Thursday, January 28, 2010

Sepia on Sertraline

After not having been in our favorite non-showbiz secluded coffee shop for a few days the barista was apparently very elated to see me. We haven't even exchanged a smile before, but when he saw me, he flashed a wide grin, made a gesture of dusting away something on his left shoulder using his right hand, and said, "hey sir, Wazzup, Wazzup!"

This got me disoriented, as I immediately imagined that I was back in 2003. Or as the English would say, I was quite disorientated. Disorientated, to go with dyspnoea and oedema.

2003 was a very annoying year. Every time I try to imagine what I was like in 2003 I always imagine myself constipated and in perpetual hot flashes. And extremely elated and laughing at everything. Oh yeah, I was in some expensive anti-depressants around that time. And BSLR West had no airconditioning to aggravate the disgusting perspiration. The only thing that got me off the meds was Mrs. Therese, who told me that if I would save all the money I use buying the pills I could buy a new action figure every ten days or so. Plus the perpetual hot flashes and constipation were annoying. Wow, now he's telling us about his constipation, you say, rolling your eyes. Oh yes, I am! Constipation constipation constipation. My drug-induced constipation was so bad I had to use a laxative just so I could move once every two weeks. Very interesting, eh?

But now, what used to be a very non-showbiz, secluded, secret coffee shop for respite is very much populated by... medical students! In the five other tables are students reciting... nerves! And tracing... blood flow! And... getting all-around annoying! It's like I'm back in the horrible... 2001!

2001 was a very horrible year, you see....

Okay I'm boring you.

The Pale Basement Dweller That Is Smoketh

Smoketh has recently resurfaced after dwelling for years in their mansion's basement studying Charcot-Marie-Tooth Disease and other interesting stuff. She now looks extremely pale and emaciated with huge eyebags. Truly she has made love with Harrison's in their basement for years on end. Frichmond is back as well, her specialty boards coming in a few months. While sipping expensive coffee she has regaled us with a very interesting story about a med student who made it into the pediatrics text books by injecting himself with Bartonella. Bartonella is very close to her heart, as she has also recently been mauled by a nasty cat.

"As you know, I am the very proud owner of a wonderful set of superhero action figures," I told Smoketh.

"Yes, I know. You blog about it and tell me about it personally all the time," Smoketh said as she feverishly highlighted some glomerulonephritis stuff.

"But I would have to ask your opinion, Frichmond and Smoketh," I continued, puffing away at my expensive marijuana. "I would have to ask for your honest opinion. Would you, in your right mind, buy... this Aquaman Blammoid figure?!?" I turned my laptop screen to face them.

This, dear reader, is the Aquaman Blammoid figure. Suffice it to say, I'm perplexed.

Bile Dripping Fetish

As I was strapped down the OR table I told myself that I would test how strong I am in resisting the powers of general anesthesia. Come to think of it, I wasn't even strapped, but it feels good and kinky thinking of myself being strapped. As the GA mask was landing on my face I willed myself never to sleep. I rested my eyes for one second, opened it after another second, and heard someone say, "Tapos na po."

I was wheeled to the recovery room even as I was histrionically moaning and groaning in pain. To call the nurse's attention that I was in horrible pain I whined louder--in severe stress my whines can penetrate the time-space continuum. Some nurse went to me after a few minutes and told me sternly, "Huminga ka lang ng malalim!", and resumed chatting with the other nurses about some new soap opera. I apologize now to all the patients whose pain I've ignored. I'm so sorry, you were not making inarte, you were genuinely in pain, I'm so sorry, I was wrong, hu-hu-hu.

As I was recuperating in my hospital gown who should come in but batchmates JD-Lu, Dondee, HIV, Hurricane Katrina, Graciepoopieloop, BL, and Ruter, all of whom were regular characters in this blog. After saying goodbye to my parents my mother gushed in her old woman of the barrio manner, "Grabe ang pogi ng mga doktor sa PGH, and pogi talaga nila!" Dad could only muster, "Pogi talaga. Ang ayos ng buhok. Plantsado ang damit. Naka tuck-in. Ang linis tignan. Bakit di mo sila gayahin?"

The only appropriate response to this was one audible "Harrumph!"

With the cause of the pain gone you can now sigh in relief that my melodramatic, self-important, highly-dramatized blog entries about self-injecting with pain meds are over. It was the reason why I've decided to go through with the procedure anyway, having spent an entire day sleeping in the call room from overdose of pain meds a few days before the OR. And now that I have disgusting, gaping holes forever leaking suppurative bile on my tummy--I know, I can never be a porn star. Unless there's someone out there with fetish for that sort of thing.


Attended a few weeks back the wedding of a good friend, Hatchett, with Dan Mike, who is an excellent and extremely fun dude. Hatchett of course is a nickname, one of my most successful nicknaming attempts ever, as parents of our high school friends still call her Hatchett after 15 years. This was spawned by, bleeeech, R.L. Stine's Fear Street juvenile novel series back in the early 90's which Hatchett had introduced to me. In Fear Street every chapter is composed of 4 pages, with each one ending in a cliff hanger like someone getting whacked on the head with an axe or something. One of the stories was about Catherine Hatchett, some witch girl being haunted during those witch hunt eras, who had the special ability to turn into a small white rat. To kill her opponents she would jump into their trachea and stay there till they die.

Hatchett's wedding was highly enjoyable, and I should come out and say it out loud right now anyway that I abhor weddings, that I usually just pretend to be excited for the newlyweds when in real life I'm imagining a wind-up toy monkey banging cymbals even as I was consuming the reception's bland waldorf. The weddings which I would have genuinely enjoyed are the ones I've actually missed, like the wedding of Mrs. Therese which I've thought, back then, would have no fathomable reason for me to miss. Abe Navarro and Len-Len's wedding was extremely fun as well, capped by Len-Len's birit rendition of a song the title of which escapes me right now. Now Hatchett's wedding I've thoroughly enjoyed, and it was with much elation that I've witnessed the event.

The most annoying part of weddings, of course, is the punishment rendered to single people, with all sorts of interesting/embarrassing twists being thought of for the bouquet/garter thing. This is probably one of the reasons why I think Hatchett's wedding is one of the best ever. One by one us unmarried males were called by name. I decided not to stand up and continued slobbering over my lechon. No one called my attention and the garter thing went on without me. I didn't even have to pretend that I would have to go to the bathroom. Nobody cared. Best wedding of the year.

Thursday, January 14, 2010

Scream Louder, Dave Matthews

The thing with spending so much time schizoiding and eating and blogging by my lonesome is that I get to eavesdrop so much. Sometimes it's fun, sometimes it's loud, sometimes it's erotic--I mean exotic, I mean the conversations are exotic like when two Arabs are speaking in their native language and I can't understand them because they're speaking in their tongue and by virtue of that alone it's exotic, not necessarily that they have to look weird or have big boobs or wear exotic clothes or smell exotic. Like that. So much so that I've just realized that I have dedicated entries and entries on eavesdropping even during the Friendster Blog era when, all together now--it still wasn't spammed by comments and invites for orgies in Ortigas. So much blogging about eavesdropping to compete with my hair cutting whine entries.

And just now, five cops talking about their exploits. In the midst of all this one-upmanship macho conversation the bespectacled high-ranking police dude told their Japanese guest, "I want to chorva."
"What eez chorva?" Japanese dude asked.
"Chorva," macho Commissioner Chorva said, upon which he started to insert his right middle finger in his left closed fist and made a quick in-out motion with the finger. "Choooorva."

"Oh you mean fuck," Lecherous Japanese Dude said.
"Yeeeees! Fuuuuuck!" Commissioner Chorva laughed.

Must turn iPod volume way up.

Tuesday, January 12, 2010

Guts and Blood

A few years back I would crap in my pants whenever I would get this message from The Man--"Please proceed to the office now"--because I would automatically anticipate that there were only three things I could be told.

#1: You failed the exam.
#2: You failed the exam.
#3: Yes, the last exam too.

Those were mere anticipations, though, as I would usually just be asked to fill up forms and stuff and sometimes be reminded to sign the attendance sheet and stuff. Which is not to say that I didn't fail any exam--I failed all of them. Well maybe not all, I passed the ones with trivia questions and really huge bonuses for good deeds. Ooooh, self-deprecation. I love it.

Still it was with much trepidation that I ran to the latest The Man a few weeks back when I received a similar message.

"Hey This Could Be a Job For Mulder and Scully," The Man said. "This is Tempus Fugit. He is an Australian exchange medical student. He will be staying in your ward service!!!"

"Gulp," I gulped, a huge bolus of saliva getting stuck in my esophagus as I anticipated a few days of aneurysm-inducing conversations in English. "For... how long will he be staying with us?"

"Oh, the entire month," she said.

Ahoy, mate!


Have been whining to Smoketh about the false sense of entitlement of being a "senior". "Senior". Yuck. And just for being two years ahead in this bleeping program. Now the "kids" are asking me stuff I have no idea about and I would have to muster all my declamation skills to deliver with conviction. Because really, how would being two years ahead make me more knowledgeable and experienced in the management of, let's say, Kuru. Oh wait, that's my favorite disease, along with Creutzfeldt-Jakob Disease.

"Bleeech," I told Smoketh (I know, I always blog about my conversations as if I'm in a comic book or a sitcom, what I really must have said was, "Ay, grabe,"), "Bleech, there's just this imposed, unwanted, delusional sense of entitlement. What's with all this seniorship crap anyway, it's just like I'm in Grade 3 and the junior residents are in Grade 1. There isn't any huge difference in that!"

"But there is," Smoketh started. "In Grade 3 you know how to write in cursive. In Grade 3 you already know what integers are. And my greatest accomplishment and greatest edge over the Grade 1 students, when I was in Grade 3 I could use... a ballpoint pen."

"Oh yeah," I said, a haze of drug-induced psychedelic colors suddenly swirling in front of me in epiphany. "Oh yeah... when I was in Grade 4 I could wear... long pants."

Very astute, Smoketh, very astute.

Monday, January 11, 2010


Thymes has recently been interviewed for a fellowship subspecialty. Obviously she will get in. She is currently in Cebu recuperating from dengue, but she can study in her sleep. She has a telepathic connection to the writers of Harrison's who feed her information all day even in her sleep. Whenever we run out of things to talk about I would only need to mention something like "Primary hyperaldosteronism!" which would excite her much and lead her to narrating paragraphs and paragraphs of pure Harrison's text.

During the interview she was asked how she would describe herself. She said with much confidence, "Oh, I'm a schizoid."

This caused raucous laughter among the panel of macho male interviewers. One of them said, "We want interesting people in our section, hee-hee-hee, but we don't want hee-hee-hee people who have an altered perception of reality, hee-hee-hee."

Thymes indulged them and explained the difference between schizoid and schizophrenia with a straight face despite the uncontrollable and persistent giggles of the entire panel. But Thymes shouldn't have just explained--she should have illustrated. She should have brought out some props--a wig, tattered clothes, a doll. She should have smeared her face with uling. She should have stood up, kick the chair aside, and declaimed, "Basilio... Crispin!!! Mga anak!!!! Mga prayle!!!!!"

Actually I think that's what she really did.

2010. Hah!

Wow, 2010. Who would have thought, right? Back then while playing Hanabishi Family Computer—that useless piece of crap!!!—I’ve thought that in twenty or so years we would have teleportation machines and flying saucers and such. But what do we have? Cars. And food. The same pedestrian stuff. No alien invasion ever happened, I was not even abducted, my high school nemesis bully failed to mutate and is still recognizably human. Obviously I should intervene and push him into a vat of boiling chemicals. He would become the Joker, and of course, I would still be his nemesis—Robin, The Boy Wonder.

2009 was not particularly entertaining or fun either. While having dinner in Banana Leaf with Smoketh, Tessa, and Ditz the Titz who is now the chief resident of pediatrics in Jersey Shore in Neptune after having defeated Veronica Mars for the position, Tessa sprang out a plastic bag full of fun-looking stuff. “While waiting for the food we’re going to have… an activity!” she cheerily said. She handed each one of us some small package with a question on it, and if you get to answer it you can open the package. I knew there was food in it, so I answered the question: How would you describe 2009? “Fast,” I said. Indeed, no year has ever gone by faster. I would need a Flux Capacitor to review why it was so fast. After the meal Tessa facilitated another activity. She ordered us to get our paper napkins and shape it into something that would represent my dreams. She shaped it into a two-story house with gate, a foyer, and a pet dog. I tore out mine so it would transform into a mask, punched eye holes into it, wore it, and said, “My dream is to become… Robin, The Boy Wonder.”

Come to think of it a lot has happened in 2009. I went back into non-blog writing and published some stuff in a magazine and a broadsheet. I developed new and annoying punch lines with which to entertain my batch mates. I’ve become horribly paranoid, suspected everyone of trying to vote me off the island, and led me to create Brother Eye. I had some real life, non-vicarious, genuine, tangible problems which caused me some anguish and an embarrassing, unexpected weeping spell in front of Smoketh. I’ve become addicted to more stuff. Became an alcoholic for around ten days. I’ve fucked. I mean fucked-up—fucked-up, of course, as in screwed-up some responsibility—of course I mean fucked-up, I mean who would think I really mean fuck as in fornicate, right?!

I’m not quite confident about 2010. It will suck.

Tuesday, January 5, 2010

Hello, HAMI, Hope You Choke On Your Pizza

One hundred entries ago I've talked about the much reviled HAMI, those high and mighty intellectuals who pepper every nook and cranny and give us tinnitus with grand demonstrations of their superior knowledge and stuff. The very nature of a learning institution makes their extinction difficult, unless we get bored and decide to spring out a blowtorch. I'm horribly afraid of going to prison, though, as it would be difficult to blog from there, so I'll just send out high-pitched telepathic messages to hammies and hope they get intractable rash. Or choke on their pizza. Ooooh, someone's really gotten on my bad side recently, which is quite a hard feat for someone with agnosia to evil. Well get off your high horses, hammy, they're really black and winged. On the other hand, don't. So they can fly you directly to the sun or... to hell.

(thanks to Smoketh for that last addition. She'll do the audio version of this blog once it comes out on cassette.)