Back to the Future

 

Hello. 

So it's 2021, and I am happy to report that I am still alive. Barely, though. Up to this point anyway.

As some of you may know (if by some miracle you have read this space a number of years ago), I have this filthy habit of spewing the mundane and uninteresting thoughts occupying my mind for public consumption on this ye blog. I'm not proud of it, and have not in any way shared this site to anyone outside of my inner circle of friends. I'm too afraid of being found out and ridiculed for dumbing down anyone who happens to read this. So for the past years, I have not published anything, not to say that I have not written anything on this blog, because I have, with much guilt, and have just decided not to publish them. For this entry in particular, the jury is still out. 

Suffice to say, a lot of things have happened since... 2012? I can't recall the last time I published anything, but without looking at the history, I would say 2012 feels accurate. 

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So I took up golf, again. Still suck at it, sadly. I took a hiatus from the sport (is it a sport, really?) sometime around 2013 because my then girlfriend (now my wife) did not care for it and questioned why anyone would want to play golf. So I quit. 

Then 2021 came around, and my wife (who was my girlfriend back in 2012), out of boredom because of all the restrictions caused by the ongoing pandemic, decided to "try" golf. Then she realized that golf was fun. And has taken a liking to it, to put it inaccurately. She has bought in to the whole golf lifestyle - buying the clubs, hiring the coach, ordering the shirts, the skirts, the shoes, the arm sleeves, the cap, the tees and the balls, everything. I hate her for it, because now I look back at all those years that I was not able to play golf and am now playing catch up. Though, I can't really afford to buy into the lifestyle, because I'm cheap. So I have second hand, severely used clubs, drastically marked down sale merch, and a terribly inconsistent swing. 

The thing that makes me bitter about all this, is that golf was supposed to be "my thing". It's not supposed to be a couples thing! It's my thing, not our thing, mine! She can take tennis or billiards or yoga or high intensity interval training or some bullshit like it, but not "my" golf. 

Well, there's actually a list, of "my things". There's golf (already mentioned), jogging, trail running (things which I'm not really good at, though), hip-hop abs workouts... well, that's it. Not much of a list, I guess.

Maybe (very very likely) I'm in the wrong here, because aren't we supposed to create all these shared experiences and stuff? But as every 40-something man knows, you will never outgrow your selfish 12 year old self. It's that clubhouse where girls are not allowed, or the incredibly violent arcade games which are for boys only. Sure, we've all fantasized about that cool girl who was one of the guys - but she's the one who's supposed to be the exception and off-limits to everyone, or a lesbian. How dare she?!

But there's nothing to be done. I am smart enough to know that there isn't really any "my thing", and that 12 year olds aren't that smart, specially 12-year old boys. And that if my wife ever reads this she'd probably mock me for a good number of months (fortunately, she doesn't know about this blog, nor has any interest in it, for good reason). All I can do now is suffer the bitterness silently, like that time when a room full of mostly female student nurses made up an audience at my circumcision.

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A few days ago, during a lull in my online meetings, I was updating the family balance sheet. It's an annual thing I do, where I try to figure out how poor I/we are and get depressed at how much money we have been flushing down the toilet on really frivolous and mundane stuff (like spending PHP 130,000 a year on "fuck it I deserve this because of the crappy day I'm having" doughnuts). At the end of the activity, it's always that shitty feeling of helplessness and anguish at how much I could have saved up. Then armed with all that guilt, I approximate the monthly budget that I should be hitting and naively smile at the potential riches that would be saved up and invested. This year is similar, but for a few exceptions, pandemic-related. 

Last year, I have finally put some money in the stock market. It's something that I have always thought about doing, but never really got to - partly out of laziness, but mainly because there wasn't a lot of disposable income to invest. With the pandemic, without all the planned expenses of birthday staycations, or that trip to Disneyland, or that vacation in the US to visit relatives, I found a bit of savings. So I thought to myself, why not just put it in the market, just like every other successful friend  has been advising me about for years? And so I did.

Now that I have some money in the "market", I noticed a change in myself - I've become an "expert" all of a sudden. Strange, but now I have developed my own personal fool-proof theories about the movements in the market. Armed with all the tools from hours of watching Youtube, I have devised a smartypants strategy for beating the market, of outfoxing all those clueless traders and hedge fund managers and finding value bets and growth portfolios. 

I looked in the mirror, and found Randy Marsh on the other side. 

Now, after a year of being the self-proclaimed expert, I grew my investment an astounding 0.8%.

Fuck me. 

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Well, not everything is depressing on the financial front. I'm quite pleased to report that after 19 years, from the time I entered the job market and was no longer subsidized by my parents, I am finally debt-free.

Yeah, I'm that dumb, and that poor, and financially irresponsible. It took me almost 2 decades and a global pandemic to finally do something about all those interest rates and guilt and forced poverty. I figure that in that span of time, I could have already started the foundations of my retirement fund and have been living off the dividends of my early investments. It wasn't out of ignorance - I was fully aware of the powerful impact that debt had on limiting personal financial freedom. But - YOLO.

Don't worry, this isn't going to turn into a manifesto, lecturing you on the value of getting out of debt and the power of financial responsibility. I realize that Starbucks, doughnuts and Jollibee are just things that make life worth living, albeit pretentiously at times (We all bought that grande-whatever-fucking-ccino-no-whip-with-cinnamon-powder so people would think that we were just so cool and cultured and all that shit). After all, I can't say that I've cut doughnuts off from the 2022 budget. They are still there - plus the 5% increase allocated for inflation and supply chain complexities as a result of the pandemic and climate change action. I need those doughnuts. 

The point is, it's ok to do things at your own pace. It's ok to graduate from college an extra year or two, or three, or four and a half year even. No one really cares. Except maybe your parents, specially if you keep on whining about how small your allowance is despite overstaying college because of all those parties and beers and the cool pager or teeny tiny Nokia that you just have to have. 

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My kid turned 4 a few days ago, so naturally, it was time to think about school and stuff. As a parent, you sorta have to figure these things out. Sure, you can delay and tell yourself that there's really no pressure for the kid to start school a few years later than everyone. But long term, do you really want that parasite to keep living in your house for all those extra years? You just have to do it for your own sake, and sanity. 

So as I was saying, the kid just turned 4 and we realized that this little bugger has to get something useful into his brain. Trouble is, we just didn't have the confidence that he'd be a good student and all that. We couldn't even do potty training right, so school was really this big fucking mountain that we had to somehow figure out. 

Being in a pandemic, we checked out some online school options and found one that seemed to be good (read: affordable). But there was pressure - we didn't want to be labeled as the "bad" parents. You know, the kind of parents who couldn't control their kid (we can't) and don't do anything about their kid's possible attention deficit disorder (we don't) and probably let the wanker stay on their iPad for hours just to selfishly and irresponsibly have some quiet time (we do). So we set some things up to have a trial school of sorts. I rearranged some stuff in my home office and called up my sister (who thankfully is a teacher) so we can have an hour to see how things would go. 

As expected, it was horrible.

No amount of pleading, praising, threats or bribes could get the kid to sit still and play along. This wasn't even ABC or 123 stuff, this was just trying to get him to stay still long enough to watch a god damn video. The hour was mostly me trying to save him from killing himself and his mom desperately pulling out all the tricks we knew to catch his attention for more than 10 seconds at a time. 

Mercifully, the session ended with him still alive and us having managed our blood pressure. It was a good teaching moment for us, and we think we can do a lot better next week. I'm pretty confident we will be ready by then.

By the way, if anyone knows a store or company selling shackles and a straight-jacket that would fit a 4-year old, for the love of God please comment with the link. Thank you in advance.

Of Wants and Want-nots

It's strange how different people value and desire different things. Perhaps it is due to one's upbringing, or his environment, or just a fascination for something in particular. But everyone seems to want something more than anything else, be it a basic need or an irrational aspiration. Considering Maslow's ideas, it's just human nature at work.

I have a friend who likes robot toys, for example. He's probably the most frugal person that I know, and yet he has this overriding desire to collect them. I once asked him how much he figures he has spent on his collection, and he wouldn't tell me for fear of being ridiculed against his normally frugal nature. Another friend spent a small fortune on 3 Optimus Prime action figures for the reason that it was something that was deprived of him in his childhood. At the time he bought them, he was also "deprived" of a steady job but that somehow didn't matter then.

There's another person I know who puts her passion for solo travel above all things. She has already quit 2 jobs and a partner because they were getting in the way of her usually exhasting itinerary. I'm pretty sure everyone likes to see new places and experience new things, but how much of ourselves are we willing to devote to it?

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The other night, I was out with my girlfriend and a friend of ours and we got around to talking about having such wants. You see, my girlfriend has been complaining that I'm the most frustrating person to buy a gift for because I never really let her on to what I want to get. She'd try to ask around and slyly ask me what I want to get for myself but usually doesn't get anywhere. When I figure out what she's up to, I'd give hints that I want some random object just so she'd stop snooping around. And when the time comes when she gives it to me I'd have a less than elated reaction (because I can't act for the life of me) and she'd be naturally pissed.

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For the longest time, I always thought that not wanting stuff was a virtue. I considered it to be a sign of humility and meekness and all those other beatitudes that were sure ways to get yourself that golden ladder to heaven. Of course, my parents agreed with that attitude, as you may imagine. They even reinforced it by not getting me the stuff that most kids at my school were enjoying like shiny new Air Jordans, gas-powered remote controlled scale model cars, SEGA and the likes. While the other kids were subjecting their many GI Joe action figures to all sorts of torture, I was protecting my one and only action figure from any and all damages as I knew if this one "died", it was enough reason for my parents to never buy me another one (which is one of the most cruel instances of a Catch 22 for any kid).

When I grew up and experienced the really real world, it became quite a convenience not to be so invested into wanting stuff. Sure I may have missed out on a lot of things, but it allowed me to be a tad bit less miserable with my life, being oblivious to what all the cool kids were doing/playing with/wearing/experiencing in those days. It also gave me enough slack to afford a lifestyle that was slightly more comfortable than the other people who were in the same pay range as I was. In a way, it was a good enough trade-off for me, foregoing the immense thrill of getting something I want in exchange for not being miserable most of the time with my broke-ass existence. (Does that make sense?)

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Now I am unsure if I really am getting the better end of the deal here. On one hand, I limit my exposure to depression and feelings of inadequacy, but will all the joy and exhiliration that I'm missing out now come back to haunt me later on in life? You know, having to ask yourself that question on whether you really lived a full life?

There's this line from the movie Serendipity, where Jeremy Piven quotes from the ancient Greeks that when you die, the one question that is asked is "Did he have passion?". It may be in a different context, as I can't equate buying and having tons of fun with an iPad to being passionate, but do I?

Say hello to pornstar immortality

I'm lost. Stuck in the daily grind, I forgot what it was that I really wanted to do. This became apparent to me when I had to make a birthday wishlist. I couldn't think of a damn thing that I really wanted to have for my birthday. Which kinda reminds me of Captain Jack Sparrow and his broken compass, or Bilbo after returning to the Shire from his great adventure.

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Now, how am I going to find my way back to knowing what I really want for my birthday?

This morning, while waiting at the hotel's smoking lounge for a client's presentation on their proposed management plan or something, I resolved to make a list. I had to encrypt it in my super secret code for fear of someone discovering it and leaving me bawling my eyes out of embarassment. I only got to jotting down 5 items before realizing how stupid it was:

1. Fix my car's suspension
2. Play golf on the fairway (been stuck on the driving range for forever)
3. Drive my clunky car all the way to Baguio and back
4. Start writing again
5. Buy an Omega dress watch

Except for #5 (which I'll never really afford until I'm like 60 or something), all the things I've listed were things that I can actually do tomorrow. Like, do on any given weekend. Like, I can actually do all those things in one weekend (except #5, which I threw in there just to bring some sense to the list). I find it incredibly stupid that I had to wait for a special birthday list to figure that I wanted to do all these things.

So why don't I?

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There was once this guy who didn't have anything else to do so he did whatever it was that came to him. He drove 2 hours for a cup of coffee that didn't really taste any different from one he usually gets 3 blocks away. Or donned his running shoes for a midnight jog around city hall because the rain had just stopped. And he risked driving 400 kilometers on a car that overheated every 30 kilometers amid the new year's fireworks and revelry just because there was nothing to do at home. And there was a time that instead of taking the bus back home from work, he hopped onboard a long-haul trip to somewhere he had never been to before just because it stopped and opened its doors right in front of him.

And those were just the things he did the few times he was sober.

One day, this fella got tired of it all and just vanished into thin air. No one heard from him again, and rumor has it that went on to learn how to set sail and never walked on land again.

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It's sad to think how people change into such boring, bloated slugs far from whatever it was they aspired to be once in their youth. A 19-year old's dream of pornstar immortality suddenly turns into a 30-something's quest for a vacant parking slot at the supermarket.

Perhaps this year is a good one to recapture that age of stupid dreams and even dumber actions. To be as bold as a college dropout, thinking of how to have it all and actually moving towards that direction. There is benefit in believing that whatever it is we dare do, it will all somehow turn out well in the end.

And with those words, I welcome you all to what seems to be the start of my early mid-life crisis.

Coffee and Automobiles

So I can't sleep tonight, surely a side-effect of downing liters upon liters of coffee. But the coffee seems moot now, now that I find myself filling in a blog post rather than my original intention of catching up with tons upon tons of work that's piled up the past few weeks. But that's life, I guess.

The truth? I love my job, I love the new challenges and all the crap that finds their way on top of the growing pile on my desk. Seriously, this job presents several opportunities that are way over what most people would expect out of me during my extended stay in college.

So why am I not burying my nose in work-related stuff? Because I'm distracted. I took to the weighing scale this morning and found myself a tad over my ideal weight. By "tad", I mean several pounds, several SEVERAL pounds. So here I am about to launch into another fit of self-pity and wallow in the shame of not being able to close that annoying little top button on my shirt.

I suspect that the excess weight has something to do with the amount of food that I've been eating lately. Somehow, I've rediscovered carbohydrates and chocolates and sugar, those bad little molecules that have no other purpose than to make shrinks and personal trainers filthy rich. And the total lack of physical exercise isn't helping either. I tried to jog this afternoon, all I could manage was a bouncy stroll around the neighborhood. It's depressing when you're "jogging" and an old man walking a dog overtakes you on the sidewalk.

What the heck am I doing with my life?

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I kinda promised myself that I would get myself a new car by the middle of next year. It's one of those goals that you randomly get after some random guy on the street hands you a flyer. So I got around to actually choosing what kind of car I should get myself, with the help of some equally chain-smoking officemates who didn't really have any other non-work topic to discuss.

Personally, I didn't care what car I would get. After clunking around in the ancient barrel of bolts that I use to get around, anything with actual shock absorbers would be an upgrade. But apparently, this was the sort of matter-of-life-and-death decision that you had to make way in advance. My whole person would be dictated by this materialistic choice.

For example, I mulled getting a compact Toyota... something that wasn't flashy but ever-reliable. But apparently this was a horrible choice. I had to get something that stuck out from the crowd... sort of like the hipster equivalent in the automotive industry. According to these industry experts, getting something that millions of other people trusted with their lives was not good.

For the sake of being agreeable, I pretend-decided to get the nifty new Ford. Never mind that spare parts would cost me an arm and a leg, or that it would guzzle away paycheck after paycheck in gas and maintenance. This car was something that would set me apart from the crowd and put me above every Tom, Dick and Harry. I was agreeing to this just because my ultimate decision was 7 months away, assuming that I've be able to scrape enough savings from my teeny-tiny salary.

Anyway, the point I'm trying to drive (pun, hah!) is that sometimes, a lot of people's decisions have nothing to do with what they needed but what they wanted to become. And this came with a hefty price tag, I might add. I do not want to be marginalized by this twisted logic, and in a few months I would still seriously contemplate "settling" for that Toyota. But  how much of an impact would this have on my social standing, I wonder?

Slammed

This morning, I was having a discussion regarding some procedure at work. Just as I was giving my 2 cents worth, the door was literally shut in my face. Intentional or not, there is just no going past this incident.

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I consider myself to be a bit on the quiet side. I don't like giving my opinions unsolicited, and when I do I try to be very careful in what I say, lest I offend or irritate someone. I was never the first person to raise my hand in class, and I am not one for lengthy speeches and drama. I disdain all manner of grandstanding, preferring to keep to the sidelines and not stand out like a sore thumb in a crowd.

But when someone asks me what I think, I expect them to listen. This doesn't mean that they have to agree with what I say or change their minds on my account, just give me due attention and try to respect my opinion and beliefs.

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Naturally, I was pissed off all morning. Well to be honest, I'm still pissed. That was just a rude thing to do to anyone. When I was a child, I'd get a good whack to my bottom just for turning my back on my parents. And in school, you'd get a chalk-board eraser missile cruising towards you at warp speed for simply not paying attention. Why isn't this general knowledge?

Could it be because I belong in the selling industry? Unlike some professions, sales is something that is intristically human. You have to get out there, listen to your client, see the expression on his face, get in their head and appeal to whatever value system they have in place. It's not about how many flattering words you could put out there about what you are selling, rather it is how you choose to present your product according to what matters to the other guy.

Another thing about the sales profession, there is no bigger failure than to have the door closed in your face. Why do you think those door-to-door guys wedge their foot in the door?

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In the end, I know this shouldn't matter as much in a professional sense. We get used to being rejected during our lifetime, with little or no consequence to how we perceive ourselves. It's the manner of how we are rejected and dismissed that strikes a chord in us. And on this occasion, it stings like hell.

Tick tock

In this age of instant messaging and mobile communications, waiting has ceased to be the fine art of self-expression that it used to be. Yes, I believe it is a form of self-expression - as ridiculous as it may sound.

Back in the day, before mobile communications, there was the need to keep true to your calendar. Heck, I even lived phone-less during the dark days when only one out of five households had a landline, which sorta doubled the pressure. As you can imagine, setting appointments and keeping them were quite the challenge. When you told someone to meet you at one o'clock in front of the bookstore on Saturday, you damn well had to be there. Your ability to keep the appointments you make was a measure by which you were judged in all other aspects. Thus, people learned to be accountable for themselves at the risk of everyone having a negative image of you.

As communications improved with technology, accountability took a backseat to convenience. People now had the power to cancel and postpone their appointments and dates in no time, and without the prejudice. The term "something came up" became an acceptable excuse, that stood to mean there were other more urgent matters to attend to, thereby sending the subtle message to the other party that they were inferior to you.

This irritates me no end.

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In a way, we have lost respect for time in this world of instant everything. People seem to have forgotten that time is something that is given, and once it is committed there is no getting it back. The relative convenience of texting someone that you can't make it 10 minutes before call time or that you will be late is alarming.

For instance, when you set a date for 4o'clock and the person texts you to make it 5o'clock at 3:45, that's just rude in my book. So imagine how it feels when someone tells you to wait for their text to meet them. While they are doing tasks relevent to them and at their own schedule, you're stuck there trying to guess whether you still have time to darn your socks or you should get moving already, anticipating that text message.

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Maybe I'm just old-fashioned. It is true that technology has allowed us to accomplish a lot more in an hour than what we could have done in a day, say a decade ago. But it just bugs me at what price we have to pay in terms of respect and consideration to others for all this efficiency. It bugs me that people today tend to keep everything hanging, and have done away with setting definite dates and deadlines. It bugs me when people rearrange their calendars on a whim, not considering how it affects other people's schedules.

Of course, I could just be turning into a grumpy old man. I mean, a lot of things still get done and people are getting better at compromising to move forward. Maybe you lose an hour here and there, but the time you gain with all this progress might have just made it up and more anyway. But I just like to romanticize the concept of giving due respect to the time that we commit to ourselves and to others. There certainly is nothing wrong with keeping things on a fixed timetable, I'm sure there is always some room for flexibility if we give due contingencies to them.

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In the end, what I'm truly harping about here isn't really time per se. But rather our commitment and recognition of others and their importance to us. You can always earn more money, eat at that fancy restaurant any other day, play that computer game another time. But the time that we waste on people who do not recognize the same amount of importance for us, I don't think we can ever get that back.

Which reminds me of a true story which I find encapsulates how I feel about waiting. This story about a dog in Japan who waits each and every day for his master at the train station, even after his master's death. The dog waited at the precise time each day until the day of his own death 9 years after.

For the dog, the exercise of waiting for his master was certainly not a waste of time, but rather a tribute to the man who cared for him all his life and an extraordinary display of loyalty. The act of waiting, even in futility, can be the highest form of respect one can give. If only others can learn to use their time to show respect and consideration for the time of others, I'm sure the world would be ticking forward in harmony, like clockwork.

Because my boss says there's no such word as "unproductive"

The IT guys here at the office have been slipping, usually I wouldn't be ablt to open my blog on my office computer. Well, now that I'm here I might as well let the lot of you know that I'm not actually working at this point.

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To be fair, I can't really say I've been working the whole week. Sure, I've been able to churn out what's been expected by way of reports and answered emails, but nothing has been at par with what I have been doing the past months. Why? Can't say, really. Must be the really crappy weather we've been having lately.

Or maybe it's my vision, I've scheduled myself a check-up with the optometrist (or opthamologist? I can't really figure the difference) tomorrow. My right eye has been bad at focusing, forcing me to either squint or read stuff skewed sideways. You can imagine how awkward it's been when reading lengthy emails or blogs about eating salamanders. It's been going on for a time now, but this week has been particularly bothering. During a meeting last Monday, people actually chuckled each time I closed my right eyelid when reading through my presentation. I had them all fired, of course.

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I'm kind of excited to have my vision checked. My bet is that there isn't really anything wrong and the eye-guy (which could be either an opthalmologist or optometrist) will attribute the recent termination of my staff to stress or a psychological preconditioning of sorts. If this happens to be the case, I've kept my trusty lighter and a gallon of kerosene handy to burn down the clinic. I've always been suspicious of doctors who cite such nonsense as cause for illness. To me, that just seems lazy. Plus, it breeds a whole generation of crybabies who whine about just about anything that is slightly inconvenient for them.

When I was a kid, it was all simpler. If your vision was impaired, it's because you are an old geezer with cataracts or you watched Captain Planet too close to the television screen. The flu was because you were dumb enough to play in a thunderstorm. And what is now known as carpal tunnel symbol was a mark of distinction for jerking off excessively. These days, it's never anyone's fault. It's because the man rode you hard at school or the office, causing you all sorts of physical and mental turmoil ultimately leading to stress-induced what-have-yous.

Don't even get me started with the whole EQ/IQ thing. Anytime spoiled brats want to get their hands on dessert before dinner, some parents have attributed it to their built-in EQ levels. And if the kids are slow with their schoolwork, they've been unjustly dealt with lower IQ's so a medal for everyone is a good way to compensate. Back in my day, if you got your hands caught in the cookie jar, you got yourself a red bum. If you got bad grades, you were lazy. No one ever screamed that they needed to have their cookie right now because they had low EQ, you want it pronto... you face the consequences. And a month without the playstation was a month with more time to catch up with your studies.

Am I the only one who thinks that not spoiling kids and teaching them all about the consequences of their actions when they did bad is okay? Maybe its because I'm not a parent yet, but I just can't understand it. I've paid my fair share of pain and suffering to be what I am today. Granted that I may be a total loser with nothing better to do than write this blog, but in general I think I'm doing okay for myself.

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Come to think of it, though, I've heard my parents talk of the same gripes with my generation throughout my life under parental control. The "In my day, we had to..." speeches ran twice daily. The "You kids are so lucky these days..." thrice, and the "You ingrateful son-of-a-bitch..." rants every 30 minutes. I always counter with the "It was different back then because..." rebuttal, which is kinda whiny, isn't it? So are we just running full circle here?

Losing My Opinion

Sometimes, having and expressing your own opinion is like setting a trap for yourself. This has been happening to me a lot lately. The office is one prime example, when you try to get an opinion out and everyone else pounces on it. The first few times, you try to struggle and assert yourself. You defend your opinions, point out that it is borne out of a personal right and it may or may not be taken by others as their own. Then it happens again, and again, and again until you find yourself worn down and tired and wondering if it was worth opening your mouth for. It has now come to a point that I hesitate putting stuff out there. There's nothing to it, actually. Whatever gains you manage from being your own person and sharing your individuality, you lose a lot more of your energy asserting and defending it. An easy choice. Transforming myself into a zombie. And then I remembered this blog... Why yes! I still do have one, don't I? An avenue where I have always spat out the most trivial of thoughts of mine. And almost no one could complain! How long has it been since I've typed 2 sentences on this blog? While the real world me has lost his cojones, content to nod in agreement to almost anything - the path of least resistance, virtual writer me can spew out whatever nonsense I could muster and not have to give a rat's ass about whatever people think! Must be one of the reasons I loved writing in the first place. I missed this blog! :)

Four Saturdays

I'm listening to REM's Nightswimming while writing this, so you kinda get what mood I'm in. To compound matters further, a I'm drinking a shot of brandy from a whisky glass. Now we got ourselves some serious writing for sure.

But what to write about?

I imagine a ton of writers have asked the same question of themselves, and a notable few have been able to churn out some classics. Of course a general majority may have just wasted a few hours tapping on the keys only to throw their supposed masterpiece into the bin, which is not far from happening tonight.

Well anyway, on this chilly night, I resolve to end the writer's block that has plagued me for the past months and finally, finally post something. Of course, I doubt anybody'd read this long forgotten blog by now, which is really quite convenient for my purposes.

You've probably noticed the title, yeah that's the thing in bold letters above the post. It's a title that I came up with about 2 weeks ago. I've been carrying it around since then, pretty sure it holds the key to some mystic force that would unfold an opus. I doubt it would, though... the brandy's telling me so. But just to humor myself, I continue tapping anyway.

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So maybe I should start with how I thought up the title. That should get some momentum going. Well, as I already mentioned, it started 2 weeks ago - on a Saturday of course. The clock read 1am, I'm chugging some beer with a friend and a bunch of her friends whom I met for the first time. This I normally don't do, since I swore off puking in front of strangers. But then there was nothing better to do (unless I count watching porn online) so what the heck, I told myself. Well, so it was 1:01am and this guy brings out a deck of tarot cards and starts reading into the future.

Now, I don't claim to believe all that psychic mumbo jumbo or whatever else you call it, but I had nothing better to do (I was out, so no porn) anyway. I shuffled, shuffled a bit more and cut the deck. Then I was asked to lay out a certain number of cards on the table - and my future now lay before me in glossy paper cards.

*****

I woke up around 7:00am that morning. It was still Saturday. Unsurprisingly there was no breakfast waiting for me, just the sorry instant decaffeinated coffee that required a bit of effort to prep up. My sorry life indeed. But I had to make the effort not to waste away in bed that morning. I needed to get myself to our meeting place. How romantic that sounds, but it's quite literally where we were supposed to meet - because she asked me to drive for her. She could drive of course, but there was this problem with finding parking space. I was to be there as both driver and valet.

I wanted to talk myself out of it, because it was Saturday after all - the day I proclaimed would forever be reserved for spending the daytime in bed. But for some reason, this day was different. Today was something I was looking forward to the whole week.

Okay fine, for starters it was because I got to see her again. We haven't met up in a while. Not that that little fact bothered her as much as it did me, mind you. But once you've set your mind to believe that every chance might be the one that finally pays off, you kinda get your hopes up a bit.

I got there as slowly as I could. Not late or anything, but just some stupid need to make the most of the time daydreaming and conjuring up best scenarios. The bus helped out a lot, taking its time creeping through the empty avenue making sure each and every potential passenger was stopped for. I got there just in time, turns out the itinerary had changed. She had to go to the hospital to check on her mom.

No, today wasn't gonna be that day.

I had a choice, take the next bus home or come with. Well, as much as I wanted to crawl back into bed the polite thing to do was go with her, I supposed. And so I did.

I must sound so cruel and heartless to you folks. Though at times I am, this was not one of them. Truth is, I've absolutely no use in the hospital for her or her mother. I'd just be in the way. I just tagged along to say hi to her mom, who I figure would remember me as that poor sap hanging around her daughter.

Well anyway, there I was sitting alone at the lobby, waiting for nothing. Things happened so fast that I was unable to take leave, until I had no choice but wait for anyone to come out so I could excuse myself. The vending machine was two floors down, I can't risk going there and missing the chance to say goodbye. I had to endure watching the cute nurses gossip at the triage for a full hour, such an ordeal.

Finally, she came out. I took my leave and proceeded back to my miserable life.

*****

It was afternoon by the time I willed myself to take another shower. I had a date, well a friendly, platonic afternoon date. That mattered little, though. I got out of the shower and realized there wasn't anything to eat. That wasn't really a surprise but it's still disheartening.

So for the day, I only had a cup of decaf.

Good thing was, we were meeting at the foodcourt. So I guess I can grab a sandwich or something when I got there. Not a problem.

Let me tell you a bit about this other girl - she's absolutely the sweetest thing. So sweet, in fact that I have trouble imagining her in a porn flick. I'd start to think of her in a PG18 kind of way and end up slapping myself for such a blasphemous transgression. Which kind of sucks, but heck if there was absolutely anything that I could hold sacred, then I know I've still got a sliver of a chance of getting into heaven. So she was my ticket, in a twisted kind of way.

I'm such a gentleman, ain't I?

I get there, holding an orange. Yeah, an orange. A few days ago, we were texting and she "sounded" all happy and giddy. When I asked her why, she said she had some oranges that afternoon. I sorta promised that the next time we'd meet I'd make sure to give her an orange so I would be sure she'd be happy that day. Yeah, that's how dorky I am around her.

So anyway, here I was holding on to the orange for dear life. I was holding on to it for a full hour now, through the bus ride and while making my way inside the maze they call a mall. I got a few looks from strangers, but what did I care? I was here on a mission - to make her smile and say how sweet I was.

Back to the story, I'm there, holding the orange in my left hand and waving hi to her, and her friends. Apparently, she and I had a different idea of what a date is supposed to be like. Her friends saw the orange in my hand, I almost juiced it right there and then.

Looking back, they took it well. Better than I did, really. I'm not sure if they had any reason to take it otherwise but I pretended that they were as bummed as I was at the beginning, having to make small talk with "orange man". So I saw an opportunity, I asked them if we should order some food.

"Didn't you have lunch yet?"
"Oh yeah, I did. But maybe you wanna grab some snacks?" At this point, I'm not entirely sure why the hell I had to lie. Probably some part of me wanted her not to worry about me. All the rest of me was grumbling in hunger, though.
"We were thinking about going back to see our house. They haven't been there yet."

What I really wanted to say was: Fuck them! I'm hungry and I wanna woof down a friggin' steak, okay?!

"Oh ok, sure let's do that!" A collective groan echoed within each cell of my body. What a pushover! I probably haven't mentioned this, but she lives an hour away. I wanted to take back the orange from her and bite through it like an apple and swallow without chewing.

So there we were, lounging around her house. Them laughing it up recalling those good old days. I managed to smile despite my grumbling tummy. When they finally asked if we should go have a bite somewhere, I nearly bolted out the door like a dog in heat.

*****

I was on a bus again, heading to the pool hall. Me and some friends of mine have this weekly game going. There's really not much to it, just shooting some balls while yapping about whatever caught our fancy. There was something that I looked forward to tonight, though. I could give you three guesses, but I reckon you only need one.

And there she was, handling the cue stick with such care and finesse that I looked like a caveman swinging a club around the pool hall. It amazes me how such small slender hands could beat the crap out of me at a game that is generally thought of as masculine (c'mon, ball and sticks?!). The only strategy that was left to me really was to act all goofy and shit that they'd find me cute enough to spare from humiliation. But girls nowadays? They kick a man while he's down and out for the count, just for giggles and shit.

Well, there was booze, which was a good enough consolation prize as any.

The deeper this Saturday night got, the more pathetic I was becoming. Surprisingly, it turns out okay. She had correctly judged that I was in no way a threat to her ultimate goal of world domination, and we got closer. Kinda like a defenseless puppy or kitten.

Whatever works is fine with me, I always say.

*****

I sort of skipped the part about the tarot cards, didn't I?

Well, I picked out seven cards, four of which were women. They were pretty powerful chicks if I should say so (without offending the fairer sex as much as I could handle). Apparently I am cursed, probably even destined, to submit to the will of these women without a chance at redemption.

At the end though, there is a chance that I could emerge all the better. It boils down to how I wanted to spend the rest of my life.

Cruelly, this is as far as the tarot cards would tell me. No descriptions, no dates, no identities. All it would say is that in the coming days, a choice has to be made. Unfortunately, I have to do the choosing.

*****

:-)

Apparently, "Evil" is my middle name

According to the opinions of a lot of people, I am pure evil. Yes, a few more steps until I become the antichrist. A lot of stuff I do (or don't) has been regarded as despicable in general opinion. Frankly, it's come to a point wherein I no longer care. If I'm going to hell, I'm sure there are a lot of other folks down there with me.

Anyway, to the curious, I'm listing down the stuff that the general public consider evil:

1. I work for a multinational company.

Ah yes, corporate greed! I earn a decent enough living doing a decent enough job, but am accused of fueling the excesses of the capitalist pig. Furthermore, I'm in sales, which is akin to having one foot planted firmly in hell (while the other keeps you from closing the door in my face). Millions are starving because of people like me. I employ unfair efficient practices to put local companies out of business. What's worse is that I allow precious capital to flow out and into the coffers of my bosses up in the developed world.

And all this Occupy Wall Street crap isn't helping. There the people speak, condemning huge corporations and vowing to stop the global economy in its tracks. If the wheels of the world suddenly stops turning and I find myself out of a job, it's called sweet justice.

Funny though that these people use Twitter and Facebook to spread the word on their iPhones and other neat gadgets that I can't afford. It's not like some hippie couple are cranking out tablets and touchscreen phones out of their kitchen, while their neighbor powers the world wide web using a hand loom and waterwheel.

2. I take the bus or hail a cab to get to where I'm going, plus the fact that I'm saving up for a car.

Because getting from point A to B on your bicycle is the only conscientious way to go. It doesn't emit any greenhouse gas, and no environmentally exploitative measures were necessary to churn out the finite fossil fuel chugged down by a modern internal combustion engine. Most important, it's the healthy alternative.

Never mind that these people usually strap their bikes on top or behind their big-ass SUV's so they can haul it to the park to ride a couple of miles in a circle. Or that the energy expended by their bodies while biking has an equivalence in the amount of daily calories they require which puts greater strain on agricultural resources and the food processing industry, causing prices to rise.

As a disclaimer, I don't claim that a food shortage is imminent once we get everybody riding two-wheelers. I simply want these people to think about something else than bother me about the daily commute. And specially when my eyes sparkle when a Porsche 911 passes me by while crossing the street. *Sigh*

3. My porn collection.

So fine, I watch a "healthy" amount of porn. I subscribe to an industry that by nature objectifies and demeans women, secretaries, Japanese schoolgirls, nurses in short white outfits, librarians, yoga instructors, flight attendants, French maids, female police officers, lingerie models, english tutors, girls next door, cowgirls, naughty college coeds and all the other healthy, fit and fun-loving ladies out there. (I could have gone on and on... but it was getting a bit difficult to concentrate on writing)

But no matter how much porn I watch, it's not like I disrespect women nor prey on them. I have all the respect for the female of the species, and can peacefully coexist with them on a platonic level.

Besides, I've been cutting back lately, I swear!

4. I eat meat.

Alas, I am all the weaker for doing so. Unlike vegans and the like, I have a weakness for a medium rare steak and pork chops. And because of this, I have killed in order to selfishly sustain my foolhardy existence.

The fact that I get as giddy as a schoolgirl when in line at the eat all you can buffet makes me all the more sinister. Little kids and vegans cry while I baste my porkchops with catsup, and butter up the already juicy steak! Porky Pig and Mr. Moo are my victims, and that's just breakfast.

And because of this I'm fat. And people don't like us fatties, because we take up too much space and eat way too much resources. And whenever we wipe our mouths after a bite of a double cheeseburger, vegetarians get up in our faces and inform us that we should be ashamed of our butchering ways. That we should be less of ourselves and more like them. Because they're just fit and fab and perfect.

5. I don't go to church.

I don't. I'm not Christian, not Muslim, not Buddhist, not atheist either. I'm just a plain believer, content to communicate in my own way with the Lord. But of course, this doesn't sit well with the vast majority. Because I don't go to church, I'm evil and hate Him and thus I hate all the world that He created. My church-less Sundays are spent aborting fetuses, lambasting beggars, stealing candy from babies and spitting in the faces of orphans. Oh yes, and I run over cute little puppies and kittens in my spare time.

I don't do any of those things in the last sentence of the preceding paragraph, by the way.

6. I love to put my feet up and relax on the couch.

During my brief siesta spent dreaming about burgers and the girl next door, people claim I should put more effort in making this world a better place. There's always a peace rally to go to, orphans to feed, houses and shelters to build and kittens to adopt. My laziness is directly impeding any progress that could benefit the world. We are stuck in this quagmire because I chose not to do anything.

So people try to make me become more productive. Work harder, give more, have more patience and voice out my opinions for the general good louder. But I don't do as much, I intentionally try to enjoy time for myself. Maybe even catch a few minutes of porn while I'm at it. You can imagine how that doesn't sit too well with the kittens.

7. I smoke and drink alcohol.

Because it is one of the things I enjoy, and calms me, and gives me something to do while thinking. Of course, other people have their own interpretation. While standing in the smoking area, having a stick, some people think I intentionally do this so I could blow smoke in their faces. Like I'm boasting about my right to kill myself if I want to, and taking them down with me in the process via second hand smoke. When people walk up to me while I'm enjoying a drag whilst IN a smoking area to tell me that I should extinguish it, I don't get why they just don't get on with their lives across on their no-smoking side of the parking area and leave me be.

For their information, I didn't intentionally light up to inconvenience them. In fact, I consider myself a considerate enough smoker. I don't smoke when there are lots of people around, and I consciously steer clear of any non-smokers. I even always carry a tictac with me so they won't think ill of my ashtray breath when I have to talk to them. So I don't get why they celebrate when I'm forced to stub out my Marlboro because I'm entering a public space or an enclosed area. My health is my own problem, and when you want to talk to me during my cigarette break responsibly spent in the properly designated smoking area, please just call me on my cell.

*****

And so to all you self-righteous folks out there, I guess I'm going to hell. Too bad though, if I only put a little more effort into it, I might be nominated as a real bad-ass antichrist.

All I want for Christmas...

Because it's almost Christmas, I'm making a list of the things I want:

1. New threads and shoes for the office.

Yeah, I'm tired of rotating my limited wardrobe. There are only about 7 shirts that I wear with 2 pairs of pants. Heck, my friend's dog has more stuff to wear than I do.

2. An Escalade.

Sometimes, I do tire of taking the bus. On rainy days and on sunny ones. Heck, there are only 2 seasons in this country and apparently commuting is a hassle on both. Maybe an Escalade is over the top, but hopefully with such a lofty target I might end up getting a 2nd hand Hyundai. Beats the bus for sure.

3. A new sofa.

Lately, I've been sleeping on the couch. I find that this little trick enables me to wake up faster. Trouble is the couch is a bit too small that I can't really stretch myself out. Then again, maybe if I get a better couch, I fall back into not waking up as fast. But if it's gonna make the living room look better, what the hell...

4. A better mousetrap.

Surely everyone can appreciate this one.

5. A bigger apartment.

Not that I need one, but I've always wanted a bigger pad. Something like the enormous space Tom Hanks had in the movie "Big". I've always wanted to have enough space for a bowling alley someday, plus I can do all my jogging indoors, too.

6. A ginormous LCD television.

Porn will never be the same once I get my hands on one of those babies!

7. A yacht.

I've always wanted to use the words 'starboard' and 'anchors away'. Plus I hear these toys are virtually irresistible to models. I already have my camera, you know...

8. A real kitchen, with the cast iron skillets and all.

Hmm, this must have a lot to do with the food channel if you ask me.

9. A self-cleaning mop.

There are few things more irritating that having to clean a mop. For one thing, it's been busy cleaning up the things you didn't want to get your hands on so why the heck would I want to touch it now? Mickey had it spot on in "The Sorcerer's Apprentice" or whatever flick that was.

10. A pet hamster.

Okay, this little bugger's been on my list for ages. But I'm just not sure I can handle all that responsibility yet.

*****

I had really something witty and grand to end this with... but now I'm sleepy and forgot what the heck it was supposed to be. My fault, each time I listed down one of the wishes above I took a lot of time imagining that I already had it and daydreamed about what I was gonna do.

Oh well, there's always next year.

Gracias, Senor Tequila.

A couple of nights ago, I found myself staring down into the toilet at what was left of the burger I had for dinner. My gut was heaving but nothing came out, and as reached up to rise to the sink, I expected to see my 19 year old self appear in the mirror. Nope, there I was, still making a mess of myself 15 years later.

Admittedly, it kinda felt stupid.

I thought I was past all this, that I've matured enough to know when enough was enough. And most especially the fact that tequila was, is, and will always be my most sworn enemy. I was almost ashamed to open the door and walk back to the party. But then again, the loud knocking at the door told me to get my ass out of there. Fine, let me just flush that burger down the toilet...

*****

Despite the tattered memory, the badass hangover, the taste of bile in my mouth and a wasted Sunday, Saturday night's party was a blast! (From the bits and pieces of what I remember from it anyway) And I needed it, badly.

For a time, I was feeling a bit tired of the whole "routine". The waking up, working, household chores, a bit of television and the sleeping. It got to the point that even the weekends were governed by a compelling need to fill a schedule and put things in an certain order. Little did I realize until now that I wasn't living the life, rather life was having its way with me. To use a metaphor, I was letting the bus take me where it wanted to go rather than me using the bus to get to where I was supposed to be. (Okay bad metaphor, I might still be a bit hung over)

Right then, with my head down looking at the toilet water and the alcohol-laden contents of my stomach, I realized that I had to take control over my life again. Somehow I let some bus driver hypnotize me with some on-board movie while he took the controls.

*****

Before jumping to any conclusions, no I'm not quitting my job to hop on some Eat, Pray, Love mission. Nor will I embrace the life of a party-boy. And most importantly I won't be going to the opera or watch a play to 'experience culture'. It's just a minor adjustment to my world view, a fine-tuning to how I make everyday decisions.

For instance, when ordering take-out why not pick out something that I've never tried before rather than the usual? Why wait 2 days before calling a girl to ask her out? Or think up excuses why I shouldn't get out of the house on a sunny Saturday morning. For a time, I've let what I thought I should be doing get in the way of what I really wanted to do or to become.

Yesterday, while nursing a giant hangover, I realized that I have been doing some of those things little by little. In the past couple of weeks, I've been using my college acquaintances and contacts to add to my professional network. This used to be taboo for me, because I believed I could do it on my own lest someone accuse me of being a user. So far, no one's been thinking that and as it turns out I have actually helped out as much as they've assisted me. The past month I've also adjusted my attitude with my subordinates at work, from trying to be everybody's friendly boss to letting them know that I'm not going to do their job for them. On the home front, instead of torturing myself in trying to fit everything in place, I threw a lot of stuff I didn't really need out.

These little things, though I didn't realize it at the time, felt so liberating.

*****

Funny how a dose of stupidity can knock some sense into a person. In my case, it's taught me that instead of all the posturing and imagery, what I should really be concentrating on is being my own person once again. Just like that 19 year old who didn't know any better but was just wise enough to know what the more important things in life were.

"It is only with the heart that one can see clearly. What is essential is invisible to the eye." - The Little Prince, Antoine de Saint-Exupery

Selling short

And suddenly I'm on a roll? After more than a month of absence I'm churning out another post so soon? No, this isn't boredom. I got inspired all of a sudden by a friend's facebook status... and it wasn't even about porn.

*****

I went to an elite university for college. By elite, I mean that it's one of those schools where almost everyone wants to get in but only a select few manage to squeeze through. So imagine what an ego boost it was for me to have been one of the luckier ones. I must be a goddam genius! Or maybe I was awfully lucky during the entrance exams, considering that it was multiple choice and I happened to have my lucky marker at the ready. At any rate, that was probably the last time I ever thought of myself as being gifted with a superior intellect. It all went downhill, really really downhill, like a cliff, from thereon.

Anyway, let's fast forward to today. I open facebook looking for hot girls (which is one good reason to have a facebook account, by the way) when I chanced upon my first college crush.

Her status: "Early morning first day of school. Cold and still dark out. Making pancakes for breakfast & ******'s baon. Welcome to my world."

To the untrained eye, it sounds like a rant (hmm, untrained ear might have been more accurate - this is confusing for me). She sounds miserable and likely to sear her face down on the hot flat pan and drown herself in maple syrup. A desperate housewife about to explode. But I assure you, this is not the case.

To explain, let's go back to the good old college freshman years, when I was invincible and mighty and listened to grunge music because it was the "in" thing. There was this girl, nerdy-like, a bit on the plain side for the rest of the guys, but I was hooked. It was one of those weird circumstances where you spent the whole time in class wondering what she would in all probability order on our first date. That date would never happen. It was a potent combination of me being extremely insecure around the opposite sex and her being, well, awesome.

But all was not lost for the shy, bumbling 17-year old me. Technology gave me an opportunity to work around my bashfulness. What I could not say to her face, I was able to communicate through the wonder that is the telephone. I'd call her on weekends, and we'd talk. Nothing heavy, of course, mostly light chit-chat that never really headed anywhere. Kinda like this blog.

That went on for a year, but midway through I realized that there was little chance that it would progress to an actual date. The reason I forget, it was a long time ago, but there wasn't any bitterness at all. I can't recall most of what we talked about, but one particular conversation struck me that I have never forgotten it until this very day.

It was a sunny afternoon, I was lying on my back on the floor while on the phone with her. Hi's and Hello's worked their way into the usual light chatter. And then she let out a bomb: "Aren't you worried that you're failing Math?"

Curiously, at that particular point in time I didn't realize that I was failing Algebra and Trigonometry. I didn't mind my test scores, though I knew they were low. What a total bitch!

"Huh? Who said I was failing?"
"I saw your test scores. You haven't passed a single exam yet."
"Well, they're pretty close to passing anyway. I can still make up for it in the finals."
"You sure?" Okay, this bitch was getting on my nerves now.
"Of course I'm sure."
"Okay. I just don't get how you're still complacent. I can't stand the feeling of me getting low grades."

So she's not a bitch. She's the sweetest little thing in the universe as far as I was concerned! So she knows my scores, and notices how calm and collected I am despite of it. (In reality though, I was too dumb to notice that I was failing)

"Don't worry. I'm not."
"What do you think you'll be after we graduate?" How sweet of her to assume I would actually graduate! Isn't she a dear?
"I dunno, I haven't thought about it yet." What a fucking loser. "And you, what do you want to be when you graduate?"
"I want to have a family. Take care of my kids, my husband. Be a housewife."
"A housewife? Aren't you going to work?"
"I will, for a few years."
"Wait, aren't you selling yourself short here? I mean, you're at the top of our class!"
"No I'm not. I just study harder that the others."
"That's part of the point. Why work hard when..."
"When?" She cut me off... thank goodness.
"I mean, you could be anything you want to be, and you're going to quit one day to stay at home?"
"I don't know, I can't really picture myself not being at home. I love being part of a family. Someday, I want to have my own as well."
"You could do that and have a career, you know."
"I don't think I can."

That thought kept bugging me for a time. It was like knowing Einstein not coming up with the Theory of Relativity because he wanted to play catch with his dog all day. Or Stan Lee thinking up all these crazy superheroes and not writing comic books to do his laundry, or Jack Kennedy not boinking Marilyn Monroe because he had to sign some peace treaty or something that would end the cold war. Wasn't it Uncle Ben who said "With great power comes great responsibility"? Here was someone who consciously excelled in an elite university that most people only dream of attending, and she wants to sell herself short someday.

Me? No one would probably give a rat's ass. At 17, I still had trouble adding fractions. But this girl, top of her class, cute as hell, and able to make butterflies suddenly appear in my stupid teenage stomach, wanted to make pancakes for breakfast and iron her husband's slacks on weekends?

Life went on after that conversation. She graduated with honors, I took my sweet time and needed 4 more years to fulfill her prophecy. I sort of lost track of her amid all the parties, the booze and the hangovers. Just recently I got a chance to check up on her through facebook. She's got her own family now, still working but doting on her little ones.

She rarely posts anything on her facebook status, but this one that I chanced upon made me smile. She made it! It also made me realize that to become 'something', you've got to know what you really want out of yourself first. I guess I'll have to keep working on that. Hopefully someday, I'll also be able to sell myself short.

Hold the Viagra...

Writing's becoming a chore these days. Yeah, that's the excuse I'm giving for being too lazy to publish any posts recently. Sure there were days past when I'd be shooting off multiple posts a day, but I'm getting old I guess and these bursts come few and far between now. It's entirely possible that I could wolf down whatever is the literary equivalent of viagra to move things along, but why bother? If I don't wanna write, I don't need to, right? This is my blog, and I'll be as selfish as I want to be with it. It isn't like I'm getting paid for it, nor will I get a Pulitzer for my efforts.

To be fair though, there is a certain satisfaction that I get when people read my stuff. It's a boost to any writer's ego, so when I do write stuff up I enjoy people reading it. Thanks guys, for putting up with the load of crap I've rammed down your throats all these years.

*****

Some of you may be wondering how work has been for me these past few months.(Or at least I pretend that some of you give a hoot) Well, things are alright. Nothing spectacular, I haven't saved the world yet, but it's okay. For the most part, I'm learning to regulate how much work I'm actually able to take in. The early months have been an education on the phrase "biting off more than you can chew". So I've vomited a chunk of the excess and now am concentrating on getting the rest of it down. Understand that with my former place of employment, this wasn't a problem simply because there were less responsibilities. With the free rein I now have with my job, I feel like I've just gotten out of college desperate to lay my claim on the world.

Another thing that I've learned (or in this case re-learned) with my current job is the merits of taking public transportation. For loose change, I'm able to sit smugly in my seat and let the bus driver worry about the heavy traffic on Wednesday and Friday nights. And parking is the least of my worries when going out, so I can choose wherever bar or hangout I wish to go to without having to factor in the amount of parking space available. Of course, people watching is always a plus. Whenever anyone gets on or off, I mentally profile them. Their jobs, how old they are, is that guy gonna mug me tonight, did she get a good enough education, are they dating or just friends... you get the idea. Riding the bus along with the mainstream of society sharpens my people-judgement skills in a way.

Inside the office, I'm also learning with how to deal with people who are smarter than I am and yet are unable to understand what is expected of them. Not their fault, these guys were trained to work within the normal parameters of the corporate life, thus a weaker inclination think outside of the box. Wait, I'm not saying that's wrong, just that they are afraid to take risks or get their hands dirty. Me, I don't like playing things safe, that's no fun at all. One thing I do realize is that I need to figure out a way to be able to connect with these people so that they not only "get" what I'm driving at, but to also appreciate the benefits of risk taking every once in a while.

More on that in the future, I suppose. I don't really feel like talking about work just now.

*****

But what do I want to talk about? As usual, I don't know. I just felt the urge to tap on the keyboard tonight and this is what's coming out.

*****

Slightly tangential to the work thing, I've been overhearing stuff about money, how they feel they deserve more than they are actually getting. While this may have quite a lot of merit to it, the reality is that you will never really get as much as you deserve. That's just business. If you and every one else in a company are able to get as much as what you think you deserve, nine out of ten that company's going bust pretty soon.

I've always held the opinion that if you don't like the pay, then you can always quit and get another job. If you can't get another job that pays better than what you have now, then the problem lies with you, doesn't it? Of course, there will always be cases where the difference between what you think you should be making and what you are actually getting is humongous. If that's the case, (assuming you're correct in your computations) then I don't think you'd have any problems getting another job with a more justified compensation.

My point: stop whining and do something than just yakking your head off at the water cooler. Either quit or work harder to merit a raise.

A 6 month affair

I'm supposed to be working, playing catch up to the myriad tasks that I'm supposed to prepare for. It is a Monday tomorrow, the busiest day of the week. But I just can't pass up on this time to write. It's been a while, after all, and there is just no saying no to this little journal of sorts that I've been sharing.

*****

So this coming Thursday, I'd have been working for my new bosses for exactly 6 months. To tell you the truth, it doesn't feel like 6 months, it feels more like 6 years now. I'm not sure if that's a good or a bad thing, but definitely it's been enough time lapsed for me to look back and assess where I've been and where I'm going to.

6 months ago, I had no idea what the future held for me. I was on vacation in a foreign land, looking out the window into the freezing cold ether, cigarette in hand and a tiny whisky bottle by my side. I had just ended an 8-year relationship with my old job, and admittedly, I was scared shitless. Funny how I viewed my old job as a relationship, throughout all the frustrations and pressure and abject poverty, I loved that job. My moving on had nothing to do with hate nor indifference, just the realization that there was a bigger world out there, and that I wanted to be a part of it. Selfish, ambitious prick that I am.

The new job, or relationship, proved to be a giant leap in a totally different direction. After ditching the small town girl next door, I found myself in the arms of a career woman who took no shit from anybody. This wasn't Kansas anymore, welcome to the real world of players, hustlers and sharks. Didn't I say I wanted to be a part of the bigger ocean? Well, I definitely came to the right place!

In no time, I found myself overextended and entertaining feelings of inadequacy. There was no place for sugar-coating and excuses, and no points for trying, either. Either deliver or go home. So I was doing everything and anything, holding on to apron strings for dear friggin' life. After 2 months, my boss resigned, apparently seeking a slower pace. So I was left to my own devices, somewhere between limbo and f*cked.

It was somewhere at this point, in the middle of inhaling 2 packs of cigarettes a day, that I realized I was actually in a great position. Not everyone gets an opportunity to go from being a cog in a small family-owned company to getting first crack to carve out his own place in a global corporation. I was serendipitously caught at the right place at the right time, with fairly equal chances of success and doom. I liked my chances.

That was 3 months ago, so far I haven't gone that far in my quest. There are just too many brick walls that need to be hurdled. But I haven't thrown in the towel just yet.

Well, my impossibly insatiable mistress awaits. I'll let you know what happens in the next few days, but whatever the case I can safely say that I learned more in the past 6 months than all those 8 past years. Hopefully the learning continues, because there's a heck of a lot more out there.

Petrol-headed

This afternoon, after a meeting that lasted over 5 hours I realized that after the brain is tapped out, there's pretty little use for it. For the life of me, there was no getting back in the groove. All brain activity that was left could only command my hand to bring the pizza to my mouth and it in turn to chew and swallow. So in the office, I was reduced to mundane work, like stapling my receipts and doodling boobs all over my notebook. Takes me back to my days in college (except I didn't have a notebook then, only the hard wooden surface of my desk).

I should have just left, went home and recharged. But the sun was out, and it was hot as hell. Taking advantage of the office's free airconditioning wasn't a bad thing at all. Plus there was pizza, so I stayed put.

Then the familiar urge hit me, so I braved the hot and humid Manila air and choked myself on some cancer sticks outside the building. To amuse myself, I started counting cars passing me by while reconstructing the song "Counting Blue Cars" in my head. Well, tried to reconstruct it anyway, I never got past the chorus. Then the game turned into an hour of envy. There were all these cars passing by, and I wanted one of my own. Sure, cars are pretty impractical most of the time, specially when you live a short and convenient commute from the office. But I wanted one, if only to be able to escape the drudgery of my boring existence.

Okay, so if I was to buy a car, what should I get? Ahh, there's that debate again, the one I've been having with myself since I've decided to save up for one. Brand new or second hand? Japanese or Korean? (American and European models are just way off my budget, sadly) Smart car or bad ass SUV? This is just one of those choices where you know whichever one you pick, you'll be picking the wrong one. Fortunately, I don't have to torture myself in the short term so I stub out my cigarette, light up another one and move on.

Hypothetically, let's say I buy a car this morning. Where do I go? Home, of course is the last place you're going to think of. The day you get your first car, your mind goes nuts and you become that reckless teenager once again about to squander your life's savings on your first lap dance. This is one of those milestones in a man's life, the first bottle of beer, the first time you see an actual boob, bases 1 through 4, and I'm told the birth of your first child. You just can't let these moments go to waste.

So where to? With whom, or should I go solo? Do I bottle up a sample of that new car air? Should I head to the beach or the mountains? How long should I wait before I allow myself to fart inside the car? Obviously, these big decisions have to be made. I just hope I'll be ready with my answer when that time comes.

Last weekend, I actually got to driving again. It might have felt good, if only I was sober enough to enjoy it. It was 5 in the morning, I just sobered up but was sort of still out of it. I was too concentrated on the road than on the feel of the pedals and wheels. What a waste.

So I guess I miss driving, having the power to decide your own fate and the direction you're headed to. And as I was standing there finishing up my last stick of cigarette, I hated all those drivers passing by, taunting me with the smell of their fumes and the sweet sound of an internal combustion engine. While I sit in the bus, pre-destined to take a certain route, these guys can decide which road to take, to stop and take a leak when they felt like it, to brake just a tad harder than necessary just because.

Just before I stubbed out the last embers, a guy in a tiny Hyundai drives up the garage and guns the engine one last time before cutting it off. He was car number 203, the bastard.

Distractions versus "Justin Bieber"

And wouldn't you know it, this blog seems to be getting harder and harder to write. There's just so little time left over from work and that whining mistress of mine, the laundry. And just when you thought you finally managed to free yourself from it all, your blanket greedily clutches you in its fluffy arms and drains whatever iota of consciousness you have left.

Some days, I find myself waiting to be distracted from the drudgery of it all.

And it's not just this blog that I've been neglecting, lots of other important matters are being left up in the air. Take for example the need to populate my wardrobe with more spiffy threads. Somehow, I'm still dressing up for some 90's grunge concert. Baggy pants, plaid shirts and a bad goatee. Okay, the goatee is because of the pimple that's been squatting on my chin for some time now, but the rest I owe to my laziness and superior laundry skills. Yeah, I've owned some of the shirts I've been wearing for a decade now, that's how anal I am with the wash cycle. There is hope though, I did buy a shirt some weekends ago to wear to some fancy work-related event. Never got the pants, nor the shoes, nor the tie, not even a belt that doesn't look like it's turning back into a cow. That's what happens when you leave your mom's house and live on your own, you devolve back to your inner Neanderthal.

Before any of you make any suggestions, let me explain that a distraction is entirely different from a hobby. No don't bother to look it up in the dictionary, I don't really care if I'm wrong about the definition in your world, but in MY world, as I've said, it's worlds apart. There are a lot of things that I could do in lieu of my more mundane activities. I've considered baking, jogging, painting, finishing that damn Gabriel Garcia Marquez book, pest control (okay, maybe that needs prioritizing), carpentry and all sorts of stuff. Writing about them is about as far as I've gotten to realizing any of those things. Now those are hobbies. But distractions... they're... 'distracting'? I mean they're just so darn irresistible that your brain turns to mush and you forget how dumb that fascinated look on your face is. Think about how a fat kid stares at a doughnut, or a 12 year old girl goes apeshit for Justin Bieber.

Distractions are what makes our lives more interesting.

Oh, and another thing I just thought of to differentiate a distraction from a hobby, the former is fleeting while the latter is gonna suck the life out of you. It's like having a one night stand with Britney Spears versus spending a lifetime of her going all trailer park on you. Bad analogy perhaps, but I did enjoy thinking up my imaginary one-nighter.

Beware though, as there are distractions that are quite unpleasant. These tend to make your life even more miserable than it already (surely) is. (Yes, I'm quite sure because you've got nothing better to do than read this blog, dear reader) So in MY world, the definition of the word 'distraction' is always positive. I'm calling its negative equivalent 'Justin Bieber' instead. No I'm not a hater, I just don't imagine myself uttering his name too often in my lifetime, guaranteeing a long and pleasant life ahead of me. For instance, you know those few minutes in the middle of a porno when the actors suddenly appear out of nowhere...*GASP*... FULLY DRESSED! JUSTIN FRIGGIN' BIEBER! (Oh the horror!)

I'll admit, there are some people who find their lives ruined by all sorts of distractions. Take for example the guy who got distracted by the chick in the car besides his, right before he got bashed up really bad by the oncoming truck he failed to notice. Or the prisoner who got distracted by the bar of soap which he dropped on the floor... you probably know how that always ends. That's not what I hope to happen to me, of course (specially the incident with the soap, I'd probably choose the car crash over that).

My former mentor taught me that to ensure success in life, you have to constantly remind yourself how it feels to be fulfilled. This isn't just the one thing, it may be a bunch of different stuff, but what's essential is that you have to make it a point to feel great about yourself at least once a day. For him, it was finishing his Sudoku game during breakfast. I tried it with computer chess for a month... I felt miserable losing and arriving late to the office every day for that month. Wasn't the best of ideas I've had for sure. But the principle is sound, you just have to find that something that you enjoy and you're good at, and make it fuel the day with feeling good about yourself.

Before anyone says anything, NO I WILL NOT DO YOUR LAUNDRY.

Welcome to another in my long line of under-achievements

Something has to be said about my losing streak. You see, I've been playing this PC game, Sid Meier's Civilization, off and on for almost 2 decades now. And so far, I haven't won a single time. Well that's not entirely true, I've won a number of times on the easy levels, but having your opponent playing with an arm behind his back certainly doesn't count, at least for me. The games that matter to me are those where I play at the level of the AI, because that's where the bragging rights are. Of course, there hasn't been anything to brag about yet which has been a big frustration for me.

So far, the score looks something like this: Man 0 - Computer 5,683. This sucks.

The funny thing about it is, I know I can win this stupid game. But sadly I can't seem to pull it off because I get so damn excited when I'm winning that I make careless mistakes. This is true not only on the computer, by the way. My poker game has also been witness to this meltdown. So has my billiard game. And darts. WHY THE HECK DOES THIS HAPPEN!?

Yesterday afternoon, after another frustrating game of Civ (I was a far first place, until I got cocky and decided to prolong a war with Napoleon, draining me of resources, landing me a close 2nd place in the end) I sat back and tried to get to the bottom of this phenomenon. I reached deep down into my psyche (scary shit, I tell you) and summoned my inner Freud. Turns out, I loathe winning. Something in my past has wired me this way, so that each time I get close enough to the target, I slow down and let another guy go first.

But why? What event could have triggered this?

As with all psychological investigations, I suspected my mom was behind all this. If Tony Soprano's mom could have messed him up that bad, why can't mine? I was told I was breastfed as a kid, could it be that? Is breastfeeding good for the body but bad for the psyche? Let's dismiss that thought. Thinking about my mom's boobs and writing about it here is just... wrong.

Let's move on to the next suspect, my childhood. Maybe I was raised wrong. I mean, growing up I didn't really have a knack for basketball like the other kids. So the competitivity (is that a word?) wasn't there and here I am, a broken PC gamer. I did play soccer though, as a full-back. You know, the guy in backfield who's not the kick-ass goalie? Maybe that's it... as a kid I was the guy who wasn't expected to win the game but was more likely to lose it by letting the opposing forward go by, leaving the poor goalie to fend for himself.

I did enjoy other games, though. The kind you played in your neighbor's backyard, up a tree, in the streets where all the cars and cabs and jeeps rolled by. So maybe being the useless fullback wasn't it.

Arrgh, this is so frustrating! Frustrating enough that I open grooveshark and look for "Self-Esteem" by The Offspring.

(This is the part where I load the music, get up from my seat and take a piss while singing to the tune)

And now we're back! (While I was gone - which you would probably have no idea how long for - I took the liberty of also searching for Beck's "Loser", Frank's "Send in the Clowns" and various videos of Kylie Minogue, because she's hot, and she doesn't judge me.)

While I was elsewhere, I thought of my Catholic upbringing. No, technically I'm not Catholic, but I did have 10 years worth of Catholic schooling, wherein I joined a Bible Contest, where I landed... guess where, SECOND place! But seriously, aren't Catholics bred for this kind of torture? All that guilt from all those past generations of sinners, and how humility and meekness and suffering are the ultimate tickets to those Pearly Gates (or the Dark Side, ask Yoda)? Could my frustrations actually be pre-ordained? In which case, upon my tombstone shall the words "Never won on earth, better luck in Heaven, loser!" be engraved.

At the risk of thunder and lightning coming down on my ass, I'd better stop ranting about religion. (Sorry Father, for I have sinned...)

There is another theory, though... that all this losing is borne out of my disdain for the glory of winning because of the heightened expectations. You know, take LeBron James, for instance. He's what we call a winner, MVP, the go-to-guy. And yet, when he rims out his shot we all call him a goat and boo him all the way out of the arena. I'm willing to bet that if the ball ended up in the hands of someone else, say Eddie House, in the final second with the potential game-winner, and he flubs it, he'd get a pat on the back and several "That's a tough shot for anyone...". See where I'm going with this?

Let's say that I did win at Civilization, then what next? Do I move on to other games, having to purchase more expensive titles and re-learn it? What if I did win big in poker, do I move on from house games to the casino? And if I graduated at the top of my class in grade school or high school, would my parents approve of all the drinking and going to parties, expecting me to study my ass off every day to become summa cum laude? And let's say I did do everything right in college and graduated with respectable marks, wouldn't people expect me to be some kind of wunderkind know-it-all who saves the nation's economy overnight? Man, that's just too much pressure for someone who likes his beer cold and the women hot.

Which brings me back to my hatred of Freddie Prinze Jr. Yeah, I've ranted against him some posts back explaining it. I'd post a link to it if I weren't the lazy type, tough luck for you, I guess. Anyway, guys like Freddie Prinze, Jr. (Or his characters, anyway) always have this innate need to set the bar high up, thus making us all look bad.

I know, I know, there's nothing wrong with being an achiever. But hey, nothing wrong being an under-achiever too, you know! We let them do their thing, and we'll be fine on our own devices.

Well, all this bitterness has dragged on for too long, I suppose. If you can't beat 'em, then I'll just go grab me a nice cold one and watch Kylie Minogue over-achieve herself.

So you're the expert, huh?

Has anyone ever called you an expert? A specialist? Well I have, just this afternoon. Apparently, I'm an expert in "business development".

I can't believe it either.

*****

I guess you've noticed, I haven't been posting much. It's a bit difficult when you get into the office at 8 in the morning and clock out a little past 8 in the evening. Then when I get home, I open my laptop and work some more. It's exhausting, and I've been sporting raccoon eyes for the past month. This is what I've traded my old life for.

And so far, I'm loving it.

I can't seem to put my finger on it, but there's a great thrill getting home knowing that you've just worked your ass off and you're gonna be back at it again tomorrow. And shamefully, I've reached a point that I'm so darn efficient at it that people have been piling more work on me and going out on holiday. So much for the guy who needed 8 1/2 years to finish a 4-year course in college, and the king of the third floor who came to the office at 10 and left at 4.

*****

Wait, let's go back to the original statement, that I'm some sort of expert. In my opinion, either they're lying or they don't know me at all.

You see, all this effort I'm doing isn't really worth shit if I don't produce results. So far, all the projects that I've been taking on are in their incubation stage and the company has been taking a loss (ie my salary) waiting for them to bear fruit. Until the time when I have actually gotten one of these babies up and running and earning a decent profit for the company, then there is no achievement to speak of.

Unlike you regular joes, those on the factory floor or behind a desk, the job is pretty unforgiving. It's either I succeed or I don't, there are no points for trying and no excuses either. If it rains cats and dogs or a great big shark suddenly drops down from the sky and lands squarely on my head, the question would still be "Have you turned a profit, yet?".

Which actually makes the job all the more exciting. It's always a race to keep the company profitable and relevant. No laurels to rest on, no month-end to party after and no time for grief when a project is struck dead. When you get something up and running, it's time to move on to the next one. When the project implodes in your face, no choice but to keep working on the back-up plan.

*****

Of course, there is concern down the line. Won't I be depriving myself of a life? Will this career I've chosen turn me into a machine? Can my body keep up with itself and all the stress I'm gaining day in and day out?

Yesterday, there was a buzz at the office. Someone from the back-office died from an apparent cardiac arrest at the age of 27. I was told she was an indefatigable stalwart of the HR Department, and from what little contact I've made with her, she was a busy little bee indeed. The question "Will that happen to me?" rang a tiny little bell in my tiny little brain. I never got a chance to answer, my phone rang and in a second I was confirming a meeting for that morning.

Then there's my boss, holding top position in two separate companies with operations spanning 15 countries. I get an email from her at 12 midnight, and another one at 6:00 o'clock in the morning. One morning, as I was getting myself prepped up for a meeting with her, her assistant called me postponing our meeting to tomorrow. Apparently, she fainted from a vitamin deficiency or something. Also apparently, this was a regular occurrence that everyone in the office is sort of used to. The next day, I was having coffee with her at the office while going over line items in a research proposal I was doing.

Am I doomed?

*****

In my eccentric and over-simplified world, there are two types of people: those who take time off to stop and smell the flowers, and those who pull harder against the yoke so the flower-smellers get a chance to do so. I sort of transitioned from the former to the latter and so far, I'm finding the latter to be a better place at the moment. Mainly, the motivation I'm discovering is self-worth, that in the greater scheme of things I'm actually earning my keep. It's something I haven't felt in a long while, something that gives me an iota of entitlement.

And this entitlement that I'm feeling is really grand, even with the realization that I haven't made anything work yet. Some days ago, while listening to a friend of mine whine and bitch about his life over a number of bottles of beer, I can't help wearing a smug smile on my face, it was like looking at a mirror that reflected myself a number of years ago. I still have problems of course, still poor and alone. But now it's all a game, a puzzle to be solved and a chance to think out of the box.

*****

If there's one thing I'm sad about, though, it's that I haven't the chance to write as often as I want. Obviously, I'm having trouble keeping a singular train of thought, explaining all this gibberish that you're reading (in case you made it all the way here). I love writing, and there's always this dream of mine to write a good enough short story or novel even. I don't even have to be published, just knowing that I have written something is good enough for me. But unless I give some time to it, writing stuff on a more regular basis and improving a tad bit on stuff like grammar and spelling and vocabulary and sense, I don't think I'd have enough goods even for a haiku.

Don't worry, I'll keep trying (more torture for you folks) and spewing out nonsense in the meantime. Which reminds me I've got a report due tomorrow and a follow-up on a project on clean coal. How that reminded me? I dunno, really. A lot of stuff up in my head that I can't really explain the workings of.

Sense-less (As usual)

Hi! Been a while, hasn't it? Well, it's not that I haven't been writing, in fact I've got a bunch of posts saved as drafts. Mostly they were about work, so I didn't think you'd like them anyway.

*****

So now I'm here, what to write about? Oh, I dunno... my life has been pretty boring as of late. Well, not that boring, just monotonous. Yeah, work has a lot to do with it, I guess. I'm working my ass off to stay employed. I hear jobs are pretty scarce nowadays, and the price of cigarettes are going up as well. Need that job to slowly kill myself with smoke.

Speaking of killing, I'm sure you noticed the picture of a rat pinned down by a flat iron that I posted the last time. (Yeah, got pretty lazy I didn't bother to write the story I wanted) Anyway, he's now our official mascot at home. When there's nothing else to do, my sister and I think up new ways of making its life more miserable. Guaranteed to bring a smile to your face each time.

Like the time I threw him into the laundry. I could imagine him squeaking and helpless, battling the spinning monster that is the washing machine. Or the time I put him in the microwave, hoping he's scare my sister during breakfast. Well, my sister didn't really see him and almost toasted him to dust. My favorite would probably be hiding him in the freezer... after which he stank like a hotdog. (The inspiration for throwing him in the laundry, in fact)

He survived. Rats are survivors anyway. He must have over 200 lives by my last count. We're trying to push him to see if he's got at least 500 more.

*****

Have I told you about my new favorite thing? No, not the rat, (close second, though) it's decaf. Yeah, coffee without having to worry about being awake until 3am. I started buying the stuff when I realized that I was downing too may cups of joe lately. I drink coffee when I wake up, when I get to the office, before lunch, after lunch and when I get home. Sometimes, I make myself a really generous mug of the stuff, and wonder why I always feel like there's an earthquake.

Why all that coffee? Because when you're a miser, and the coffee at the office is free, you get ideas.

So now, I drink decaf when I wake up (same effect of making you wanna poop), and when I get home. My house is now a caffeine-free zone! Obviously I get to sleep better as well, which saves me about an hour of being in zombie mode in the morning.

Now all this makes me wonder, who the heck invented the stuff? How did he suddenly realize that one day, someone would want to drink coffee without having to worry about not being able to sleep early? And then the more important question comes: If decaf is now a household name, why isn't non-alcoholic beer? I mean, I certainly wouldn't touch the stuff, and yet I hate hangovers. Do you think these alternatives were invented by one and the same guy? (Google away, people!)

So what other things have been bastardized of their original purpose? Do electronic cigarettes count? Zero-calorie soda? Veggie-meat? Invisible ink? Riverdale the movie? Pamela Anderson's breast reduction?

*****

I've been thinking of buying a car. I had to return my old one after I resigned from the company that actually owns it so now I'm taking the bus. But this afternoon, when I actually visited the dealership across the street from my office, I had second thoughts. Do I really need one?

Sure cars are convenient, but I've been doing alright for the past 2 months now without one that I'm beginning to wonder if I should buy one. Of course, there are times when I wish I had one at my disposal, but these have been few and far between, and almost always a cab is there to ferry me wherever I pleased.

Yesterday, I was on an out-of-office trip. I can't tell you how fun it was to sleep in the passenger's seat while a driver was doing all the work for you. I think I even snored myself awake a few times, but hell, I've logged enough hours doing the driving that I deserved this! And those times that I was awake, I did nothing but stare out of the window like a kid. Yeah, being a passenger is fun.