What's Worse than Night of the Champions?

Mabi: What’s worse than “Night of the Champions”? “Night of the Champions, THE REPEAT”.

Oh hell. She’s right (this time). I wanted to go to Erik backstage and say:

“What’s wrong, baby? Is it you father’s presence that’s distracting you? Are you overworked? Cos, fuck, you really, really sucked tonight. You forgot lines of your own songs (and I actually noticed, darn!), you were constantly out of breath, your Martin Nievera medley was monotonous and boring (no, that’s Martin’s fault, really), and you sweated so much throughout the entire thing, wait, no, that’s actually good, sweating is good and hot. Maybe sweating and out of breath together. But the rest, honey, no. No, no. You get an F for Fucked.”

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On our way back from lunch, Mabi casually blurted that we’ve actually been friends for over a decade, and wow. (WARNING: Hallmark ad coming your way in 5 seconds.) The comfort level I have with her is just wonderful, and it shows. It’s always so easy, easier, to laugh, to cry even, when she's around. It’s just precious. You know how old couples, literally old couples, hold hands like it were the most natural thing on earth, like breathing, like walking? No? Me too, but I imagine it to be like my afternoons with her. Pure sugar, pure instinct.

Jologz Rule's

Preparing to leave for Araneta Coliseum to watch the "Night of the Champions, The Repeat" concert featuring Erik Santos, Sarah Geronimo, etc.

WHAT THE FUCK?!?

I know. And I must confess, I also went to the first staging. I have this pimply-high school crush on Erik, and every little thing he does is magic. Ztupid luv. And it's something that I just have to share, my SJB (Secret Jologz Behavior).

I'm so excited. But I can I hide it. :)

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.

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.

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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?

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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.