Thursday, July 29

Happy Daze

Blah blah blah Museum blah blah blah collaterals---and 11:52, I was finally on my way to lunch with Dodo.

He had been my first room mate (and I think the last, cos we moved to a bigger office and all creative guys occupied one big room) in my first stint in advertising. He gave me his copy of Liz Phair's Exile in Guyville and I so owe him for that precious precious act of kindness. 9 years later, I still listen to Exile and it is as rocking and poignant today as it was in 1995.

So there he was in National Sports Grill smiling and devouring a salad in the smoking area, The Postal Service CD near his plate. He doesn't smoke but I do, and by just being in the smoking area, he had immediately brought us to where we left off a couple of years ago. (Still a huge fan of details) The familiarity of his presence was comforting. Beer at the end of the day comforting.

And so we talked music.

Loving Postal Service. Gibbard's from Death Cab for Cutie who we're also loving, but Postal we love more. Raveonettes. Josh Rouse. Pernice Bothers. Loretta Lynn and Jack White. (Reminder: Burn him Stars and The Shins.)

Vince Torres dropped by before 1 pm after saying previously to Dodo that he was scared of me. Hmmm. Vince was the first guy I ever had under me. No, that sounded wrong. He was the first guy who I instructed --- well, not really --- I was his boss. Period. I missed him too.

More relaxed and older, the entire repartee was quick, fun, and familiar. (So Thor, you're maintaning a Captain's Blog.)

After 4 bottles of San Mig Light and discussions on Star Trek Voyager and Mandy Moore, I realized I was happy. And it wasn't really that difficult to be happy. Sometimes, all it takes is a phone call. Sometimes, nothing at all.

You can turn around and like where you are.

Friday, July 23

Parallel Universes

It's like a religion. Instead of a God, there is almost a desperate need to believe in parallel universes. And why not? They say that for every choice, every decision made --- waking up 5 minutes later, getting off work an hour earlier, stopping for a minute to light a cigarette --- a new universe emerges where instead of later, you are earlier; instead of stopping, you continue walking; instead of you, you are someone else. A deja vu could be an instance of merging universes, of similar histories intersecting and two different selves occupying the same continuum for a few seconds.

Going back to U.P. yesterday made me think of who I would be today if I had stayed at the university and pursued a life of teaching English. I tried to imagine life in a classroom instead of an office, life without advertising, maybe without W, and definitely without 10 people who i now consider indispensable friends. I tried, but couldn't.


In the episode "The Wish" in Season 3 of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Anya (a vengeance demon) granted Cordelia's wish of a Buffy-less Sunnydale. The new, darker Sunnydale had Xander and Willow vamps, a scarred (and dead) Buffy, a faithless Giles, a sexier Angel and a humorless script.

Could staying or leaving really be so devastatingly life changing?


Afternoon beer with KF after a long trip around Manila was exactly the cooling down that I needed. When music geeks come together the conversation takes the melody of giggling exclamation points. New albums (YeahYeahYeahs and Juliana Hatfield), lousy singers (Purple Chicken) and learning how to baby talk somewhere between the peanuts and travel writing.

In this instance, staying was a good idea. I couldn't have made a better choice.

Wednesday, July 21

Irish Toast

May those who love us, love us, and may God turn the hearts of those who don't. And if he can't turn their hearts, may he turn their ankles, so we'll know them by their limping.

(Thanks, Margie.)

Not Really the Beginning

I can't get the dates right. I can't decide whether to write about AR or not. But I have. I have deleted my previous blog, and here he is now, the first entry, the only reincarnation of my first blog. It's not that I want to relive the longing and continually punish myself with it; it's really more of not forgetting the innocence of last night's celebration.

We just wanted to be around each other.

Take out the sex, his physical appeal and my hornyness --- what's left is an almost innocent, buddly-flick friendship.

This is what I want to remember.


Over a smoke while standing outside the Library, I did tell Margie about last night. And she actually found it "cute." Safe. And I think it already is, safe, for us to see each other again. I can keep my pants (painfully) zipped. Nothing that beer can't cure.

Yes, alcohol keeps me more sane than usual. I'm a boring, square drunk that way. The bad fucks and the worse morning-after-the-fuck thing doesn't at all apply. It's when I'm alcohol free that I uhm misbehave. That's my reality. My alternate reality is when my head is spinning from too much rhum and 3 liters of Cable Car's draft, while thinking of ways of how to be good.