I've MOVED.

New year, new age, new blog, new everything (except the title).

http://fidelio.i.ph

The Boastful Blizzard of a Bitch from the Boondocks

slap
Originally uploaded by wari_aktiv.

...Dearie, you couldn't spot "good taste" even if it jumped up and bit you in the arse..."

I am a very civilised man.

So civilised in fact, that I consider it the height of bad taste and immaturity to hold a grudge against someone.

But sometimes one can forget the boundaries of one's personal preferences, and actually do something that one never expects.

Today at work, in one fell swoop, somebody managed to insult my taste, question my competence, and waste my time.

Funny how that works, especially if I have absolutely no obligation to do anything for that person anyway.

Funny too how the that person thinks she knows everything, yet really knows an incredible amount of nothing about me, or about what I am capable of doing.

In the span of minutes, a few well placed calls gave me her entire life story, and I found out that she isn't who she wants to be.

Now I just laugh about it, because no matter how you look at it, I'm not what she thinks I am either.

Dearie, you couldn't spot "good taste" even if it jumped up and bit you in the arse.

But you do seem to know the meaning of "tacky" very well.

And you seem to know the concept of "leeching off someone else's power" quite perfectly.

But hey, I'll let you have what you've got, because sooner or later, that thing you call "looks" is going to fade away, so enjoy it while you can.

Because once that goes, you won't be winning any friends anytime soon.

Besides, by that time, I won't be your goddamn lackey anymore.

And while you're at it, do us all a favor and look up the word "breeding" in the dictionary, for chrissake.

Because something tells me that you define it as "when two dogs fall in love".

The Lucid Loneliness of the Lost and the Leaving

lone
Originally uploaded by wari_aktiv.

"...you start changing your mind about a lot of things, and begin to start living your life in circles..."

Everybody finds themselves if you give them enough time.

Although some people find themselves after everybody else does.

Tonight I went to a party, that more or less celebrated the fact that my friends are going to be living their lives on their own terms.

Most of them were leaving, to find a better path for themselves in countries that they haven't been to yet.

A few of them are settling down, to pass their days in the company of someone they think they love more than themselves.

One or two had no idea what the hell they were going to do in the days to come.

As much as I hate to admit it, I happen to be one of the clueless ones.

Its funny when you think about it, because when you're younger you have a pretty solid idea of how the future's gonna turn out.

That's when you make statements that say you're gonna be a doctor, or a lawyer, or a teacher.

But as the years pass, the details start getting hazier and hazier, like they were lost in a fog of naivete and wishful thinking.

The lucky ones can still see them as clear as the daylight, and will most probably turn out doing what they wanted to become when they were less than a decade old.

But for the rest of us, the statement of what you wanted to be gets trampled by a torrent of "What if's".

Like "what if I do something else?"

Or "what if I don't make enough money?"

Or most probably "what if I don't end up happy?"

Then you start changing your mind about a lot of things, and begin to start living your life in circles.

Now I realise that, looking at my friends and how they're turning out, sooner or later you have no choice but to stick to what you're good at, in the hope that in the long run, you'll end up with a smile on your face.

Once you manage to do that, I suppose all that's left is to live out your life the best way that you can, in what you see as the "right" path.

Then you'll see that as long as you keep doing the right thing, everything will turn out fine.

Because whether you like to admit it or not, the dreams of what you wanted to become will remain as clear as the stars above your head.

They may be a bit too far, and a bit too hard to reach, but as long as you look for them, they'll always be there.

That's why I still look up into the sky sometimes.

Because a long long time ago, I wanted to be an astronaut.

The Sad Surprises in the Stories of the Sexes

sign_language
Originally uploaded by wari_aktiv.

"...sad unexpected twists in the story of your life do hurt..."

The world is chock-full of stories.

Some are pure fantasy, like Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, and how she met her Prince Charming.

Some are pure spin, like the semi-famous son of a famous superstar and the obscure daughter of a washed up starlet, and how they had an unknown child.

Some are pure boredom, like how so-and-so went to who-the-hell-cares last god-knows when.

More often than not, the ones worth listening to involve a girl and a boy, and a great complication.

And admittedly, it is fun to listen to.

But then you realise that it's not so fun at all when it's about you, and about someone you actually think of.

Especially if they happen to be different stories, all with a not-so-happy ending.

I suppose it's a good thing that I value my privacy, and that I respect and care about the person who's involved.

Because I happen to think its extremely tacky to even begin telling stories that might prove sensitive, to people that you don't know.

So maybe this is all vague.

Or maybe its my way of dealing with it.

Or maybe it's even something that I should have never started.

Because more often than not, sad unexpected twists in the story of your life do hurt, no matter how small you try to make it be.

But I still think it was worth it.

Because I will never have regrets about making that one person smile.

The Divine Disposition of a Demi-date

iheartny
Originally uploaded by wari_aktiv.

Turns out that that one person more than made up for the absence of more than a dozen others..."

I never thought that I'd end up happy in the event that my friends were nowhere to be found.

Yesterday, the company I'm working for staged a major event, in the financial center of the city, to launch the their new line-up. It was the biggest event in the company's history, and I was right in the thick of it, and I was expecting my friends to come in full force to support me.

I must've sent out 30 or so invites, to my dearest closest buddies.

Then I remembered that some of them are in Boracay.

And some of them are preparing for a wedding the next day.

And some of them were stuck in their sickbed.

And yes, some of them completely forgot all about it, god bless their hearts...

Of all the people I sent invites to, only one person came.

Turns out that that one person more than made up for the absence of more than a dozen others.

Truth be told, the days before the event, I wasn't really expecting she'd go, because I barely knew her after all, and we'd run into each other only at random drinkies thrown by common friends.

But she made it, and for that night, she was the only one that really mattered.

Soon I forgot all about the stress that the event brought upon my shoulders, and things like missed program cues, screwy logistics, or missing invites didn't matter too much.

Hell, I even left the event itself, a couple of hours before it was supposed to end, because I wanted to move somewhere a little more quiet.

We spent the night talking about anything and everything, from her cousin's drunken quirks, to my going into "hiding"...

And I managed to have a fantastic time.

Simply because its been a long time since I last enjoyed any kind of "date" that I've gone on.

Over the last few years, all my dates have been disasters. And they were far from few.

Like the time I took a diehard vegetarian to a steak house for dinner.

Or the time I brought a uber-conservative Catholic girl to a transvestite musical drag show in the city's bohemian district.

But wonder of wonders, this particular time I actually had fun, with someone I was actually glad to be with.

So much fun in fact, that I can't wait for it to happen again, over a few plates of sushi and sake.

I just hope that my mojo still stays with me until then.

(*To "Miss Manhattan", if for some strange reason you happen to be reading this:*

I just want to thank you, because you've put my faith back into this whole "meeting new people" thing. Thanks for last night; for being patient enough to put up with all my running around; for looking perfect as usual, while I was stressed out and panicked; for listening, when I was talking waaay too much. And most of all thanks, for just being there, because you turned a mediocre night into an outstanding one.

Now I only have to worry about convincing you to go out with me again.

Umm, how 'bout some tuna salad?)

The Bad Brouhaha that a Blackout Brings

candila
Originally uploaded by wari_aktiv.

Strange, how the sudden loss of electricity makes you feel paralysed. even if you really aren't..."

Its as if Thomas Edison never existed.

Tonight I find myself at the mercy of my laptop's weakening battery, typing by the light of both the LCD screen and a lone candle. Every single house on my street looks like they've blown a fuse, and I can't even see my hands infront of my face, if ever I do make it out to the street.

The water's not running, because there's no power to run the electric pump, so I can't even wash my face, much less take a bath. God forbid I have to take a shit, because I know that if I do, that turd's just going to be floating there, and probably won't go down to where its supposed to be forgotten, simply because there happens to be no water in Mr. American Standard's water tank either.

My room is starting to take on the smell of unwashed jeans and old towels, because there's no A/C to chase all those evil smells away, and spraying some air-freshener around will just make it alot muggier than it already is.

Oh, and there just happens to be an incredible storm going at it outside too.

It all just seems too much of a stretch doesn't it? But I assure you, it not. I'm even half expecting to suddenly find a weird black bird perched on top of my door, saying "...nevermore, nevermore..."

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to a Manila blackout, circa 2004.

Strange, how the sudden loss of electricity makes you feel paralysed. even if you really aren't.

All of a sudden the TV in the corner, that you never noticed before, looks like a silent savior that just yearns to be awakened.

All of a sudden the jacuzzi that's outside, that you never used because it's a bitch to clean, calls out to you like an oasis in the desert.

All of a sudden the humble little transistor radio in your drawer, that you never found time to buy batteries for, seems like a dead messenger from the gods themselves.

Because then that dinky cheapo plastic radio would have the ability to make magical predictions on when the storm's going to pass, or when the power's going to come back on.

A friend told me that he actually enjoys the rare blackout, because it gives him some quiet time to meditate, reflect, and assess.

Don't get me wrong, but I think I'd rather have the "meditate, reflect, and assess" part started on when I hit retirement. 'Til then, I think I'd have the "stimulate, distract, and entertain" part of life, if you please...

Because during a blackout, you tend to think of all the wonderful, electric-powered things that you could be doing.

Like seeing that new reality show that screened live via satellite, on your massive television, right in the confines of your own home.

Or hearing that incredible song, by this little known band, backed up by the insane volume of all your speakers, woofers, and tweeters, right in your living room.

Perhaps even playing that amazing video game, that can put you inside the mind of a detective / medieval knight / talking car, on a computer system that actually looks like it belongs on an alien spaceship, right in your den.

Instead you're forced to pass the time staring at the dark, and making it your friend.

Nice to meetcha Mr. Black, I hope I don't run into you again anytime soon.

The Mute Magic of a Martini and a Makeover

ohshitohshitohshit
Originally uploaded by wari_aktiv.

I am totally hopeless when I start talking to someone that I happen to like..."

I believe I spent the better part of the day hitting myself over and over and over, on the upside of my head.

And I think my karma says that I deserve it.

Yesterday I spent my Saturday night, just like any other, with drinks in my hand and a smile on my face.

I had a fundraiser to attend, which just actually turned out to be a really really good excuse to book an entire place and have a fun time; all while filling it up with your friends and feeling really good about yourself at the end of it, because "you're giving something back..."

But this turned out to be alot different.

Because I just learned that I am totally hopeless when I start talking to someone that I happen to like.

Funnily enough, I seem to have absolutely no trouble with throwing the odd line around, just as long as it happens to be thrown in the direction of someone that I have no interest in whatsoever.

One minute I'm regaling some random female with my stories on stupid things, like how a Turducken is made, or how you can theoretically fly to the moon on the power of the entire Chinese population passing wind at the same time.

Or how, if consumed in massive quantities, chocolate can actually make you fall in love...
(and then buying the girl a chocolate martini right after.)

However, put me infront of someone I have the remotest interest in getting to know better, and my conversation skills go to hell in a handbasket.

Take yesterday night for example. In middle of the crowd, I spotted this girl I haven't seen in ages.

She was standing with a drink in her hand, and apparently had a makeover, to get over the stress of being single again.

And she looked better than fantastic.

So I walked over, mentally prepared to initiate a game of conversational catching-up. I had quite a few stories to tell since we've seen each other last, and I expected our conversation to last about 2 rounds of drinks, at the very very least.

But all of a sudden she hits me with a killer combo of truly amazing eyes and an incredibly delightful smile; and "Blam!".

I'm out for the count.

My mental faculties just shut themselves down, and all I could really manage was an "Are you okay?"

The conversation was over after she said "yeah", and it lasted all of fifteen seconds.

Fifteen blissful seconds, but just fifteen seconds nonetheless.

Shit.

And what's infinitely worse is that I couldn't manage to talk to her the rest of the night.

Because I found that I really had nothing to say.

The Bounty of Barramundi Between a Bond and a Bohemian.

champagne au club prive_grand
Originally uploaded by wari_aktiv.

...a 7-course dinner, with 7 wines to match, plus an endless stream of champagne..."

Now I know how the judges on the Iron Chef feel like.

A couple of days ago I went, on my dad's behalf, to a fomal dinner event of the Chaine des Rotisseurs, a French gastronomic society that can trace its roots all the way back to 1248.

Yes, 1248 the year, not 12:48 P.M.

It was a 7-course dinner, with 7 wines to match, plus an endless stream of champagne, to be had before, during, and after the dinner.

Needless to say, I ended up pretty tanked.

At the first course, I was chatting amiably with the lady on my left, who happened to be involved in a venture concerning Russian lasers, and a gentleman on my right, who happened to be a Swiss expat. They were sufficiently entertained, both by the fact that I was the youngest person there, and by the fact that the waiters were synchronised like the Moscow ballet.

By the third course, the Swiss expat fancied himself as a modern day James Bond, and the lady-doctor was telling me how she could cure all my medical woes with a needle in my arm, and pulses of light.

By the seventh course, Mr. Bond to my right was speaking in a mixture of Greek and Turkish, and the laser lady was too involved with thinking about her badminton match the next morning, worried that she'd have to play with an incredible hangover.

In between all of that, I was enjoying a feast of foie gras, barramundi, and lamb, ended with an extremely strange tasting Roquefort and grape cheesecake.

Plus, I was minding my manners and being polite, remembering the pages of Emily Post's Etiquette.

Because after all the people I've had to meet, and all the alcohol I've had to drink, I was half-expecting Robin Leach to appear somewhere, with his loud british accent and his omnipresent tuxedo.

To tell me to have champagne wishes and caviar dreams.

The Dumb Derring-Do's of a Dashing Drunkard

martini
Originally uploaded by wari_aktiv.

...maybe you remember that you danced like Dickens, with a lighter in your hand, to a song called "The Glory of Love"..."

I can hear the clanging of bells.

But the thing is, I'm not in church, nor am I in the town square, and I'm certainly not in the process of getting married.

I'm in the bathroom, kneeling in front of a porcelain god whose name is "American Standard", praying for forgiveness from the excesses of the lost weekend.

And then spewing forth a magnificent offering of the remains of half a bottle of vodka, a full bottle of Jack Daniels, and perhaps even a few bottles of beer.

With the elements of my favorite recently consumed four-cheese pizza, to make it extra chunky.

And I hear bells, on both sides of my hammered head, because they call for my penance, for my absolut-ion, from the devils of drinking.

Its called a "hangover" honey, and boy, I feel like hell.

Last Thursday, I decided to celebrate the fact that I haven't gone out in weeks, by making up for lost time.

A dozen Jack n' Cokes later, I couldn't feel my feet.

Strange isn't it? It is only when you're truly shitfaced, that you think you're the shit.

Then in the morning you realise that you've acted like an asshole instead.

That's when you remember that you went up to a girl you knew in college, and said " Hey, you know what, you were alot less cuter before..."

Or you remember that you got a very good friend pissed off, when you asked him to wait for you at the table, right before you set off for another bar.

Or maybe you remember that you danced like Dickens, with a lighter in your hand, to a song called "The Glory of Love" from the movie called "Karate Kid: Part II".

Jesus Christ Grasshopper, that was so stupid.

But then you realise that the people you were with were doing the same thing.

Some were even doing the "Crane Stance".

Its funny how a small amount of alcohol can turn a bunch of grown-ups into little "Daniel-sans".

So cheers to that, because even Mr. Miyagi likes a hit of sake once in a while.

The Calming Comfort in a Can of Campbell's

campbellwarhol
Originally uploaded by wari_aktiv.

I learned that nostalgia tastes better than anything else..."

Sometimes its the simplest thing that gets you satisfied.

During the course of my entire life, I've found myself going in and out of restaurants, for dinner, for lunch, and even for breakfast.

Sometimes I'm with someone, sometimes I'm alone, and sometimes I'm with friends.

Sometimes I pay my way, and sometimes I get treated.

And every single time, I learn something new.

Like how good dimsum tastes with dry white wine.

Or how you can enjoy a mound of raw, uncooked beef.

Or even how, like the Portuguese, you can eat just olives, because you can pop them in your mouth like peanuts.

Its no surprise then, that over the years, I've become somewhat spoiled when it comes to whatever gets put on my plate.

I know I should be thankful, and perhaps that makes me one of the lucky ones, but you have to admit, even the best food becomes tiring after you get used to it.

Lately, I've found myself getting weary, over meals that would cost the average working man a month's salary, and I'd have to admit, I'm both ashamed and a little bit scared.

Ashamed because no matter how you look at it, food is an enormous blessing, and should never be taken for granted.

And scared because at twenty three, food doesn't really have the same wonder that it used to have, just because I've "been there, done that."

Now, I'm not scared nor ashamed anymore. The funny thing is, the most recent revelation I've had with food happened to be something that was loaded with preservatives, far from fresh, and came in a can.

It was a bowl of Campbell's Cream of Mushroom Soup, and it was "Mmm, mmm, good".

When I was a child, I'd remember whenever my nanny or my mom would heat up a can of mushroom soup, I'd come running into the kitchen, spoon in hand, ready to finish it.

This was because as a kid, Cream of Mushroom soup was my absolute favorite thing in the whole wide world.

I'd take a bowl of soup, and pour it over a hill of just cooked white rice, and mix it, until it becomes a perfect, steaming bowl of sticky, thick, and delicious mushroom-rice porridge. It was my comfort food, and it always managed to put a smile on my face.

But as I grew older, my taste for this treat was gone, swept away and forgotten over plates of foie gras, steak tartare, and truffles. I had moved on to better things, so I thought, and continued onward with culinary adventures that managed to surprise my tounge and hurt my wallet.

And before I knew it, I had become jaded... Until a few hours ago, when I came home to a near empty cupboard with an almost empty stomach to match.

Until I spotted a solitary can of Campbell's Cream of Mushroom Soup.

Half smirking, I opened it up and cooked it, just like my mom used to make, with half a can of milk, and half a can of water. I placed it in a bowl, and started to eat. Then I learned something yet again.

I learned that nostalgia tastes better than anything else.

Suddenly I was a kid again, spoon in hand, sitting in front of the T.V. with nothing but a steaming bowl of soup to keep me company.

No amount of goose liver could come even close to that.

Because sometimes, the food that you remember can bring you the memories that you've forgotten, comforting you in the same way that a warm blanket will in a frigid room.

That's why it tastes so good.

And that's why I'm heading straight to the grocery tomorrow, first thing in the morning.

Because I think I'll have a box of macaroni n' cheese for lunch.

The Wheres and Whos of Weird 1-hit Wonders

vanillaice
Originally uploaded by wari_aktiv.

Imagine that, the valet parking your car could have been the very same guy who created the song that you slow danced with your high school sweetheart..."

Ice ice, baby.

You're smiling aren't you? Or maybe you're laughing as you read that. God forbid you're singing it too.

I admit, back in the day, I thought "Ice, ice baby" was the coolest thing.

And I also thought that the Tooth Fairy was true, and that she kept the Easter Bunny as her pet.

Its surprising how fast things can change.

I was on the treadmill today, about to go on a full-on sprint, when "Ice Ice, Baby" came on, at full volume, in the sound system of the gym.

Goddamn song surprised me so much that I almost tripped.

So I caught my step, slowed the machine down, and looked at the guy next to me.

He fell.

On his ass, ass, baby.

And he was laughing.

Then I looked around, and every single person below the age of forty in the gym this morning was either laughing, grinning, or shaking their head.

Pretty soon, everyone stopped whatever they were doing, and just listened to the song.

Its weird, but I could tell that they were too busy remembering old memories, to be bothered by anything else.

Maybe they remembered that they used to have a poster of Vanilla Ice on their wall, clipped out from a magazine...

Maybe they remembered that they would tape the song every single time it came on the radio, so they could write down the lyrics to it later...

Maybe they even remembered the hours and hours and hours they spent learning the proper dance steps...

I remembered all these myself, and I even vaguely remember getting into a heated argument with my cousin, about who would win in a "kunwari" Vanilla Ice Versus M.C. Hammer fistfight.

(We eventually agreed that Leonardo from the Ninja Turtles would trump them both.)

Suddenly it made me wonder what had happened to the people like Milli Vanilli, M.C. Hammer and Vanilla Ice.

People who had reached the very summit of stardom, only to fade away, relegated to the immortality of drunken trivia questions and embarrassing confessions.

Maybe they're just Average Joes now, working nine-to-five Mc Jobs, forgetting just how huge they were a few years back.

Imagine that, the valet parking your car could have been the very same guy who created the song that you slow danced with your high school sweetheart at the prom.

Hey, that could happen. After all, there's that tired old saying that once you reach the top, there's no where else to go but down.

In Vanilla Ice's case, after he had a multi-platinum song, a title role in a movie that tanked, and a photograph in a book, showing him and Madonna having sex, what else could he do?

Maybe he realised that ice has a tendency to melt.

The Curious Correlation of Clothes and Confidence

armani
Originally uploaded by wari_aktiv.

The way I see it, what you wear is who you are, (or in some cases, who you want to be...)"

I spend way too much on the clothes that I wear, and my bank account hates me for it.

I just got my monthly credit card statement awhile ago, and unfortunately, I seem to have overspent quite a bit this time.

In between wondering where the money went and figuring out how to pay for it, I realised that for an underpaid twentysomething guy, I spend more a day on clothes than my father spends in a week for the same.

That's downright appalling, considering that my dear old dad makes more money in a single hour than I do in a whole month.

Shit... then I realised that I dressed way better than my pop. And the scary thing is, in my head, that almost justified the whole thing.

I confess, the Marquis is an addict. I am a certified shopaholic. And that's gotta change.

But then it got me thinking; what's the deal with clothes anyway?

The way I see it, what you wear is who you are, (or in some cases, who you want to be...)

Think about it.

See that guy wearing those basketball shoes that look like it was engineered by NASA? Chances are, he wants to be like Mike....

How about that dude sporting oversized superlow baggy pants, a XXXL shirt, and a cap? I betcha he wants to be a playa, and that he be the shiznit....

Or perhaps that one guy, in the skintight miniskirt, fishnet stockings and four-inch heels? I bet my balls he'd give anything to be a woman....

Lest you think I'm making fun of these people, I am not. In fact, three of my friends fit the qualities listed above.

Yes, even the fishnet stockings part, chuva.

My point is, that the clothes that you choose to put on your back, whether you like it or not, shows the world how you see yourself.

You can fake it if you want to, and you could hide it if you can, but in this modern world where an average grade school twelve year old knows what the word "bling" means, and knows who Ralph Lauren is; you're bound to get spotted.

Incidentally, since I've gone this far, open my closet and you're bound to find the cause of my monthly overdraft.

Meet my good friends, Mr. Paul Smith, Mr. Giorgio Armani, and Mr. J.P. Tod.

Embarrassingly enough, going with my own logic, I guess that makes me want to be a European.

C'est la' vie.

The Mistaken Meanderings of the Mysterious Marquis

journal
Originally uploaded by wari_aktiv.

...for those who have a need to acquire completely useless answers for incredibly persistent questions..."

Lately I've been getting e-mails / mobile messages about this very page, and admittedly, I have been quite surprised about the hordes of anonymous people who have read it. Given its relatively short lifespan.

(I count about five people all in all, maybe even ten...)

Some of them are nice, some of them I already know, a few of them are scary, and all of them are curious...

So for those who have a need to acquire completely useless answers for incredibly persistent questions, here are most of the queries I've gotten so far:

What's a "fidelio"?

-- It's the "password for the house", as seen in the Tom Cruise / Nicole Kidman movie "Eyes Wide Shut". It's also the title of an opera by Beethoven, about the triumph of courage, love, and fidelity over the forces of evil.

Why the name "Marquis de Carabas"?

--Its the name of the "prince" that the Puss-In-Boots was working for in the fairytale titled "The Puss In Boots". Its also the name of a character in the Neil Gaiman book "Neverwhere" that travels with the main character, whose name is Door. I'm not saying I'm a prince, but I liked the fairytale as a kid, and as an adult, I liked "The Doors". Plus, I find the name interesting.

I noticed that all the words in the titles in your entries have the same first letter. What's up with that?

--First of all, let me congratulate you with your amazing powers of observation. Second, about the "1st Letter Syndrome", I grew up with a daily dose of Sesame Street, so I guess that's the culprit.

Is the story of the octopus, greek alcohol, and plastic balloons really true?

--Yes, it is. And it still remains to be one of the weirdest one-of-a-kind "dates" I've ever been on.

Are you Pinoy?

--My dad is a Filipino, and my mom is a Filipino, so that makes me one too. Yes I am, in fact, apparently my mom's side of the family has ancestral roots in Cavite and Bacolod. Save for a few vacations, extended or otherwise, I have been in Manila all my life.

Do you have a girlfriend / boyfriend?

--I believe that term of my preference is girlfriend, as I am a heterosexual male. And no, I do not have one at the moment.

What Apple do you use? How much did you buy it?

--As I can only assume that the question pertains to the computer I am using, the answer is, right now I'm using an iBook, a white one, and its name is "Chiclet", because it looks like one. As for how much it is, I don't really see the point in discussing the worth of my personal belongings, so I don't really wanna answer that. And besides, it was a gift...

How old are you anyway?

--I am twenty-three at the moment, and will turn twenty four in a few months. Once I hit forty, then I think I'll stop counting.

May anak ka na ba?

--Nope. As much as I like playing with the children of my friends, I don't think I can handle a child of my own.

What exactly do you do for a living?

--I'd prefer not to say. All I'm going to admit is, one, I make enough; two, I'm still waiting to finish my studies abroad; three, its not illegal; four, I'm not working in a call-center, (yet alot of my friends are, so I have nothing against that); and five, I'm not in Amway, NuSkin, Forever Living, or any of those "multi-level marketing" thingies, and I don't want to be.

Where did you get all these stuffs?

--Um, let me correct you on that, its "stuff", I believe, plural, collective noun. (My 2nd grade English teacher would be proud...) All that is written on this blog simply are my observations, witty or otherwise, on everything else.

Nasa Friendster / Myspace ka ba? Pwede mo akong i-add?

--Yes, but I rarely use my accounts at the moment, and I never add people I haven't met. Plus, I think this whole "Friendster" thing has gotten way out of hand.

There are a few more, but I think I'd rather not answer any questions about my personal details. (Like what's my cellphone number, where do I live, or who do I look like.)

Hmmm, it makes you wonder how much free time people really have huh? But to everyone who's read this blog so far, I remain extremely grateful / flattered, and I hope I keep you sufficiently entertained.

I have ONE QUESTION though...

What's an ASL?!?

The Guide to Going Ga-ga over Gorgeous Girls

who's that?
Originally uploaded by wari_aktiv.

...Some people call it "attraction", others call it "appeal", some others call it "hormones"..."

I wonder if the women of the world ever realise how much power they really had over the men that they had met.

Case-in-point: Every single male person that I happen to know has, at least once in their lives, in one way or the other, done something that is completely insane, bonkers, or plain stupid, just to make a certain beautiful girl that they know happy.

Myself included. (And many, many times at that...)

In fact, one such task involved a merry little mix of imported snowflakes, magic tricks, late night babysitting, octopi, plastic balloons, Greek alcohol, and vanilla ice cream. (I kid you not.)

Its funny when I think about it, but there's just something about a gorgeous girl that makes my pulse a bit quicker, my step a bit springier, and my wit a bit sharper.

Some people call it "attraction", others call it "appeal", some others call it "hormones".

I call it the "Oh Shit".

As in; "Oh Shit, whatamIgonnasay?" or "Oh Shit, whatamIgonnado?" or even "Oh Shit, what'smynameagain?"

Plus, what makes it alot harder for us guys is the fact that the "Oh Shit" can strike us anywhere, at anytime, from anyone.

And we can do nothing except endure the laughs of our friends, when we finally try to tell the story of someone we just met.

I tell you, just look a little bit harder, and you're bound to find us, the countless guys doing stupid things, with the look in our eyes that tell you that we haven't the foggiest idea why we're doing it.

Because whether we want to admit it or not, all of us have a certain weakness for the way women just are.

Oh shit.

The Ever Evolving Escape into the Eighties

falkor
Originally uploaded by wari_aktiv.

...I wonder about the adventures I thought I would be having "when I grow up" to this age, back when I was a kid..."

Sometimes its downright scary when I compare how old I am with how much I've done.

Save for a few minor scrapes with the "real world", and a multitude of lessons garnered from the dangers of "over-indulgence", I've lived a relatively ho-hum existence.

Not that I'm complaining and all, in fact, I'm pretty thankful for what's been given so far.

It's just that sometimes, I wonder about the adventures I thought I would be having "when I grow up" to this age, back when I was a kid.

I thought I'd be living in a Flying House, that could go back in time, to have dinner with Jesus.

I thought I'd be running around with Snake Eyes, Duke, and Sgt. Slaughter, saving the world from C.O.B.R.A.

I thought I'd be looking through the glass chest of a giant robot, as it turns into a car and searches for Energon Cubes.

I thought I'd be reading a magical book, with a giant white, scary-ass, flying dog / dragon to ride on.

Instead I find myself spending my days buying stuff that I don't really need, and my nights having drinks that I don't really like.

I miss my childhood.

The Absolutely Amazing Ability of Apple to Astound

apple
Originally uploaded by wari_aktiv.

...I'm an Apple-addict..."

I remember back in the day, my father came home with a new 486 PC that he wanted to surprise me with for my 11th (or was it 12th?) birthday... It came with something called "DOS", and with something called "Windows 3.1". He showed me how to use it, how to type things ("The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog," ad infinitum...) and how to use a mouse. Then he put some games in, and I was amazed...

So for a little under a year I was putting every single thing that anything to do with my life in that little beige box that could.

In went my homework, schedules, games from virra mall, little pictures that I drew with my mouse, even 5 pages worth of "The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog", repeated over and over again. Pretty soon my Pop was asking me advice on how to work the darn thing himself...

Until I noticed that something was happening.

Suddenly my faithful PC wasn't working the way it was supposed to.

It would freeze and stop, it would say things like "Drive G: is unaccessible", or it would have "fatal errors" or even admit that "Warning! The system has become unstable".

In short, it acted like Jack Nicholson in "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest".

Nothing I did seemed to make it run smooth. I studied all the arcana it had, and learned things like "autoexec.bat" and "config.sys". I learned "combo tricks" like Ctrl+Alt+Del and Alt+F4. I even kicked and swore at it a few times...

But alas, countless homework deadlines were missed, and many "saved games" were lost. And the strange thing was, it would happen again and again and again, with every single PC that we got to replace the previous one.

And I was sad.

Until my mom came in one day, many years after my 11th birthday, with a large box that had an apple on it and said "iMac".

This time, I was the one who taught her how to use it, how to type, and how to use the mouse. Then she used it for a month or two, and I was amazed.

No bugs, no crashes, no problems, no headaches.

No kicking and swearing too.

Then I was hooked. The iMac was a revelation, it was a sign from someone up there who really likes me that I don't have to be pissed everytime I use a newfangled thing like a computer.

That was four years ago. Now I've gone through 2 iMacs, 1 PowerMac, 3 iPods, and an iBook.

All of them are working the way they should, since the day that I bought them.

Say what you want, but I know a good thing when I see it, and I'm sticking to my Macs; because I'm an Apple-addict.

Now I'm starting to understand why Eve took a bite of that thing in the first place...

The Blank Blackboard of Boredom and Blah Blah

blackboard
Originally uploaded by wari_aktiv.

Hmmm,

I must admit, curiousity got the better of me.

Seems that everybody who's ever gotten the chance to strangle their language of choice now seems to have a blog somewhere. It only was a matter of time before I did. Now I have the space to say whatever I want, whenever I want to. The thing is, will I have anything to say?

And anyone to read it?

We'll see....