Sunday, May 30, 2004

Blogging at Ian's Birthday Bash

Ian's Sizzling Pusit and SisigHaus

I am upset. Upset because that damn videoke machine won't respect me. It gave me a low score. (85!) Sacrilege! Blasphemy! Desecration! Profanation! (There goes my Words for the Week column!)

Yes, Ian's having us compete for a bottle of liquor by making us sing until we're hoarse. No, I don't want the liquor. No, I don't even want to see Maui Taylor and Gwen Garci prancing around without their tops-- yes, the Viva Hot Babes Videoke Release for drunken slavering men and lesbians in need of fan service to keep 'em awake and ordering more booze.

None of that!

Must. Get. Higher. Score.

Not that the damn score should really matter-- the evil machines usually hand out the "you're great!" scores to the lousiest singers, while arbitrarily passing out the "okay" and "you stink on ice" ratings. But I was a frontman once, long ago. And some indignities exist that you just don't accept.

Even if you wind up looking like an idiot.

Those Dratted Six Degrees

Anyway, it's nice seeing old friends and acquaintances again, and finding out that I'm not a passing acquaintance to some folks-- Adam and Charmaine, erstwhile members of Where's Joe. And wood-working Joe himself. Myles was there too, with his wife and kid: beautiful, both of them. There's great cholesterol-loaded, artery-ossifying, aneurism-inducing food. This, courtesy of HOTSTIX, Ian's little restaurant nestled along Quezon Avenue.

Some of Ian's friends are familiar-- one of them is Buddy Zabala of Eraserheads fame. Reminds of that saying about six degrees of separation: Ian is the fourth friend I know who can regularly engage in chitchat with Buddy Zabala. The others are Evil Jerry (based in the US), Dacs (based along Katipunan) and Antoinne (based near Dacs). My hunch about the rest of Ian's present friends was well founded. Apparently they're all rock stars who I've seen playing or just chilling in one gig or another back when my life was more closely woven with music.

Missing Those Two

Powerpoets Paul and Nikka were present and accounted for, as was expected. I had begun to envy Ian his closeness to the quirky couple. But circumstances-- an auburn-haired ParaƱaque resident-- had kept me from confiding in Paul, and by extension, Nikka. Hence the distance. I swear, that man lives to gently, well-meaningly berate me about my weakness for women-- especially auburn-haired ParaƱaque muses.

I told Paul that the reason he didn't see me for a year was that "I needed to disappear." Which was true. Prior to my seeing Paul last, I was in the middle of deciding which woman I could truly, viably spend most of forver with. Paul's well-meaning remonstrations were only adding to the clamoring, dissenting voices in my head. As much as I valued his counsel, I had to trust myself to silence the internal cacophony and make a proper choice.

I was genuinely afraid that they'd think less of me because I'd needed to get away from everybody, from them, to think.

It felt good to be hugged by Nikka, to get a warm and solid handshake from Paul.

FATAL Weakness

Whenever I walk into a place, the first people I look for are the women. (Creepy that I've been noticing the men too, but every straight guy has a little gay guy who is responsible for keeping him stylishly chic and presentable to the ladies.) Paul knows this. So when Ian's friend S. showed up, Paul was telling me to keep my eyes in my head. Trust Paul to be consistent. (That's why I love you, Pal!)

But Paul got it wrong that night. I was not looking at S. No offense to her (she reminded me of Jen Rosendahl-- must be her mestiza nose and all that Viva Hot Babe exposure), but someone else caught my eye and stopped my breath. In that aggregate of people was someone I'd had a very bad crush on since that day in '94 when I [OPEN MOUTH, INSERT FOOT. --ed.]

Dex had a band
Once, long ago.
Now, he has
No one to string-sling with

This was a good idea, my deciding to come here. I'd not had as much fun in a long time. Thanks for the party, Ian. May you have better birthdays after this one. And in the words of Shrek's Donkey--"Let's do that again!"

Postscript: Why were Karl and Diwa sick? Where was the rest of the Fine Arts contingent? They coulda joined the chorus line in our rousing rendition of We are the World!
Also, for this entry, I'm the Sphynx: four points to people good at playing Oedipus

Saturday, May 29, 2004

Sleepless in Santa Mesa

Honey's flown to Hong Kong for much-needed R&R. Me, I'm stuck here, ostensibly compiling my e-portfolio. Ha! All I've managed to do since midnight today was to download soft porn (wake up, readers, post NAOMI engine driven Dead or Alive in-game movies are soft porn). Okay, I was able to tweak my blogs. At least.

Good God, I just realized I had four of these things floating about.

At least I have time to try this again--not the porn, but the simple business of getting myself employed. Writing for money ain't paying the bills at this stage, especially if you're writing for one client.

C'est la vie.

Friday, May 28, 2004

I'm the guy on the left. With the glasses.

Thursday, May 27, 2004

Dex El and Fringe Living

Welcome to My Big Fat Geek Life

I know, I know. You're asking, "What happened to the Big Bodega?" It's just that I've been needing a change. The Bodega was, and still is, a great mouthpiece website. But like most bodegas, it tended to get crammed with all sorts of stupid junk. Necessary, entertaining but nevertheless stupid junk that I will not show my college communications teachers, lest they die of shame for having asociated with me.

Not that I have a monopoly on inane blogger content.

I'm trying to do a Marco: how he can maintain three blogs with respective relevant content is a perennial source of envy.

Suffice it to say that from here on in, you will find the stupid and mundane stuff here. If you want to read up on my fiction, you'll find it in Dexterian Lit.

I will pontificate from The Big Bodega from now on.