Me In The Mirror

Have you ever realized that you've never ever truly seen yourself?

The image of yourself that you've live with for your whole life is the one you see in the mirror, the one you see in pictures, the one you see in images...the one you see through a reflection. You see, images are always laterally inverted, so in this manner, let's say if I comb my hair to my right when looking at the mirror, it will appear to others as me having combed it to the left. And frankly, that's just mind-boggling.

I spend a whole lot of time looking at mirrors. I once said that if this world had no mirrors present, I'd be saving myself hours simply NOT looking at myself. But then *BAM* the person I see is not the same as what others see, and then...it dawns on you that though the you in the mirror simply look sooooo damn good, other people aren't seeing what you're seeing, and you might not be as perfect as you actually are.

My mind's been thoroughly...pardon the language, but yeah, it's been thoroughly "effed", blown, screwed over. This revelation means that the time I spend looking at the mirror will be effectively doubled because on top of looking at myself, I have to imagine myself as how other people see me. Gah. The logistics of it all slays me.

On a less superficial level, I guess you can use this as an analogy as to how other people look at you; I always think I'm perfect, right, humourous, charming, and shit like that, but am I really? What if I'm over-stepping boundaries without realizing it? What if the other person has limits which I've violated...raped even?

Haha. Who am I kidding?

It's all about the mirrors baby.

PS: Another one of my skipping ropes has been broken. Dang! And I just got it 2 months ago. It snapped totally. Fourth one since June. One thing I've got to be thankful for is that it didn't snap during my sprint-skipping...which happened once. Let's just say I sorta know what being caned/whipped feels like. Ouchy.

The Problem and The Solution to the Aforementioned Problem

So I watched Enchanted yesterday...and by far, it's the best movie I've seen this holidays. Game Plan was good, but not on par with this, and Bee Movie was average by all means, and don't get me started (yet again) on Beowulf because I believe I've said my piece on this piece. I give Enchanted 4 stars out of a possible 5.

But I'm not here to judge the movie. In fact, I can't even begin to judge the movie. You know what they say; you don't know me, so don't judge me, and that kind of crap. It applies in movies too, I believe. And yes, I've paid for the movie, and yes, I've sat through the whole movie...but alas, I was sitting...asleep. Yet again, Raymond Angelo sleeps through a segment of a movie for which he paid for in full.

Damnit.

I've had this problem for more than a year now, and to exacerbate this problem, I can't choose at which movie I fall asleep in. It doesn't matter if the movie's good, or bad, if there's a nude scene or explosions, if the combinations of factors (my body's position relative to the seat, the temperature of the air condition, amount of food in front of me) is satisfactory, I'll lull off with a snap... Ok, a silent snap. Let's see! A list of movies I've slept through, in no particular order, nor all-encompassing. In brackets are the sections I was sleeping:

-Simpsons (Almost the whole movie)
-Pirates of the Carribean (A good 3/4)
-Miami Vice (2nd Quarter)
-Fantastic Four (At the Climax)
-Death Note (The whole Build-up to the Climax)
-Beowulf (The whole movie...I wish)
-James Bond (Middle portion)
-Superman (3rd Quarter)
-Enchanted (Part where they go to real world, to singing)
-Rat-ta-2-ee

There's got to be more, but my memories of these times are...quite dream-like. I was sleeping, remember?

I've tried many ways to over-come this problem: I attempted to ask whoever's sitting next to me to nudge me awake, but after a few tries, they give up because I'm a dang heavy sleeper (by heavy, I mean figuratively, because I'm slim, by all means). There's the pigging out on food so that I won't fall asleep method, but that is financially exhausting.

Sigh. So is there a Solution to the Aforementioned Problem? I don't think so. For now, I'm going to look for a Support Group, or seek treatment for the condition I face. I am in need of help, and I'm sure there are others like me. Don't be ashamed of this condition; open up, seek help.

Or read comics!

Can't Let Go by Landon Pigg

This song haunted me all through my stay in Pakistan slightly less than a year ago. You see, at that time, I didn't have an MP3 player, so during our stop-over in Dubai, my mother bought me an early Christmas present in the form of a Microsoft Zune. As the technology in Pakistan is abit behind (or laggy), I could not download any new music, and had to settle for the songs which were already stored in the Zune.

Amongst the host of crap songs was a gem which I fell in love with entitled "Can't Let Go" by Landon Pigg. The tune never got my feet tapping, nor did I find Pigg's voice particularly special...it was the lyrics which caught me. You see, that time was a time of...emotional turmoil. I was in a relationship back then (I hear my older readers going "here he goes again", and you're right, here I go again!) and the long-distance was doing us no good. It was the holiday season, which should have been a time of joyous celebrations and the like, but we were separated not just by physical distance but by levels of technology; I had no access to the internet, and the phone calls and messages cost a got-damn bomb.

I thought we were at the end of the road. I was so emo back then, seriously! Imagine a grown-dude (yes, I only became a "man" recently) sitting in the garden and it's nearly midnight. It's freezing cold, but I'm wearing a singlet and shorts and doing push-ups as I listen to this particular song because I've got all this angst pent up. And I'm singing along too. Dang. I was miserable.

And this song really spoke to me as I thought off what could happen and what would happen. Now, reading the lyrics, listening to the song and singing along at a tuneless voice, I recall what DID happen, and how it sucked so badly at that time.

Can't Let Go by Landon Pigg

Well you're the closest thing I have
To bring up in a conversation
About a love that didn't last
But I could never call you mine
Cause I could never call myself yours
And if we were really meant to be
Well then we justify destiny
Its not that our love died
Just never really bloomed

Well I can't let go
No, I can't let go of you
You're holding me back without even trying to.
I can't let go
I can't move on from the past
Without lifting a finger you're holding me back.

And then we saw our paths diverge
And I guess I felt OK about it.
Until you got with another man,
And then I couldn't understand
Why it bothered me so.
How we didn't die we just
Never had a chance to grow.

I can't let go
No, I can't let go of you
You're holding me back without even trying to.
I can't let go
I can't move on from the past.
Without lifting a finger you're holding me back.

And it might not make much sense
To you or any of my friends
Though somehow still you affect the
Things I do.
And you can't lose what you never had
I don't understand why I feel sad
Every time I see you out with someone new.

I can't let go
No, I can't let go
No, I can't let go of you.

I can't let go
No, I can't let go of you
You're holding me back without even trying to.
I can't let go
I can't move on from the past
Without lifting a finger you're holding me back.

I can't let go
No, I can't let go of you
You're holding me back without even trying to.
I can't let go
I can't move on from the past

Of course, I'm all better now :) It's just that at times, one can't help but look back at the past and hurt a little. You know, if things turned out this way and not that, life may be so much better. But I'll throw away the "maybes"; I'll settle with what I have now.

Because I've let go. And I'm moving on.

PS: Originally, the song had no apostrophes whatsoever. I edited ever single one of them in because I'm a Grammar Nazi. All hail the Apostrophe!

Fully Booked

I've come to the stage where I've lost my faith in books. In my days of youth, I always found solace in books. Often, even in Primary School, I went to the library by myself to explore the wondrous words of words. They seem so full of life, experience and knowledge. From novels, to comics, to non-fiction, I devoured them all with zeal.

To this date, I remember still some of the books I have read...I remember borrowing a bunch of books about puberty, then bringing it to my Primary 5 class and having a laugh about the contents, which at that age, seemed like border-line pornography. There was the Star Wars books too, which looking back, seems so geeky. Ah...and who could forget Shojou mangas? They were comics meant for girls...but I read them nonetheless. Back then, my knowledge of the opposite gender was minimal (not that I'm any better off now, sadly) and I thought the best way to gain insight was through awesomely-drawn stories...Alas, I had never found myself in a situation where a girl falls on top of me and accidentally kisses me...sigh :'(. I tried my hand at the epics too, like Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit. Ahh...

Those days were sooo...innocent, never mind the contents of the books I read (Love Hina!). I have reached a stage whereby no book looks inviting enough. All the books I see right now...I can't help but feel I've read something similar in the past, or that they completely turn me off. The other day, I went to Borders with my classmates Rebecca and Jonathan, and while the two of them stood content in the sports section musing at an "Arsenal Fun-Fact Book" (Seriously, what the hat compels people to read this stuff, let alone WRITE) I found myself wondering down the corridors of books, without any of them rousing my interest.

This is making me melancholic. Am I such a cynic now that I've come to a point that everything looks jaded? Have I lost my innocence to the extent that I know that fiction is fiction and nothing will ever be laid out towards a clear and complete "Happily ever after?" It's sad.

And I'm sad.

Non-fiction books doesn't seem to do it for me either; for a time, I found the draw of books regarding global affairs. But there just seems to be so much suffering...reading about one; how does it help? All I'm left with is the knowledge but no means to help, and ultimately, all I have is the burden of the knowledge of the suffering from which I'll collapse under. Like they say, I'd rather live in blissful ignorance.

I hope I made sense.











PS: Amanda's reading this, and this post was written to prove that I'm not solely full of nonsense. Hah!

My Role Model

This is amazing. Seriously...one should watch this, guys especially, because this is...a bachelor's pad by all means. When I get my own place, I'll make sure to have one of those toilet seats.

Barney, you're my role-model. And below here's the Hot-Crazy Scale, in video, so that it's easier to visualise.

Raymond Angelo is...

People have always been confused about my background. Taxi drivers have spoken to me in all of Singapore's National Languages. With the exception of Tamil, I've been able to pass off and make conversation in the respective tongues, including Chinese (yas!)...but that's not the point. Nobody's ever really clear what I am; one tell-tale sign of a Filipino is not what you see, but what you hear. There's a distinctive Pinoy accent: Look out for the pronounced pronunciation of "R". There are other aural signs as well, but at this moment, they're at the tip of my tongue.

Gah; unsuitable expression alert. The accent's totally left me, so it's not even at the tip of my tongue.

So, my accent's been...Singaporean-ed, and everything else about me has been blurred too. I feel like my roots have been lost, and it's depressing, in a way.

In a semi-serious soul-searching discussion with my mum, I've found out more about my ethnicity. I have Chinese blood, and Spanish blood, on top of my Filipino blood. I think that's very enticing, especially towards vampires, don't cha think? If my blood was ever sold at vampire blood-pubs worldwide, I know what it will be called.

Exoticoption.

Skip This

My old skipping routine was weak, I realised. If I wanted to get myself back on track to getting that ideal body, I needed to step up my game. Get my head in the game, all over the game, on top of the game. I gotta be the game.

I used to the three sets of an arithmetic progression of skips, with the 1st Term being 10, and the common difference being 10, also. Therefore, by the formulas given to be used in calculation of the sum of terms in an arithmetic progression, the number of skips I do is:

Considering the number of skips is equals to (n/2)[2a+(n-1)d]

where n=number of sets=10
a=first term=10
d=common difference=10

Therefore we have (10/2)[2(10)+(10-1)(10)]=550

Since I do three sets of that, we multiply that number by three, and get 1650. But that's not enough. Sure, I'd be panting by this moment, especially since I'm wearing my wrist and ankle weights which adds around 8 kilos...but that's not enough. To attain perfection, I must first break free from the regular conventions. I have to...push it...to the...limit...

So here's what I did! I kept n, but changed a to 50, and the common difference to 50. Therefore we have

(10/2)[2(50)+(10-1)(50)=2750

If I do this every single day during the holidays, toss in a couple of push-ups and crunches, I'll be a super man. Gar.

Anyways! Plans for today: Go to KAP to study for a few hours, then go to Wireman's house to play tennis, and then have dinner with the Queenstownians. ONS. But what about now? I'm going to watch White Chicks. I can't believe I've never seen the show before.

Ciaossu.

EVERYBODY MUST WATCH THIS!

Oh my god, they rock so much.

Becoming Alpha

I watched Beowulf yesterday with a bunch of my Quest mates; it was Nigel's birthday. The bastard got a Playstation 3 for his birthday. I want to kill him, like, murder him slowly, maybe smash his Playstation 3 against his head, just for kicks, but I won't. What I'll shove a pencil through his ear hole, and wait for it to bleed to death. Gahahaah. That's what he gets for getting a Playstation 3. Get a Wii, damnit!

Anyways, back to Beowulf. Beowulf, both the movie and the character, is completely pointless, wanton and a general waste of time and money. It seems like it does things just for the sake of doing it, with no basis whatsoever. I deeply admire Beowulf (the character) and his quest for self-gratifying glory; I too wish to be that narcissistic when I am of that age.

But must he take off his pants while fighting the giant/ogre/troll (they used all three to refer to him) Grendel? He said he wanted to fight this creature...unarmed. So he tosses aside his armor, which is fine, and his weapons, which is fine too, but then he takes off his undies, and all of a sudden, I'm seeing things I never want to see again. It's like Sentosa all over again, seriously! They censored his privates...badly, but the vision of his backside will take litres of coke to erase. No matter how "perfect" he might be, he's still a guy, and last time I checked, I was straight, bearing no interest in seeing his butt.

So...they show off his butt gratuitously. How is the one-eyed-trouser-snake (I'm sorry) treated? It, as I mentioned in the last paragraph, is censored...with strategically places props. I imagine the directors having a conversation which follows as such--

Incompetence: Hey, his privates are going to appear on the screen when he turns around.
Stupidity: Name me something which can hinder his ding-dongs from view.
Incompetence: An arm?
Stupidity: Excellent. Barbarian #1 will, through sheer coincidence, stand at this position, so as to obscure the audience's vision of his wand.
Incompetence: You are brilliant. Would you marry me?
Stupidity: Excuse me?

Ahh...yes, only gays could have made the atrocity that was Beowulf. Not that I got anything against gays, just so you know. Anyways! Their censorship of his penis was ridiculous! Let's place a jar! Now a glass! Now a lamp! Here's a solution! Wear underwear! And he did too, at the later part of the film. Gah. If only he had done it earlier, but no, they wanted us to see his buttocks.

And the battle with Grendel...goodness that was horrible. So...so...so horrible.

Moving on to other aspects of Beowulf (the movie) that I didn't like, the story itself made no sense. Seriously...no sense at all. So Beowulf (the character) is a guy who lives to glorify himself...right...and this demon...seduces him...Why? Because she's a demon. She seduces the king, too. Why? Because she's a demon. And everything else that she does? Why? Because she's a demon. They say the devil is in the details, but in this case, it's the demons. She's not in the details though. There are no details. Just a "plot" to be taken at face-value.

And this demon...is Angelina Jolie? Why? Because she's hot? Seriously, what a waste. She was plonked in just for her star value, and nothing more. She acted, but my god, the accent she put on was horrible, and I could barely understand her. Why, Angelina?

All in all, Beowulf (the movie, and I think you're pretty irritated by now, no?) is a series of questions, which are never answered. Why 3D? Why kill? Why the dragon? Why the sword? Why is everyone so ugly? Why Why Why YYYYYYYY?!

Ultimately though, there's just one thing you should ask yourself. "Should I watch this movie?" "No," Go donate to a charity of your choosing. Get a manicure, get a padicure. Go eat frog legs. Just please, don't watch this movie.

Admittedly, the graphics are ground-breaking, but what does it achieve? It certainly failed to make the movie any more appealing, and hence forth, a waste. Sigh.

On other news: I had lunch with our batch of Clan Heads today, and they're a bleeding fun bunch of people, and I can't help but look forward to working with them :)

The Hot/Crazy Scale

The theory of evolution alleges that humans evolved from monkeys. If we accept this “theory,” then we must also accept that over the course of millions of years, women have become more attractive, less hairy and infinitely crazier.

The problem is certain women’s increase in physical attractiveness has been disproportional to their increase in psychosis. Luckily for us, a chart exists where we can see just how out of balance the ratio between your hotness and craziness has become - knowledge that can prove to be invaluable over the course of your daily life.

Now, you know how hot you are. But you probably have no idea how crazy you are – a major contributing factor to the problem. That’s where the great Professor Barnabus Stinson comes to the rescue. Be honest and rate your hotness from 1-10. Then, take the following simple quiz I’ve designed to see where you fall on the hot/crazy scale.

1. You’re walking down the street and see Matt Damon. You:

a: Gawk from afar and let him pass unbothered.
b: Run up to him and beg to have his babies.
c: Stab him with a pen.

2. You’re driving on the freeway and someone cuts you off. You:

a: Take a deep breath, count to ten, and do a random act of kindness.
b: Hold down your horn and scream obscenities.
c: Stab him with his own broken windshield wiper.

3. You see a kitten stuck in a tree. You:

a: Call the fire department and wait for professional help.
b: Climb up and rescue it, then take it home to join the 125 other cats you currently care for.
c: Stab it with a tree branch.

4. You’re on a date with a fellow and it’s not going well. You:

a: Explain to him you’re just not compatible and offer to split the check.
b: Start a small fire in the ladies’ bathroom thus evacuating the restaurant and ending your date.
c: Finish your decadent five-course dinner, then stab him with a lobster claw.

5. Your boss makes a pass at you. You:

a: Report it to human resources.
b: Go for it, then blackmail him for the rest of his natural life.
c: Stab him with his tie.

6. The barista screws up your double skim, half café, no sugar added caramel macchiato. You:

a: Drink whatever she gives you, so as to not create a scene.
b: Throw the scalding hot beverage into the barista’s face.
c: Stab her with a coffee cup.

7. It’s Christmas, a time of giving, charity, and joy. One of the Salvation Army Santa’s won’t stop ringing the bell in front of your apartment. You:

a: Thank him for doing the Lord’s work and give generously.
b: Tar and feather him from your fifth floor balcony.
c: Stab him with his bell, then steal his bucket.

8. Your grandparents are in town visiting. You:

a: Happily show them around town taking extra special care of them.
b: Berate them for the measly 12 bucks they gave you on last year’s birthday.
c: Stab them with their dentures.

9. You find a wallet in the middle of the street. You:

a: Locate the wallet’s owner and return it as found.
b: Steal the person’s identity and live as them.
c: Locate the wallet’s owner and stab them with their license.

10. Your boyfriend proposes. You:

a: Tearfully admit that you’re already married but not opposed to polygamy.
b: You say, “Honestly, we’ve had a lot of great times together but I just don’t see a future between us” thus breaking his heart… then you pick up the pieces of said broken heart, and stab him with it.
c: Say, “Yes, yes, a million times yes!”

To find your “Crazy” rating, give yourself 0 points for every A response, 1 point for every B, and 2 points for every C. Take that total and divide by two. You now have your crazy number.

Now, using your self-assigned hot number, find your position on the Stinson Hot/ Crazy scale. Remember, you want to find yourself located on the hot side, not the crazy side. If the results are not to your liking, please adjust your appearance or personality accordingly.

Taken from: Barney's Blog (http://alpha.cbs.com/primetime/how_i_met_your_mother/blog.php)

Barney "Barnisbus" Stinson is a character in my dearly beloved show called "How I Met Your Mother", possibly one of the best shows in our time. It centres around Architect Ted Mosby in his telling to his children of how they met their mother. The premise is simple; the execution far from it. The show keeps the viewers interested with a fresh take on humour; to fully appreciate certain jokes, one must keep a keen eye on detail. It's not exclusive though, everyone, yes, even the slow ones, can enjoy this show.

It's the kind of show that you watch and think to yourself "That's how I want to be when I'm in my twenties,".

And the life lessons are useful, too. The values Barney have imparted upon me is deeply embedded in my head. The lemon law will live on, and when I earn enough money, I will wear suits. All the time.

It will be...LEGENDARY.

You might not be able to see it at first, but once you do see it, you can't un-see it. I'm so sorry. It had to be posted.

A Story of Mary and Jane

There we sat, a circle of 5: Me, Ziwei, Carey, Warrick and Allen. It felt like we were the Power Rangers, waiting for our wrist-watches to call us to action. In our state of tranquility, surrounded by the sand of Sentosa, we were at peace.

And then she came. Or did one of us "come", when she came?

Anyhow, she appeared, in her tiny black bikini. I thought she was hot, like bacon off a frying pan. She was sizzling in fact. The physique was heavenly, on a scale of 1 to 10, she's an 8: her figure was sooooo curvy-licious. The negative 2 came from the fact that she had a boyfriend with her. Minus one for having a boyfriend, and minus another one for having a boyfriend who wasn't good looking.

She settled in a spot of shade near us, and lied there, just lied there, with her boyfriend. They started hugging, and loving. In our circle (Or is it pentagon, hmm...), I was in a position such that my back was to the couple, so I only caught mere glimpses of their heated throes of passion. However, by virtue of me being a single guy, seeing them in the bliss of couple-hood sent her eight soaring down towards a zero.

And then she stood up. And then she took her top off. Gah. I didn't do the scene justice. Let me try again.

She parted from her lovers arms; her eyes were misty, as if she didn't want to let go. Yet she had to: the sun was calling out to her. She rose up, soaking up its rays. The sun loved her. The rays caught her contours perfectly, and any flaws, if there were any, were shrouded by the light, as the sun embraced her body in its perfection. As if to tease, she extended her arms outwards, stretching. The wind gently caressed her hair, and her hair played along as it was tossed in a manner befitting a shampoo commercial.

It seemed like a scene only scene in movies. And then the atmosphere took on a totally new light...er-herm. I mean, nude light. She took off her top. This time, the movie...was a porno movie.

I wasn't paying attention when it happened, but it happened. She took off her bikini top; I can't even imagine this scene, as I've never examined the mechanisms of a bikini top, so I'll just say it as plainly as I can. She took off her top. There.

Though I had no idea how the "taking off" happened, I saw the "coming out". By no means am I a pervert, but one can not help but ogle. I refuse to mention that part of the woman's anatomy, so from here on, I'll call them, it, her, whatever (!) Mary and Jane.

Mary and Jane bounced out of their confines; they were known to be perky, and under the sun, they stood proud, yet held a certain delicate softness. They were normally hidden under garments, yet today, they were, to put it bluntly, skinny dipping. They bounced up, and then down; they looked like they were playing a game of skipping, and both were trying desperately to skip higher than the other. They drew stares, of course, but the stares only made them perkier. The group of boys playing soccer nearby tried to keep their attentions to the balls, but some other round things, namely, Mary and Jane, were calling out to them.

The boyfriend whipped out a camera, and the girl proceeded to pose. Mary and Jane were still present; one can't seem to take one's eyes off them. The camera snapped pictures after pictures of Mary and Jane.

On that faithful afternoon, I had no camera, yet the mental image my hormonal (or is it hormonic) mind produced of Mary and Jane are still there.

Goodness, I'll just get on with it.

I SAW BREASTS ON SENTOSA ON NOVEMBER 13TH! THE DAY WILL BE WRITTEN ON STONE FOR ETERNITY! LET NOVEMBER 13TH BE A DAY OF DESTINY! A DAY WHERE RAYMOND ANGELO BECAME TRULY...A MAN!

PS: I'm not a perv. I'm only a man.

Twin Peaks

I've had a very busy week thus far, so sorry for the lack of updates. One of the resolutions I made during CCAAB was frankly, to blog more, so as to upkeep my writing finesse. This resolution shall hold strong for quite awhile, so expect regular updates unless I'm really really busy. My creative juices are pumping at full, what with the Orientation plot ideas bubbling under, and what not.

Council's been over-working me like how a really prissy Singaporean treats his/her maid; I had a Orientation meeting on Thursday, ushering on Friday, ushering on Saturday again, HOGL meeting on Sunday, PR meeting on Monday, HOGL meeting on Tuesday, council documents done on Wednesday and another Orientation meeting this afternoon. Seriously! Every single day, I've council-related work to do! I'm not complaining though: council work, especially if its with other councilors is hella fun.

And it's not like I'm working all the time. I was at 1SB2 chalet from Monday up to today! I didn't sleep-over on all days, because of meetings, but I was there for a substantial period of time, and I had a blast. Playing cards to waste the night away, watching mindless television and doing general random stuff, like singing in unknown languages was done, and we were laughing like crazy alot.

Things I learned from Chalet:

1) Parapara is fun, but one must note that he is standing not too far back, or else the side sensors will fail to sense one's arms.

2) Final Fantast: AC is an utter and complete achievement; no other movie has been able to make fights seem so boring. And I love my "mother", but at that point of time, watching the movie, I hated "Mother", and I'm still pissed I don't know who/what "Mother" is exactly.

3) Listen and pay attention to what other people are saying. As we were watching some random show on TV, this girl goes up and calls out to me. She said "What's your/the number?" I thought she was referring to the UNIT NUMBER, so I said "Eight," and she went "Huh?", and I said "Eight," again, and she clarified "What's your/the number?", and I said "Eight," Alas, both of us were confused, and we parted ways, both blur. Seriously...Gar.

4) In chalets, one can live perfectly fine even without his own toiletries. That's what friends are for. I went through the chalet with only a toothbrush; everything else was accomplished through a special power: the power of friendship.

I still owe the class a bunch of cash. Gah. I think I'll be off now because my fats are yearning for some burning. Know the post below this? The one about breasts? Look forward to the full story tomorrow.

Melons. Twin peaks. Hooters. Boobage.

BOOBAGE!

I saw breasts yesterday.

I SAW BREASTS YESTERDAY.

BREASTS.

OMFG.

Hip Hop Police

I've gone through many phases of music; through the years, my taste have changed, most of the time according to what popular culture favoured and on other occasions, based on my own weird eccentric tastes. The boyband phase, the pop phase, the anime phase, the japanese phase, the j-rock phase, the chinese phase, the emo rock phase, the rock phase, the techno phase, the indie phase, and here I am, in a totally unexplored genre: hip hop, or gangsta music, as I'll call it from this point onwards.

Gangsta seems more hip-hop-happening.

Why hip-hop? It's the beat, I think. You can lose yourself in the beat, and just dance to it. And it's not all beat (uhn-tiss-uhn-tiss, dimdumdimdum) too, because some of the lyrics are quite intelligent, and even inspiring and thought-provoking. Take Chamillionaire for example. Ignore the idiotic name, please, but if you give some of his songs a spin, they're very politically-charged, and thus give insight to life in the ghettos. I guess life there is hard, and you feel the pain, know?

This piece of poetry had me cheering, I swear, I nearly saluted:

The world is crazy, everyday I gotta wake up to this nonsense
Silly rappers think I'm worried about a punch-line
I show more purpose than your whole career in one line
Victory

Voolamak. This guy is the shyte, dawg. Up-high? Naw? Yeah, I think I should just stick to prim and proper english; the ghetto ain't chillin' wif me, mofo.

Dang.

But...but...but...for every intelligent rapper out there whose rhymes ooze sheer breath-taking poetry, there are those who spout lines like buckets of vomit. Give Timbaland a try and you'll see what I mean. Admittedly, his songs are catchy, but some of the lines just stick out so badly...it's just waiting to get bashed.

Baby girl, I don't got a huge ol' house I rent a room in a house
Listen baby girl, I ain't got a motorboat but I can float ya boat
So listen baby girl, once you get a dose of D.O.E. you gon' want some mo'
So listen baby girl, when I make it I want you there, want you there, yeah

I thought "float your boat" went out of fashion, along with popped collars, being a vegan and pilates? And rhyming "boat" with "boat" and "house" with "house" shows lack of inspiration.

And these two verses from the song Bounce.

Bounce (Like yo' ass had the hiccups)
Bounce (Like we was ridin' in my pick-up)
Bounce (Why you lookin' so sad? baby girl you need to cheer up)
Bounce (I got the remedy, it's you on me and me on you
And you on me and me on you and you on her
Then her on me and her on you and y'all on me
Then me on y'all and y'all on me
Menage a trois, menage a tr-uh-uh)

OOH! There she go
Just what the Doc's been lookin' fo'
She just what I need
Black and Chinese like Sum Yung Ho
I got a bungalow
We can diappear for a week or so (Yeah)
I got a steady young flow
Super bowl wit' it like I'm Dungy yo (Oh)

At least there's French in it. And "bungalow" is really clever; Sum Yung Ho sounds suspiciously like Some Young Hoe...I wonder if it's on purpose?

On other news! Uncover the buried AC treasure!

Death's Parting Wish

As a councilor, your duties are far-encompassing; you never know what's coming, but you have to accept it anyways. In my term so far, I've had to beat off advances of dogs in the night, stand outside the toilet for an hour, do a gajillion push-ups and bleed red, blue and gold. Seriously, you never know what's coming. Whoever said that becoming a councilor was all glamour and flash?

Yesterday's call of duty had me attending a funeral; the ex-principal's wife had passed recently, and the councilors were called in to help with ushering. So me and a whole bunch of people went down to Mandai for the service; it was solemn, and though I did not knew her personally, I grieved still. She seemed like a great woman.

At a funeral, one can't help but imagine their own funeral; as I stood there, I thought of when my time will come, and where will it be held, and who will be there, and what people will say. It's one of humanity's greatest flaw and gift: the ability to sympathize on one another, the ability to put one's self into somebody else's position. It's all a blur, thinking about it know. One thing I do know is that when I do pass, I'll be dragged down kicking, because I love life as it is.

So death, if you're after my neck, you'd have to work for it, because I'm not ready.

But then again, will any of us ever really be ready?

The Hole

Yesterday, I was down for Gala Dinner duty. What's that, you ask? Gala Dinner is a fund-raising extravaganza held by ACJC; the theme this year is "Let it shine!", and had the primary aim of raising funds yet again, for the upcoming Centre of Performing Arts. The CPA, after all, costs a bomb, and from the breakdown of the budget I saw yesterday, we've got a bit more to go to covering all the bills.

But enough about that: let's talk about me.

I woke up especially late yesterday at nine, OMG. I used to wake up at 7, and was pleased with waking at that time; I love spending my mornings doing "loner" stuff, like reading manga, or books while everybody else is still asleep. Or jogging. Jogging's fun. Anyways, I had to 1) get a haircut for my duty and 2) buy new shoes for my duty. My hair was getting out of control, and I realise it's time to return the shoes I've borrowed to their respective owners. I've held onto their soles long enough.

Getting the hair-cut was simple enough; go down to Sing Post for a snippity-snip and you get another good-looking guy, albeit with shorter hair. The shoe was a bleeding head-ache. I trooped over to Suntec's Bata...but I didn't have enough money, so I trooped back home where I was supposed to meet my mum to get some extra dough (sialah, ghetto speak). My mum calls me up when I'm on the bus home and asks me to head over to my brother's school. So begrudgingly, I got off the bus and crossed to the other side. And I get another call asking me to go home instead and wait there; my mum wanted to save me the trouble of travelling too much, so I crossed to the other side again and went home. I waited for 40 minutes just for her to get home. My bro had some stuff to settle in school apparently. I'm not blaming anyone for the delay, but boy was I pissed off.

Pass me a pen-knife, stat!

Time is 4:50! Time to reach destination is 5:15!

4:50 - Boarded the taxi.
4:57 - Reached Suntec
4:59 - Alighted from taxi (damn taxi driver and his incompetence!)
5:00 - Reached Bata.
5:01 - Bought new shoes without trying them out (This is gotta be a record. Amazing how I can take a minute to do something which takes a whole day to do for some.)
5:02 - Tried running to Ritz Carlton!
5:03 - Discovered that I was lost.
5:03 - Reached the Taxi Stand.
5:07 - In Taxi! 5:09 - Reached Ritz Carlton.
5:11 - Got lost, asked for directions, found toilet.
5:13 - Discover his pants still has a hole at the side.
5:14 - Changed and report!

GOAL! AND HE MAKES IT ON TIME! NO DEMERIT POINTS! YASSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!

The duty itself was quite simple. Stand near the auction gallery, look imposing so that nobody tries to steal any of the goods, yet look amicable enough so that guests feel free to approach you for questions. It was a difficult balance to strike; it was made even more difficult because of the fact that there was a hole in my pants. No, it wasn't in a controversial place: at the seams at the left side, just below my pockets was a hole the size of a ten cents coin. People didn't notice it, at least I hope they didn't, but I was so conscious of the damn hole. I felt my confidence leaking out of it, seriously. Like...you look at me and you go "Wow," but the moment you see the hole, you go "Eww,". That's the stuff I worried about.

As the night progressed, even my energy leaked out of the hole. I felt dizzy, weak at one point, and the room started spinning like nuts. Moral of the story: Never ACSpose your holes. Sorry for the "ACS", it's a hard habit to break, especially after spending Thursday afternoon exhausting the dictionary of ACS-puns. "The Golfing ACSperience", "The ACSian Drive"...somebody ACSecute me. Gah.

Duty was long, but I was treated to some performances from the ACJC Performing Arts; Drama was awesome, dance too, and choir was good! There were other performances from ACS-ACJC students, our alumni, like Hossan Leong and Gani. Hossan did some stand-up, which is not really funny, but drew some laughs all the same. Their voices were kick-ass though.

So the duty ended at over 12, and I left Ritz Carlton with Sara Jauw, my Taxi Buddy. I forgot to tell my mum I had duty, and got scolded a bit, but oh well. I'm going off for another duty now, wearing the same Number 1s I was wearing yesterday. Sigh! At least the fun never ends.

Gay names for 100% manly councillors:
Raymond - Gay-mond
Tamojoy - Tamo-gay
Weikeat - Gay-keat
Weiting - Gay-ting
Robindro - Gay-bindro.

Random Bleach-Related Thought: What kinda chapter title is "The Verbal Warfare"? Seriously. Kubo, if you're going to use the thesaurus, use it smartly. Consult me. At least Byakuya's back. "Byakurai!"

And Eisenhower! Zai! Dang, I miss these people.

The Wearer of Guitars

I was never the type to follow the trends. Contrary to popular belief, side-burns were not made popular by Elvis. Sure, weirdos here and there tried to copy the King, but it was only when I was born that side-burns truly became "in". A little known fact about me is that I was born with side-burns. I am serious; imagine a nearly bald face with this twin strips of hair flowing beside his ear. It made news in the Philippines, and after the media got wind of it, the world followed.

To this day, I am still on my crusade to popularize my own trends. I am a self-proclaimed trend-setter. It's not just in the things I wear, but it's also in the things that I do, the things that I am.

Case in point: A few years ago I bought this kickass key-chain. It was the kind which can twist, and tangle itself in weird shapes. It can be worn as a bracelet too. What I did was attach it to my wallet, so that when I placed my wallet in my pocket, it'll be left dangling freely. It came in assortments of bright, gay (in the most chaste sense of the word, please!) colours, and it drew attention. Unfortunately, it never caught on.

But did I give up? Never. Through the years, I did things that nobody had ever done, and let me take this time to tell you about recent trend I hope to popularize.

The first: A buff.



I'll give you some time to collect your collective jaws from the floor. Now massage it, go on...only I can make your jaws drop quite so painfully. So anyways, a BUFF! The promotional poster above only shows SOME of the ways you can wear a BUFF, because if you're skinny enough, you can fit into it and wear it as a tube-top. I've invented my own ways of wearing this dang thing, and I tell you, it rocks.

It's a head-gear so versatile, that I've only bought it recently. Sure, I've seen it in stores oh-so-many times, but it was only a few weeks ago that I got the motivation (and the money) to get one. I'm not saying it's expensive, it's perfectly adorable, and it's like getting many accessories for the price of one. My plan is to wear it, somehow or another, every single time I go out. Be it on my head, on my bag, on my body...wherever. You'll see me with it, and it's going to be epic.

When you see a guy with a buff (or alternatively, a noob wearing a bandana, mistaking the buff to be one)...just remember, that that person saw me first.