Sunday, November 21, 2010

Bora! Bora! Bora!

Last April Abe, Lenlen, Tin, and I worked in a clinic in Boracay. According to the chief resident, Chepoy, the primary requirement for the doctors is to make "chika to the highest level" to all patients– no uncomfortable silences, no tapping of pens while waiting for lab results, and such. Being a schizoid this proved to be quite a challenge for me, but I surprised–and quite annoyed–myself most of the time. One 11 pm, though, I was spent and had no small talk left in me:
German woman: Thanks for cleaning my wound. How long do we have to wait for this anti-tetanus skin test?
Me: Er… (in horror) 30 minutes.
German woman: Okay.
Me: So.
German woman: So.
Me: So how long have you been in Boracay?
German woman: 2 weeks.
Me: Wonderful. Can you tell me ALL the activities you’ve had so far?
   And thus was 30 minutes consumed.
June 2007

HHS

My sister gave me a slice of Red Ribbon’s choco peanut butter mousse, and being a glutton I scooped out one spoonful and rammed it down my throat, after which I immediately fell in a coma, obviously in a state of HONK, HHS, or whatever fancy acronym it’s called now. I then remembered that after watching Spider-Man 3 a few weeks ago, my friend Namtab Pots who was trying to recover from dysthymia bought a 1000-piece JLA puzzle and one whole Red Ribbon choco peanut butter mousse cake— all for himself. He finished the entire thing.

How I Would Die

In the wonderful X-Files Season 3 episode Clyde Bruckman’s Final Repose written by Darin Morgan, Peter Boyle plays an unwilling clairvoyant whose powers are limited to seeing how a person would die. Fittingly, he works as a life insurance salesman. This episode is memorable for hundreds of things, but the best ones that come to mind are when Clyde predicts that Mulder would die of autoerotic asphyxiation, and when he predicts that Scully won’t die, ever. I’ve just been pondering on my own mortality these past few weeks. Ten years ago I wanted to die in a superheroic way, sort of like blocking a disintegrating beam from hitting someone I care for. I still want to die that way, but now that I have a wider perspective, I know that dying from, say, COPD or cancer are now more probable. In any case I want Tori Amos’ 1,000 Oceans playing in my funeral.


June 2007

Wailing and Whining

I deal with fictional stress by whining to myself, writing pointless self-destructive, pretentious purple prose, contemplating suicide, and other melodramatic crap. Fictional stress is how I now categorize supposed existential crisis, quarter-life confusion, career misdirections, scratched action figures, and other things I mostly complain about. On the other hand, I deal with genuine stress by denying it exists, totally blocking it from my head, and when I can no longer contain it, by sleeping. One of my first year college professors said that sleeping problems off is not a good way to deal, because then you’d just sleep your whole life. Which is actually not a bad idea. I want to wake up really old, in the retiring age, preferably in an isolated island. With TV and books.


May 2007

Different Seasons

I’ve just discovered with glee that I have a copy of Stephen King’s Different Seasons after a desperate rummaging through my shelf for an unread book, and suddenly remembered that I’ve been putting off reading this for quite a while. I am thoroughly enjoying reading it despite its length, King is the type of book you could just read and lose yourself in. This book is composed of four novellas (stories not short enough to be a short story or long enough to be a novel), all of which I recommend. For those of you who’ve enjoyed the excellent first season of Prisonbreak, you will enjoy Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption. And for those of you who’ve wept and became emotionally invested in Tuesday’s With Morrie, Apt Pupil is the story for you. Hah.


May 2007

Like A High School English Exercise: How My Day Went

I just have this neurotic compulsion to document my day. I woke up.
Checked my mail. Read 2 back issues of Birds of Prey written by Chuck
Dixon. Took the bus to Magallanes to have my retainers checked by my
dentist. Said dentist asked me once again for my plans in life and I
realized once again that I don’t have any. Then went to Druid’s Keep,
my favorite comicbook/collectible shop, and looked for action figures
and comic books. Realized I have no money, and just watched the
businessmen in their 30s saying this: "hey I like this Spiderman
figurine. P20,000? OK I’ll get one. I’ll also have four of those
Simpsons talking pens. Wait I already have Apu. I missed the last five
issues of 52. Please bag them. I’ll also have the complete set of
Superman/Batman series 3." I quietly slinked away, not buying anything.
Walked from Magallanes to the Mantrade MRT station, surprised that all
the pirated DVD vendors were gone. Ate Kenny Rogers Fried Chicken
Sandwich. Bought The Greatest Batman Stories Ever Told volume 2 in
National Bookstore. Saw Richard Matheson’s short story collection
featuring the story made into a fun Twilight Zone episode and Simpsons
Treehouse of Terror parody where a monster was trying to dismantle a
plane. Realized I want a copy of Twilight Zone episodes, all 156 of it.
My favorite is "It’s a Good Life!" featuring the evil Bill Mumy, which
was also parodied in the Simpsons, where Homer was transformed into a
Jack-in-the-Box. Realized in just a couple of months the Simpsons movie
would be out, after 18 years of waiting. I hope it won’t suck.


May 13, 2007

Mulder and Scully Recommend

The Digest of Philippine Genre Stories
Now on its 2nd issue, PGS is the kind of local mag I’ve been waiting for
for a long time. I’ve always thought that we have a shortage of short
story outlets here, Free Press, Graphic, and Story Phils as the only
ones coming to mind.As the first of its kind PGS is certainly a breath
of fresh air for readers and "genre" writers alike. I’ve highly enjoyed
both issues. I did find a couple of stories to be difficult to grasp,
though, which have been written, as my friend Huntress described "as if
the target audience were creative writing and lit majors", but I
understand that it’s always very tricky to balance entertainment value
and quality. The two shouldn’t be mutually exclusive in the first
place, of course, and PGS is rapidly mastering the mix. It’s nice that
there are stories written by those already established within the
literary circle, and those who are just emerging. And I like the pulp
fiction magazine format, like the ones you could fold longitudinally
and place in the back pocket of your jeans. So far a lot of the
"genres" have been covered, and I’m looking forward to stories about
mutants from outer space! Aliens! Superheroes! Quirky detectives! Nazi
cannibals! The campier the better! I think it would help the magazine’s
longevity is if they include stories in Filipino and a lot of stories
that are easy and fun to read. We know what they are–those that are
direct to the point, not too contemplative, not too descriptive, not
too thesaurus-requiring–those that aim to entertain, not impress.
Mulder and Scully’s picks: Issue 1- Insomnia; Issue 2- The Final
Interview. Let’s support this endeavor!

May 13, 2007

Weekly Thoughts

I’m feeling a bit pop-culture-y, so it’s time for some reviews!
Actually, thoughts. This week I was able to read two books and a whole bunch of comic books. I was also able to watch a tv series in pirated dvd and a movie. And listen to two newly bought (okay, downloaded) albums. Next week my goal is to get some sun.
BOOKS

Five Little Pigs by Agatha Christie
-
Agatha is still one of the most entertaining authors for me, and also
one of the most effortless reads. The thing though is that after you’ve
read them you totally forget about them, so I sometimes find it
difficult to buy her books, not knowing which ones I’ve already read.
In Five Little Pigs the murder of an eccentric painter that happened 16
years ago is recounted by five of the involved people, and through
these accounts Hercule Poirot reconstructs what really happened. After
having read almost 40 Christies I still find Poirot highly enjoyable,
with David Suchet forever creating his image in my head. I will place
Five Little Pigs among the best constructed and least predictable
Christie mysteries, although the final exposition may tend to be too
circumstantial to be fully satisfactory.
Twisted Travels by Jessica Zafra-
I agree with the sentiment that we shouldn’t put off traveling and
exploring different places until we are old and "secure". Venice and
Prague seem very nice, and I’m made more curious by the observation
that there are no ugly people in Italy, although we all know where I
really want to go: Amsterdam.
COMIC BOOKS

Manhunter #29-30-
The supposedly final story arc featuring Kate Spencer trying to defend
Wonder Woman in her murder trial comes to an end. The direction of the
story is totally surprising, as I was expecting more of a hardcore
trial story, but Manhunter is still very fun and still one of the best
comics DC is producing. I’m glad it got the reprieve and the
cancellation was lifted. I’m still quite annoyed that Blue Beetle is
dead, though.
World War III 1-4-
Pure and utter crap. I’m quite annoyed that 52 lost its way because of
its supposedly interesting characters who took away the objective of
the series which is to provide explanations for the lost year that led
to One Year Later. Hence, this rapidly produced mini-series that took
the job. And miserably failed. Who knew that all this time there were
two Supergirls, one trapped in the future with LOSH and one in the
present having a smooch with Power Boy?
Wonder Woman 6-8-
Jodi Picoult, an author whose books I haven’t read, took over the
misery that is Allan Heinberg. Allan’s story is actually not bad, but
the record-breaking lateness is a total embarrassment. Picoult
struggled with the first two issues but eventually found her footing in
issue 8. Her first issue Diana Prince blunders were corny and
nauseating, but once the story took shape my attention was grabbed. But
I’m still happy that Gail Simone is taking over.
Justice League/Justice Society of America-
The long-awaited cross-over called The Lightning Saga. Obviously an
homage to the 70s cross-over that also involves the Legion of
Superheroes trying to thwart Mordru. I’m loving the fact that Starboy
of LOSH is the new Starman, and that his manslaughterof Ken Nuhor is
still being alluded to after 40 plus years! Geoff Johns of Justice
Society is still superior to Brad Melodramatic Meltzer, but the two
issues meshed and flowed well.
Justice #11-
Nobody beats Alex Ross in them huge, iconic group superhero
illustrations. But since this issue is produced every two months I
totally forget what happened in the previous issues and I just don’t
have the time to read them again. Still very entertaining, with Hal
Jordan, one of my favorite characters, getting the spotlight. Geek
Moment: I got really giddy when I saw the original Teen Titans, plus
Batgirl and Supergirl, given the Alex Ross treatment. Obviously this
series will get the expensive Absolute Edition treatment. Which my
friend Namtab Pots will buy but never open.
Birds of Prey 102-104- I
like the new Mission: Impossible-ish treatment on this new BOP team
that started in BOP #100. I’m actually enjoying this now more than when
it was only Canary and Huntress, and I’m a sucker for Canary. I want
more Gypsy! More Manhunter! Even more Barda! And Ice is alive!

And I don’t care if you have to bring back another dead hero back to
life again: I want Blue Beetle Ted Kord as the only male member of BOP!
MOVIE
Spider-man 3- Watching
Spider-man 3 is like reading a trade paperback collection composed of
three short story arcs that are connected enough to warrant the TPB
treatment but are still distinct enough as to be jarring in transition,
and in this movie those markers are when Harry got hospitalized and
when Eddie became Venom. Still highly enjoyable, but Sandman is
dispensible. And if the butler knew this factoid all along, why wait
until Harry is ugly? Really like the campiness of the supporting
characters. How bout that Bruce Campbell!


MUSIC
Scarlet’s Walk (Tori Amos) and OK Computer (Radiohead)- Categorize under: Albums That Make Me Want to Kill Myself.
May 6, 2007

To All Sci-Fi Geeks, Help!

For years I’ve been bugging my friend Namtab Pots for a good science
fiction read. I liked sci-fi while growing up but upon reaching high
school I guess I just drifted away, since then finding the "hard-core"
science fiction elements such as outer space, time travel, robots,
androids, and by extension, fantasy universes difficult to get into.
Namtab Pots said Dune is a good introduction, and I’ve been familiar
with the title since childhood. I found it highly enjoyable but it also
took me a longer time than usual to finish, usually getting distracted
by other genres and occasionally just reading a couple of pages of it.
In recent years I guess the only sci-fi I’ve enjoyed were those by
Philip K. Dick and Ray Bradbury. Flukeman has been recommending Robert
Heinlein’s The Moon is a Harsh Mistress (I’m not sure if I get the
title right), I’ve only heard good things about it, and since then I’ve
been trying to get a copy. With limited funds, limited time, and more
importantly, exremely limited attention span now that I’ve ran out of
Ritalin, I need all sci-fi geeks to recommend some excellent titles to
read. Help me out!


April 25, 2007

Oooh, Kinky.

I was just gone 12 days stranded on an otitis media island with no computer and television, and what do I discover after coming back? What have emerged from nowhere to assault us with titillating delights? What are now staring at us and making us feel like puritanical prudes? POST-COITAL PICTURES!
Yes, post-coital pictures. I have just recently been updating myself on some of my friends’ lives by checking out their friendster pictures, and what do I see peppering their public-domain photo albums? POST-COITAL PICTURES! You know them: The ones with the couple still in bed, one of them holding the phone camera towards their half-naked bodies, their faces puffy and red, exhausted, satisfied grins you’ve never ever seen them wear before masking their faces! Oooh, hot! (literally, because  copious, salty sweat are all over their faces.) So I guess this is the new trend, to friendster to the world that you’re getting some without resorting to scandal videos. Keep those photos coming! We don’t necessarily want to live vicariously through them, but they’re funny!
April 24, 2007

More Unread Books!

I’ve been cleaning my room and discovered in my bottom drawer: MORE
UNREAD BOOKS! I once subscribed to the belief that if you see a book
you should buy it at once because you will never see it again, hence,
this pile of unfinished, even untouched, books. In an earlier blog I
listed those with whom I have unresolved issues, ie, those I haven’t
finished for some reason. Here I list those I barely touched, if at all:
1. Walden II by BF Skinner-
I saw this in Booksale going for fifteen pesos, and being a psych major
I felt it was my responsibility to pick it up. I think I reached page
30 before I fell asleep and stashed this somewhere.
2. Good as Gold by Joseph Heller-
According to almost everyone, Catch-22 is Heller’s only good book. In
fact they’re saying that the much ill-advised release of his unwanted
sequel to Catch-22, Closing Time, is extremely horrible and should not
be read by any Heller fan.
3. The Dark Half by Stephen King-
I bought this in National Bookstore Harrison’s Plaza while I was in 2nd
year high school, along with the latest issue of WWF magazine featuring
a close-up of Bret Hart’s face on the cover. I was a die-hard wrestling
fan then so the King book was the least of my reading priorities. I was
on page 16 I think when I saw on cable… the movie version of The Dark
Half by Stephen King! I got lazy and watched the movie instead, which I
liked at that time.
4. Ghost Story by Peter Straub-
Which I got in a Christmas party exchange gift in high school. The
cover features a white lady, with a haunted-looking house in the
background. It was 400 pages. I didn’t think there was anything else in
the story worth reading 400 pages for.
5. Ana Karenina by Dostoevsky-
as a representative of all the other classics I have not read and are
now staring at me in annoyance. So I won’t be a lit-major level reader,
now quit staring at me.

April 22, 2007

Caucasians? What Are Caucasians?

Remembered this while praying in church which all of a sudden made me burst into wild laughter.
Back in high school:

Teacher:
 Caucasians. Ano ang caucasians?
Bored students: snort, gurgle, blubber
Teacher: Caucasians. Yung maputi, matangkad, matangos ang ilong, blue ang mata…
Bored students: snort, gurgle, blubber
Teacher: …in other words… Perfect!


April 22, 2007

Abstinence!

It is exactly one year ago when I last bought an action figure! A few
years back I had my action figure ravenous phase when I would become
agitated and froth in the mouth if a month passes by and I haven’t
bought a new toy. This one year abstinence is a result of a combined
better sense of the value of money and the actual paucity of new,
interesting toys to get. Marvel Legends has spiralled downhill, more so
with Hasbro taking over. Emma Frost looks like a porn star, but her
action figure looks like an ugly porn star. Psylocke looks fugly as
hell, and how many Wolverines and Iron men do we actually need? It
doesn’t help that I’ve lost interest in Marvel Comics altogether. DC
Direct is a different issue. Quality is still at its peak, I’m a DC
fanatic, but as of last year I already have all the characters that I
need. This one year abstinence is mind-blowing, considering the level
of addiction I used to have when Mar and Therese would have to drag me
away from my daily toy rounds and sedate me if necessary to prevent me
from buying Mystique, whose legs are now melting from the sheer heat in
my room.


April 22, 2007

Premature Disillusionment

For some strange reason i was given the opportunity of being the guest speaker in this year’s high school graduation of canossa school, my alma mater. Two days prior I went to Mall of Asia and met with some medschool friends, two of whom are my most favorite people in the whole planet, Mar and Therese, who are already 1st year medicine residents.

"I have urticaria," Therese proudly said in between slurps of spaghetti. "I am a classic example. I am the specimen for the students’ exams. Look." She then raised her arm and showed us a very red, raised, very-itchy looking lesion.

"Oooooooh," we all ooohed.

"That’s stress-related. You’re repressing all the rage that you have towards your patients and the people you’re working with, hence, urticaria," I pseudo-psychoanalyzed.

"Anong repress e ang sungit-sungit na nga nya," Mar said.

"Oo nga," Therese agreed.

After pizza and pasta we went straight to Bizu for some dessert. The place had mirrors everywhere, the floors were glistening, everyone smelled nice, the waiters looked well-scrubbed.

"Ang liwanag naman," Mar said.

"Oo nga. Ang sosyal ng place," I chimed. "Nakaka-tempt maghanap ng kubeta."

Abe and I then went to the dessert corner and looked for cakes which all had strange names. The waiter patiently looked at us with a wide grin.

"Hmmm… wala ba kayong mocha roll?" I said. We ended up ordering Babylon, Tiramisu, and four other fancy-looking cakes.

I then asked everyone for their opinion on my prepared speech. "I’m supposed to be inspirational and motivational," I said.

"Bakit ikaw ang guest speaker?! Ang bata mo pa," Abe asked.

"Eh bakit nung oath taking natin si Patricia Evangelista?!" I retorted. Good thing nobody replied with: Because she’s a very fluent master debater and writer who’s won international acclaim for her speaking prowess.

I declamed an excerpt from memory:
"A patient once died on me. Come to think of it, a patient always dies on me. My friends, noting my usual stoic expression whenever life is lost, would say, ‘Are you already so desensitized? Have you lost all your feelings after all the misery and death you’ve witnessed?’ Annoyed at this emotional intrusion I would say, ‘Of course not, maybe I wasn’t sensitized to begin with. Maybe i didn’t have any feelings to lose in the first place.’ "

Everyone burst out laughing. "You’re supposed to inspire, not disillusion," one of them said.

"I know, but I want to include that passage regardless," I insisted.

In a stroke of genius only Mar could come up with, she said, "You should add this: And yet, even as I was saying those words, I knew I didn’t mean them, that I was merely employing an emotional defense mechanism."

Graduation day, and that’s exactly what I’ve said. Thank you, Mar, for inspiring all the graduating Canossians. You’ve saved them from premature disillusionment. To balance things out, I just had to say this: I know it’s difficult to subscribe to the cliche "Be Yourself", as Lisa Simpson once said, "I was being myself for 8 years, and it didn’t work."

The graduation went by smoothly, until I realized that the students were one by one going to the stage, with a very familiar instrumental music playing in the background. I then burst into wild laughter as I realized that the song was… High School Life Oh My High School Life! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!

All in all I guess my speech worked. I even learned how to properly tie a necktie. All this time I never learned how to do it, so this time I googled for the technique and discovered tieanecktie.com. I now know a windsor from a half-windsor knot.

April 3, 2007

Monday, October 18, 2010

Songs That Make Me Want to Kill Myself

No title sensationalism, this, indeed, is about songs that make me want to kill myself, those that just dredge up my deep-seated neuroses and bring out my death instinct. I found that the perfect substitute to sertraline and fluoxetine are action figures and good songs, but there are songs that just make me want to reach for a razor and end it all, literally. I am excluding all 80’s songs here, specifically those by Tears for Fears, as they all trigger a neurotic episode. So here they are:

1. Spoon by The Dave Matthews Band- That pained Dave Matthews voice with the restrained humming of Alanis Morissette in the background just squirms its way inside me and switches a self-destructive urge on, specifically the urge to OD. I remember that I’ve been listening to this song while inside a jeepney in Cubao after an interview for a med school admission, and I’ve been having a career-direction crisis, because we all know what I really want, which is to be a 70s rockstar with bad hair and a huge groupie.

2. The Scientist by Coldplay- anything by Coldplay is depressing even if they’re just singing about the speed of sound, but The Scientist is eerie as hell. 2nd year medicine. Ironic that I’ve been under medication and electroconvulsive therapy at this point so I was actually happy then. I first heard this song while listening to the radio half asleep and I was dreaming that I was riding the MRT.

3. My Funny Valentine as sung by Matt Damon- from the Talented Mr. Ripley, 4th year college. Basically because the whole movie is dark and morose and despondent. I want to ride a boat, reach for the paddle, hit my head with it, and scream to myself in my best Dickie Greenleaf impersonation, "You’re boring!".

4. A Sorta Fairytale by Tori Amos- no particular reason, it’s just depressing, but sometimes it makes me happy– I guess that’s how mood swings work. Not really related to its depressive effect, but whenever I listen to this song I remember assisting in a modified radical mastectomy in an extremely hot operating room and getting yelled at during surgery internship.

5. Always On Your Side by Sting and Sheryl Crow- I’ve been listening to Crow’s album Wildflower while studying for the board exams, and realized in utter mortification that the whole 5-year delaying tactic called medical education is coming to an end, making me want to insert my wet thumb in an electrical outlet. Also, the song "Wildflower" contains the lyrics "Everything I know just fades away" which is descriptive of the whole study period.

6. Hey Jude from the movie The Royal Tenenbaums- I really like the scene where Luke Wilson stares at the mirror, shaves his head, and declares, "Tomorrow, I am going to kill myself", but he tries to kill himself that very moment anyway! It’s very… inspiring.

Ending It All With a Gunshot to the Face!

To your relief, this is not another entry on death and self-destruction–I just felt like writing that title. This is instead a confession on the numerous books I have not finished reading. I had my book ravenous days, when I would read and finish everything, even the most boring and annoying ones. I once told Namtab Pots that the reason I would not stop reading the horrible Andrew Vacchs book Flood years ago was because I bought it for 90 pesos in Booksale, but he retorted that the hours I’ve spent reading that crap is worth more– I could have flossed instead, or wrapped my comic books in plastic and arranged them chronologically. Here are the books with whom I have unresolved issues:

1. Smilla’s Sense of Snow by Peter Hoeg- The two people I know who read it called it a classic, but so is Anna Karenina of which I’ve read 1 page. Anna Karenina is not in this list because 1 page did not create enough of an issue between us. Everything about Smilla is just so detached and… cold. Hoeg could have deliberately been going for that feel, so in that respect he succeeded, but I still fell asleep. Dropped at: 200 pages.

2. Something Happened by Joseph Heller- After reading Catch-22 and enjoying it immensely I’ve tried to get as many Heller books as possible, then found that the other ones don’t possess the same gravitas that Catch-22 has. Dropped at: 94 pages.

3. The Boy Who Followed Ripley by Patricia Highsmith- I realized that I don’t really need to know anything more about Tom Ripley, because if at some point I discover that he’s been abused as a child in an attempt to explain his deviance I would laugh non-stop. Dropped at: 28 pages.

4. Breakfast of Champions by Kurt Vonnegut- and the other Vonnegut books I’ve tried. He’s actually very fun and interesting. Call me a moron–there are some things I just don’t get, and after a few pages I get distracted and revert to reading Batman. Dropped at: 13-42 pages.

And tons more. But there are some books that I’m thankful I’ve read and worked through the difficult parts, having been greatly rewarded at the end, such as Atonement by Ian McEwan, Men of Tomorrow by Gerard Jones, Catch-22 by Joseph Heller, Dune by Frank Herbert, and Trainspotting by Irvine Welsh.
I need some comments! Tell me about the books you’ve dropped and why.

The Best Love Story of ALL Time!

In today’s Star, a columnist asked famous celebrities what their favorite romantic movies are. Of course, we get the usual Sleepless in Seattle, A Love Affair, Gone With the Wind, and perennial favorite, Casablanca. Well and nice, but I will never change my opinion that the most romantic movie of all time is Quills.

In Quills Geoffrey Rush plays Marquis de Sade, a writer who is a purveyor of all sorts of sexual perversion, Joaquin Phoenix plays a priest who aims to change him, and Kate Winslet is the chambermaid in classic 18th century chambermaid lace and spilling breasts fetish costume. The priest, of course, has the hots for the chambermaid and the sexual tension is driving everyone nuts, but he couldn’t allow himself to fall for her. Enter Marquis de Sade and his ideas of sexual liberation. To get to the meaty part, Kate drowns in a mental institution and Joaquin wails in anger. In his dream he finally fulfills his sexual longing– he walks towards the naked body of the dead Kate lying on a church altar and fucks, ahem, fornicates, with her. Very dramatic, but Marquis de Sade gets the best line in the movie– "I will fuck you in every orifice in your body, and carve orifices where there are none!!!"
In the end Marquis de Sade gets his comeuppance by eating his faith–literally. He eats the rosary Joaquin was dangling on him and chokes on it.

I recommended this movie as a post-Physics 71 exam to Therese and Kaka 7 years ago. They never forgave me.

On the 6th tuesday we talked about forgiveness and multi-barelled automatic head gun contraption that blows your brains out

The title, of course, is a reference to the chapters of Tuesday’s with
Morrie, a book I’ve been trying to finish reading in my PDA for six
months, as I can only take one moral lesson a month without getting a
headache. In terms of lessons on forgiveness and moving on, nothing, of
course, beats the new addition to the list of unnecessary sequels: Saw
3.

Saw 1 is still one of the best cult movies of all time, and Saw 2 is a
worthy sequel. Everyone I knew told me Saw 3 would suck and I dismissed
them all as pseudo-erudite criticisms of high-browed
pseudo-quality-movie freaks, but this is where I hang my head in shame.

It hurts me to type this, but Saw 3 is crap. The movie shows
alternating scenes of Jigsaw dying, this man undergoing the tests, and
background scenes of what really happened in Saw 1 and 2. The latter
are the only interesting parts of the movie, if rather unnecessary.
Years after I’ve seen part 1 I had still cringed at the part where Jigsaw
stood up and was revealed to be behind it all. Seeing him now preparing
for it, putting on make up and all, destroys this fear.

The notorious tests are no longer scary or even gross, Amanda is
already annoying, Jigsaw is overexposed, and we couldn’t care less
about the guy taking the bleeping tests. And, of course, there are the
obligatory ending twists, which could have worked and saved everything,
except for the fact that I couldn’t understand them– basically because
they were being narrated by a dying jigsaw in his dying breath. Imagine
an intubatable, gasping man in the ICU with a low, raspy, voice explaining the relationship twists of
Melrose Place. There.

At the end of it all, Saw 3 is apparently all about forgiveness. Moving
on. Shedding your enmity of things past and embracing what the future
has to offer. Detaching yourself from the pain while reveling in it at the same. Yes, in the final scene, Jigsaw removed a plastic mask and revealed himself to be none other than… Morrie Schwartz! (Feb. 6, 2007)

Sex With Barbed Wire and Electricity

In a parallel universe I will be able to release two novels about drugs, psychotic breakdowns, religious crises, autoerotic asphyxiation, drugs, self-mutilation, failed suicide attempts, drugs, mental disorders, alien abductions, and drugs–all autobiographical. These novels would have a cult following and would propel me to be written about in future reference books about semi-famous novelists. I would be written about as such:

Filmore (pseudonym) was born to clinically alcoholic parents. He grew up living in a cramped apartment with his grandparents who taught him how to smoke pot at an early age of 8. Through the help of a seemingly benevolent arab he was able to finish high school, but discovered that he had to pay back through wild sexual favors. He worked his way through college where he met writers NFS and LRZ, who became his roommates and co-editors in the university paper, and who introduced him to LSD, cocaine, benzedrine, metamphetamine, and heroin. At 28, under the influence of benzendrine, he wrote his first novel, "Killing Your Friends", which became a pop culture phenomenon, but which caught the attention of the senate for its explicit encouragement of chemical lifestyle. At age 32 he married a childhood friend RTM, and was imprisoned two days later for imposing sexual asphyxiation on her which landed her in the ICU. Filmore wrote his 2nd novel "Caterwauling Aliens" while in prison, a story about a prisoner who found God in a slice of meatloaf, which received annoyed reviews, calling him a sell-out.

Upon his release 5 years later with a new sense of faith he immediately entered the seminary, and was kicked out two days later after he was discovered sprinkling the holy host with pot. He attempted suicide by sticking his head in an oven but was saved by a stalker fan who’s been secretly living in his attic for 6 months. He then checked himself in to a mental institution where he feigned to be crazier than he really was so he could receive electroconvulsive treatments, after which he would write his memoir "Dog Carcass" that regained his cult status. While in the psych ward he would experiment with all kinds of sexual acts that involved barbed wire and electricity, resulting in the death of two 14 year-old schizophrenics. He eventually lost all his money in settling the homicides. Homeless and penniless he escaped the asylum, and has been spotted in dark alleys looking for sex and drugs.

There! For more interesting stories on the lives of genuine cult-status authors, I refer you to the excellent book The Rough Guide to Cult Fiction, available in Powerbooks. Personal favorites would be the write ups on Martin Amis, Philip K. Dick, Marquis de Sade, Harlan Ellison, James Ellroy, Graham Greene, and of course, perennial favorite Sylvia Plath who really did stick her head in an oven. (Jan. 29, 2007)

Oracle, Formerly Batgirl

After years of semi- and micro-reunions with old friends we have all discovered that I have an uncanny memory for old happenings and events, specially for the more pointless and unremarkable ones, and I remember them as if they’ve only happened last month or last week. For instance, I have an extremely lucid memory of me sitting in our Psych 160 lecture class with Dr. David sitting beside Groin and behind Andy, or me talking outside our Psych 150 room to Ana Clarissa Panes, or me taking the blood pressure of Mark Secong. I think that all of the megabytes used up for these extremely useless informaton preclude me from remembering, for instance, the proper classification of cephalosporins or the distribution of the median, ulnar, and radial nerves, despite all the mnemonics in the world. So during dinners and such I would relate a very old, funny happening, being nostalgic and all, and I’d get blank stares or polite chuckles.

In comic lore Barbara Gordon, formerly known as Batgirl, who is now Oracle, is considered to be eidetic, ie, she can remember every single freaking detail she has ever come across with–names, faces, events, scientific factoids, etc. I am not eidetic, which is why I am presently having a romantic/sexual relationship with my PDA, who is named Oracle. (Jan. 23, 2007)

And For Today's Whine: I Want To Wrap My Head in Plastic

I sometimes want to wrap my head in plastic, the really thick, transparent ones, not necessarily to kill myself (although that would be a fun consolation prize), but to block out everything, every stimulus, every noise, every thought, every nagging memory, every infernal bleeping stressor. Yes, yes, all these things all come from inside my head so I would effectively be blocking them from getting out instead of vice versa, but I still want to do it.
When I was a kid I was very amused with the label in a plastic bag that says "This is not a toy". This amusement is matched only by the label on those tiny moisture-absorber packets in packed food that says "Do not eat this". The statement "Do not eat this" is just very inviting in a hissss-don’t-eat-the-apple-hisssss-slither-slither sort of way. (Jan. 18, 2007)

P.S. Now that I have rotated in Toxicology, I now know better and am aware that while eating those moisture-absorber packs might provide some amount of drama, it won't kill you. Embarrass you probably, because really, what the fuck.

Friday, October 15, 2010

Tresa's

After hours of looking for a place a friend called TRESA’S, we finally found it. It turned out no one we asked ever heard of TRESA’S because it wasn’t called TRESA’S in the first place, but TRICIA’S. Mispronunciations are due, no doubt,to years of hearing X-TRAY for X-RAY, and CT-SKULL for CT-Scan.

No one even pretended to be shy, Louibear braying into the 20-octave version of I Don’t Wanna Miss a Thing, alternating Regine and Aerosmith version. The block song, of course, is Fixing a Broken Heart duet version, Ditz the Titz singing the guy parts, I singing the shrilly fingernail-against-chalkboard-screechy parts. Everyone knew every Backstreet Boy song ever created, all the lyrics, all the inflections, all the Uh-huh’s and Yea-eh’s.

The overwhelming hit of the night, of course, is I’ve Never Been To Me by Charlene Duncan, because of its socially relevant message complete with narration, talking about life, death, adultery, prostitution, abortuses, rainforests, and so on. Ditz and I have been looking for the song that contains the lyrics "It was just another piece of the puzzle!!!!" but we couldn’t find it. According to Ditz it’s the perfect gay bar song. We were reminded of one of our patients in ambu who invited us to a show/performance art he was doing in QC. He was muscular with long hair, so Ditz had to ask, "Maghuhubad ka?"

In between songs we ate greasy, barely recognizable food. Louibear drank a glass of water.

"Bakit maligamgam?" he asked.
"Yan kasi yung pinagbababaran ng kutsara," Ditz the Titz said.

The Superman Curse

I’ve finished reading Gerard Jones’s non-fiction book about the history of superhero comic books during an uneventful duty in EK’s clinic. Each duty has always been uneventful, but for some reason less than five people had "post-ride vertigo". I’ve always looked at such "patients" with slight disdain and always told them that if the ride loops 360 degrees six times there’s that possibility that yes, you will get dizzy, but whenever I remember that 9 years ago I’ve almost barfed after the first upstroke swing in anchor’s away I snap back to being nice. Or tolerant.

Gerard Jones narrates how the superhero comic book came about in the 30’s, birthed by the Depression and gangsters and such, but goes into more detail into the struggles of Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster, the creators of Superman. As a comic geek myself I have always been aware that they did have a hard time getting recognized and compensated as the creators of the character that singlehandedly created the superhero genre, but after reading Jones’ well-researched accounts I now look at comic books with a new set of eyes and appreciation.

Siegel (writer) and Shuster (artist) created the character in the early thirty’s but failed to sell them to publishers until 1939, when it became a major pulp hit, each issue of Action comics selling more than 1 million copies. To put this into perspective, each "hit" these days, such as Birds of Prey or Superman, sells roughtly about 50,000 copies. The problem was Siegel and Shuster sold the character without much thought, brought about by what they looked like a lucrative deal to those 2 young boys in their twenty’s. Superman went on to have a hit radio show, publishers Jack Liebowitz and Harry Donenfeld got filthy rich, while Siegel and Shuster received a less than modest per-page compensation. Shuster eventually went blind and no longer able to draw the character, Siegel went into deep depression and became an awful writer. To illustrate how awful, Jones describes Siegel’s attempt at a new superhero, Funnyman, and it is rather awful.

Of the two Siegel was the one who pushed for recognition while Shuster disappeared entirely from the scene. He mailed hundreds of letters to national newspapers, got this hopes up by some editors and lawyers, but mostly just got frustrated. An enraged Siegel then proclaimed, which some claimed was done very tongue-in-cheekly, that he was putting a curse on the Superman franchise. Come to think of it: George Reeve, the guy who played Superman in the 50’s TV series blew his own brains out with a gun. Christopher Reeves became paralyzed. And of course, most horribly, Dean Cain became the host of Ripley’s Believe It or Not.

Finally in 1975, after 36 long years of misery, of seeing their creation making everyone rich except its creators because of an unjust deal, through the huge efforts of comic book writer Jerry Robinson, and through a series of events that led to a change of ownership of the publishing company and later through a national media frenzy, it was made official that all Superman products (except toys because they’re difficult to print on) should bear the logo Created by Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster. I rarely get teary eyed whenever I read a book, but I did when the deal was finally closed, and after 36 years of poverty and injustice, Walter Cronkite announces in television that "…finally truth, justice, and the American way have triumphed, and that’s the way it’s going to be, December 24, 1975." All the Siegel and Shuster supporters screamed and cried as they watched this during their victory party, and I myself got all misty too.

Upon getting back home I immediately checked my father’s huge collection of 60’s Superman comic books, and discovered that they really weren’t credited back then. That in the underbelly of what seemed like a every innocent time, when comics were fun and jovial and simple, was the grime of abuse.

There are other very interesting facts in Jones’ book. Wonder Woman’s creator William Moulton Marston is a maverick psychologist who was seminal in the creation of the modern lie detector test. As much as a symbol of feminine strength Wonder Woman seems to be, a lot of those "innocent" 40’s comic books had her in positions fairly suggestive of bondage and female subservience. While the crediting of Siegel and Shuster is a triumph on its own, the opposite is true of Batman’s creator Bob Kane. He did not create Batman alone. In fact, he did not create most of what makes Batman Batman. He hired a lot of ghost artists and ghost writers, with Bill Finger being almost the true creator of the character. As opposed to the young Siegel and Shuster, the young Bob Kane was shrewd and cunning. He IS still the only one being credited as Batman’s creator almost 70 years hence, Bill Finger is dead, so I guess there’s still a lot of victories left unaccomplished. (Jan. 14, 2007)

Ennui

Strangely, in the ennui of things, I have the strongest desire to kill myself. Yes, I am saying it now–I want to kill myself. In psychiatry a person who proclaims suicidal desires deserves emergent attention and should be taken seriously, which leads me to now say that no, I am not really going to kill myself after all– so to all the concerned people (all two of you), save your cell phone loads. It just feels good to say that you want to die, in the same manner that claiming that one is a "tortured artist" or a "soul spiraling into depressive hell", or having enormous eyebags and a long beard after long duties, feel dramatic. That I am now admitting that this is all for effect, of course, relegates this entire verbose paragraph into one long, infernal whine. Yes, this is a whine, and I thank you for listening. (Jan 13, 2007)

Bring The Conspiracy Back!

Finally got around to watching The Prestige, and it turns out to be more fun than the touted Batman vs Wolverine battle. Battle of wits turn out to be more interesting than batarang and adamantium, and besides, as much as a bat-freak I am, no bat-bolas or bat-whatever can possibly destroy wolverine. Of the two characters Bale seems nobler, but Jackman’s is way more entertaining as he reminds us of our annoying high school and college classmates who turn themselves inside out to be at the top of the class, those who scream "Yes! Yes!" after each exam. The best character of them all, of course, is that of Scarlett Johansen. Scarlet manages to do something the two guys’ leading ladies in the past have failed to do, which is to be prettier than the boys. As much as a MILF Famke’s Jean Grey was, her veiny neck was just too distracting. And of course, we all barf at Katie Holmes in Batman. I recognize the actor who played the Amazing Maleeni in the X-Files episode, also about magicians, which, strangely, also uses the body-double device. This, of course, brings to question: Are they even going to create a 2nd X-Files movie at all? After Season 9, which I really like, by the way, ended in 2002, everyone was excited that a 2nd movie unhampered by continuing series would be shown, first in 2004, then moved back, then totally forgotten. I don’t care if David and Gillian and Robert and Annabeth are in their late 40s, bring the conspiracy back! (Jan. 12, 2007)

Let Me Start By Saying Something About Myself

Let me start by saying something about myself. I am presently in limbo, and I would like you to tell me your life plans so I can copy them to the letter. I am no longer sertraline-requiring, but I still develop instant psychosis whenever a decision has to be made. I have at least one full year to do the things I have always wanted to do, and now that I have the time I just freeze and stare at the list like a moron. Said list includes: wrap all comic books in plastic, wrap all books in plastic, write a story every week, drive faster than 20 kph,watch all the x-files episode in order, read more books and less comic books, take the ultimate action figure group pic, and actually earn some money.

Contrary to popular notion I actually have dreams–as in aspirations. For instance, I would like to be popular enough to be parodied in the Simpsons and do my own voice. I would like to be the X-Files Geek in the Beat the Geeks. I would like to read a Russian novel in one sitting. I would also like write for DC Comics and contribute more mess to its 70-year continuity. I have recently dredged up the stories and essays I wrote in high school and college, and I want to burn 98% of it. If I could have a super power I would like to have the ability to totally forget something that happened to me, or actually erase the event from ever happening–ie, retcon it out
of existence. To understand what retcon means, think of what happened to Supergirl after 1985. From being the Kryptonian cousin of Superman, she became a genderless protoplasm with the DNA of Lana Lang from a parallel universe who bonded with a human girl who bonded with an angel who became the fire elemental who had a fling with Lex Luthor and a fling with an actual demon named Buzz. There.

My other goal in life is to have an actual writing career. At this point I remember aspiring models who go to Hollywood to try out and have an actual acting career. And then find out how difficult it is, and become pornstars.

This blog will mostly probably be populated by book reviews, comicbook reviews, movie reviews, action-figures, aliens, superheroes, people I know, general experiences, general whinings, TV shows, and other things you would only read in times of sheer and utter boredom. But if you want me to I can also dispense relationship and medical advice. (January 12, 2007)