Showing posts from December, 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 …