Krissy on the Shore, preferring to rather continuously hit his head on the sand than read another Murakami book

August 3, 2010 at 12:36 am | Posted in Criticism | 17 Comments

Okay, after the first half, Kafka on the Shore began being a total bore, a pretentiously metaphysical, sloppy bore.

Perhaps, behind that muddled mess of a book, there is really something he’s trying to convey to the readers. But I don’t see it. I’m not stupid, or at least I’d like to think that I’m not that foolish to fall into the manipulative traps of the author. I read somewhere that Murakami just writes everything along the way, and you can obviously see where the underlying problem of the whole thing is, not that I’m saying that that kind of writing style is not ideal but it can certainly be seen as a fault or a flaw in this case. Now I’m having doubts and wondering whether I shall still give his other works a try or not.

I have constantly suspended my disbelief for any kind of sci-fi/fantasy works I have come across but, here, I think there should be a limit on what you’re willing to overlook. The magical realist elements of the films don’t seem quite blended into the novel’s spatial environment; it seems more like they are out-of-place, have been forced to be included just for the sake of amazing or amusing the readers. Leeches and fish falling from the sky? A boy named Crow inside Kafka’s head? Collecting cats’ souls to create an otherworldly flute? Err, yeah. I don’t need an explanation to these phenomenons but are they really necessary in this tale about Kafka’s Oedipal journey and Nakata’s need to fulfill a number of tasks? At least in Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude, the gypsies’ flying carpet, a murdered family member’s blood flowing and making its way towards the matriarch’s location, and Remedios’ sudden ascension towards the sky are made to seem as if they’re quite natural, little things that the reader is supposed to believe is possible and likely given the situation. The magical realist elements in Kafka on the Shore seem to be there just for show, a theatrical gesture from a demigod, a fireworks display in an otherwise mediocre novel where a lot of ideas from great historical and literary figures are thrown in with a bunch of other mumbo-jumbo.

All the characters are stuck with the idea that they have no control on their decisions, fate and so on. Not that I completely disagree but one would feel completely hopeless with Murakami’s way of toying around with his characters. Kafka leaves home to escape his father and the curse his father has put upon him, only to end up fulfilling what he was cursed to do. To explain why does he continue to eat cats and collect their souls in order to create a magic flute, “Johnny Walker” uses the excuse that this is his purpose in life, this is what he is supposed to do and he can’t escape it. Miss Saeki has accepted the way things are. She stubbornly refuses to be lively and of this world, the way she was back when her lover was still alive and breathing, and merely waits for death. Nakata seems to be following orders in his head or predictions or something like that (it is never fully explained where he gets these bizzare ideas from) and to believe that it is his task to open this entrance stone. This is his responsibility, his job, his purpose in life, what he was born for, and, if he’s taking too long to fulfill this task, a being who will take a form of anything such as a capitalist icon like Colonel Sanders will help along the way to make sure everything goes the way it is supposed to be. Hoshino seems to think that it was his decision to stay with Nakata but it seems, more or less, like he was fated to assist Nakata and do the tasks that Nakata is not physically and mentally capable of doing.

If I were you, I wouldn’t try so hard to analyze everything beneath the novel’s glossy surface. I wouldn’t go so far as to call the author self-indulgent but I won’t try bothering to pick up the fragmented pieces he dropped and, voila, just made into a novel and try to make something out of it.

Now, I shall forget about all that typical stuff about how I should cherish memories (it is no coincidence that most Japanese anime seem to have the similar premises, all about how memories are very important) and prepare myself for another novel, perhaps continuing The Cement Garden, which fortunately bears no striking similarities to Kafka on the Shore other than that both protagonists do have incestuous feelings towards their sister. Oh, boy.

None the makings of an artist

July 23, 2010 at 11:56 am | Posted in Sarcasm | 16 Comments

Mental block, yes, that’s what this is, my current inability to put my thoughts in paper, to put some sense into my daily train of thought. Not writer’s block, mind you, for I have none of the makings of a true writer. It always feels comforting to have a name for everything we experience and sense. Or, maybe, I’m simply running out of topics to talk about.

As long as you’re passionate about it, go follow your dream. Mom says. You’re more likely to succeed in something you deeply love. Yeah, says the one who studied chemistry, for reasons that it’s practical and that it was what they would have wanted for her, and ended up being a secretary here. People tend to have romanticized ideas about careers in the liberal arts, forgetting what matters most, more than ambition, motivation, and passion, the gift. Let’s get realistic here, Paulo Coelho, and don’t go giving such big hopes for a lot of young hopefuls, only to later let their hearts be broken by the jungle-like industry.

Epitomization of beauty

I just don’t have the makings of an artiste. The eccentricities that come along with it, compared to them artists I seem commonplace. The artist’s easy access to the workings of the human heart and mind. Her effortless command over the language. His innate capability to easily go into the inner depths of the soul, the ability to epitomize both beauty and ugliness. Her eye for intricate detail. His eye for seemingly flowing words. The ability to shock, disturb, discomfort. The ability to pull its audience’s heartstrings. And not to mention all the effort and work and their willingness to devote their whole lives to their work. I just admire this but I have none of that.

And once a bunch of ambitious teens start studying in the fields of liberal arts, most, especially the ones who thought it was all going to be a piece of cake, seem to lose all interest once they see how complex the creating process is, how troublesome the whole researching process is and how competitive it is out there, not to mention all the sucking up you would have to do.  What a great way to burst people’s bubbles, show them a dose of reality, what they’re up against. They seem to be oblivious that (although Youtube has given us easy access to great films from across the world and from older periods, conquering space and time) this Youtube culture has ruined art or anything that might resemble it for the next generations. They seem to forget that most so-called great artists have only gained a real audience or obtained critical acclaim, glory, etc. after their untimely deaths or any other event before that which might seem news-worthy or controversial.

Of course, since it’s a dirty business out there, if you don’t have the gift, you could always choose to be a sell-out. That’s not hard. Use excessive sentimentality and be like Nicholas Sparks and Stephenie Meyer to appeal to the pop culture-influenced idiots among the masses. Never get outside their comfort zones, or you’ll lose your audience. Never use big words; they seem to have an irrational fear for complicated words. Market yourself as a brand, your book as a mere household product, because that’s what capitalism is for. Just do that, and, ta-da, your book has just been this week’s bestseller. What seems to matter most anyways is whether your work will be of any profit to them bigshots who make the calls. Your whole career depends on a bunch of wealthy people in the business field who know nothing whatsoever about art. Of course, your name wouldn’t be written among the names of people who have vastly contributed to history and mankind including great artists, filmmakers, novelists, etc. and the name will soon be forgotten once the passing fad is over but you’ve just influenced the next generations. Because of you, now they’re a bunch of illiterate, counterrevolutionary, and naive blubbering idiots. Gosh, thanks.

Room 69

July 13, 2010 at 12:30 am | Posted in Cinema, Heterophobia | 12 Comments

Did you guys miss me? Hehe, of course not. But, still, I’m back and, to make up for my week of absence in the blogging world, I just created an epic list, a list of my most favorite gay films. Cinema and homosexuality, these are a few of my favorite things. And, with all the descriptions and comments I’ve made, let’s note that I haven’t seen these films in a while, since I rarely go back to watching a film I’ve already seen unless I haven’t seen it in a long time so the comments I’ve made are based on what I’ve vaguely remembered about them. So, forgive me. Here it is, uber-long with pictures and all.

6. Taxi Zum Klo (Frank Ripploh, West Germany, 1980)
Fisting, gloryhole in public toilet cubicles, cum-swapping, and pissing, after cumming, over your sex partner’s face? Definitely, not my kind of thing but that’s just how realistic and bold gay sex is portrayed in this otherwise fabulous film.

The film, a possibly autobiographical one, presents an unsympathetic hero, a promiscuous gay man, definitely quite the stereotypical or archetypal gay man and not the greatest role model for gay people, but depicted as a human being with flaws. Now that he has found a partner who has no eyes for anyone else but him and who loves him so much, he shows more self-destructive behaviour, not wanting to be monogamous and in a real relationship, as he continues to hook up with more men and to live a life of promiscuity and intoxication. And this is all told in the least commercial and least mainstream sense, but still with sweet and romantic scenes such as the lovers’ dance on ice.

5. Happy Together (Wong Kar-Wai, Hong Kong, 1997)
This is the only film in my list that was actually directed by a heterosexual filmmaker, adding to that a contemporary filmmaker known to most cinephiles. And it surely doesn’t seem from an outsider’s perspective but more from someone who knows about human relationships. No matter how many times film buffs whine about how this is not a gay film, this is still a gay film. It is a film about a gay couple, for crying out loud, idiots. It may not be a conventional gay film and it may be made by heterosexual filmmakers, but it is still a gay film. Got that? Okay.

Okay, another film about a gay couple, one a self-destructive person, the other someone who just wants their relationship to work out. See the trend here? But this time, Happy Together, unlike Taxi Zum Klo, is all shown in vivid imagery, lucid colors, and romantic tones. And, this time, the focus is more on the stable guy, played by Tony Leung, as he meets someone who might be more of an ideal partner than his current one who picks fights, gets drunk, needs all the attention and flirts with men in front of his lover. And, sisters, I won’t spoil it for you all but it doesn’t exactly end in an either tragic or happy ending.

4. Tongues Untied (Marlon Riggs, USA, 1990)
It is an essayist film by a black gay director that touches on themes of race, sexual orientation and self-identity in a less sentimental and more gritty way than most saccharine Hollywood films that pretend to be politically correct and socially relevant and on issues one might never get to see being dealt with in contemporary Hollywood films.

Turn the gay black men in this film to any other gay non-white men and lesbian woman in the world, and you’ll see how universal this film is. But, of course, the film deals more with the director’s personal experiences being a gay black man, specifically the difficulties of being black and openly gay in a homophobic community and neighborhood, such as the exclusion of gay black men in the brotherhood or friendship of black men, the homophobic jokes of Eddie Murphy and homophobic comments of black characters in films, and dealing with AIDS-related deaths of friends. But not all of the film is about the social injustice and discrimination and all serious, as we do see part of the gay black culture in certain communities in USA during those times such as the “voguing” and get a lesson from a bunch of divas on the proper way to snap.

3. Scorpio Rising (Kenneth Anger, USA, 1964)
I always thought that the gay culture seems more suiting and more idealistic as an underground culture, not something forbidden and restricted to others but something not easily accessible and with less restraints. I always associated it with non-conformity, non-conventionality, idealism and obscurity so it does seem right that most of the best queer films are art house, experimental, and avant-garde films.

Although overt gay themes in the film are not obvious and clear especially to an outsider and as far as I remember the film does not blatantly show gay men in love or having any kind of intimate or sexual acts together, Scorpio Rising does appeal and reach more to its gay audiences with its fetishistic gaze on biker boys all clad in black leather, its gay iconography and the gay filmmaker’s indulgence and masturbatory pleasures on these images of mostly biker gangs set to 1960’s pop music, mostly songs by female singers singing about love. And there’s James Dean and Marlon Brando, and I don’t think you can get any gayer than that. The whole thing was just a hallucinatory and dreamlike experience, as if I was in Cloud 9.

2. Un Chant D’amour (Jean Genet, France, 1950)
Jean Genet’s lyricism in his novels mostly about amorality, gay sexuality and crime is evident in his only film, Un Chant D’amour (translated to A Song of Love). In this silent short art house film, the wall between two cells prevents two horny, gay prisoner studs from having any kind of intimacy or physical contact with each other. Just like Kenneth Anger’s Scorpio Rising, Jean Genet’s film also shows the filmmaker’s pleasures in his own sexual fetishes and his camera’s seductive gaze on the young men.

Normally, the cinematic gaze would be on women, such as Bunuel’s fetish for female legs and Rohmer’s whole film about a hero’s obsession with the titular character’s knees. Maybe, one of the many reasons why I love this film is its subversiveness, now the gaze being upon men and their sensual bodies. The erotic dancing, touching of one’s own body and the sharing of cigarette puffs through a tiny hole on the wall. The warden’s sexual frustration and jealousy as he beats up one of the prisoners and puts a gun in the prisoner’s mouth. Phallic imagery, much?

1. The Raspberry Reich (Bruce LaBruce, Canada, 2004)
Obviously, this is my most favorite gay-themed film, since I even named my own blog title after this one. That’s how much I love the film. So, yes, neither am I a neo-Nazi or do I love raspberries. But I do love the didacticism, subversiveness, wildness and fun of it all, not to mention the softcore gay sex scenes.

Gudrun, the female leader of an otherwise mostly male terrorist group, is determined to destroy everything normal and conforming to social norms. Unlike most who have seen it, I didn’t see the whole thing as a parody or satire on leftist politics. I saw the flawed characters as people who do have great revolutionary ideas but who don’t have the right means and resources and who, most of the time, don’t know the heck what they’re doing. And, in the end, instead of continuing to be terrorists, they become normal citizens, not conforming but learning to deal with society. But, let’s overlook the filmmaker’s intentions with his story for the time being and enjoy the film’s over-the-top campiness, its arousing sex scenes and its political statements enormously written across the screen. There is no revolution without sexual revolution. There is no sexual revolution without homosexual revolution.

Sports Shmorts

July 2, 2010 at 11:11 am | Posted in Snobbery | 16 Comments

My father and my aunt are religiously tuning in to the Wimbledon Cup. Being another avid fan of tennis, my idol and the future ruler of the universe, Jessica Zafra, if I’m not mistaken from the posts in her blog, is currently in Wimbledon watching the whole competition live. My cousins and cousin-in-laws are hardcore basketball fans, one pair for the Celtics and the other for the Lakers, with a few disappointments for the one whose favorite team lost a couple of weeks ago(?). Most of my friends are passively watching the FIFA World Cup, every each one of them rooting for her preferred country and almost everyone cheering for the popular favorites and never for the underdogs.

This summer seems to be quite a sportsfest for almost everyone, and there’s a little something for everyone. And where am I in all this? I absolutely don’t care for sports, whether it is being watched or played, whether actively or passively. Everything I learned about sports and games in P.E. went in one ear and quickly worked its way out the other ear. All I know is Novak Djokovic is hot and Cristiano Ronaldo is not.


Ohh-la-la, Novak Djokovic ♥.

Here’s my reasoning. Sports involves either two teams trying to shoot, kick or throw the ball to the other team’s goal (soccer, football, basketball, hockey), two or more individuals trying to outrun or outmatch the other (car racing, horse racing), or a ball or a projectile going back and forth between two opposing individuals or teams until the ball hits the ground (volleyball, tennis, table tennis, badminton). Any differences may be in the variations in sports equipment and rules. Golf is another thing, but then again that’s quite a dull sport for mostly rich wealthy men who have none of the strength and vitality to play anything else, and baseball and cricket are just a little bit more complicated but it all boils down to the same thing. I know I’m oversimplifying the whole thing but that’s the way I see sports.

And all these sponsoring, commercial advertising, several sports players with the looks, pizazz, and the personality gaining celebrity status, and their managers trying to give specific players all the publicity they can get aren’t my kind of thing either. And just like with TV and film celebrities, the idiotic masses always feel the need to know everything and anything that happens to these celebrity players outside the court.

And I never understood those hardcore sports fans who do stuff like painting their faces up with all the colors of either the team’s logo or the country’s flag. And I just heard that they auctioned a sports player’s shirt, a hockey player’s if I’m not mistaken, for more than a million dollars. Um, I know the meaning of value is different for everyone but I just wish that whoever bought that hopefully dirty, unwashed, ragged, thing regrets buying the completely worthless thing. What’s the best you can do with that thing? Hang it like a poor animal’s head on your wall and boast about it to your friends? Pathetic. And they call geeky people like me freaks.

Love, fear, apathy and anarchy

June 26, 2010 at 11:56 pm | Posted in Angst | 23 Comments

Peaceful protests turning into violent ones, protesters breaking glass windows and burning cars, police force creating the illusion of its omnipresence, people on both sides taking advantage of their power and/or freedom, bystanders watching everything with both indifference and amusement and taking pictures of the chaos while they’re at it, muddled ideas and beliefs, protests for countless causes and world problems, anarchists in the midst of all this chaos, minor disturbances and commotions taken way out of proportion due to panic and paranoia. This is downtown Toronto, during the G20 Summit.

Of course, despite my passionate hatred for all capitalist nations and my tendency to dwell on a multitude of issues, I’m nothing but a voyeur to all this. And as I do work in the downtown area and had the unfortunate luck of having work shifts yesterday and today during the G20 Summit, I am just a block or two away from the protests and disturbances.

Yesterday, the mall’s fire alarm rang and all of us were asked to evacuate the mall. And, as usual, what really happened is obscured from all the rumors you hear from the others but I’m betting, people are getting a just bit too panicky about all this, that’s all. And just earlier today, the mall was locked down and people at first were told to stay inside until the commotion around the area was done, and I was forced to only work for less than 2 hours as all the shops were asked to shut down for the day.

Of course, some people get all too panicky, paranoid and scared about all this while I just silently watch peace in this town of ours slowly turn to pandemonium, and I heard some who wanted to see more of what they referred to as action and wished to see the police aggressively beat the protesters, out of their thirst for blood and sheer amusement in violence. Quite appalling, if you ask me.

Knowing how the media can be two-faced and one-sided and can hardly be considered as impartial, I am not going to even argue which side, the police force or the protesters, started the disturbances and the acts of violence. It could possibly be provocations on either side, protesters’ annoyance at the prevalent and domineering police force, protesters resorting to violence for the belief that these world leaders are not hearing them out, the police force’s abuse of their power, bystanders trying to cause scenes, or simply just anarchists who merely want to break the peace.

Oohhh, I’m getting all worked up and frustrated over something I have no control of. Now, in order to calm myself down a bit and forget all this for a bit, I’ll just laugh my head off to this, something completely unrelated:


Vroom. VROOOOOOOOMMING.

Don’t bring around a cloud to rain on my parade

June 24, 2010 at 11:55 pm | Posted in Doki Doki | 28 Comments

Okay, I can’t keep this to myself any longer. I wanted to keep this a secret at first but I got to thinking that we’re not exactly doing anything wrong. If this were to be a different case, something that has happened the way it normally does, I would have posted about it in my blog in a heartbeat, as soon as I said yes. But that is not the case. And I wouldn’t say that I’m happy about how much I have changed over these past few weeks, but at least I can say that I’m happy about what we have.

Yes, I have a boyfriend. The only problem is, the whole thing’s online.

I know what you’re thinking; I can already see the nasty expressions, those raised eyebrows, those eyes twirling about, those malicious smirks, of yours. Well, let me get your hands on you and I’mma poke you in the eye and erase that silly grimace off your face.

He’s all mine, baby. And, I know, this might not be the conventional and normal way to meet a person, especially one whom you feel attracted to and whom you possibly hope of spending the rest of your life with but I have never been into following social norms, conformity. And being the socially awkward person that I am, maybe meeting someone online have been all along the best way for me to meet someone else, especially in this time and age where almost everyone puts too much importance on making everything easily accessible and upgrading almost everything instead of on real human progress. Wait, I’m ranting again, hehe. And I never did like the gay social scene, or any other social scene or gathering for that matter, not that I don’t want to try it anytime sooner. But it just feels so impersonal to me.

And we’re going to have to put it in the record that, yes, he was the one who stalked me. Not in a maniacal and obsessive sort of way, of course, but just the way one does when one seems to be interested in another. A bit creepy at first for me, I admit, but now he seems to be sincere and sweet, despite his initially creepy methods of pursuing me.

I can’t help feeling I’m becoming sappy and mushy, exactly what I was afraid of turning into when I start entering a relationship. Yes, that must be what I’ve become during these past few weeks but don’t think that you’ve finally gotten rid of my stubbornness, bluntness, cockiness and all those oh-so-lovable traits of mine altogether at all. They’re still here to stay.

Common sexual perversions aside, we have absolutely nothing in common but you know what they say, opposites attract. Okay, we’re of the same sex, but that’s not what I meant, you idiot. But we can easily set aside these differences and find some common ground. I can be the snobbish and cranky kind, while he can be the jealous and demanding type but we’re manageable. We only get to talk to each other online or through voice calls but I almost feel like I’ve known him for a lifetime. And I feel that I can be open with him and share and do things with him that I won’t be able to do comfortably with someone else I’ve actually known in real life for years.

It’s scary, this kind of thing. The uncertainty. You just have to trust the other. You just have to wait. All this time you put into it, you hope it won’t be of any waste at all. A lot say, long-distance and/or online relationships don’t work. Even I used to say that myself, due to the impracticality and the obvious lack of physical contact. And I know it’s too early to say this, but we can make it through. This is what we have now, and, although this may be a bit pathetic to some, I don’t think I’ve ever been this pleased in my life before.

And, yes, I’m looking at you, John Vincent “Jayvie” Distor😀 =O.

WHY I am a feminist

June 17, 2010 at 2:53 pm | Posted in Epic | 24 Comments

In the documentary film, Sick: The Life and Death of Bob Flanagan, Supermasochist, Bob Flanagan recites a poem he wrote on why he is a masochist. I’m doing the same thing but my version’s on why I am a feminist. Although it might not be as lyrical and creative as his, this will do for now.

*****

Because I’m gay. Because I love women. Because of Greek goddesses. Because of amazons. Because dominatrixes are hot. Because feminists are not man-hating lesbians. Because of the 1960’s civil rights movements. Because of subversion. Because of female novelists. Because of Joan of Arc. Because of Katharine Hepburn, Joan Crawford, Barbra Streisand and all other gay icons. Because I can think for myself. Because I know what’s right from what’s not. Because I demand equality and respect for everyone. Because we need to conquer all differences, whether it be in class, race, gender, and sexual orientation.

Because of this patriarchal world of ours. Because of double standards. Because of social expectations. Because of oppression, stereotyping, treating women as sex objects. Because of the male gaze. Because of crude sexist jokes. Because of conservatism, chastity belts and abstinence. Because of tyrannical, white men that have ruled this world for centuries. Because of witch hunts. Because of Sigmund Freud. Because of social apathy. Because of indifference. Because of Marilyn Monroe and the salivating men she has on her command. Because of misogynistic hiphop videos. Because of women pretending to be bisexual, when they’re actually not. Because of men’s continuous exploits of women.

Because of the way people refer to women as either “bitches”, “whores” or “sluts”. Because of the phrase “Bros before hos”. Because of the phrase “That’s what she said”. Because of MFF threesomes. Because of degrading straight porn. Because of debasing male fantasies. Because men are unwilling to debase themselves. Because men are unwilling to eat their own love juice. Because of how everyone romanticizes the pimping lifestyle. Because of the glorification of Tiger Woods. Because of the way people talk of other people’s mothers. Because of the blatant misogyny in mainstream entertainment. Because of USA’s huge influence on people all over the world. Because of human ignorance. Because of Japan’s attitude towards sex. Because of the lolita complex. Because of tentacle sex.

Because society continues to oppress and repress its women. Because of people’s expectations of what you should be like if you are a woman or a man. Because a woman is called a “slut”, if she’s promiscuous but a man is called a “stud”, if he does the same. Because men use the fact that they are men as an excuse for their bad behaviour. Because women are more forgiving than men. Because they say blue is for a boy, pink is for a girl. Because of man-created myths about women. Because women are not complicated mysteries, once you get to know one.

Because we need more real female role models. Because I am strong. Because we are strong. Because I am frustrated. Because I want change. Because no one else seems to care. Because no one else seems to be angry about this. Because, at this time and age, no one else seems to understand the plight of women, what women face and go through, around the world.

Because of my mother. Because of my sister. Because of my female friends. Because of kind and caring mothers. Because of saints. Because of transexuals. Because of lesbians. Because of grandmothers. Because of womanhood. Because of womanly instincts. Because of a woman’s devotion, compassion and understanding. Because of a woman’s intelligence, strength and limitless capabilities. Because of the comfort in confiding to a woman your secrets, admitting to a woman your sins and sharing to a woman all your problems. Because all of us came from a woman’s womb. Because I understand. Because I live, you live, we love.

Forest for the Trees

June 14, 2010 at 1:09 am | Posted in Melancholia | 14 Comments

Wow, a lot of things have happened this week, something that’s usually done in a process of weeks, months or even years just happened in a matter of a week, and I just might need to find some time to fully absorb it. And I love it. Now, I’ll definitely have no time for anything else besides what I’m already tied up with, part-time work and gym.

I am going to deal with life just the way the heroine in the German film Forest for the Trees, Melanie, decides to deal with hers in the end, by figuratively letting the car she’s been driving take its course by itself and moving from the driver’s seat to one of the backseats. I was half-expecting for the ending to be something tragic and poetic at the same time but, instead, everything’s all serene once she’s decided that she shouldn’t take too much control of her life anymore. She now feels a whole lot better, and everything for the moment seem to be in place. The ambiguous ending can also be simply interpreted as Eva’s suicide, but I don’t think this is the case as there is no sense of tragedy when she decides to step into the backseat.

Poor Melanie. I just want to give you a hug. You deserve a hug and lots more😦.

Prior to the ending, Melanie tries so hard to adjust to the new community she’s in. Being by herself and this being her first time on her job as a teacher, she tries so hard to get the students’ attention, make friends with her neighbor, and do her best as a teacher. But things don’t go the way she wants them to. The students bully her and treat her badly, her neighbor, whom she stubbornly wants to be friends with, doesn’t want her companionship or friendship and doesn’t want to harshly break it in to Eva, and her fellow teachers think of her, how she deals with her students, as an utter mess. Whenever Eva means well, her actions are perceived to be of malicious intent, and we, the audience, can’t help wanting her to do better in the harsh game of life but the filmmakers don’t want to give us that, they want to show the harsh realities. Eva’s socially awkward and lonely. She can be a bit pathetic and strange, sometimes. But she’s only human, like the rest of us. We’ve had our share of her moments.

Sure, in real life, if she were to go away from the driver’s seat and stop controlling the car, the car would move all haywire along the road and eventually hit something else and she would suffer a fatal crash. But in the film, the car still goes smoothly, taking her wherever the path takes her to.

So, I shall just let life take its flow, taking a few risky decisions along the run but never really trying so hard to take control of it or take charge as we have to realize we have no power over life itself, over our own environment. The best we can do is, sit back and relax, let everything take its course on its right time, deal with it when tough gets tougher, and don’t dwell too much on what’s been done and what can’t be undone.

Twinks, bodybuilder freaks and machine gun bras

June 9, 2010 at 9:54 pm | Posted in Whining | 27 Comments

I just noticed that we can “like” posts in WordPress as well. Eww, even WordPress has that “like” option now. And I accidentally “liked” my previous post, out of curiosity. The professional look that WordPress was trying to maintain for itself has now just gone down the drain.

I’ve started going out to the gym. Like I said, I’m trying to get out of my comfort zone, step by step. And just a few hours ago, I attended this cycling session. And I must tell you that that must have been what it feels like to be in the scorching flames of hell. My whole body, particularly my legs, was burning, and I was sweating buckets. Not even halfway through, I couldn’t even exert any real effort. And I think the instructor kept glancing at me everytime I slowed down or did something wrong so I had to at least do what I could. I just wanted to give up, I was just beside the door, but I didn’t want to suddenly storm out or seem like a quitter. I seriously wanted to kiss the floor once we were all done and doing the warm-up exercises.

But at least, that was over. And I’m going to say that I won’t be trying that cycling session anytime sooner even though I did sweat like there was no tomorrow and probably burned more fats than I normally would just using the other gym equipment.

Okay, okay, I’m not going to go stereotype all the people other than me working out at the gym by saying that they’re all dumb and shit with nothing in their heads to go with their brawny bodies but I just saw one of those bodybuilder freaks at the men’s change room, flexing his muscles and gazing at himself in the mirror. Eww, and he’s just too vain. I just wanted to push him towards the floor while he was doing slow push-ups. My gosh, there’s such a thing as too much muscles. The sight was so scary that I tried not to look at him on the face or something, not to mention that he was on the way of people entering and going out the change room. I’d like to believe that he is dumb as hell; that way, the world would make much more sense.

And I shall try not to faint at the sight of well-built, white twinks, all naked at the dressing room. Ooh. But, at least, that’s quite a refreshing change from the old geezers and buggers at the change room. And why must the old, wrinkly men always go full frontal while changing at the locker room? Ugh, those flabby stomachs and tiny pricks, hide those hideous things, haha. Just mentioning it makes me cringe and shiver.

P.S.: Lady GaGa’s new music video of Alejandro is what reciprocated love must feel like. Gay men sporting coconut-like haircuts and pseudo-Nazi uniforms dancing and oozing sex, Lady GaGa as a dominatrix and a sexy nun, the machine gun bra, and the dance moves, oh yeah. Lady GaGa’s also the only pop singer who acknowledges the presence of her huge gay fanbase, I’ll tell you that.

Infatuation follows a certain blueprint?

June 8, 2010 at 12:14 am | Posted in Heterophobia, Sarcasm | 22 Comments

Two nights ago, I’ve been able to get myself to attend at an acquaintance’s party. Acquaintance, not friend, we’re not that close. I never usually go to social gatherings. I’m socially awkward, if you must know. As much as possible, I try to avoid going to social gatherings and come up with the oldest excuses known to humankind or just plainly say the next day “I was feeling too lazy”, which is usually not the case.

And of course, I got to see old faces, people I haven’t seen in ages. And, you know, there’s the obligatory small talk, asking me what I’ve been doing lately. I don’t ask back, most of the time, afraid that the conversation will lead to more awkwardness or something else. Sometimes, I’m compelled to answer; sometimes I just shyly say “Oh, nothing much.” And then one, with all of his best intentions in mind I guess, asked me if I was still single. You see, I’m pathetically one of the very few who hasn’t still been in a relationship yet and pretty much the only gay person in our huge circle of friends back in high school. How that is possible perplexes me. Wait, we do have a lesbian friend but she’s obviously not a potential partner for me and now provinces away, haha.

And, of course, I sadly shook my head. In their heads, they think it’s my lack of social skills; in my own, I say it’s my eccentricities, unreasonably high standards and destiny’s hatred towards me. And then they started asking me what type of guy am I into or do I like and getting me to try hook-ups with other gay guys they know. Um, if you’re going to hook me up with someone, please let him be cute, at least. I couldn’t answer back and just laughed it off. I was thinking at the moment, what kind of guy did I really want? I mean, I was never specific even back then and my crushes didn’t exactly follow a certain blueprint or pattern. They really got me into thinking, haha. My only answer to them was that I liked my men geeky. Vague, much?

Now since I have no real idea myself, I shall create a blueprint for what kind of men I like. This shall now be a guide on future prospects for myself.

When they ask me of what ethnicities do I have the hots for, I usually say any men of any kind as long as they are hot. But the truth is, I have a thing for fellow Filipinos, Indians, and white men, specifically Italians… as long as they are hot. Haha, quick disclaimer. But, of course, that’s only a generalization. You never know, right? Wink, wink.

And my men shall be opinionated about all kinds of stuff. Don’t have to agree with me, as long as they know what they’re talking about. Yuppie capitalist scum are never a consideration, even if they possess such heavenly bodies. My men shall be a bit smarter than I am. Not too smart, or I might consider them as adversaries, rivals, competition. I don’t care much about their line of work or their annual salary and it doesn’t matter whether he would make more than I would but he shouldn’t be too committed to his work. Work is only a means to an end, despite your passion and devotion for it. And they shall know how to cook; I don’t want them to be like some people I know who are already husbands. Manigas nga sila; palamunin lang sila ng mga asawa nila. And my men shall teach me how to cook, while they’re at it, haha.

They shall be into some geeky stuff like films, sci-fi, graphic novels, superheroes, cool video games, comics, etc. You name it. But, at the same time, they shall be mature. They shall not be shopaholics or people who care too much about their own looks and clothing but, at the same time, they should know how to dress themselves nicely. And if I find out they obsessively collect shoes and/or bags, I’m outta there, haha. That’s just what I need, another one like my mom. They shall be good conversationalists and be able to talk about anything under the sun so we’ll never run out of anything to talk about. And they shall be good at sex and be up for anything. You’ll never know what goes inside my head, when it comes to stuff like that, haha.

Bow.

Um, Chris, good luck on finding that man, with those unreasonable standards of yours. No wonder, you’re such a loser still single.

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