Saturday, April 21, 2012

To The Tune Of X

While drinking coffee and laughing over something with Carines, UHBJAW, and the rest of the hellows UHBJAW noticed something kadiri I was doing and admonished me on the spot.

"Nagkakapa ka na naman ng kulani mo sa leeg! Huling huli!" Uni-Horned Beef Jerky Alanis Whore said.

And she was right. The only excuse I could have given then was I was making hilod my leeg, but I would rather be seen as paranoid than gross. Speaking of which, ten years ago after a dinner in Makati Mrs. Therese texted me that while she was in the MRT, this oriental-looking guy was making hilod his leeg using the MRT card. When the card had accumulated enough dirt the guy then made pitik the libag which Mrs. Therese had to agilely evade while in the moving train. I apologize it's already late, so I can't think of better way to articulate "made pitik the libag".

Back to me palpating my neck in public. It has been like this for the past years, with the tiniest symptoms blaring out really loud alarms. Because as they say, it's not paranoia if they're really after you, or in this case, it's not paranoia if the mutations really were happening at that moment. Cue X-Files tune.

Nega Eight-Month Reportage

On the status of DC comics, that is. We are 8 issues in since the relaunch, and it is with much conviction that I declare that the September reboot is a total failure. It feels great that I was right all along, but at the same time annoying that there is nothing good to read. Batman by Scott and Gregg is fairly entertaining, only because compared to the other characters the status of Batman has been pretty constant and not as encumbered by years of continuity. Of the main titles Superman and Justice League would have to be the ultimate worst in all aspects of comichood. Aquaman has been fairly decent, but Geoff writes the character as quite a defensive douchebag who has to explain himself all the time with too much meta-commentaries. Wonder Woman as always is weighed down by too much mythology, but I would have to agree that over the decades she has been the most difficult to write, but what is up with the silver tiara and bracelets. Let us not get started on the atrocities that are The Savage Hawkman, Blue Beetle, Captain Atom, Mr. Terrific. I've always thought Gail Simone has been pretty much overrated, and this Batgirl relaunch is the ultimate proof, with eight issues of Barbara Gordon lamenting and whining and such about her Killing Joke incident and how she feels so inadequate blather blather blather. Add to that the difficulty of having to work out the continuity, which does matter, specially when you have rebooted characters and stories interacting with non-rebooted characters and stories such as Birds of Prey, Green Lantern, Batman, and Red Hood and the Outlaws. Ooooh, such positive vibes on a Saturday night.

On the bright side, there is now more time to do other stuff. More time to write. More time to read what other people write. More time to watch cartoons. And those things called textbooks and guidelines, I might actually be able to start reading them. In fact I actually did start to read them, and they are boring as hell. While having dinner with JJL, Tessieloopagooparoop, Gracielou, and Uni-Horned Beef Jerky Alanis Whore we've discussed the matter of having to actually study.

"Colon cancer guidelines," I said. I actually went to the college library that afternoon for 2 reasons: the airconditioning, and after months of not seeing patients I have totally forgotten everything.
Tessieloopagoop said something about some strange leukemia case.
It was JJL's turn.
"Nagbabasa ako sa Brenner ng comparison ng ihi ng rats at ng mice," JJL said, annoyed. "Ano ba ang pinagkaiba ng rats at ng mice?!"

We continued eating pizza.

Friday, April 20, 2012

In A Fluox

The annoying thing about sadness is it seems easy to fix--it's like it's just in your head and stuff so you can probably do things to resolve it and stuff--but it's recurrent. Like cancer. In fact if I hear one more thing about cancer tonight I am going to get a huge can of Baygon... and open fire on the roaches in the disgusting sewage near kantuns. Early today we've flocked to Medical City, Where Patients Are Partners, for a convention. Of course it's cancer this and cancer that what else did we expect, but after a few minutes I had to get some fresh air and collect coins from my stalls in Snoopy's Street Fair. Recent events have lowered my threshold to such things. Why did we do it, Uni-Horned Beef Jerky Alanis Whore, why. "Akala ko kasi walang sayaw-sayaw," UHBJAW had said.

I then met my mom back at the dorm where she was fixing my door lock which I've recently forced open with a hammer. She said she had passed by my old college insurance plan building to file for a return of investment. Apparently we could get money and stuff from the insurance ten years after I've graduated from college, and at this day and age we suddenly remember these things! Like, wait I've stashed away a secret concert fund somewhere in my closet for emergency concerts, like what if Keane or Drake suddenly decides to come here unannounced? Pero ngayon, concert concert, open the darn envelope na and get the money... to buy food! Or wait, I have a secret action figure and comic book fund, break open the damn piggy bank and use such coins for... rent!!!

The thing is, my mom told me, one of the requirements for the ROI for the insurance plan is... my college ID! Not any ID of sorts, it has to be my old college ID. I immediately called up Frichmond who was also planning to file for ROI and she said her old college ID was a laminated cardboard which has been washing-machined many many times. Must look for other sources of food therefore.

I then went to Shrine Motherfucker for some quiet time. There are so many things to write about... only to discover that SMF is populated by everyone. Also, the guard has been giving me a hard time about plugging my laptop in the building. For more. More people, families, dating couples, etc. Somewhere in Shrine Motherfucker was Allen Tria who was studying. In another table was a group of Koreans eating sushi. I left SMF, there was nowhere else to go to at 10pm, nowhere else but... the medical ICU! Helliza was on duty, who listened to my lamentations for a few minutes.

The world doesn't stop for us even when we're at our saddest. Why should it. Other people's pains are not any more or any less than ours, in fact we should stop comparing, it's not a competition.

Wednesday, April 18, 2012


And to my delight I've just discovered that this is my 400th post in This Could Be A Job For Mulder and Scully, ever since I've moved from--ahahahaha, Friendster--at the recommendation of Walking on Water! 400 bleeping blog entries, who knew I could write about absolutely nothing important in 400 entries! So in the spirit of comic book 400th landmark issues I am going to talk about nothing substantial and be totally self-indulgent and just fill this particular entry with lots of exclamation points to create a veneer of joy! Celebration! Spectacle! Explosions!

Congratulations are in order... for other people! For whatever it is that need to be congratulated for, congratulations! Or as Helliza would say, CONGRATH! Congrath to Namtab Pots for slowly but gleefully getting himself out of his job, which leaves us all quite perplexed because he's making so much money! Which we can utang! A belated congrats are also in order to everyone who've recently graduated residency and hellowship! To Smoketh, for having all the time she wants to just lie down and roll on her bed and run around their mansion! For having the time to discover for the first time all the interesting stuff that have been sitting in their mansion for years on end, like boxes and boxes of... shower caps! And boxes of... empty shampoo bottles! And cannons! And ancient weapons and torture devices! Smoketh is now available for anything. Hear this, people, ANYTHING! Just call her up for anything--dates, coffee, laser tag, performance poetry reading, staring contests--anything! She has officially declared herself a kaladkarin, with the mantra: WALANG TATANGGIHAN! Namtab Pots and Smoketh, the two of you are in one paragraph for a particular reason: PROXIMITY! Because many people in various occasions have incessantly told me to set you up, so I AM!!!!

Congrath to the graduating interns, and we deeply envy your upcoming May 1 Syndrome! When you will wake up stare at the ceiling and realize there is absolutely nothing required to do! When you will go to the bathroom and pee, para lang may magawa! We look forward to the Sunog ceremonies, as long as I wouldn't be included! Because I am no longer updated as to who's in the running to have their effigies burned, because I haven't taken a peek at the Cancer Institute logbook in months! Congrath to my hellowship batchmates Uni-Horned Beef Jerky Alanis Whore, Carines, and Chief Jaime, because the running has been reduced significantly! Congrath to Walking on Water, because I haven't recognized you recently from the massive weight loss! AHOY!

Here's to 400 more major karindihan entries, just so I could sush the running commentaries in my head!


In my few months of unwanted hiatus I've rummaged through my closet and other nooks and crannies in my room and discovered more--MORE!--trash that if allowed would take over the entire room in a few more years. I have been putting off throwing these things out for quite some time thinking I might have some use for them, until my resolve was shattered by a few episodes of the Bio TV series Hoarders. In Hoarders hoarders' homes are psychoanalyzed and stuff followed by some amount of bulldozing for good measure. In one episode a cat lady's house packed with trash was visited and in the attic was discovered ten-years' worth of feces in plastic bags. The cat lady's feces, not the cats'. I haven't discovered any preserved feces in my room, but I did discover something equally horrendous: my grade 5 test papers neatly fasted in a folder! With much courage at the definite embarrassment they would bring I skimmed through the feces. Of particular horrifying delight was a test paper on HELE (Home Economics and Livelihood Something). One essay question was: Ano ang didal?

What the fuck is a didal? Why would a teacher ask what a didal is? Why would anyone ask anyone what the heck a didal is? Surely I couldn't possibly have known what the heck a didal is. I then read my answer prepared to read my grade 5 equivalent of what the hellellell and it went:

Ang didal ay sinusuot sa daliri upang hindi ka matusok ng karayom habang nananahi. Ang didal ay maaaring gawa sa bakal o plastik. Ito ay importante upang mapangalagaan ang safety ng nananahi. Score: 5/5.

I cringed. What a douchebag. What a total grade conscious kiss-ass. What a total geek and not even a geek in fun, important things, but a geek in sewing implements. I probably wanted to write an invective instead, but because I wanted to get a bleeping 5/5 I had to write that cringeworthy piece of crap.

Upon seeing my high school friends I told them this horrendous piece of crap.
"Ano ang didal?" I asked.
"What the fuck is that?" Namtab Pots said.
"Huh-a?" Tintin asked.
"Pota anong didal?" Ruth Marx.
I would then tell them the story as I've narrated here. Another friend, Toms, then arrived.
"Hey Toms, ano ang didal?" I asked.
"Didal, yung ano sinusuot ng mga mananahi sa daliri para hindi sila matusok pag nananahi, sa english thimble," Toms said with confidence.