It's the flipside. Side B, for those who can still remember the analog age: tape cassettes, 12-inch or 45-inch Long Play vinyl records.
Most say it hurts. But past that pain barrier---when the gatekeeper of the underworld finally learns to yield; when surrender is the better part of valor---it can be the most pleasurable of earthly experiences.
Yes, Pluto, we're talking about anal sex. And the often undiscovered and shameful joys thereof.
If you're going to explore sexuality, this ain't Sex 101. That's for plain vanilla snogging. Anal is unadulterated dissertation material.
I mean, have you ever wondered about the reason for this unspoken order of preference and sequence in sex?
Well, have you ever wondered, why meals are consumed appetizers first before the main dishes, following an order of importance---from the simplest to the culinary fireworks, then towards a soft, happy landing with dessert and coffee?
Sex knows the same logic. Food and carnal delights always do.
Well, the rear is not for beginners. It's certainly not for the faint-hearted who only venture as far as the hors d'oeuvres and soups allow. Uh, uh, those are just starters. They're just a means to a much more satisfying big bang. They serve a purpose: to tickle the palate for the entrees. The main delights await those who have the bravado to sink their teeth into loftier feasts.
It's the same order of intensity: front acts and covers first, rock stars much, much later. So down boy. Not yet.
1. First the eyeball. It's the scanning for the known regions of heterosexual or homosexual space, depending on the tangent of the moon. Several pages of self-doubts, embarrassment and massive shyness get riffled in the mind's book. Then hubris, courage or plain swagger. Lame introductions, nervous handshakes and nods.
Pause. A hiccup of relief here. Smile, to greenlight the dance of words, pregnant pauses and furtive stares.
2. There's small, trivial talk. Oh, talk of just about any variety of sweetish, salty things.
"Wanna watch some sports?"
"Let's chill first with beer"
With the exterior of nonchalance, the dance meanders the silent music.
Underneath the cold steely growls, grunts and coyness, all the staging of the arena, verbal sparring, rhythm and rush of the blood are roiling deep and just under the surface of flushed skin.
3. There's the planned yet accidental touch of the arms or the round shoulders honed in five hours of weekly gym.
It is the tentative caress of that otherness, of that unexplored regions and terrains. It's an exploration of all the pent up anticipation. A titration of sorts. It's a wonderful sundry of what makes the other different, ergo, exciting. It's a plumbing into the mysterious gentlemen who, just an hour or so ago, was almost impregnable in his khaki parka and pale loafers.
4. Just when the coda is about to fade into the last bar, there is again the familiar scent of nerves, gnawing at the nape.
"You wanna hang out in my place? I have DVDs to finish."
"Have you seen Breaking Bad yet. They say it's good. I have a stash. Let's do a marathon."
Off to the bat cave Robin!
5. After peeling the layers of thoughts concealed in the mind, Robin and his mentor (Batman or Poison Ivy) proceed with the stripping of imposed decency---clothes.
They begin with the masks that hide secret identities and sins, the tiny barbs hidden in the folds of their curls, the long silky capes and sordid garments.
They kiss, of course.
Tongues, you know, aren't just tactile but can be gustatory and olfactory, an lethal mix. Body odors, flesh scents and salty aromas give the heady bouquet for sex.
6. We come now to the entrees of caramel skin, hot flesh and all the juices to lubricate the discourse.
Alas, it also follows a hierarchy: necking, petting, oral sex, anal sex and, finally, the second coming of Adam and Eve.
The thread that tie these acts crank up the senses from the purely ticklish lick of the pink nipple, to the wet kiss across the furry leg pits, to the fancy pull of the wiry happy trails, to the snap of the elastics just under the funky navel, you get the drift....
And, if you happen to notice, anal sex in second only to climax. And that's a lot of climb up the edge of reason.
---
There is certainly no reason to be abstemious about that experience at the edge of reason.
Treat Conrad Huey (born August 28, 1985) is an American tennis player of Filipino descent who represents the Philippines internationally. He specialises in doubles.
I remember a few cardinal rules of childhood about safety:
1. Never run with exposed sharp objects, in either hand (this covers No. 2 Mongol pencils, scissors, butter knives, bamboo barbecue sticks, Zesto plastic straws, etc.).
2. Never put sharp objects in the pockets of your pants (you've heard about that poor guy with a single testicle, right? Remember the slick, bushy-browed brother in "While You Were Sleeping"?).
Appropriately enough it's called "Running With Scissors". I came across this through the new Youtube interface. They say Youtube is now aligned with the more social ecosystem of Google+. In short, a machine, somewhere in Kansas (let's call her Dorothy) is profiling me and has just cheerfully suggested this film. Wonderful. Cue in Twilight Zone theme.
More on this in later posts but Dorothy is getting very uncanny about her tips. She knows exactly what I like. She's like a friend, innocuously lurking online, ready to cash in on me--- per her master's bidding who is somewhere in sunny California.
I'm taking that red pill, Neo.
I vaguely remember a bargain book of the same title tucked somewhere in Booksale limbo. I was too chicken (nay, cheap. But at Booksale!? Sheesh.) to buy it, although, I found it interesting, past three or so odd pages. Regret can give a hefty kick in the mind.
The movie has a Yalie shrink and patriarch who lives with a family of women who are dancing on the edge of their sane universes. Did I mention that their universes are as frayed and as unsettling as the pink mansion they call home? Augusten, the protagonist, is a junior high truant who was adopted by his mom's shrink after his parents (Annette Bening and Alec Baldwin) abandoned him when their marriage OD-ed on emotional blackmails and psychological abuses.
I'm only halfway through now but the movie is populated by a progressive, fractured lot. It's a hedgehog world careening, with all it's stakes and spines, into entropy. Social, moral and other conventions, circa 1970, just didn't seem to lubricate much of their existence and interactions. Their run down, crowded house is a good candidate for a Clean House makeover. Not unlike them, it's an oddball screaming in a suburb of manicured lawns, respectable nuclear families and Church-going community. Yeah, misfits can generate really engaging characters. Somehow there's relief in seeing a bit of our stained, but secret lives in them (we're not alone with our demons) and yet there's still some safety because we're much less deviant (we're not too skewed away from the center of the bell curve).
During a "confrontation" with Augsusten about a pederastic relation with his adopted son (Joseph Fiennes), Augusten admitted that he did not fit in. Hence, he wanted out of school, out of his misery. Dr. Finch wryly noted: "Where would we be without our painful childhood?".
Much later, in one of his depressed moments, while recovering from a staged suicide to finally get off from High School, thanks to Dr. Finch's idea, the weird (an understatement)and zoned out zombie, kibble-nibbling matriarch gave him a book on Cosmetology. He confided earlier that he wanted to study Cosmetology and to build an empire like Vidal Sassoon. Then in one rare gift of lucidity, she consoled him, "It's good to have dreams, Augusten. Dreams get us through the hard times."
It is beautiful.
Oh, incidentally Ryan Murphy of Glee directed. No wonder Gwyneth Paltrow and Kristin Chenoweth make their appearances here, too.
"I wouldn't have known about this site had it not been for my former boyfriend who, at that time, was trying to win me back. I remember sitting on the concrete bench across the university grandstand when he told me he had started an account in an online social hub for the LGBT and other letters after that. I gave it a try.
But we both decided to delete our accounts after getting back together. (And to get rid of that guy who fed me with false stories and continued to flirt with my former boyfriend.) I guess we just didn't want anything or anybody to crack our second chance.
And now I'm back here after a year; single.
Yeah, the second chance didn't work out for the two of us. He quit. But who knows? Maybe my coming back here wouldn't be that bad. After all, I'd like this to be the place, besides Tumblr, where I can talk about those letters not many people care for.
It's still worth a shot right?"
------------
Sometimes, we forget that encounters blossom also outside that grandstand.
The world can house little revolutions elsewhere. We just have to look for those elusive sparks when persons collide with humanity.
You've heard about wonderful supernovas that herald the birth of stars, no? Well, they're possible. And, they can also mean the death of an old red giant. This means the collapse of all order and sanity. In short, chaos! Blackholes. Quantum singularity.
Yes, kid, it's a risk.
And often, too, we are lost. So we each have a different adventure to tell.
Good luck then.
PS: Don't forget your comfy shoes, of course, a map and a tireless imagination.
Football Song is along the genre of many off beat, syncopated moving images:
1. "I know what you did last summer."
2. Sheepish, self-doubting, anywhere but here but...
3. "I know whom you did last summer"
4. Teen Brokeback Mountain, without the cattle and the grass and other stains....God I can't quit him just yet. Ever.
5. Gay Last Friday Night
6. Love of Siam
FOOTBALL SONG
by Matt Fishel
I’m sitting on the back of the football bus
All the lads are wearing shorts and shin pads
Talkin’ ‘bout the game they’re gonna win this afternoon
And all this display of masculinity, well it’s making me feel a bit nauseous
So I close my eyes and I pray it’ll be over soon
Now I have never functioned well at a competitive sport, I just can’t find the fun
And besides, I’m far too paranoid about the way I look when I run!
So I sit here combing my hair
Trying my hardest not to stare
But it’s getting cold out…
…then the whistle blows
I will never be Captain, but I will be King
And I’m gonna achieve the most wonderful things that don’t involve playing football in the rain
I will never be one of the lads in the team
But I’ll conquer the system and fight for my dreams
And I don’t know if I could ever win - but I’m gonna be the best there’s ever been
Now Johnny is the head of our football team
He always boasts to his friends about women
I wonder if he’d carry on that way if I told them all the places we’d been in
And Johnny struts around on the football pitch with an arrogant smirk on his face
But he wears a smile of a different kind when he comes to stay over at my place!
And I’ll sit there combing my hair
While he’s taking off his underwear
And it’s getting warmer…
…‘til the whistle blows
And Johnny is captain and Johnny is King
And his parents are hoping for wonderful things that don’t involve him screwing ‘round with me
(They don’t want him screwing ‘round with me)
And Johnny’s the best-looking lad on the team
All the guys want to be him, he’s “every girl’s dream”
And no, I don’t think I will ever win – but I’m gonna be the best there’s ever been
I’m sitting on the back of the football bus
And I wonder… will it ever change?
We were playing the usual drills at the clay, nay, shell court that afternoon.
I was unmindful of background noises, distractions and the likes of not so pretty ball boys because three weeks of slacking off court meant losing stamina and control. Three weeks!
My returns were flying all over, especially from my backhand, which just slept through the rallies. Oi, hello there Mr. Backhand Left, I thought I'd play single-handed today. Remember, Mr. Forehand Right?
I was also losing steam during the cross court returns and I couldn't return low angled balls. By the close of the first hour, I was puffing sweat through all the possible exit points in my body. Oops, that didn't sound quite right.
But distractions from the loins could not be ignored.
From my right periphery, I saw two gorgeous, twenty-something preppy apparitions waiting for Court 1 to open up. Lucky me, it so happened that Court 1 was beside our Court 2.
I heard their quiet, nasal twang. French. OMD. O Mon Dieu!
Since I was beat up anyway. I decided to check out the young, fresh male merchandise (mec).
Mmmmhmmmm. Young candies. Almost unblemished.
"5 minutes! I'll just take a leak." I hollered as I headed so innocently to the WC where one fit and slim mec just entered. I think he was gonna change shirts. Booyah.
And true to my fertile imaginings, I saw a lean flesh lightly darkened with fur.
He was facing me so I was temporarily blinded by his two shy, pink headlights.
I nodded, of course, in acknowledgement.
Nodding is the language of diplomacy that belies all sorts of undiplomatic, impure thoughts.
He didn't blush. He smiled slightly and nodded with those boyish dimples and lashes. Jesus, he's no twink. He's a self-assured young man with well defined pecs, abs and biceps. Boeuf.
Oh, were I a handsome frog with sticky retractable tongue.
I would have tasted those pink candied pools of glands. They were just begging for it. Besides, they were a little stained with sweat. Haha. I would also have known the guilt of denuding his young, sweet forest of fur--- green oaths be damned.
He smiled again as I tried to gingerly pass by him, claws curled and sheathed. Not yet pussy cat. Not yet.
And before I could get to to sink and leave the magnificent sight to memory, I saw him drop his jeans.
OMG.
He was wearing nothing but white jockstraps on his white delicate skin. Ok, in how many ways can one contemplate epiphany in all its glory.
I won't be able to pee. I had to pretend, but I couldn't.
After I was "done", he still was fidgeting with his straps.
*Hey cutie, want any help with that?* Snap!
He seemed to relish strutting his almost nakedness.
Gaddam it. And gaddam my five minutes. Time flies....
I nodded again.
He tilted his head, with a wicked gleam of malice.
Bugs like that have to meet their death between the grip of hard nails. Squished, squashed and very dead. No love lost and good riddance.
Puce is a color that is defined as ranging from reddish-brown to purplish-brown, with the latter being the more widely-accepted definition.... (Wikipedia)
Puce is a shade of red. Not far from the vermilion stain on my thumbs after the blood bath.
"Penises are great. Penises are crucial. I love me some penis. But sometimes they can be real bugaboos. I know vaginas are way worse because they bleed and have their own monologues but having a penis isn’t exactly a cakewalk either." thoughtcatalog
What is it with Britney, the marines and the desert air? Is there some correlation of some sort that makes a cocktail of napalm?
It's an explosive mix! Hotness! ---fanned by the dry Arab winds.
They do jiggle the naked fuzzy pecs, the rock hard abs and the fleshy biceps, putty cat! Yet, dey do! Don't you feel a-jiggly Jel-O melting like sweat on those musky, sandy skin.
Exhibit A, for the prosecution: crotch grab 1:29 and 2:12 pelvic thrusts.
Beautiful. Drop Dead. Beautiful.
Keep going boys.
Keep it up and lubed. We don't want it parched and sore, do we?
Again! Beautiful. Drop Dead. Beautiful.
Now I have a movie in my head to go with that LSS. Beautiful!
1. I was supposed to meet up for pizza with the cousins. On an overcast and damp afternoon, a wood-fired oven baked pizza is a must. I was so looking forward to have a feast in Connecticut.
Umm-hmmm.
Me: 1 Dark Powers: 0
Lesson: A promise is best kept warm and crusty.
2. But my cousin had a basketball accident and needed to be rushed for x-rays. Plus the rain started up again, hard. So we all had to change plans and cancel for another day. Bummer!
Me: 1 Dark Powers: 1
Lesson: For lemons, there are recipes for lemon pies, meringues and lemonades.
3. That meant I had more time to get my mac cables and adapters. I finally found the adapter for the mini DVI port and HDMI cable after roundabout search in Virra Mall. The friendly guys from CDR King were quite helpful. They didn't have what I needed but they pointed me to the store that did. Same owners?
Me: 2 Dark Powers: 1 Lesson: The universe favors the persistent.
4. Then I saw him. Such a dead ringer for the new Peter "Spidey" Parker. No, I didn't snap away, even undercover. No way! Thank the Gods for sanity and self-preservation.
He was enjoying the caramel sundae as a side order for his quarter pounder with cheese. Sweet as that twinky dessert!
5. Incidentally, that "royale" (Pulp Fiction reference) hunk of meat carries 560 kilo calories (kCal) of all 100% beefy goodness "without additives, preservatives or flavor enhancers". The new, more modern and international McDonald's also had nutritional information leaflets. Big Mac has 510 and McChicken, 340 kCal.
Cool typography on the walls, some glass, geometric designs and graphics and the soft ambient lighting made the interiors really nice. And Peter Parker was a beatific vision.
6. With my errands and electronic stuff in tow, I hurried for a cab just across the street. No lines!
Me: 4 Dark Powers: 1
Lesson: I can't be this lucky?!
7. Then on the ride home, I realized I left my umbrella in the spic and spanky McDo.
Me: 4 Dark Powers: 1+3
Lesson: I wasn't be that lucky. Declarative statement---a dot of certainty by the hags of fates.
Happy Sunday!
Post Script on Nouveau McDo, 13th October 2011 :
Daddy Teddy Boy Locsin: Have you been to the new Mcdo lately? It's the Vatican of fastfood!
A curious thing happened while reading my updates---you know, the usual suspects: Twitter, Facebook and Emails. I've neglected to keep track of this online account, but there it was.
A nice surprise.
He loves Enchanted, Star Trek, Grave of the Fireflies, Shaolin Soccer, The Remains of the Day....
Me too. Ok, maybe except for Shaolin Soccer. Hmmm....
He says message me if "I am sooo not your type.... or if you have a story in your head.... or if your brain is melting from my sheer hotness.... or if you just wanna say I've gotta lot of nerve.
... or if you feel that we're destined for each other. You'll know this when you read my profile and the heavens part, giving way to shimmering light and a winged choir chorusing "Damn, I Wish I Was Your Lover"
... or if you like saying hello to complete strangers. In which case, we open ourselves up to possibly interesting consequences. I say "possibly" because I might just bore you, so much that your liver collapses."
Interesting guy. Funny, too. Hmmm...
A few days later, the messages trickled in.
Uh Oh.
--------------------------
Hey 12th, I gave you a gift for that interesting profile. Nice. =)
--------------------------
Hi Andrew, I'm trying my best not to read my profile again. Don't wanna fall in love with an online persona and turn into some Greek prick!
But thanks again for that award.
PS: Is there an iPhone 5 attached to that? It could be Job's last masterpiece. Oops! Forgot the very important "=)" I'm making fun of myself, if you must know. LOL.
--------------------------
Wow... that's a lotta messages. :-)
Nice profile pic, by the way.
--------------------------
And it was deleted by the droid machine.... oh well.
A lot of messages? Just 2. =) ----12th
--------------------------
Guess those droids don't know any better. :-)
Funny thing, though. When I did a quick search here, I specified gay people, but you came up in the results.
--------------------------
Yeah, "guess those droids don't know any better."
But you didn't happen to report the photo, did you?
--------------------------
Oh, yeah! I forgot the droid doesn't allow pics of that nature!
But, no, I didn't report it. I actually don't know how.
I'm guessing that you don't want to show your real photo because you're incredibly hunky-handsome and you don't want people messaging you because of your hotness. True? :-)
--------------------------
True.
You're free to shred that profile picture. I think I need to be more detached from that online image. He's kinda less cool and hot than his template. I'll have to steal something that'll do me more justice. Smug.
So now I'm stuck with a green shadow of an unknown. That'll do for now. It's difficult to be my "hunky-handsome"-self. Smirk.
PS: It was painful to ask that question. But the droid provoked a murderous rage. Five down, three to go. And Halloween's still three weeks away!
Remember our operational definition of mash-ups? Let’s review, kids. “Mash-up is what happens ‘when you take two songs and mash them together to make an even richer explosion of musical expression. In other words, two songs that might not initially seem to belong together are blended, the process of which reveals unexpected connections between the songs and might even yield an even stronger work than either one is on its own.’”
But what if it’s a Bizaro mash-up (you know, Bizaro? That freak who’s the anti-hero of Superman, the positron of an electron or the anti-gravity of, well, gravity.)? In short, it’s something that results in the opposite of an intended effect. You mash the pair up and kaput! Disaster! And your name shall be “Happy Together.”
I remember this film well, not just because it’s Wong Kar Wai, but because it gave me a headache.
Two lovers from Hong Kong, explode together in Argentina and seem forever poised to fight the predestined consequences of their natures. One is flighty, another, an anchor. A la Holly v. Paul of Breakfast at Tiffany’s (but without the happy ending and full orchestra to cap it off). Opposites attract, yes, and yet, there is ever the danger of annihilation.
Here’s to love.
A brief write-up of the movie, “Happy Together,” says:
“In high school freshman biology class I asked a question that exposed my ignorance of all things sexual. After having seen so many Hollywood movies in which lovers always seemed to click, I asked a teacher why everyone didn't take the same amount of time to reach orgasm. "Everyone is different," she said.
And that is the ultimate truth of relationships. Rarely are two people in synch. But when it does happen, it's amazing. Perhaps that's what makes Wong Kar-Wai's Happy Together such an amazing movie. It highlights the fact that we are rarely in synch with each other.
The plot of the film is relatively simple. Lai Yiu Fai (Tony Leung) and Ho Po Wing (Leslie Cheung) are lovers in a tumultuous relationship. But they are passionate when they are together. Getting away from Hong Kong which is on the verge of its historic repossession by the Chinese government from British rule, they end up in Buenos Aires. As they search for Igazu Falls, they end up angering each other, and Wing breaks it off. "Maybe sometime we can start again," he says, as they so often do. But Fai has had enough of stopping and starting and this time, he's tired of all the games (even though he plays them too).
Fai takes a job as a doorman at a tango bar, and Wing turns to a life of hustling. Their paths cross again, and when Fai sees Wing's new lifestyle, he is destroyed. But their paths continue to cross until a violent client breaks Wing's hands, and Fai takes him in. Eventually they become lovers again, but Fai still cannot stand Wing's waywardness and coyness. Fai eventually kicks out Wing. Fai finds a new job at a restaurant and befriends a young boy named Cheng (Chan Cheng), who has the distinguishing characteristic of having very good hearing. As Fai has reached a low point, the youth's enthusiasm brings him to a better place, though he is filled with melancholy and a longing to make good with his family. Fai, to quell these desires, starts having sex in anonymous bathrooms and porno theaters, something he thought only Wing does. Eventually, Fai makes a third effort to find Igazu Falls, and this time succeeds. Then he returns to Hong Kong, where he makes a short stop at the Cheng family's market. Fai sees Cheng's picture and at last feels confident that he can visit his old friend, though his relationship with his own family remains rocky.
Simply put, that's the story of the film: Two lovers break up, try to get back together, and fail miserably. This is the flip side of Sunrise. As Sunrise told the story of a married couple that survived their differences and boredoms, Happy Together suggests a sense of alienation and difficulty in all relationships of getting into synch together. As is the case in most of the time with Wing and Fai, they are never able to bend to the other's need until it is too late. They both want to make each other happy, but not for the sake of their individualism and their pride.” (http://www.cinemonkey.com/reviews/houxhappy/houxhappy.html)
Hi there planeteers, linkers and cupids. Gaia broadcasting again. Here are a few more lines to hook up a fresh fish from the big online ponds. Keep wishing, fate will soon relent!
But these are fine lines, you see. With just a few dustings and tweakings they could be more than the lame limps that they are. Promise.
1.Manhattan is as old as a song. Picture this: Katz’s. You sitting, comfy as the couch. Blissful with the pastrami on white bread. Ignoring the moans from the famous table. Or fail. Your vegan buds hasn’t been defiled with meat. Your pearly whites, then, now sing of my murder.
2.Ok, Spock, I won’t hand you your unexpected good lighting. Nah, you won’t get a threesome too but I promise you layered lasagnas and shadows as funky as that armpit of Manila---Quiapo. Simple. Wonderful. Reckless.
3.Here’s another adventure, how about a thrust as deep as Ken Ryker’s and soon you will be asking “Zac Ephron who?”
4.I forgive you for that horrible prose. I know, I know….your bad sense of judgment. From now on, boy, there will be no more of those flaccid attempts. I’ll make good, hard and deep memories with you, instead. Picture this: me, deep inside you, you, hanging by the length of my flesh, dancing to the delight of our sweet horny music. You ask me again, not a bit embarrassed, “who am I?”
5.Yes, coke and coffee are our preferred lubes. We both like em cold, too. Licks. So let's pretend we are as comfy as the couch in Starbucks. It's raining again, so we're seeking shelter inside this expensive vice. I'll probably be sipping my frap Mocha, thank you. You? I imagine, dark chocolate mocha. Since we both love lengthy conversations, why don't we engage in one and kill time. Baha pa sa labas. And probably the entire metropolis. I pick your mind and happily you offer..... Friends?
7.Tonight I tweet the nubbies and they can get rock hard. Damn. I need a shot of Valrhona.
8.I see you leaning on the wall, burning your stick. The smoke swirls like a hopeful incense. The wall is already green, ripe with its envy. It envies the flux that it cannot possess or even comprehend. So it must remain. Unmoved.
....Or opening lines that prove cheezier-than-month-old undies, stuck, forgotten under the bed sheets. Forgotten after you lost consciousness when you spent the night tickling Mr. Propriety while restrained with Mr. Inhibited's hand cuffs. Remember that red toy....?
Fumigate, expunge, sterilize! These lines now host a contagion. Ok, maybe just a hazard of memories.
Well, be free to experiment fellow inhabitants of Downelink, OkCupid, Planet Romeo (hello planeteers!) and their rainbow networks.
1. Hola Steve! If your tongue is a top, then my left ear volunteers to bottom. Here, trace the infinite constellations for as long as the tickled skin will allow.
He promised it was a safe afternoon caucus; 4-ish. So I agreed.
Getting there via the old road of the kings at Diliman Republic was a little tricky. But in the end, an experienced sense of direction helped. No, it wasn’t a compass or even a cartograph but the tricycle driver’s “nguso” pointing to the white sign that said rather timidly: “Greek”.
The happy trinity welcomed the new addition. Like “I passed the test, thus, I must diminish” of Lady Galadriel, I was baptized as the fourth wheel. Put a ring on it!
B’s and C’s impersonations poured in after the awkwardness and pithy introductions. Somehow, the red horses exorcised out all showbiz personalities into being. Bjork, Claire dela Fuente, Streisand, Judi Dench, the entire cast of “you-twit-face” (C’s term) and their analogues took their leap of faith to our table. Chopin, Heidegger and the rest of the lights just had to make space.
The personalities were simply elated to raze the caucus. The smell of the rain must have been too tempting for them to just stay inside their hosts.
After quaffing BBQed fat and offals and viewing a peek of B’s e-Tarots, the quartet walked to the ambient locale of yoghurt dessert with vanilla freebies, expensive tomes, spicy chicken and mountaineer haven.
Thankfully, the Republic still followed its own Bohemian rhythm of Pinoy and almost rustic niche. Makati and Pasig, which go berserk on Fridays, are just too remote, somehow.
Cheap food, wit and some tipsy songs really make for a fun dinner. Thanks B, C and D!
PS: Guys, if you, each, promise a Broadway repertoire maybe we’ll sequester the mike soon?
BJORK still scares me. And also her swan tutu. They both do violence to my fundamental option.
I love the metal riffs, the pain, the brokenness and the march of metaphors that follow:
You say you want
Diamonds on a ring of gold
You say you want
Your story to remain untold
But all the promises we make
From the cradle to the grave
When all I want is you
You say you'll give me
A highway with no one on it
Treasure just to look upon it
All the riches in the night
You say you'll give me
Eyes in a moon of blindness
A river in a time of dryness
A harbour in the tempest
But all the promises we make
From the cradle to the grave
When all I want is you
You say you want
Your love to work out right
To last with me through the night
You say you want
Diamonds on a ring of gold
Your story to remain untold
Your love not to grow cold
All the promises we break
From the cradle to the grave
When all I want is you
You...all I want is...
You...all I want is...
You...all I want is...
You...
Yes U2, you deserve a place in my altar. Give space, Ludwig and Fredeeric, a god has earned his votive and veneration.
Once again, it’s about a force of nature called love. Resistance is noble but futile. Prepare to be assimilated into the collective swoons and loopy hiccups.
(Or that Poor, Chaste Pool in the Middle of Mayhem)
Our, ahem/barf (take your pick), beloved “Melrose Place” has been forced out of retirement. Aaron Spelling, the creator and the stock, of Melrose and of Tori, respectively, must be so smug in high heavens. God rest his creative soul.
He lives!!!
Yes, MP’s been remade. Of course, it’s been jazzed up and updated for the Googling, Kindle-ing, Twittering and recession proof fans of the 21st century. Tori, your depleted trust fund finally has a source of replenishment. Fresh revenue streams are sweet!
I remember the original MP as set in La La Land. It was about twenty-something beautiful people and their issues, in a really nice cluster of apartments with a pool in the middle. Nice place. I always fancied myself a place like that. And that pool, of course. It was a convoluted exchange of libidos and body fluids.
Aye, I forget the stories now, but the secret formula goes something like this (deep breath):
Philandering hunk meets shy girl, but vamp owns hunk; shy girl pines; will she settle for the safe, sweet guy instead? (Europa halts its orbit in suspense); nah, she steals the hunk; vamp seethes with her red angry nails; confronts not-so-shy girl no more; cat fight!; in the pool!; wet meeeoowww!; hunk chooses shy girl; vamp humiliated to the Nth power; meanwhile, kibitzing sweet guy is crushed; pleads with shy girl; shy girl has an epiphany; hallelujah!; shy girl realizes that sweet guy’s the better man; shy girl dumps hunk; in her boudoir, vamp plots revenge; bides time; stalks shy girl; shower scene, Hitchcock style; oh, just a safe social call, false alarm; vamp extends diplomatic hand, still with red angry nails; closure? (you wish); vamp seduces sweet guy; in his moment of weakness, sweet guy hops into bed with vamp; set-up, set-up, set-up!; shy girl walks into them mid-coitus. Lalalalala.
Revenge is best served hot. In bed. In the arms of your enemy’s lover.
How fare thee, new MP? Are you as convoluted? Gnarled? Delicious? Bubble gum sweet and mindless like the old?
Final thought: I recall that lonely pool. You know, that excluded middle which remained the only CHASTE character, amidst the debauchery. Yes, Dilbert, a prop can assume a character role, a context that defines and relates with the rest.
A CHASTE pool? Not. Maybe the pool will have a fling with the bidet (blecch!) or the bathtub, this time. Naughty thing.
Hell, is there even a pool?
PS: The original had a powerhouse cast! Charlotte (Sex and the City), Bree (Desperate Housewives. Still crazy after all these years, I see: after Dr. Kimberly Shaw!) Georgia (Ally McBeal).
Aaron Spelling, also the creator of Charlie’s Angels, knew how to spin dreams and careers, indeed.
There are stories that can often feel too personal to share. We remember them but we keep them closed off, deep in the bowels of memories. But they linger, the emotions fester at the edge. Knocking at your wakefulness, asking to be granted freedom. Asking for leave to sing their tales.
The problem with dreams is that, sometimes, you believe they will come true. That's the consequence of falling.
"Boys break down each other’s walls. It’s an exercise in patience, getting a man to surrender to you, but when they do, their body explodes with feelings. They lock themselves up and when someone finally opens the floodgates, a whole lot of everything comes out. They’re a piñata and you’re carrying the bat.
People always seem to marvel at men who unravel and show their sensitive sides. A woman delights at seeing such a change. It’s such a victory to see a male become unchained to their machismo. When it happens between two men, however, it’s truly magnificent. The sight of two boys loving each other like they’ve been taught not to do is a revelation.
We know what you think of us. We know that there’s this image of gay men just being detached and hungry for sex. There is that. There is a lot of that. But there’s also thoughtfulness, concern, monogamy, Sunday afternoons in bed, I love you babe, I love you a lot, and you make me so happy. There’s so much of that and it’s never really talked about. It’s the secret lives of boys who love boys. Let’s blow the lid off of it, okay? Let’s expose every sweet moment, every kissed neck, every intense hand holding session." (Secret Lives....)
The new season of Glee promises changes a-plenty with new writers, fewer tribute episodes to glorious pop stars, and the impending sadness at the departure of a few favorite characters. Fear not, though. Jane Lynch isn’t going anywhere, and so long as Sue Sylvester is around to torment the singers of McKinley High or take time to star in hilarious PSAs, then we’ll have Glee programmed into the DVR.
Five songs from the season three opener, “The Purple Piano Project,” have found their way online ahead of next week. Sadly, there are no Foo Fighters or Kings of Leon songs to be heard. Still, after the jump you’ll hear New Directions tackle the likes of Tom Jones, The Go-Go’s, songs from Hairspray, Anything Goes, and The Wizard of Oz/Wicked. Not only do they sound great, but they get double bonus points for not singing “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” Do the new songs get you excited for the upcoming season?
I've forgotten how Apo Hiking Society can wrap poetry around something that would have sounded cheesy and trite by now. I mean, in how many unique ways can you describe the experience of love, lurv, luv?
I guess that's the genius of the song. Old familiars and even those done-to-death realities are recreated and retold with the dance of spring. And you feel the bass pumping in your bones.
I think their "Pag-ibig" is at least 25 years old. That's a quarter of a century for you! And people wonder, myself included, why I like Bach and the Beatles. Well, they never get old! Ever. Bach and his music has lived on and on for almost 500, yes 500!, years now. The Beatles? Oh about 50 years, plus or minus. My nephews love "I Will" as crazy as I do.
Old songs don't really go stale. They age and ripen into vintage audio---years slowly settle by the rivers of their lines and blossom on the serifs of their metaphors. Quietly they get infused with new epiphanies from fresh experiences of new generations. Then somehow, by the magic of years, the songs begin to speak seasoned tales and resonate with richer tongues.
I think I'll have that Pinipig Crunch now (Is this still Magnolia or did Nestle buy this term as well?). How old is this product anyway?
It's alright that he has two left feet. Or that he looks and sounds spaced out in Glee. But when he gives you that almost shy, almost knowing, almost half-smile don't you wanna just pounce on him (see segment 0:26-0:28). Yeah, don't you wanna bite a piece of the fresh beef jerky.
Cory Monteith is Straight. Sigh.
Cory, Cory, Cory. You make me itch like jello quivering from that half-smile.
And (no buts) yes, he's straight but not narrow. He's a guy and he's ok talking to guys about guys who like guys.
Sweet Jesus, where can we order one of these for take out?
"Sunday, April 3, 2011 -m4m I fixed the water outside your apt today, you had a problem with your plumbing. I never asked you your name but I thought you were very attractive. Interested? Reply with where you were going and what you were wearing."
