Category Archives: Gossip
So You Haven’t Found Someone Worth Having In Your Life
Last year, I tried to skirt around this whole mushy issue because to be frank, Valentine’s is just not my type of day. And after seeing a lot of people making googly eyes and carrying flowers and all that romantic shitshattery last night, I swore to myself that I will avoid densely populated places forever. (Take note of that statement because this is where my downward spiral to cat persondom shall have begun.)
Anyway, don’t worry, my aversion is not directed towards you because I know you were crying in your living room last night while pigging out on a tub of vegan chocolate ice cream while listening to Adele.
You Can Have Your Toblerone, I’ll have Tablea Anytime. (Theo & Philo Please.)
At Least My Thoughts can Breakdance (I Hope)
Last Saturday, I went to this club called the Republiq to witness The Pink Movement event — supposedly the first and largest all-girls dance marathon against cervical cancer. Because I’m not so big on going to clubs like these (I can actually count with my two hands all the clubs I’ve been inside), that was the first time I’ve entered the Republiq as well as the Resorts World grounds. It’s nice; I actually like how close it is to the airport. I can already imagine the hoards of geriatric male senior citizens and their young me-love-you-long-time lady friends with their newest Louis Vuitton acquisitions from Hong Kong flocking to the place. Wow Philippines indeed!
It was for work so I HAD to be there. But even if it was more of duty than leisure, I still enjoyed watching the many teenage girls battle it out on the dance floor to the tune of Usher crooning about loving someone down. It’s amazing, kids these days. I think it takes real talent to bop and grind and bump when you’re barely wearing anything. I guess when you take your fashion inspiration from a Bratz doll that says a lot about your self-confidence.
They say being a dancer requires you to get lost in the moment and achieve that blank state of mind, which I obviously can’t do seeing as to how I’m very insecure with my dancing skills. When I dance, I most probably look like a drunk male alpaca warbling and spitting as it totters on the expanse of the Andes and you don’t want to mess with a drunk male alpaca. Thank goodness I’m not one of those local celebrities which network stations force to perform — like, sing in front of a national television audience even if their singing sounds like cats wailing during mating season.
I suppose when you’re forced to expose your hidden talents which you’d rather keep hidden, it does make you a bit sensitive to ridicule. That’s why I applaud people like such who remain unfazed despite the tons of ridicule they suffer from the people around them. Being stupid is one thing; being stupid and a diva about it is irritating, hilarious, and amazing all at the same time. Isa ka ngang tunay na Psychology. (Speaking of psychology, hello Dunning-Kruger effect?)
Anyway, I get it though that some people are really sensitive about certain flaws they have, especially if those flaws are the ones they’ve been worrying over for quite a long time. That’s understandable. Sometimes these sensitive people can be insensitive as well to other people’s sensitivities. That’s understandable too, as they are too preoccupied covering up their own insecurities that it doesn’t matter which/whose dirt pile they excavate to hide their own crap. But then, you see these people accusing others who make insensitive comments as being brash and insensitive, and you wonder if they ever heard the phrase “pot calling kettle black”.
I admit that I can be quite insensitive to other people’s feelings and maybe it’s because I am also trying to cover up my own insecurities. Now as a knee-jerk reaction I suddenly want to interject and mention that I’ve been also ridiculed a lot of times and I’ve grown to be passive about it — after all, being vegetarian and left-handed and gay sort of makes you a sort of ridicule-magnet. But then I am OK with who I am. (Sort of, not really, fully quite.) As I am nearly 25, I’ve resolved to settle my confusions of who I really am, and I’ve grown to accept that some people are just born this way and there’s nothing to be ashamed of — it’s not a matter of preference but an orientation, and I’m better off not forcing myself to be otherwise. Even if I get urges to try the other way every now and then, and even if I’ve tried the other side and enjoyed it (somewhat), I’ve grown to accept that I am left-handed so others will just have to deal with me eating with the spoon in my left hand and the fork in my right.
That’s why I think science is truly the way to make people more sensitive by allowing more people to understand the nature of how things work. With the obesity gene and the smoking gene being discovered by researchers you’d question how much you can blame people for their actions. Blame it on the genes — it’s making you fat and addicted to cigarettes. I think soon they’ll discover a homicidal gene. And a gene that predisposes sad old men to little girls. The future is out there.
P.S. In the interest of political correctness, was just horsing around with the last part. I mean no offense to the morbidly obese and chain smokers. You can do it: QUIT!
WTFLOL — BT SRSLY
In Bruce La Bruce’s interview with Karl Lagerfeld for Vice Magazine, the infamous creative director and head designer of Chanel callously declared, “Be politically correct, but please don’t bother other people with conversation about being politically correct, because that’s the end of everything. You want to create boredom? Be politically correct in your conversation.”
Maybe the death of humor will indeed be political correctness. The absurd, the grotesque, and the disturbing — among many other things — will always be funny, to the detriment of those who are being disparaged. But it’s difficult to point fingers at who is guilty, because as much as we deny it, we ourselves are likely guilty of discrimination. It’s so easy to fall into the trap and make fun of people that exist outside our social circles.
But as we progress to a (ehem) more enlightened society (Buddha bless us), is it time to finally sacrifice humor? Or is it just high time to redefine what we find funny at all? Maybe in the future we can make fun of people who discriminate others –the gay-bashers, the racists, the sexists — instead of laughing at:
Singer and actor Harry Connick Jr. was one of the judges for this skit aired at the Australian show “Hey, Hey It’s Saturday”. This was way back in 2009, and you can see his disapproval of the mockery. The issue went global during that time.
Let’s go to Japan. I’m not a master of Japanese humor (just like how I don’t get the country’s fascination for tentacle porn and cyborg sex and human-computer marriages) but I’m sensing there’s something really, really wrong with this:
But then again, let’s not go far right? Right here in the Philippines, we have our own fair share of WTF, and one that is approved by a dermatologist, to boot. (Seriously Dra. Vicki Belo, seriously — for a woman of science. SERIOUSLY.)
The irony is, Filipinos enjoy shows like these, but feel slighted when other people mock us, such as in the scandalous “Desperate Housewives” show:
Hypocrisy can be funny too. (I’m actually laughing at myself.)
The Fine Art of Faking It
I like to think I have a sixth sense when it comes to fakers. But then again I also like to believe that I am the king of the universe and that one stick of cigarette wouldn’t release enough cancerous substances to bioaccumulate in my system and kill me prematurely. Being a phony myself who pretends to be cooler than I actually am, it irritates me that there are a lot of competition out there steadily winning the Olympic sport of social climbing.
My phoniness however does not extend to attempts to socialize with everyone. Like alcohol, I use my phoniness as a social lubricant, which oftentimes leads me to more trouble that I originally assumed I would avoid altogether. I am a pretty awkward kid and I find myself caught in a lot of awkward situations that I sometimes wonder whether I’m subconsciously attracting the awkwardness atoms of the universe.
Like Camus’ Meursault, I sometimes find it difficult to choose the right emotions when trapped in certain situations. I might laugh or snigger or snort at the most serious moments, or feel sad at cheerful occasions for no apparent reason at all. I’m such a non-conformist like that I guess. Or maybe I’m lacking a social gene of sort.
In any case, because I like to fake it a lot, I think I’ve developed a radar to detect phoniness. I would even dare say that I should be awarded a doctorate degree in the study of social deception. To justify my demand for a degree, I’m posting a part of my thesis on fakery, which classifies fakers as:
1.) The Charlatans. In the caste system of phoniness, the charlatans are the Brahmans. They’ve managed to create webs of lies and most people never get to see through their well-woven deceit. Charlatans are scheming and sly people who fill their heads with all sorts of information to make it appear that they are well-versed with whatever it is they are talking about. They usually end up having bestseller books or becoming symposium speakers. Some turn out to be insanely successful religious leaders. They exude an aura of authenticity which makes them appear to be adorable people that you wouldn’t mind shelling out ten percent of your income for them every month.
2.) Humbugs. Humbugs are phonies who failed at subtlety class. They like to be as ostentatious as possible — bragging about their newest acquisitions and displaying their latest activities to everyone in their social circle. They enjoy the fact that there are lesser individuals among them because the ego trip they get out of other people’s awe is better than any line of coke or ecstasy pill they can avail at the black market. Remember that ugly professor you had who paraded his fleet of sports cars every chance he got? Oh yes — the humbugs are compensating for something.
3.) Frauds. The frauds are the cheerful men and women who incessantly laugh at your jokes and feign interest in your existence when you are in their company, and then mock and ridicule you the moment you turn your back. They usually orbit around humbugs. Frauds are either parasites or commensals, as they always benefit from the people they associate with.
4.) Pseuds. Because they are inherently awkward and they cannot function well with normal society, pseuds will fake certain emotions to make the circumstances more bearable. They hate displaying their incapacities; thus, they will simply follow whatever the status quo is doing to make them appear invisible. Some pseuds, who enjoy working in groups which have similar beliefs, are easily manipulated and often become staunch supporters of charlatans.
Photo from Getty Images
Deep inside, they really hate each other’s guts. What fakery.
Camera Chameleon
I have a thing with cameras. Not like a perverted fetish sort of thing. I happen to like them but I’m quite undecided with what to make of them. Are they good or bad?
Of course some would argue that a camera is like a hammer. The same hammer that can pound a nail can crack open a skull and clobber someone to death, or torture people by prying off their teeth one by one as they scream for mercy and hope the heavens strike them dead and spare them from excruciating pain. That Korean film “Old Boy” opened me up to the many possibilities the hammer offered aside from its common hardware purpose.
In Britain, the surveillance capital of the world, there is one CCTV camera for every 14 people. In total, that’s around 4.2 million cameras peering at each Briton’s every move — from crossing the streets to driving their cars, and shopping in malls as well as peeing in public places plus picking up street hookers and inconspicuously having public sex in some dark alleyway somewhere. The irony of it is that George Orwell, the author of “1984” — that dystopian novel of a future where everyone is closely monitored by an authoritarian figure dubbed as Big Brother — is English. In the land of irony, the British are kings.
Anyway, cameras are very effective tools for fame-whores. Andy Warhol once predicted that in the future, everyone will be famous for fifteen minutes. The future has come, and now we have the likes of that guy doing the Numa Numa dance in Youtube and all sorts of faceless fat men jerking off at Chatroulette. The web has become an avenue for posers and ADHD-afflicted bloggers who stupidly jump from one topic to anoth — ooh wait there’s a
Yesterday, my officemates and I attended the first anniversary party of Flippish.com in Fiamma at Jupiter Street where we had our fill of margaritas courtesy of the open bar. The local website positions itself as a purveyor of a “wide variety of original online shows made with the Pinoy in mind”. Think current tv programming — except with the virtual world as its newest platform. What’s great about this is that people don’t have to endure a boring show, and the producers can automatically track which show isn’t gaining its fair share of viewers.
That’s one thing I like about the internet: it empowers people with choices. But then again, the existentialist in me asks, is there really a choice? Are we really free? Are we in the Matrix? Has one of the Wachowski Brothers completed his quest to become a full-fledged woman?
closely monitoring
Altered State of Consciousness, minus the Chemicals
Medications are part of my existence. Every day I have to take thyroid hormones to keep my metabolism normal, as surgery took 85% of my thyroid which left me hypothyroid after. I was planning by the way to keep it with me but the surgeon said they sent it for further study. I don’t think they found anything cancerous. Up to now, I still feel really bad for 85% of my thyroid and I hope it didn’t get dumped in some sanitary landfill, found by some curious scavenger, and afterward ending up as a homeless family’s dinner. I wish they gave it a decent burial at the very least, or a proper cremation. We did have fun times, to think of it, despite the fact that it made me very, very sick.
Apart from the thyroid hormones, I used to take antidepressants and anti-schizophrenic drugs along with lithium. I once suffered a bout of depression which I’m glad to be over now. I was diagnosed with a personality disorder but not the type that causes one to casually start a homicidal spree, so society can rest assured that I do not have to be locked up in some mental institution.
To add to that, I have junkie friends and herbally-inclined acquaintances (and by this I do not mean in the wondrous field of botany). On the other end of the spectrum I also have a friend who works for the Philippine Drug Enforcement Agency (PDEA). One of these days I’m planning to invite all of them to our house for some tea and cookies.
Interestingly though, there are ways to alter one’s consciousness without necessarily ending up in the company of Amy Winehouse, Courtney Love, and the Gucci Gang. According to this Boston.com article , your next big trip to la-la land might just be two ping-pong balls and a radio away. How? Tape the halved ping-pong balls over your eyes, turn on the radio and listen to static, then lie down and start hallucinating!
There’s also a site online called “Get High Now” that lets people experience different mind-trips without having to worry about police barging in your front door, leading to a 15-year prison sentence requiring long hours of hard, back-breaking labor. So before you snort that next line of coke, why not try these instead? A party with all your cokehead friends lying down on couches and having a brain-blowing high might finally just be your ticket to chemical freedom.
