Showing posts from 2007

fashionable death

A speck of light floats in the middle of the darkness. As the music swell (the theme from Schindler's List) so does the light, which blossoms into an image of a woman. Suddenly, out of nowhere, she emerges from the darkness, floats around in mid-air, swathed with a fabric so soft and light it appears like liquid. And as the music ends, so does she who slowly turns into a speck of light. Then there was darkness again.

I was mesmerized. Who knew a fashion show could be so — i hesitate to say this — emotional? It was Alexander McQueen's show from two or three years back and the model was Kate Moss. I stumbled upon it while surfing Youtube. I only read about Alexander McQueen when I was still working in a newspaper. Regularly, photos of his shows would come up in our pages. Unlike other designers, his designs grab you instantly. There are more costume-y than your average Michael Kors or Marc Jacobs. I believe, he once had his models appear by riding the horses on a carousel. Appar…



Uy, wag kang lilingon, yung guy dun sa tabi, tingin nang tingin sa atin.




Punyeta, sinabi nang wag lilingon eh.

Eh anong gagawin ko? Sinabi mo cute eh di siempre lilingon ako!

Sana mas naging discreet ka naman!

Hoy, kung yung ex ko nga pinilit akong maging discreet eh hindi nagwagi ikaw pa kaya?

Kaw bakla, puma-punch line ka na naman.

Eh anong gusto mong gawin ko, tanawin siya sa pamamagitan ng pwet ko?

Bwahaha (mock laughter). Magsama kayo ng pwet mo. Ang baho nyo!

(Makes face)

So what do you think?

Cute siya

Cute siya noh?

In fairness.

In Fairview.

Dennis Trillo ang byuti.

Type mo siya? Type ko siya.

Like ko. Love ko!

Parang naggi-gym.

May hubog ang katawan.

Cute rin yung siko niya at nakikita ko malaki ang kanyang nota.

Echos! My X-ray vision ka.

XXX vision.

Bakla nagi-imagine ka na naman!

Plus I think gay sha.

Hay naku, eto na naman tayo. Lahat naman bakla sayo.

Helow di noh.

Pati stepfather mo tingin m…


I’ve a new favorite pants that I just acquired recently. As a gift for my poor weathered soul. I think it’s a tad smaller for my size and I refuse to eat any meal every time I’m on them. My tummy might not justify the vision that the designer had when he thought of the jeans. I know it’s stupid. The denim had me by my belly. But I love it. Every time I wear it I think I gain five thousand sexy points. It makes my waist look slimmer, my legs longer and my ass— have you seen my ass? By God they are gorgeous! Of course, I’m joking. It actually looks a bit bigger when I’m wearing the jeans. When I was shopping that day I asked a rather cute attendant for a size 32. He looked at me disapprovingly and retrieved another pair. Oh my god, I’m bigger than I thought. I was already thinking of the things that I ate that day when the attendant said, “You are so not a 32. You’re a 29.” Fabulous! That naughty little boy certainly knew how to get me off my pants. I quickly hopped to the fitting room …

sleepless in qc

Yesterday, I couldn’t sleep despite the fact that I have been awake for almost 72 hours. It was already four in the afternoon when I finally tried to take a nap but of course it was simply impossible. Our room was filled with such magnificent sunshine that even if I shut my eyes with a pillow and a blanket it would still be like having a picnic in the beach at noon. The sun was every where and of course we don’t have curtains. Then the phone rang and what do you know there’s a problem. The office which I left three weeks ago finally calls me and tells me that something came up. After sending messages, trying to figure out a solution I knew that it was hopeless. The dogs down the street are barking endlessly. I could hear kids screaming, motors running. It was crazy. So I went out, lit a cigarette and tried to think of ways to knock me unconscious. Then I realized that what’s keeping me awake was stress so I tried to think of things to alleviate all the stress I was having. Then I real…

oh barf!

Recently I’ve begun smoking almost a pack a day. I guess that’s what boredom and unemployment do to you. You try to kill yourself in any way possible. But until I have successfully done that, I am stuck here at the house waiting for everything. Phone calls from future employers, text messages from friends inviting me out, for my boyfriend to come home from work. Just tonight, I saw again the last four episodes of Sex and the City. I have question: Why did they have to shoot it in Paris when Carrie eventually fell back to Mr. Big? Frankly, I was rooting for Alexandr Petrovsky. He’s an artist and a man of the world and Mr. Big is all about phony suaveness. When I look at him I think of hamburgers and bland Americans. I wished Carrie would have stayed in Paris. Yes there are problems but as far as I know couples almost always have problems. Anyway, why am I ranting about a show that’s not even on TV anymore?

Earlier I was supposed to go boxing with Weng but Weng’s sick so I just stayed ho…

i want to be on top!

It seems that I'm just a few episodes from ODing from America's Next Top Mowdel. Just give me a few steady beats and a clear walkway and I will sashay down the hall like a geeky reject from Tyra's phenomenal show. I was at the mall today wearing my, ehem, slinky, slim jeans and seriously I felt like I was on a runway. I could hear Tyra and Alexander telling me to keep my shoulders relaxed, mind my booty (which, for some cosmic reason, refuses not to sway like an intoxicated Pussycat Doll), and focus on my walk. At the end of each building, I find myself resisting not to strike a pose. "More energy!" Nigel Barker might say. "Give me some emotion! Smoulder! Smoulder! God you're hot!"

Ok so obviously I'm a narcissistic bitch. I've another reason why we gay men love the show. Aside from the vicarious thrill of watching these seemingly fugly girls transform into supermodels of the world, there is also the bitching, the eyebrow lifting, and the I-…

you had me at my worst...

One More Chance (tan-tan-tan)

John Lloyd and Bea Alonzo have been lovers for seven years (or is it 10? I kept confusing it with Weng’s relationship). He has a by-the-numbers attitude while she is a freewheeling creative artist (or so Star Cinema would like us to believe). At the beginning of the movie, both characters are tired of the relationship but still pursue it because, well, they are truly in love. Everything comes to a boil when Bea suddenly feels constricted and breaks it off with John Lloyd. John Lloyd, of course, goes berserk but eventually finds another lover. He is cute, after all. Hence the much quoted line: You had me at my best and she had me at my worst but you choose to break my heart. Barf!

One More Chance is just like the John Lloyd character. It has a by-the-numbers feel to it. Shaky relationship + break up + self-realization + reunion = happy ending. Barf! I just thought that for a movie with a lot of pain in it, it severely lacked of curses. I would imagine that …

land of the bizarre

Dogeaters, the play

Dogeaters struggles to keep its several storylines from being incoherent and achieves it with modicum success. Never mind though the novel was already episodic to begin with. The play presents the Philippines as a variety show, complete with melodrama, sex, murder and intrigues. There is Joey Sands, a drug dependent hustler, Fassbinder, an avant-garde German filmmaker, a bomba star and characters obviously patterned after Benigno Aquino and Fabian Ver. Much of the energy, however, frizzles out when the storylines finally do meet in the end and creates not so much as a bang but a whimper. It doesn’t exactly come together but I did feel the sting when the Jessica Hagedorn character complains about the mess we have created and her father looks at her and says: “It feels almost as if you are blaming me.” For the longest time, Marcos (the fuhrer) has been the butt of the blame but for most of the time shouldn’t we have been blaming ourselves too?

(Note: I saw the play a …

rapunzel... rapunzel... lay down your golden hair!

Hindi man ako masyadong kagandahan pero panalo naman ang aking hair. Minana ko pa ito sa aking lolah na sing itim ng budhi ng death row inmates sa Muntinlupa ang kulay nang kanyang buhok. Gugo power yata ang gamit niya noh bearing none of the harsh chemicals sold by the multi-national companies sa Makati. No wonder, head over heels si loloh sa kanya. Ava, whirlwind romance yata ang story nila, mala-Senator Ferdinand Marcos at beauty queen Imelda Romualdez circa 1950s ang kanilang drama. Kaya eto ako, kamukha ni Borgy. Joke lang. Aimee Marcos naman.

Anyways, like I said, panalo ang aking hair. Sabi nga ng mga kaibigan kong bading, pang-commercial daw. Sabi ko naman, basta ako si Gretchen. Kaya naman nang sumali ako sa Miss Gay Universe, Winnie Monsod ang lolah mo at kinabog ever ko kahit pa si Ms. Ruffa Gutierrez na naging Miss Gay International sa Proj. 8 at Miss Gay World sa Tandang Sora. Naumshami nga lang ang aking first walk nang nag-appear si Papa sa dulo ng catwalk at May I sabu…

purita jones

In fifteen days I will be jobless again. Great. Just in time for Christmas. If I will end up broke and jobless this December I will have to declare 2007 as my worst year evar! And I thought I had terrible years in the past. I guess there is no better way to have your ass kicked than to move out of your mother's house and be forced to pay rent every month. I definitely didn't see the steel boots coming and hitting me in my nice, cute derrière. I sort of miss the times when that derrière would only get out of bed after 10pm and that's not to work but to go out and, um, play. I may have acquired a live-in boyfriend and an emanciated body in the past year but I have been broke like never before. I know I have been whining about the same thing for several months now but gaddamit I want to get rich!

average joe

I never knew my father. Well, at least not in the same way that we were able to get to know our mother through the years. My father's name was Jose. He died when I was in grade 5 and even if my twin brother and I practically spent most of our childhood with him he remained a stranger to us. He was aloof and generally kept to himself when he was at home. Perhaps his age had something to do with it. He was already in his 60s when he passed away. All I know is that he was in love with two things: photography and women. Wherever he went, he had his trusty camera with him. I remember accompanying him to our dark room and being fascinated with the process of developing pictures. Even now, I could still smell the pungent odor that clung to his camera bag and the cold, smooth surface of the lenses that he kept in specialized containers. When my brother and I were around five or six years old, my father gave each of us a camera. Though I did not grow up to be a photographer (I could barely…

eraptions on our minds

Kanina nag-text sa akin ang kaibigan ko. Punyeta daw, nagbigay ng pardon si GMA. Punyeta talaga. Ilang taon lang pala ang kailangan para kalimutan na minsan isang
goon ang nag-rape sa atin. Para na ngang refrain sa isang pop song ang edsa, paulit-ulit na lang at wala naman talagang pakahuhulugan. Sabi ko na lang sa kaibigan ko, nagsimula akong magbasa ng headline nuong naging "independent" ako at nagsimulang magbayad ng renta, tubig at kuryente. Hindi ko alam kung bakit. Siguro sa pagnanasang mabasa ko rin sa headline na yes mayaman na ang mga pilipino at yes lahat tayo kumakain ng sapat, tatlong beses sa isang araw. pero siempre, habang lagatak ang pawis ko sa puwitan ng jeep, ang tanging nababasa ko ay ang putang-inang Abalos na yan, si GMA, at kanina si Erap na malayang malaya na. Sa ganitong oras ako nanggagalaiti. Gusto sabihin sa kanila kung gaano kinasusuklaman ng mga Pilipino ang Pilipinas ngayon.

Alam ba nila na tulad ng maraming Pilipino gumigising ako ng maaga para…

happy halloween

Jan. 11, 2006
Journal entry

Jed and I met last Sunday after i did some minor editing work in Vigra. We were on our way home when I suddenly had an idea. i asked jed if she wanted to walk around that perya along commonwealth. mind you, it was an interesting night. we went to a horror show and i ended screaming my lungs out. we were with two young girls and instead of comforting them, i made things worse by being such a coward. every time we got into a particularly scary spot, i would clutch my bag and would tell them: Ayan na! Ayan na! when a moo-moo (a neighborhood ratfink, most probably) came out of the darkness and brandished his plastic sword at us, i pushed the two girls aside and ran as fast as i could out of the horror house. i was already a few meters from the exit when i realized that i have left something inside. it took me a few precious seconds to realize that what I have left was my friend, Jed. when i got to her, she had her hands on her face and the moo-moo was pestering…

Zurrika, the wild woman cannibal!

It was certainly far from enchanted kingdom. There were no gleaming plastic statues of wizards or instantly recognizable characters from America. The ground was not paved with expensive blocks and there were no expensive snack bars in sight. What was plenty that night were trannies, which littered the four corners of the sorry-looking perya. It was almost one in the morning and for the gehls the day seems to be just starting. I could only surmise that the dark, grassy, empty lots along the congressional area serve as a make-shift motel for these gays and their lay for the night. The place, after all, was notorious for being a cruising ground during the 90s.

But no, I wasn't there to look for a lay. I was looking for something to amuse myself and to my delight, the perya featured these Fellini-esque shows.There were mermaids! acrobats! Daredevil motorcyclists! And a South African cannibal! It was titillating to say the least. The cannibal's name was Zurrika, which the cheap card…

Fish tayo, a love story

"Uy," sabi ko sa sarili ko habang nagsu-surf ako sa internet. "May crush sa 'yo yung katabi mo." Oo nga, reply ko, kanina ko pa napapansin, yung fish dun sa aquarium sa may tabi ko panay dungaw sa akin. Parang nagpapa-cute.

"In fairness, pati isda nagkaka-crush sa yo hahaha," sabi ng sarili ko sa akin.

Siempre, smile to the max ako. Siguro kasi fresh na fresh ako ngayon, bagong ligo at feeling ko yummilicious ang katawan dahil na achieve ko na yung ideal weight ko. Pero teka, di kaya amoy isda lang ako? O well, mejo crush ko rin siya kasi nagugutom na ako at kamukha niya yung type kong isda, yung tilapia. Hmmm... sarap siguro niya with mayo. The only problem is, nagdi-diet ako.

Pano yan fish, maglo-log out na ako? Ay, mukhang malungkot siya. Ayaw niyang saluhin ang mga gutom kong tingin. O siya, sige na, thanks ha, for keeping me company. Nabubuwang na yata ako dahil for no apparent reason sobrang depressed ako. Basta ha, fish tayo?

desperate for respect

I know that racial typecasting is horrible. I know that movie and TV producers should be responsible enough not to offend any race, religion or culture, or, perhaps, in the case of Desperate Housewives, make an unfound assumption. Remember the crazed Pinay stripper in Adventures of Pricilla Queen of the Desert? I think we also cried foul when it came out because the producers and the filmmakers portrayed a Filipina as a demented housewife so out there that she would spread her legs in front of an audience and spit ping-pong balls out of her cunt.

We know the Philippines is perhaps one of the worst countries to live in (of course, we know all about it, we live here) and though we bitch about the state of our nation all the time, god forbid that anybody, and I mean anybody—this includes you, Teri Hatcher and the producers of that campy show—to disrespect or slander our country (and our educational system, no matter how pitiful it is) in any way.

Having said this, I think we should forge…

revenge of the extras

I think Ugly Betty is one of the most daring shows to come out of American TV. The fact that it also happens to be very funny and engaging only makes it even more extraordinary. The show has completely turned its nose on a culture that worships fair skinned anorexics and ditzy blondes. Obviously, Betty is the complete opposite of the typical Hollywood lead star. America Ferrera is short, meaty, and most of all, she is of Hispanic descent.

And in this show, the Hispanic-American and the African American actors and actresses get all the best parts. Something that was completely unheard of decades ago. The Caucasian actors, on the other hand, fill the background.

Talking Japanese

The first time I saw her she was speaking in a language I barely know. Words spat out of her lips like bullets from a machine gun that I had no choice but to stare at her.

"Sumi masen?" she said. "I mean, excuse, can I help you?"

"Oh I'm sorry. I was just amazed at how well you speak the language."

"It's Japanese."

"I know."

"So you're also into Japanese?"

"No, just Kurosawa."

She proceeded to continue with her lecture and I went back to work. We were just cubicles apart in an office that houses a film festival committee and a language tutoring school. I always thought it was a strange marriage of two vastly different worlds and when she eventually moved into my apartment a few months after our first encounter the difference could not be more evident...

to be continued...


There was a man dressed in white. Somehow I was friends with him and we were sitting in a park. After having a rather lenghty conversation, he turned to me and said: "I hope he doesnt turn out to be an Edgar." Then he walked away. I dreamed some more and when I woke up I saw that the metropolis was drenched in rain. There was a thin film of mist hanging above the houses below and for some strange reason, try as I may to get out of it, I was already in abject funk.

good at being bad

Watching Ed Wood was a little bit painful. Not painful in a way that watching a truly horrendous movie like a Joel Lamangan movie is painful but painful nonetheless. Tim Burton’s Ed Wood was definitely far from being terrible. In fact, I found it hilarious and well made. It is just that I have this nagging feeling that I am an Ed Wood in the making. I’m afraid that perhaps my illusions of grandeur are just that—merely illusions. One of the instances that might support this suspicion is the time when I presented an outline of a story I wrote in a writing workshop. It was a war time drama about a small time crook being caught in a much bigger battle and when it was read in class it bombed big time. Imagine my embarrassment when my classmates started laughing at what was being read. Since I am quite a veteran at being laughed at—I’m painfully shy to the point of appearing moronic— I laughed with them. “This is not a comedy, is it?” asked our esteemed teacher.

My nagging suspicion, howeve…

view from the 11th floor

Because I used to work in an environment where the working hours go way beyond the nine to five schedule, I felt, no, I thought I was special. Special in the sense that unlike the seemingly ordinary office worker, I don't have the same rigid rules and routine. It is as if the wild working hours were a testament to my creativity. Of course, it was not. I would drag my tired and smelly self towards the MRT platform at 5 in the morning and observe — not without condescension I must add — the early morning passengers that have begun to surround me. I would look at them—newly bathe and ready to start the day— and think about how ordinary their lives were. Ordinary in the sense that their days do not differ that much from each other. They wake up to the loud ruckus of the alarm clock (or in some cases, their mother's loud grating voice), haul themselves to the bathroom and later fling themselves to the streets where they are usually greeted by mind-numbing traffic. And by the time t…

sex, drugs, & megalomania

I just spent the last 72 hours reading Easy Riders, Raging Bulls, a sprawling, obsessively detailed account of Hollywood in the 60s and the 70s. The time then, as Bob Dylan so famously put it, was a'changing. Sexual revolution, pot, and Vietnam were looming in the horizon and an entire generation of artists were hellbent in changing Hollywood. Elsewhere, Nouvelle Vague was happening and the French, with its auteur theory, was about to change the face of cinema. Indeed, it was heady time to be a filmmaker and American filmmakers, with Francis Ford Coppola in the forefront, were staging an invasion of the film studios. And surprisingly they succeeded, albeit very briefly.

It was certainly a rare moment in American cinema when the film director reigned supreme: Coppola, Bogdanovich, Beatty, Friedkin, etc. were treated like gods and not surprisingly, ruled like demons. With so much sex, drugs, and megalomania going on during that time, one wonders how the filmmakers made any film at al…


Lany has been baking cakes since when we were still in college. From simple chocolate crinkles, she eventually tried her hand in preparing exquisitely decorated and delectable cakes and pastas. In fact, whenever I am invited to their house, I make sure that it's my eat-all-I-can day. That way, I wouldnt leave their house filled with regret. Bottomline is: she's good. So good in fact that she has received nothing but compliments from the PETA people (not the animal organization but from the theater group).

Interested? send her a text message at 09274514704 or you can place orders on this site.


alam mo yung pakiramdam na ayaw mo naman talagang gawin pero ginawa mo parin kasi kailangan mong mabuhay at magbayad ng renta, cable, tubig at kuryente. alam mo yung parang tumambay ka sa gabi sa may circle at tumayo at nagpa-pick up at na-pick up naman ng isang van na sinasakyan ng isang team ng basketball players. alam ko kinky fantasy ito ng ibang mga bakla pero pano kung yung basketball players eh kamukha nina max alvarado (or fill in the blank any of the guys that you find despicable) at dinala ka sa may antipolo at duon kinantot ng kinantot sa pwet kahit sabi mo hindi ka bottom kung hindi top ka! top ka! punyeta! (aray ang sakit!)pero imbes na bayaran ka ng malaki o nang tama, binugbog ka pa at pinagtatadyakan at pinagduduraan at itinulak ka pa sa may bangin na parang si Myrna Diones nuong dekada nubenta.

So umuwi ka, aaka-aka, wasak na wasak ang wetpaks, duguan at halos hindi na makalakad. pero ni hindi ka makapagtaxi o makapag-McDo o Jollibee dahil leche wala. ka. ngang. pera.


NOTE: This is an old post. After reading this, I suddenly miss Joy and our adventures in Malate. Where on earth is that girl? O well, now that i have finally resigned from my menacing job, maybe I could hang out more often with my friends. The question is: do i still have friends? O well...

july 9, 2006
sunday / somewhere in project 6


i was a bit tired, i needed to poo and i hated what i
was wearing. it was not a nice way to start a saturday
night in malate but what the hell i was depressed.
normally when im about to go out energy would
literally pop out of my skin. i would sit in a taxi
with my ass barely touching the seat in excitement.
but that night, despite the possibilities that awaited
us, i was actually sedated. at the start of the night
i was one big scar but only when i was able to type
something on the PC that the anger subsided. i
remember telling an officemate a few years ago, back
when i was writing on my journal almost every day that
writing kept me sane. suffice to say that…