My Haven of Misanthrophy

    I won’t be updating my Friendster blog. It will still be around, but I won’t be updating it.

    *THIS* one though, I hope to update semi-regularly.
http://ihategameswithballs.blogspot.com/

    To everyone who’s read the stuff here and especially to those who were at the very least compelled to completely read at least some of the things I wrote, thanks.

    And to anyone who was hurt or whatever, I’m sorry for how you took things. I’m not sorry for whatever I wrote. Whatever I wrote is how I saw things and felt at that particular moment in time.

    If the consequence of bluntness and honesty is hate, then I  will have to take whatever you’re giving. Gladly.

    People have asked me why I don’t write about certain things here. Things like politics, national events, social justice, religion, love… that sort of thing. People wonder because they think those things are under my umbrella of interests, especially politics.

    Essentially, they go: "Hey you seem to be opinionated about that kind of stuff (well, maybe  not about love), why don’t you write about those things?". That’s a question I’ve asked myself time and again. And finally, after a few years, I now have some answers.

     Friendster isn’t really suited for some topics. I HAVE written about the above topics, but usually only tangentially. Hell, everything that involves more than one person interacting has politics in it. Whenever I rant about how immature the local music scene is or some similar stuff, there IS politics involved. The only thing is, I try to avoid any overt mention of it.

    Of course, this is not exactly what you might be thinking about when talking about politics. But it’s no accident I chose not to write about politics in the traditional sense is because I do not feel I can write about it properly in the context of a blog. Preachy, academically slanted blogs are rarely fun to read. And I try to be fun. After all, Friendster is a place to meet and keep up with friends.

    Besides, I have other interests. Interests that you would be likely more likely to catch your attention. Because lets face it, I am a whore and I would like nothing more than to please you and your naughty, naughty bits.

    Kidding aside, I would write about politics if I felt I could deliver a good product or piece to my audience and if I had the proper forum on which to do it. I don’t claim to be uber-qualified and there IS a saying that goes "opinions are like assholes, everyone has one". But in my case, my opinions are damn near always right. That’s right. I’m better at this than you. I wouldn’t want you to post a comment on something I wrote only to have your ass handed to you because you didn’t understand a goddamn thing.

    Is this an egotist speaking? Maybe. Is He saying the truth? As he sees it, yes.

    You see, I’m tired of meeting people who are so goddamned opinionated on the previously mentioned topics and are unable to defend their views credibly when they are asked questions or are forced to ask themselves questions that challenge those views. It sickens me really.

    If there is a god who made us in his own image, he’d be fucking ashamed of making someone who blindly follows the sway and opinions of the people next to him. Why? Because the god of the Bible is a badass. He never gave second thought about slaughtering almost everyone in the world during the Flood. Or killing all the Egyptian firstborn. Or favoring David even though he was sinful and punishing Moses for striking a rock with his staff twice instead of once like he was told to. In case you’re wondering, YES THAT DID HAPPEN.

    Anyway, God never cared what other people thought. He always did what He saw fit, and whatever He did was done with His omnipowerful wisdom.

    Otherwise normal people who form convictions that they are unable to understand and who insist on hanging on to logically untenable moral and intellectual positions are hence undeserving of being called people. They can’t be. After all, God supposedly created us in His badass image. They are but animals.

    See where this whole thing’s bringing me? I totally ruined the coherence of the piece after being carried away like that! See? I’m pretty much a downer when I talk about the stuff some of you guys want me to talk about. Much better that I write about existential angst, music, and other ’safe’ stuff so I won’t be able to drive into your empty heads how throughly stupid most of you are.

    Last night I slept early, at around 9:30pm on account of being tired due to yet another pointless all-nighter. I woke up around 5:00am, the time I had forced myself to wake up every morning for the past few months. For the same period of time, I’ve been jogging 45 minutes every other day. Why? Because I have convictions. And one of my convictions is, if you aren’t employed or in school, you damn well be doing something to better yourself.

    When I woke up, it was raining what seemed like thick blankets of water. There was a little light out, so I checked the driveway from my window and I saw that it was covered in a dancing liquid sheet, which I assumed was made of rainwater. The whole neighborhood would be similarly drenched, a veritable pool of leptospirosis. As my Significant Other once said: "Rat piss and floodwater is yucky."

    The decision was then made: No jogging today. Too much trouble. Besides, it would be nice to slip back under the sheets with rain-cooled morning air making pleasurable forays into the cracks and crannies of my comforter. Convictions be damned. I’ll just practice on the guitar longer today. That should suffice.

    I went back to bed and snuggled under the sheets like a caterpillar in its cocoon. And wouldn’t you know it, just as I finished snuggling up against the sheets and found a position that felt just right, I felt like peeing.

    We all know just how much of a pain it is to get out of the sheets when we’ve decided to go back in them. Feeling extra lazy, I just went on closing my eyes.

    My fake G-Shock read 7:50-something a.m. when I next awoke. There was a dull pain emanating from somewhere just above my groin. I wasn’t to sure if I thought it through again, or not, but I suddenly found myself in front of the toilet, still slightly groggy, standing and leaning over it and holding myself with my left hand and propping my body up against the wall with my right elbow, sort of like what a left- handed inebriated fellow would do.

    Too late, I realized the toilet seat was down. I concentrated and managed to aim everything right, without any spillage. Proving yet again that men are pigs, I found time to be proud of myself.

    I hopped back into bed afterwards but I couldn’t sleep. It had stopped raining and it was now quite humid. I turned my fan up an extra notch but still, nothing happened. I was wide awake. And I begrudged it.

    The delicious escape of sleep has come to its end. Now I will have to resume doing what I should be doing. Looking for a job. Repairing broken relationships. Making people happy. Making the world a better place. Calling up my mother.  And  a billion other things.

Now I that I was awake, I had to deal with the world.

"Man, FHM Philippines sure sucks shit from my asshole!"
                                                 -Oscar Wilde on FHM Philippines-

—

    FHM has been around  for quite a long time now. And I will tell you something. It USED to be good.

     The first issue of FHM I ever bought was the November 2002 issue. It had Sheree on the cover and had it still had content from FHM UK and FHM USA, if I recall correctly. There was definitely a Jenna Jameson article and some other fairly interesting pieces made by local writers.

    It was pretty good, nothing great. The writing was ok, pictures were so-so… some of the pictures were badly done, but this was a men’s mag that targeted the Filipino market, so they could get away with it. I remember they used to show the occasional female nipple in it’s full glory. Not behind a thin tee or that sort of bullshit. They were female breasts… exposed… basking in the full glory of a photographer’s flashbulbs.

    Granted, this did not happen very often or in every issue, for that matter. That would detract from the whole concept of FHM in the first place if that happened in all pages every issue. But still, we DID get to catch the occasional glance. That occasional glance plus some of the models plus the ‘OK’  reading value was what it took for me to sporadically buy FHM on the times I was bored or simply had too much money on my hands.

    But  one month, sometime around 2003, they started airbrushing nipples out. Now instead of the occasional nipple, we were treated to these alien objects that sort of resembled  mammary glands. Where you would expect the nipple to be, there was just this field of flesh-tones. Like a real live Barbie doll. It was jarring and nastily off-putting. Like looking at someone ride a bike without pedals or play a guitar without strings.

     The so-called breasts felt… wrong to look at. It was an assault on beauty and harmony. I simply couldn’t stand looking at them. There was even this picture edited to have sparkley things placed in strategic areas. I was pissed. I felt insulted. If they just wanted to do away with nipples, all they had to do was shoot better pictures with better poses to hide them. I honestly would not have minded that much.

    But what they did was a whole other thing completely. They wanted inexplicably, to keep showing exposed chests but with the whole ‘point’ digitally removed. They covered up their inability to come up up with bawdy yet tasteful (the whole FHM ethos, i guess) shots with Photoshopping that looks like it was done by colorblind hacks with Down Syndrome. If anything, the shots they came up with were more offensive.

    I learned later (I don’t know if this is true) that angry letters forced FHM Philippines to come up with this eyesore of a compromise. And when something that bucks the system in positive way (I truly believe ridding this country of prudish hypocrisy is a noble end) compromises, then something’s probably wrong.

    When this happened, I usually bought the magazine only when I’ve borrowed the same issue previously and if there was something in it i was really interested in. This did not happen often.

    Then the articles started to become uninteresting. I’ll be damned if they can hold my attention for more than 5 seconds, when I usually can go for 10. It started to become all the same. The macho posturing used to be somewhat well-stated and classy. Now it’s anything BUT. The writing is now as derivative and hackneyed as it gets.

    Then they got more models that resembled out and out hookers to pose for them. They had slutty women of ill-repute before, true. But at least they were lookers in a way the usual run-of-the-mill hookers aren’t lookers, if you catch my drift. Sometimes I look through the magazine and think, "FUCK THIS! I’m supposed to be turned on by THIS? No fucking way man!" The ‘pretty thayng’ quotient on the magazine kept going down. I could have ignored this fact if the writing improved or if they continued to show the occasional exposed, unedited nipple.

    All of my FHMs are in the bathroom, so anyone can just read any copy that they want while taking a dump or whatever. And let me tell you, I keep reading the old ones. I find that I don’t pick up the more recent ones nearly as often as the first few ones I’ve had. It’s not really because of the nipples. It was because the overall quality of the old ones is better, every which way. They’re even quite compelling at times.

I haven’t bought FHMs for over a year, but I still borrow current issues on occasion and hope things do improve to my liking.
No such luck. Just look at this
month’s issue with Maureen Larrazabal on the cover.

    She looks like a freakin’ corpse or an alien here. Like something you might find under a tarp in Area 51. The whole
artificiality and general suckiness of this cover puts me off  a lot. Maybe a few of you would find it hot, but if you do, you’re stupid and don’t know a goddamn thing about anything. And your mom’s a slut.

    Anyway, she’s a lot hotter in person, and she does NOT look like this. The articles in it are shit too. Don’t buy this issue. 

    The things they did to the magazine made me feel cheap. Yes, they made *ME* feel cheap. Their magazine was supposed to make me feel classy in a manly non-gay kind of way. Now it does nothing the exact opposite and it panders to prudes and so-called metrosexuals… Let’s get one thing straight. David Beckham is the ONLY metrosexual there is. Everyone else is gay.

If you buy FHM in the state it’s in nowadays, it’s because of these reasons:

                A.) You think you’re metrosexual

                B.) You feel the need to affirm your manliness. Which is even gayer than                         being ‘metrosexual’.

                C.) You’ve been misled to think that it’s worth buying by your gay friends.

                D.) You don’t know jack shit about anything. (Which means I have stomp                         on your nuts, now)

                E.) You’re a teenager (same as D)

If you want good stories, decent pictures and articles of a wittily titillating nature, DON’T BUY FHM Philippines. Period.

Boycott FHM. Demand they put their shit together more or less the way it was.

Like I said, I was trying to take steps to free me from loserhood. Well, looks like I took steps in the wrong direction. For everyone who wished me luck, thanks.

Anyway, what happened?

Early this month, I received a text message from someone I didn’t know asking if I would be interested in applying for a position in a non-descript company and asking if it were OK to call. I ignored it of course, since I didn’t know who it was. Then a few minutes later, someone else messaged me, identifying himself as someone i knew told me if I was interested in applying for this IT company.

I was not even told the nature of the work I would be doing, nor was I told what the company did, exactly. But regardless, I said yes. Then I sent the first message sender a message telling him that I was ready. it was around 3:00 PM, two Fridays ago. He replied with his name and he asked me if I would it would be fine by me if I were to be interviewed 10:00PM that night at their office. Of course, I found this whole thing quite odd, but I said yes anyway and I asked if I needed to bring anything. He told me i had to bring a resume. I then asked if I had to wear anything. Business casual was the answer.

I then spent the next 3 hours writing out and revising my resume. It was actually a lot more agonizing than I expected. After it finished, I saved it and I was off to a computer cafe to have it printed. It took me almost a whole freaking hour to get things done and I finally had my resume printed. On two sheets of fancy green paper no less. I didn’t even have any pictures.

After rushing home, i took a bath, changed into the safest business casual I could, a long-sleeved button-down shirt, slacks, and black shoes. It would almost be formal, except I didn’t wear a tie. I then and ate a salami and Velveeta sandwich (Velveeta ain’t cheese technically, by the way) and fussed over my physical appearance, which I don’t do normally. Then my friend called, asking if i could make it to the office 15 minutes ahead of time, since he  was being interviewed himself. Of course, the answer was yes.

I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth and to my annoyance, I found that I did not have any toothpaste left. I resolved to buy some chewing gum in a convenience store before the interview.

The jeepney ride was slow and agonizing. A few blocks from my destination, I went off at a gas station and bought some gum and chewed some for a bit. Then I walked a few blocks to the interview site. When I got there I had 20 minutes to spare. I asked some construction workers where the office was. When they pointed it out to me, I was puzzled to see people wearing jeans , shorts, t-shirts, everything but smart casual… smoking outside.

One of them asked if I was looking for anyone. I dropped the name of the guy on the phone. It turns out I walked into a conference with other applicants and for minute, i thought i was late. I was told they started early. I noticed that everyone was wearing casual wear. With my long sleeved button-down shirt and slacks, i had hoped to play it safe but now, I could safely say I stood out like a sore thumb.

I listened to a spiel on what the company did. it turns out it was a staffing agency of some sort. They did headhunting, if you will. The hours were 9PM-9AM, Monday evenings to Saturday mornings. 60 hours a week.The interesting part was that we were told we’d be paid P10,000 for training and P20,000 if we were selected. I was skeptical and I just listened to everyone who happened to be talking.

Then my friend walked in, 20 minutes late. He had problems with printing his resume so he was delayed. The spiel was repeated, and afterwards we were told we’d be individually interviewed by the entire team, one at a time.

I then waited for the others to finish. Though curious about the questions they got and the answers they gave, I didn’t talk with anyone who finished their interview. I instead, talked to the only person I knew, the friend who told me about it.

When It was my turn, they asked me all sorts of questions regarding my resume and a lot of other things. Without ego or any bias, I could say that they were impressed and that they did want me on their shortlist of people to be trained. i was told I’d be contacted and told their decisions when they made it.

After the interview I headed strait home and tried to get some sleep.

The next morning, my phone rang and I was asked if I could meet with the CEO that noon. It was 9:00 AM. I wondered what the hell it was all about, since they kept doing things at such short notice. They didn’t bother to explain. I was just told to go to Bigby’s at SM City.

I was late getting there, due to traffic condions. I actually thought I was going to be 20 minutes early, but Bacolod  Jeepney drivers suck fat donkey cock and take their sweet time getting places, usually stopping for people who haven’t called them and stopping at every possible corner, even if no passengers are in sight. To top it off, I got down at the wrong building. When I got to Bigby’s the guy who called me was waiting there and directed me to where some of the other accepted applicants were. From the applicants I met the previous night, there was only myself and this other girl. Everyone else from the previous night was rejected. There were other approved applicants who were interviewed on other schedules though.

Almost the entire company was there, which didn’t mean a lot. There were less than 20 people working for it. They took us to the department store and let us wait while they selected their uniforms. They settled on a Filipiniana theme. It took over an hour. Afterwards we were relocated to another restaurant-cum-bar in the mall.

There were quite a few of us and we were all nervous as hell since we were going to meet the CEO, an American  millionaire. From I gathered from the employees, he was one heck of a guy, being completely self-made. He never finished high school, yet he was living the American dream, all through by his own initiative and hard work. It was a weird experience, watching everyone go through packs of cigarettes as fast they did. Some of the people working for the company were nervous too.

At around 2:30, an American wearing ripped jeans and a t-shirt came in. He seemed to have a very confident aura and apparently, he had a sense of humor.

He started by saying that everyone should relax and ask him any questions we had. Someone asked a fairly stupid question and he started to berate some of his employees. He then explained that he was real and not ‘bola’ (he spoke some Tagalog) and that YES we were getting 10k for training and YES 20K was the base pay and YES there will be raises and YES all salaries will be bumped to 50k if 10 deals in a month were reached. He started the ball rolling and most of us had the chance to converse with him. He  explained that the company was sort of his charity work in this country, he wanted to show that paying Filipinos that high was good business. He said a lot of other stuff, particularly stating that he hated Filipino culture but he liked Filipinos. He also bashed Teletech more than a few times. All this time, he was saying things with an earnest passion that’s hard for me to describe right now. He was really convincing. He could have convinced me to do almost anything at that point. We were told we can make a difference in our lives through this company. We were all also starting to get at least a bit greedy.

But there were catches to the whole thing. All but two employees were employed and had to give a few weeks notice because of their contracts. There would also be no guarantees that we’d all be taken in for training or that any of us will pass. The two unemployed applicants were myself and George, an acquaintance of mine who I’d be with in the days to come.

Training could not start immediately, since they wanted everyone to resign without violating their contracts. so we were given June 21 as the tentative day to start training.

George and myself were told however, to visit the office to see what everything was about.

So we did. We attempted to bond with the employees and ruined our sleep cycles for it.

I told my dad about the whole thing and he misinterpreted everything on so many different levels, as only parents can. He also told my sisters and my mom(who’s in the states) even when I specifically told him not to. He can be a dick at times. I definitely got my assholic nature from him.

George and I visited and studied the business for a week, spending nights and early mornings doing a lot of nothing.

This one night though, I got to the office early and when the employees were gathering around, they discussed the possibility that everyone will be moving to Cebu. I was asked if i would be OK with this. I said yes. Then, I was told to shut up about it.

A few nights passed normally.

Then a few hours ago, I received a message from the guy who interviewed me over the phone. I was thanked for my time and that the company has chosen to take a new direction. They wouldn’t be needing any of us.

Fuck man. i could have applied elsewhere during this week. I wasn’t even paid the 10K for the training. This whole thing sucked on so many different levels. We didn’t even get any training that was of any use to anyone.

When something seems too good to be true, it usually isn’t. I actually lost money on this whole episode, not to mention a lot of sleep.

I’m printing some resumes tomorrow. If you can get me work, tell me. thanks.

I’m taking steps to free myself from loserhood.

Wish me luck.

As of the moment, I cannot seem to NOT believe that the Pixies are the greatest rock band that is and ever was. I know I like a lot of other stuff, but I can’t really think of any other group that strokes my "Aural Gräfenberg spot" the way they do.

Their style may seem quite unremarkable to many people today, just like a Jackson Pollock or Andy Warhol piece may seem quite prosaic to many right now. But you have to remember that 20+ years ago, nobody was doing what they did, just as people before had their heads blown wide open by paintings of scribbles and soup cans.

Quite a few tried to do what they did, with varying results and it’s almost certain that the so-called alternative music (geez, i hate that term)movement of the 80s and 90s would have turned out quite different without them. Perhaps it might now even have taken place at all!

I won’t discuss their singles or their history or other bullshit. I will posit one of the most important questions when it come to bands and I’ll try to answer it myself.

What did they sound like?

Hmmm… Let’s put it this way…How could one describe color to someone who’s been blind since birth?

I guess, their sound is somewhat sweet, has an undeniable drive,usually playful, somewhat angular, quite evocative even if nonsensical most of the time, quite catchy, aggressive on occasion, ’shimmering’ comes to mind …Bah forget it. It’s too hard. Just buy their records, if you can still find them (I’ll bet you won’t be able to). They have stuff that would be worth stealing (LIMEWIRE *cough*), though that would be wrong.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pixies

http://www.4ad.com/pixies/

I can actually feel part of my right hand throbbing. It’s my right pinky’s knuckle. It got fractured when yours truly punched a blackboard back in 1999. In case you’re curious as to why that happened, it’s because my PE teacher kept mispronouncing my apelledo and so I went apeshit and the rest is a footnote in my history.

It was really painful for a few weeks. I think it hurt for more than a month. I could actually move the small bone fragments under my skin. It just set on its own without a cast. Now if I form a fist, my right hand’s knuckle-line looks kind of funny.

It was after it was completely healed that I noticed it started to throb whenever it was cold and usually before it rained. It’s just a tad annoying but I know it’ll probably be a problem if I ever got too old. Hah. Maybe I should be taking that anti-arthritis supplement on TV with the perverted-looking old man endorsing it.

I guess I’m lucky. I have occasional discomfort and a somewhat limited ability to predict the weather . Sometimes, split second decisions can  fuck you up for life instead.

*It did rain!

There are some days that even when I try to do what I feel is best for everyone, I feel like I’m the worst person on earth. I feel like I can’t consciously make a decision that won’t hurt anyone. Even if I don’t, I end up being so paranoid that I hurt myself.

Confusing, am I not?

Being self-absorbed is turning out to be my favorite past-time. Even when I try to give myself to others, I find myself abused or rejected. Sometimes unfairly, almost always painfully.

Better to concentrate on pleasing myself, I guess. I run no risk of displeasing anyone despite good intentions.

Sometimes all you want to do is help, then the one you’re trying to help gives you shit for it. It’s okay, I guess.

If I ever tried to help you and failed miserably at it, forgive me for trying to be better than myself. Forgive me for caring, forgive me for thinking I am of use to anyone. I guess I’m only good at pleasing myself (HAH!) so the next time you’re in trouble, I’ll try my hardest not to care.

And no, I am not trying to make anyone feel guilty. Or am I? You’d like to think that I always have some ulterior motive, that by helping you, I really want to get something for myself. I suppose you don’t believe in things like altruism. Or Love. Or a bunch of other gay stuff.

Or maybe you have some other reasons for being that way to me. The heat of the moment or some bullshit of the sort.

Anyway, whatever floats your boat.

I’m sorry.

   Spider-man’s… emo.

      He even looks like that guy from Fall Out Boy. He had the stock emo-hair, the dark-colored sweatshirt… i swear he even had some mascara on.

    He even ‘evolved’ the way many emo-kids do.  First he had the usual emo-thing going on. After that, he transmogrified to a dance-hipster or whatever you call it.

    I’m sure you didn’t need me to point it out. It has been pretty pretty obvious to everyone ever since some of the trailers came out. Come to think of it, this transformation’s probably has been long overdue, with Dashboard Confessional being on the soundtrack of the last movie and all. I kept waiting for Peter Parker to slash his wrists or write some shitty, self-indulgent poetry but alas, twas not the case.

    Oh by the way, the movie sucked. But watch it anyway. You have no choice.