of pie graphs and (not) giving up

There are things that I do relatively well—such as remembering useless trivia, covering books neatly in plastic, breaking bad news to people, getting free rides in buses and jeeps, fixing leaky faucets, fixing an errant Windows OS, abusing metaphors, making fun of myself, blending in the wallpaper, writing resignation letters, among few other things.

And then there are things that I do not do well—like using the semi-colon correctly, saving money, following instructions and directions, washing my own clothes, going on dates, making small talk on dates, meeting expectations , balancing chemical equations, sports, gaining weight, coming to class on time, coming to work on time, avoiding self-deprecation, among many other things.

This neat taxonomy of things should translate to a neat pie graph, a sort of reference that I may consult in the point of indecision. Say I have to decide if I should go back to juggling work and school. I only need to consult the pie graph and find out that my time-management skills are comparable to that of an infant gorilla, and I would know that it cannot be done. Regrettably, it is not as simple as it may seem.

fictions revolutions

"This is good bye then, Victor."

"Who knows when I will be needing you again? If I will be needing you again. This is merely a new stage in our strange relationship."

"I have a feeling that you are right. You think too much about the real me, and that's all you ever do: think. People are lucky if you write what you think. I mean, what you really think. You hide behind these sort of blog posts. And right now, the real me does not yet exactly encourage or (discourage) your vanity. Your narcissism is bound to summon me from the shadows of your sick mind."

"You really are adorable, do you know that?"

"Thank you."

"Good bye, Selkirk."

"Nein, Victor. Auf Wiedersehen."

interruptus

Life is full of interruptions. One second you're watching this good movie in the theater, the next second some nice person's ass is blocking the view. One second you're reading a good book, the next second you realize you have to put it down to pee.

One second, you're garbling stories about the rich, the next you're caught in a web of... a web of whatever-this-is. How thoroughly convenient.

the view from below, part one

I sometimes feel ashamed of myself when I do it, but I genuinely enjoy watching wealthy people, their little refined gestures and speaking tones, the way they look at you, their inherent politeness. The only comparable experience when I truly enjoyed observing living things was back in high school biology class when we tackled live amoeba under a microscope.

When I was a young boy, my interests included staring at ants going about their business for hours. Now, I just stare at people who live in big houses.

This might sound like a hideous and phony comparison, because despite my socialist tendencies, gawking at the rich almost always prompted the unconscious and vicarious “what if”—not “What if we launch the revolution tomorrow and wipe out the landed elite?" but “What if my dad were someone who played golf and my mom were someone who went to parties?”

my new year un-resolution

This is my first post for this year and I was thinking about starting it off with a meaningful pledge—something like “From now on, I will no longer swear and use the name of God in vain” or “Today, I will become a vegetarian.” Unfortunately, such decisions are beyond my abilities, and the most I can do is to talk about old things that I will probably continue doing this year—such as smoking.

While many of my friends have heroically chose to effectively quit nicotine come 2010, unleashing a flood of Facebook status and Twitter updates on how splendidly they are getting along, I realized that I cannot “jump in the bandwagon.” I simply do not have any urgent reasons to shun cigarettes, at least not yet.

quotes of 2009: the witty, the funny, and the downright stupid (2)

I had wanted to include soundbites from local figures, but that would mean I would have to scour vast quantities of magazines and web articles to come up with decently witty and/or ridiculous quotes. (Manny Pacquiao would have been my ultimate favorite.) So I stuck with the global celebrities. Silvio Berlusconi of course was this year's obvious runaway winner, but very close behind is Hillary No-Surname and the very charmingly disarming Paris Hilton.

quotes of 2009: the witty, the funny, and the dowright stupid (1)

Andy of Visual Velocity came up recently with his list of Essential Quotes of 2008. And I thought I want to do this year's. This is quite a taxing endeavor, but I cannot sleep anyway because of all the bloody ruckus from the party down the block. I have omitted the deeply profound and just suck with wisdom from the witty, the funny, and the downright stupid--all organized below into neat months.

si ate at ang anti-mendicancy law

Hindi ko kinaya ang narinig kong usapan nung isang gabi sa kalsada.

Mga matatandang nangangaroling (MMN): [Pagkatapos kumanta] Namamasko po!

Si ateng kapitbahay namin (SAKN): Naku po, hindi niyo po ba alam na labag sa batas talaga ang pangangaroling?

MMN: Hindi naman kami covered nun. Dahil para sa mga bata lang yung Anti-Mendicancy Law.

SAKN: Covered po, dahil considered begging ang pangangaroling, kahit na sino po ang gumagawa.

Hindi ko na tinapos subaybayan ang mga sumunod na eksena, pero baka nauwi sa sabunutan dahil may pambibintang ng paglilimos. Baka lang naman. Basta nagkulong na lang ako sa kwarto para di ko na sila marinig.

Sa maniwala kayo't sa hindi, totoong nangyari po ito. Subukan niyong mangaroling sa amin.

museums, musings, muses

I've been blogging, on and off, for almost five years now, but only recently did I start to realize that my blogs are like museums--privately run institutions where I am the curator, the awed tourist, the dead artist, and the shrunken pharaoh at the little dusty corner, all at once.

Just a while ago, I rediscovered a curious article that I stashed in the inventory room but forgot to display in the public showrooms. Intensive research dates the said artifact to around March this year, pre-Ishiguro era. Apparently, this was an age when tagging was a little bit of what we might call today as a "fad." I was tagged by Nyl of Citybuoy and thus tasked to come up with a list of 15 people I want to talk about. The rule is that I may NOT say who they are.

I remember that I thought about writing in third person, but Nyl seemed to have had a big kick out of it by writing in second person, so I followed the lead. However, I only came up with just 10 people, because I could not think of five more. This was my list:

fictions reloaded

"You're evil, Victor."

"What?"

"You heard me. You're evil. Otherwise, why would I be here? This is pure indecency. This absurd bench we are sitting on, the clean new haircut you have, this inexhaustible cigarette in my hand, this imagined conversation--all manifestations of your cowardly shamelessness, your cunning strategies. And 'Selkirk' my ass. Why else would you have given me, I mean the real me, such an easy pseudonym? And we're not even talking about that hideous title. ... and other fictions. Pathetic. I know you have anticipated this to happen, imagined every detail. You have invented this conversation in advance. He who is to perform a horrendous act should imagine to himself that it is already done, should impose to himself a future as irrevocable as the past. Jorge Luis Borges, The Garden of Forking Paths."

"Can I say something?"

"No, I'm not done yet, so I'd appreciate it if you'd rather refrain from interrupting me. And don't you dare click on that Publish Post Butt--"