stepping on dog crap, that sucks. stepping on human feces, that's fallacious. welcome to my world. wipe your feet.

Wednesday, July 28, 2004

ipis and butthead

i can name only two things that scare the shit out of me (once i think, literally).  MMDA traffic enforcers - i become tense and restless just thinking about those sky blue uniforms.  one has yet to manifest itself in my presence.  rest assured, i will never bring the truck out without my "bwing bwing" (bawang necklace) around my neck and wooden stake (no, i'm just happy to see you.) in my pocket.  the other thing would be cockroaches.
the ipis, as it is known in the vernacular, is treated like any regular rent-paying bedspacer in my home.  it is free to help itself with the food unprotected by the "frigidaire's" cold door.  it loiters around the house, especially in the living room and kitchen, not forgetting to greet our guests with a slight nod.  the lucky ones get a hand shake, or a bristle-covered leg shake.   
the World Book Encyclopedia identifies 20 species of the ipis residing in human dwellings (the other 3,480 or so are the more outdoorsy type, genus gala-mazhadus).  three have staked their claim right here, this shithole i fondly call home.  there's the run-forrest-run ipis, notorious for scuttling over tsinelas and feet at breakneck speeds.  then there's the pilates freak ipis, those little buggers who find themselves on their backs, all six legs flailing violently, unable to get back on their feet - doomed to be munched on by a platoon of red ants.  
and then, there's the luke skywalker.  guided by the force, these winged pestilence rule my house's airspace, flying with jedi precision from wall to wall, leaving in its wake a variety of bloodcurdling screams (yung sigaw mo sa Shake, Rattle and Roll IV).  they differ in size and posture from the two previously mentioned, they're armed with more heft and their backs are arched not unlike that of a cat making itself seem bigger.  it strikes terror into the hearts of many, the soft crackle of its beating wings announces its presence and foretells of impending catastrophe.

and of course, hounded by chivalric duty, men are supposed to slay these pint-sized dragons.  it is the soles of our islanders and duralites that are preordained to suffer the fate of icky roach carcass.  killing them is futile.  one, they are tough as hell (a slipper landed squarely on one's head.  upon inspection, the little guy stood up, muttered something inappropriate, then stormed off.  as if nothing happened.  juicy fruit wala lang.).  and two, their number is legion.  count how many roachies you see in a day, those outnumber even our bumbay brethren in magallanes.  
and there lies my predicament.  i can't kill them.  i can't grab the nearest alfombra and go postal on the little pricks.  it will ruin my chances of survival.  the way i see it, i'd rather be their pet than be their next meal.  by sheer number and resiliency, they own this planet.
my fear of cockraches consumes me.  even a night's sleep no longer offers solace and comfort.  all i have left is a healthy dose of paranoia, dreams filled with a belly full of eggs and six tiny legs traipsing over my thighs, onto my back, passing my shoulder, on my neck, heading straight for my left ear.  you know what happens next.      

Sunday, July 25, 2004


i've finally made that leap.  yes, that big leap that hurls one into the realm of internet notoriety.  that big step that defines one's existence and purpose on this godforsaken planet.  (and no, i did not open a friendster account.)
writing in my own blogspot isn't as bad as i thought it'd be.
i once had an online journal, as it was called, that held a number of pretentious musings.  topics in that journal ranged from alcoholism to a discourse on millennium female aesthetics.  from shooting hoops to a study of the effects of sound in the Philippine context, most of them were essays which eventually found their way to my CW professor's lap and Youngblood editors' Pulitzer worthy pile.  all i had to show for that journal were a couple of posted comments ("a couple" literally means two or more-ish.  in my case, i could have said "two" instead.) and a bruised ego.  there was a clear attempt to be profound and/or philosophical in that journal.  i ended up being profoundly (or philosophically) pa-cool - delicately put by my girlfriend (shall we name names?).  my problem was instead of writing about the 'actual' - what i actually think or experience - i chose to write about the things i wanted my readers (both of them) to believe i actually1 thought and experienced.  much emphasis was given on the impression i wanted to make of myself, forgetting that i didn't have my name anywhere in that journal.  i wasn't aware of the nature of online journals then - that they should be spontaneous and honest.  they are also two things essential to good writing.  although most of what i said there was true, it took me a number of days to finish one entry - not including the number of times i edited what i already posted.  after recognizing the error of my ways (expect more cliche's to come), i decided to junk the whole thing and save myself the trouble of pretending to write.  
that is until i discovered how blogs should2 be written.  

so, expect unprofound and unphilosophical gibberish in this blog.  this is, after all, an in-depth analysis of the inner workings of a troubled mind (or a spotless mind3).  you must have read the disclaimer on top - i wasn't kidding.  my condition is contagious.  soon you will find yourself using the word "fallacious" to describe someone who says something untrue.  or something that resembles algae or moss foliage will appear under your computer chair (where the computer sits?), also known as "my own kulangot collection".  pretty soon you will be my minion.  pawn to my cross-crowned king.  vilmanian to my vilma (or noranian to my nora, it's up to you.).  or not - the zafra "world domination" spiel is a bit overused.  but there is still that matter of contagion.  pray that it's my good looks that you catch.  (i am good looking.  ask my mom.)  
this feels right.  this relatively unstructured genre of writing and its illusion of anonymity, though in vogue, gives me much pleasure and satisfaction.  and, honestly, this is probably the only time i'll ever find myself jumping on the bandwagon (cliche number two) and not regret doing it.  (i hope i will never be forced to open a friendster account, i hate eating my words.  daming carbs.)  
1 note to public speakers and call center personnel:  this is actually how the word is to be used.  "actually" describes, obviously, what is actual.  it is not the the first word of every sentence uttered in english (the same with basically and supposedly).  use sparingly, unless you're actually British.                  

2 coming soon:  blog poetics.

3 note to the clueless - malinis kasi walang laman.  laugh like you get the joke.