who are out to spread stress, worry and wrinkles to all sentient creatures who need at least SPF-15 level of protection.
The BeBots, a friendly ally to the KemBots, these sentient machines are also know as “fag hags.”
The Bi-Bots, a group of sentient machines that have their wires crossed somewhat; they swing from KemBot to KuluBot depending on the situation. In other words, palyado.
The CallBots, a breed of machines designed to entice the KemBots to ride them—for a fee. They are led by MegaDaks, a ten-wheeler notorious for filling up the whole length of Dakota-Harrison streets with the length of his, uhm, exhaust pipe. (After you go through his pipe—or his pipe goes through you—you’ll understand why it’s “exhausting.”)
The Vi-and-Bots, old-timer machines who remember the time when transistors were used, tubes powered television sets, and Vilma Santos and Edgar Mortiz were a love-team instead of a governor with a lot of beef and an executive producer of Goin’ Bulilit.
The Motocross Dressers, a specialized form of two-wheeled machines that transform into big sexy robots with huge hooters and a penchant for lip-synching. Currently they have the soundtrack of “Dreamgirls” on heavy rotation in their CD/MP3 players.
The Emoticons, they’re not really machines. They’re small pieces “of specialized ASCII art (usually two to five characters, always on a single line) used in text messages as informal markup to indicate emotions and attitudes that would be conveyed by body language in face-to-face communications. They are intended to be relatively simple to type, easy to recognize, and most commonly represent stylized facial expressions.” (from Wikipedia)
The Revicons, they’re multi-vitamins. (Product placement! Just like in the movie!)
* * * * *
Is it obvious I’m too busy these days?
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