Back from the Dead

Weeks have long passed since my last post and I think the time's just right to get back in the habit.

Another busy season at work just came past me and that means several things. I have endured a handful of conflicts, uttered a dictionary of cuss words, filled myself with a truck load of bitterness, and held back a lake of tears. The short of it is, now, I'm writing before you all messed up by the worst busy season ever, angry, and definitely ready to go.

Death came to take me away, but now, I'm back. Oh, most definitely, friggin' back.

As I was tied up most of the time with the unholy work hours the past weeks, I only had a few moments to myself. The selfless person that I am, I chose not to devote those short moments to attend to my personal needs. I did not so much as go up and get some air. Rather, I chose to render public service. What would that service be, you ask? Well, it's just one word—paparazzi. There's a grammatical error somewhere there, but if you're really here to spell and grammar check me, I'm sure it'll be better to just move along. If what you're too concerned with is my writing style, then by all means, find something else to read, something which will more suit your ever discriminating taste. Stop wasting your time with this post and find something else to do. I'm sure you have a life. So, please, do me a friggin' favor and live it. As far away from me and this blog as possible.

Howkay, I've transgressed a bit there. Bear with me. Hehe.

Ah yes, serving the public as a paparazzo. I've enjoyed it the past year, but I must admit that it has been more fulfilling being one the past busy season. The short breaks that I had, I looked around and tried to look for disturbing sights. It has become doubly hard, though, because I have progressively been moving away from my 20-20 vision of the late 90s. Aside from that, my new phone does not take pictures discreetly. I couldn't mute the clicking sound it makes when it takes pictures, nor could I tame the flash.

Despite being pressed for time, having deteriorating eyesight, and being left with a paparazzi-unfriendly camera phone, I still managed to steal several shots worthy enough for a comeback post.


Same old, same old

Korean mob at it again.

Cold in the Scorching Summer Heat

Five words. Hagrid. Shemagh. Shades. Starbucks. Summer. Do you get the picture? I got it and I was laughed my ass off.


The Craig David Experience

The date was March 27, 2009 and there were five things.

One, Craig David was great.

Two, the crowd bombed.

Three, the only song the upper box peeps seemed to know was Insomnia.

Four, there was this guy in sando.

Five, there was this girl with her mobile phone who spent the whole concert, except when Insomnia was on, on her seat, incessantly texting her god-forsaken text mates of god-knows-what nonsense.

YOU'RE IN A CRAIG DAVID CONCERT, DAMN IT. STAND UP, DANCE, AND HAVE FUN!


Makati CBD and Guy in Tank Top

What decent Ayala Avenue corporate office would continue to employ someone who dresses up like a douchebag? Two things. This douche might not be employed in such an office or is employed by such but the Company itself is a joke.

I better not hear this guy complain about not getting a decent job. Because, mister douche, a decent job requires you to dress decently. You won't get paid by a show of untamed arm pit hair.


Get a Room, Dudes

PDA. PDA. PDA. Blech.

Wow. I've reached the end of this post, but for some reason, I feel that it's still not enough. Your girl right here is still full of bitter thoughts and ugly bitch fits to share. I'll give myself a few more days (or hours?) to come up with another post. For now, hope you enjoyed. I'll get back to you in a bit with, hopefully, a nasty take on my seatmates at work. Let's keep our fingers crossed until then.

Douchebags in Shemaghs

I watched this feature in Kapuso Mo, Jessica Soho last week. I was a bit surprised to see that the segment was devoted solely to feature a fashion trend that’s currently sweeping the nation. And by “sweeping”, I mean it like its literal but secretly hope that it is not true.

But it is and I don’t like it. As expected.

The feature was on shemaghs. Shemaghs (or keffiyeh) have been the must-have accessories here in Manila. They are, most of the time, the checkered scarves you typically see on teenagers, mostly college students, hanging around their necks like it’s an elaborate necklace of sorts.

Shiver. The mere mention of people who wear shemaghs makes me cringe.

Don’t get me wrong, though. I’ve seen these shemaghs on other people before. I’ve seen it on Yasser Arafat. I’ve seen it on Osama Bin Laden. I’ve seen on different field reporters making a live broadcast from Iraq and Mindanao as well. I must admit that the fact that these personalities sported these shemaghs did not at all bother me. Well, that was true up until it became a senseless fad and started to catch on with herds of brainless fashion-victimized sheep.

I do have three reasons why I don’t like shemaghs.

ONE. Mainit dito sa Pilipinas. What do you need a shemagh for? Porma? Style? Aba’y p*cha naman. Kahit tumatagaktak na ang pawis mo, basta pormado ka, okay lang? Again, p*cha naman.

*side note: Notice this guy’s physique. Come on, now. I mean, he doesn’t need a shemagh to keep himself warm, right? His own body is going to do wonders already.

TWO. I’m going to bet my life that not half of those idiots who sport shemaghs actually know what a shemagh stands for. It’s cultural people. It means something, I tell you. I suggest you find out about it before deciding to go out with a shemagh on. I even stumbled upon an article and a blog saying that there have been Muslims who have expressed their discontent in the keffiyeh becoming a trend. It’s like having dreadlocks without knowing that it’s a spiritual statement rather than a fashion choice. It’s like getting a bindi on and missing the little known fact that it marks fertility rather than forms part of your make-up. It’s like wearing a Che Guevara shirt and being totally oblivious of who Che Guevara is.

*side note: Notice what these under-aged girls are purchasing. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think that those are a bubble gum lambanog, two Tanduay Rhum lapads, and a gin or vodka bottle. Getting wasted much? Ugh. It’s so juvenile, I wan’t to stab a pencil into my eye.

THREE. Ayaw ko lang talaga. Ang EPAL ng itsura, eh. Wala lang. I just don’t feel like appreciating it on a Pinoy juvenile. I see them and I just think, “Pwede ba? Tigilan niyo nga ako! Douchebag ka, p’re, douchebag!”

*side note: Green shirt. Green “shades” (they’re on his head, btw). A shemagh to boot. Does this not look epal to your or what?

*side note: Notice the bangketa bracelet here. I really don’t get it. A checkered shemagh on a striped shirt? I thought you people are trying look good with your porma?

Ugh. Douchebag fashion is just racking up nowadays, don’t you think? I’m so right, I want to smack the shit out of me. Well, you shemagh-lovers out there would want that, wouldn’t you?

I guess it’s going to be okay with me if you decide to shemagh-ize yourself. But please make sure that: (1) you’re in the desert or in some harsh winter conditions, (2) you know what it stands for, and (3) you’ll carry it well.

I’m sure it’s going to be an easy task for you to ignore my three tips. So, I guess I’ll just see you around. Let’s just hope and pray that I’m in some stable state when I see you lest I strangle you with that damn shemagh you have on.