Wednesday, November 23, 2011

No Escape

Play hard. Play safe. Live long. 
Looks


Looks

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

Hotness

Yeah, baby. You deserve a reward.

Treat Conrad Huey (born August 28, 1985) is an American tennis player of Filipino descent who represents the Philippines internationally. He specialises in doubles.

Tennis

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

Running with Knives

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"?).

kickkicksnare

This film zapped me out of my Wednesday stupor.

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.

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Happy Christmas

Ok, this is jumping the gun by weeks. But blame it on the cold mornings. And the social networks.

This has been circulating.

Old songs do get new suits for Christmas. I wonder what's wrapped for me under the tree.



Sunday, November 13, 2011

A Letter to a Young Soul

An edited excerpt for privacy.

Keanu needs a hug.

"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.

Friday, November 11, 2011

Football Song

This is cute.

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

Matt Fishel

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?

Football!!!!

Possession

I need my past life back. What have you done to him, Murdoch? Midas?

Yuck.

I don't know this guy staring at me: Midas?

Is he possessed of some other persons's ether?

Get rid of it!

Begone! Shoo.

Let the old, feisty weather in. We want ours with thunders, hailstorms and gales.

How did I become cocoa and cuddles? I thought I was evil, bad, vile and all things nice.

Scrap this test.




Thursday, November 10, 2011

Monday, November 7, 2011

Gladness

I'm a Billy Joel fan. With a cover of Uptown Girl by the Warblers, I'd have to say, here's to happiness!

Nice, neat ending. Classic.

I love Glee. I'm happy that way.



Here's one from real life(?) Warblers in Oxford. And just in their preppy uptown socks!

Sunday, November 6, 2011

A Coward for French Candies

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.

Candy from Kickette

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.

Gaddam.

I fled.

I'm diabetic.

Goddam!