Excuse me, but as part of my duty as McNokia, a.k.a. connecting people, it’s now time for me to trot out the following article below. I found it a couple of years ago while surfing over the Internet looking for answers to an animated discussion my friends and I had over rounds of beer: Is there proper etiquette for couples (especially newly-minted ones) to behave around their friends (especially the single ones)?
Read on and see if you agree or disagree.
In the following article, Bob Morris of the New York Times says he was single for the longest time. But then he found the love of his life, Ira. So now he feels awkward dealing with couples in love. As he puts it so clearly: “So now that I’m coupled, I’m racked with single survivor guilt.”
Read the rest of his article below: THE AGE OF DISSONANCE; My Single Valentines.
* * * * *
Last spring, a friend was coming over to meet Ira, my demonstrative beau, for the first time. I asked Ira to avoid any public display of affection. He thought I was being neurotic. I thought I was being polite. But it made me wonder, are there proper ways for couples to behave around singles? Or should the two groups avoid each other entirely?
“Anyone in a new relationship should not be allowed out in public,” said Liz Tuccillo, a co-author of He’s Just Not That Into You, a best-selling dating advice book. “They should just stay home and not inflict themselves on their single friends until they’ve become slightly bored with each other.” As the single friend, she has had to endure lunches with those whose boyfriends keep calling on the cellphone and evenings where they have brought dates along, making her feel like a third wheel.
“Sometimes people in couples don’t think,” she said.
On the other hand, sometimes they think too much and end up overcompensating.
“I think that it’s the job of a friend in a couple,” said Genevieve Field, the married editor of Sex and Sensibility, a new anthology of essays by single women, “to make single friends see how fantastic they are and not let them think they have to settle for the wrong man.” She ends up arguing with them to the death that they won’t end up old maids. Cindi Leive, the editor in chief of Glamour, finds herself feeling apologetic when a single friend ends up at one of her parties of mostly couples. Then she goes overboard to engage them, ignoring the rest of her guests—to make sure they don’t feel they’re standing out.
In Nerve’s Guide to Sex Etiquette, several pages are devoted to the sticky issues of newly coupled friends. Thinking of bringing the new squeeze along to a drinks date with old friends? Ask them first. Thinking of blowing off your pals because your loved one suddenly needs you? Think again. And by all means, make sure that the first words out of your mouth when greeting a friend you haven’t seen in a while are not, “So are you seeing anybody?” That immediately conveys the message that you think they’re lonely. They may not be. Let them bring it up first. Also, take care not to gloat about how happy you are now that you’re hitched. That isn’t just alienating. It’s boring.
“Try to limit altering your behavior when in a new relationship,” advised Emma Taylor, who is a co-author of Nerve’s sex etiquette guide with Lorelei Sharkey under the names Em and Lo. “So that when you go out with old friends you’re the same person you always were.”
* * * * *
I wonder. Does this include online as well?
For the full article, click here.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Music To My Ears
I now have a new message alert and ringtone, and it’s making me giggle every time someone calls or sends me a text message. Which is great, because we all need laughter and joy every day.
This is my ringtone:
And this is my message alert:
Thank you, Ate Vi!
P.S. – If you want a copy of the ringtone and/or message alert, go to my podcast a.k.a. The McVie Show In Stereo (link on the right side column). Unfortunately you need to edit out the mandatory spiel that’s automatically added by mypodcast.com (“This podast is part of mypodcast-dot-com…”). Sorry about that. =)
* * * * *
And another great, great news for us kasuys: Dan and Rye are back in The Dan & Rye Show! Hooray! Missed you, guyz.
Go to http://tdrs.mypodcast.com/ or click here. Now na, as in now na!
This is my ringtone:
And this is my message alert:
Thank you, Ate Vi!
P.S. – If you want a copy of the ringtone and/or message alert, go to my podcast a.k.a. The McVie Show In Stereo (link on the right side column). Unfortunately you need to edit out the mandatory spiel that’s automatically added by mypodcast.com (“This podast is part of mypodcast-dot-com…”). Sorry about that. =)
* * * * *
And another great, great news for us kasuys: Dan and Rye are back in The Dan & Rye Show! Hooray! Missed you, guyz.
Go to http://tdrs.mypodcast.com/ or click here. Now na, as in now na!
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Some Kind Of A Love Letter
My dad was never the demonstrative type. Growing up, I resented him because he wasn’t like the ideal dads I watched on TV. But years later when I realized that he grew up without a father figure, I forgave him for something that technically isn’t his fault. The moment I let go of that resentment, I saw my dad in a kinder light. That’s why the day he tossed the car keys to me and said, “You drive the car,” I realized that he was actually saying, “I love you, and I trust your mother’s life and mine in your hands.” Or he was just tired of driving and wanted to sleep on the way home, but what the heck.
My mom was more hands-on with us. She was the one who knew it all, who helped us with our homework (especially math). Growing up I thought she had all the answers. But when my older brother and I were placed in the honors class starting when I was in grade five, I started becoming less dependent on what she knew, and slowly I heard the words, “We were never taught that” from her. I remember one day at the dinner table; all of us kids who were there had already graduated and were working. We got into a discussion about religion, and she was insisting on some teaching that was pre-Vatican II. I remember us reasoning out with her, that the Church had already changed its views on that particular issue. I remember her grudgingly ending the discussion with, “Oh?” and keeping her peace after that. From then on, she’d treat us not just as adults but also as equals. And when my dad died, she’d always ask me what I think and would sometimes defer to me for decisions. But my mom is still my mom, and I’ll always defer to her.
When my older brother and I were kids, our mom loved buying identical clothes for us since we were just a year-and-a-half apart. But we were as opposites as a Virgo and a Piscean can be. We shared a room for several years while growing up; his side was neat and orderly, while my stuff kept moving around. He was Mr. Popular in his class and was elected student body president when he was in grade 7; I was often one of the last to be picked for a team in any intramural sport. He excelled in school and was always top one in class; I had to struggle to scratch the top ten. I kept hearing my parents say, “Why can’t you be more like your brother?” So when he joined the grade school student council, I joined the theater group. I thought I had escaped his shadow. But in high school, he also joined the theater group. And we’d ride the jeepney going home after rehearsals ended late in the afternoon. During weekends when we had Saturday evening performances, we wouldn’t join the rest of the family for the 8am mass because we didn’t want to wake up early. So we’d both walk to the church for the 10am mass, and I’d always let my older brother walk slightly ahead of me. Soon people began to notice that he and I had the same gait. By college he pursued helping others by joining a catechetical instruction group, while I went full-tilt into theater. Today he still teaches high school kids, while I try to entertain folks.
My younger sister and I once had a major fight. But our parents raised us such that if we siblings would fight with one another, both parties were punished regardless of who started the fight. So we ended up not talking or minding one another. After several days my mom got so worried that she tried to talk us both into making peace with one another; neither of us budged. I think the silent treatment lasted for a week and a half. I don’t remember now how or who broke the ice first. All I remember was I got tired of ignoring someone who hitched with me in the car everyday going to work.
Our youngest sister ended up the most problematic. Funny, because when she was born she was the darling of all the adults in our clan. She was the prettiest, with the fairest skin among us siblings. Yet she turned out to be the most insecure. When her boyfriend got her pregnant, my very Catholic parents were even willing for her to be an unwed mother, just to prevent solving a mistake with a bigger one. But even after her miscarriage she insisted on marrying a guy that she knew her parents and her siblings didn’t quite approve of, because: [1] she felt our parents would be more disappointed if she remain unmarried; [2] she didn’t think she’ll meet another guy who would love her. When they said their vows in church I told myself, “I give them six months.” Eight years later they’re still married, even if my sister is in Singapore trying to earn a living while her husband works here.
My mom was especially worried that our younger brother would become a secular, drug-addicted socialist when he chose to study in UP Los Baños. But he ended up doing well in several bands. Unfortunately the band bubble burst when the acoustic craze took over. Plus with a baby to feed, he decided to settle down. The one who used seem so worry-free and happy-go-lucky turned out to be a responsible though unconventional dad who’s managed to retain his generally unflappable self.
Brian was four years old when he died. Our uncles and aunts all agree that among us siblings he was the most handsome with the sweetest disposition. My mom rationalized his early departure from this world: perhaps God needed another angel in heaven. And with a tearful farewell on his burial day, she let her lovely baby go to his Creator. (Which actually works out for me, because then no one would go, “You’re Brian’s brother?! How come he’s good-looking and you’re— oops, er, I think my phone’s ringing, excuse me!” Thank God for that. Literally.)
Our youngest was two when his older bother died on Dec. 26, so he got all of Brian’s Christmas gifts that year. After losing a child of their own, my parents raised him spoiled. But he had five older siblings putting him in his place, and he grew up fairly well adjusted. Except that he does have a stubborn streak and a temper that flares up once in a while. And I’m worried for him. He left his teaching job because he didn’t like how the school was running things. It’s been several years now and he still doesn’t have a job yet.
* * * * *
I’ve not officially come out to anyone in my family. I wouldn’t be surprised if they have an idea, especially my brothers and sisters since we have common friends. And you know the saying: “Mothers know.” As for my late dad, well, I’m sure he knows.
I wish them all my love this Valentine’s Day.
My mom was more hands-on with us. She was the one who knew it all, who helped us with our homework (especially math). Growing up I thought she had all the answers. But when my older brother and I were placed in the honors class starting when I was in grade five, I started becoming less dependent on what she knew, and slowly I heard the words, “We were never taught that” from her. I remember one day at the dinner table; all of us kids who were there had already graduated and were working. We got into a discussion about religion, and she was insisting on some teaching that was pre-Vatican II. I remember us reasoning out with her, that the Church had already changed its views on that particular issue. I remember her grudgingly ending the discussion with, “Oh?” and keeping her peace after that. From then on, she’d treat us not just as adults but also as equals. And when my dad died, she’d always ask me what I think and would sometimes defer to me for decisions. But my mom is still my mom, and I’ll always defer to her.
When my older brother and I were kids, our mom loved buying identical clothes for us since we were just a year-and-a-half apart. But we were as opposites as a Virgo and a Piscean can be. We shared a room for several years while growing up; his side was neat and orderly, while my stuff kept moving around. He was Mr. Popular in his class and was elected student body president when he was in grade 7; I was often one of the last to be picked for a team in any intramural sport. He excelled in school and was always top one in class; I had to struggle to scratch the top ten. I kept hearing my parents say, “Why can’t you be more like your brother?” So when he joined the grade school student council, I joined the theater group. I thought I had escaped his shadow. But in high school, he also joined the theater group. And we’d ride the jeepney going home after rehearsals ended late in the afternoon. During weekends when we had Saturday evening performances, we wouldn’t join the rest of the family for the 8am mass because we didn’t want to wake up early. So we’d both walk to the church for the 10am mass, and I’d always let my older brother walk slightly ahead of me. Soon people began to notice that he and I had the same gait. By college he pursued helping others by joining a catechetical instruction group, while I went full-tilt into theater. Today he still teaches high school kids, while I try to entertain folks.
My younger sister and I once had a major fight. But our parents raised us such that if we siblings would fight with one another, both parties were punished regardless of who started the fight. So we ended up not talking or minding one another. After several days my mom got so worried that she tried to talk us both into making peace with one another; neither of us budged. I think the silent treatment lasted for a week and a half. I don’t remember now how or who broke the ice first. All I remember was I got tired of ignoring someone who hitched with me in the car everyday going to work.
Our youngest sister ended up the most problematic. Funny, because when she was born she was the darling of all the adults in our clan. She was the prettiest, with the fairest skin among us siblings. Yet she turned out to be the most insecure. When her boyfriend got her pregnant, my very Catholic parents were even willing for her to be an unwed mother, just to prevent solving a mistake with a bigger one. But even after her miscarriage she insisted on marrying a guy that she knew her parents and her siblings didn’t quite approve of, because: [1] she felt our parents would be more disappointed if she remain unmarried; [2] she didn’t think she’ll meet another guy who would love her. When they said their vows in church I told myself, “I give them six months.” Eight years later they’re still married, even if my sister is in Singapore trying to earn a living while her husband works here.
My mom was especially worried that our younger brother would become a secular, drug-addicted socialist when he chose to study in UP Los Baños. But he ended up doing well in several bands. Unfortunately the band bubble burst when the acoustic craze took over. Plus with a baby to feed, he decided to settle down. The one who used seem so worry-free and happy-go-lucky turned out to be a responsible though unconventional dad who’s managed to retain his generally unflappable self.
Brian was four years old when he died. Our uncles and aunts all agree that among us siblings he was the most handsome with the sweetest disposition. My mom rationalized his early departure from this world: perhaps God needed another angel in heaven. And with a tearful farewell on his burial day, she let her lovely baby go to his Creator. (Which actually works out for me, because then no one would go, “You’re Brian’s brother?! How come he’s good-looking and you’re— oops, er, I think my phone’s ringing, excuse me!” Thank God for that. Literally.)
Our youngest was two when his older bother died on Dec. 26, so he got all of Brian’s Christmas gifts that year. After losing a child of their own, my parents raised him spoiled. But he had five older siblings putting him in his place, and he grew up fairly well adjusted. Except that he does have a stubborn streak and a temper that flares up once in a while. And I’m worried for him. He left his teaching job because he didn’t like how the school was running things. It’s been several years now and he still doesn’t have a job yet.
* * * * *
I’ve not officially come out to anyone in my family. I wouldn’t be surprised if they have an idea, especially my brothers and sisters since we have common friends. And you know the saying: “Mothers know.” As for my late dad, well, I’m sure he knows.
I wish them all my love this Valentine’s Day.
Friday, February 13, 2009
BB Does Boracay!
Talk about making a splash!
Her super shush-yal photos are all spreading like wildfire on the Internet (see them here in MGG). And on March, she’ll be in front of Phil. Advertising’s crème de la crème in Boracay. We’re so excited to see her, we’re so excited for her!
(And best of all, I’m going to put words in her mouth. Wheee!)
Her super shush-yal photos are all spreading like wildfire on the Internet (see them here in MGG). And on March, she’ll be in front of Phil. Advertising’s crème de la crème in Boracay. We’re so excited to see her, we’re so excited for her!
(And best of all, I’m going to put words in her mouth. Wheee!)
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Love Spelled Backwards Is EVOL!
All you single ladies, now put your hands up!
…in the air, and wave them like you just don’t Kier.
Legaspi.
Okay, so let’s tackle this head-on, no beating around the bush. So you think the whole world is conspiring to make you feel bad for this weekend? You can’t escape it, huh? Yeah, I’ve seen them too: the restaurant staff cutting heart-shaped cartolinas; all those ads for the concerts of Peter Cetera (who called us Filipinos karaoke kings or something like that—eek!) and all those musicians wanting to make a buck from all those romantic suckers; and the sky-rocketing prices of flowers, chocolates and short-time rates in motels.
If you are in panic, panic not. If you are in despair, despair not. If you are in searching desperately for a date this Saturday, search not. Do not fall for all these commercial trappings of Valentine’s Day. Remember, its initials are VD, so that should give you pause.
Instead, think about it this way. It is a celebration of love, and so you should celebrate the love you already have, and believe me, there is love all around you.
You want a supreme example of unconditional love? Hug your mom and dad. (Oh, so you and your parents don’t get along? Well… nyeh-nye-nye-nye-nyehhh! May jowa ka nga, pero ako naman, may happy family life! Belat! Bawi-bawian lang yan.)
Do you love your friends, especially the single ones? Then show them your love on Saturday. Go out on a group date. Or better yet (since traffic will definitely be horrendous), stay in someone’s house and have an impromptu sleep-over/pajama party.
Remind the people you already love and who already love you why they’re important in your life.
Love yourself. Treat yourself to something special. Demolish a Baconator and not feel guilty after. Indulge at a spa. Go to Hilom—happiness is extra service. Watch the sunset along Manila Bay. Read a book you’ve always wanted to but never had the time. Jog around the park. Jack off, or make a sleazy video of you jacking off (send me the mpeg, hm’kay?).
Valentine’s isn’t for couples only. So all the single ladies, put your hands up in the air and PAR-TAY like you just don’t Kier!
And if all else fails, watch the following. If by the first minute you’re not giggling uncontrollably, you need a huge dose of slap-in-the-face.
My most favorite moment: “C’mon, phleez… shy-ow me… where’s da par-tay?! I wanna PAR-TAY! C’mon, shyow mey! Hu-where’s DA PAR-TAY?!”
…in the air, and wave them like you just don’t Kier.
Legaspi.
Okay, so let’s tackle this head-on, no beating around the bush. So you think the whole world is conspiring to make you feel bad for this weekend? You can’t escape it, huh? Yeah, I’ve seen them too: the restaurant staff cutting heart-shaped cartolinas; all those ads for the concerts of Peter Cetera (who called us Filipinos karaoke kings or something like that—eek!) and all those musicians wanting to make a buck from all those romantic suckers; and the sky-rocketing prices of flowers, chocolates and short-time rates in motels.
If you are in panic, panic not. If you are in despair, despair not. If you are in searching desperately for a date this Saturday, search not. Do not fall for all these commercial trappings of Valentine’s Day. Remember, its initials are VD, so that should give you pause.
Instead, think about it this way. It is a celebration of love, and so you should celebrate the love you already have, and believe me, there is love all around you.
You want a supreme example of unconditional love? Hug your mom and dad. (Oh, so you and your parents don’t get along? Well… nyeh-nye-nye-nye-nyehhh! May jowa ka nga, pero ako naman, may happy family life! Belat! Bawi-bawian lang yan.)
Do you love your friends, especially the single ones? Then show them your love on Saturday. Go out on a group date. Or better yet (since traffic will definitely be horrendous), stay in someone’s house and have an impromptu sleep-over/pajama party.
Remind the people you already love and who already love you why they’re important in your life.
Love yourself. Treat yourself to something special. Demolish a Baconator and not feel guilty after. Indulge at a spa. Go to Hilom—happiness is extra service. Watch the sunset along Manila Bay. Read a book you’ve always wanted to but never had the time. Jog around the park. Jack off, or make a sleazy video of you jacking off (send me the mpeg, hm’kay?).
Valentine’s isn’t for couples only. So all the single ladies, put your hands up in the air and PAR-TAY like you just don’t Kier!
And if all else fails, watch the following. If by the first minute you’re not giggling uncontrollably, you need a huge dose of slap-in-the-face.
My most favorite moment: “C’mon, phleez… shy-ow me… where’s da par-tay?! I wanna PAR-TAY! C’mon, shyow mey! Hu-where’s DA PAR-TAY?!”
Every Story Has A Beginning And An End
May I just say—since I can only dream of owning a set—I envy to death my friend Leigh, who is now the proud owner of this:
OMG! OMFG! It’s Dream a.k.a. Morpheus and his older sister Death! And they’re bookends, which is so fitting because Neil Gaiman’s creation has generated enough books to make Lucien reserve a whole section in his library.
Gorgeous, just gorgeous.
OMG! OMFG! It’s Dream a.k.a. Morpheus and his older sister Death! And they’re bookends, which is so fitting because Neil Gaiman’s creation has generated enough books to make Lucien reserve a whole section in his library.Gorgeous, just gorgeous.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
10 Not-So-Random Things About The McVie Show
1. All of the episodes here are self-indulgent. This whole blogging thing is self-indulgent.
2. I write and edit every episode on Word. Then I cut-and-paste it in Blogger. Before I press “publish” I preview it; almost always I will discover a typo error, or a grammatical mistake. Or I’d reread a certain word, phrase, sentence or paragraph and decide it’s better written in another way. And after I publish it online, I still reread it at least twice. Almost all of the episodes here had reedits after I published it.
3. Just because a person reads, follows or links my blog does not mean that I read, follow or link his or her blog. Conversely, I may be interested in what someone has to say, but my thoughts may not necessarily interest him.
4. Ask me nicely and I’ll consider including your blog in my blogroll. My reason for including you in my blogroll can be quite arbitrary. So think of it this way: It’s. No. Big. Deal.
5. A non-inclusion in my blogroll does not in any way diminish the value of your blog. If I didn’t include you in my blogroll, it’s my loss, not yours.
6. I prefer a white background versus a dark background. Cleaner to look at and easier on the eyes.
7. One time I saw that there were 55 people following The McVie Show. A few days later the number dropped to 54. At first it bothered me. But when I realized that I too am guilty of failing to read other people’s blogs religiously, I got over it quickly.
8. I only follow around 6-7 blogs on a daily basis. The rest, whenever I have the time or I remember to check out their blog. Or if they’d post a lot more regularly.
9. This should be the last of this list shit.
10. I’m never tagging anyone.
2. I write and edit every episode on Word. Then I cut-and-paste it in Blogger. Before I press “publish” I preview it; almost always I will discover a typo error, or a grammatical mistake. Or I’d reread a certain word, phrase, sentence or paragraph and decide it’s better written in another way. And after I publish it online, I still reread it at least twice. Almost all of the episodes here had reedits after I published it.
3. Just because a person reads, follows or links my blog does not mean that I read, follow or link his or her blog. Conversely, I may be interested in what someone has to say, but my thoughts may not necessarily interest him.
4. Ask me nicely and I’ll consider including your blog in my blogroll. My reason for including you in my blogroll can be quite arbitrary. So think of it this way: It’s. No. Big. Deal.
5. A non-inclusion in my blogroll does not in any way diminish the value of your blog. If I didn’t include you in my blogroll, it’s my loss, not yours.
6. I prefer a white background versus a dark background. Cleaner to look at and easier on the eyes.
7. One time I saw that there were 55 people following The McVie Show. A few days later the number dropped to 54. At first it bothered me. But when I realized that I too am guilty of failing to read other people’s blogs religiously, I got over it quickly.
8. I only follow around 6-7 blogs on a daily basis. The rest, whenever I have the time or I remember to check out their blog. Or if they’d post a lot more regularly.
9. This should be the last of this list shit.
10. I’m never tagging anyone.
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