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Showing posts from 2009

1

The anticlimactic buildup. So I spent my informal last day with the company by arriving late and leaving early. Very suave. The reason was for me to join some of the guys to help them buy the groceries and prepare the food for that evening's festivities held at our co-worker's bachelor mansion, which is obviously waaaay better than work. It was the second time a dinner/drinking/videoke party had been held there, leading me to assume this is going to be an annual thing even after my resignation. The night should have been legendary, as nothing could go wrong with spaghetti carbonara, chips and dip, Tekken 5, poker, and an unlimited well containing magical beer in your arsenal of partying. Not to mention, I acted out like an arse half the evening, an indication that the partying spirit in me is alive and well. However, it's probably just one of those days where everything was bound to suck. Ah well, the milk was spilled ever before the day started, so fuck it, getting drunk

5432

The day signals the change of times as I started devoting myself to the plan, three full hours of it. The conditions were ideal: flexible hours as long as I meet a bi-monthly quota while at the comforts of our home. Busying myself on the couch with my notebook (since that was the nearest place where I can connect the notebook to the cable internet), I found out that most of the employees I was with were from a different region and speaking in their local dialect but were kind enough to speak in English most of the time when we chatted through Skype. To give you a background, I am and will never be sociable. I have had difficulty making friends with anyone because I just don't want to. Because of this, I've had problems with school and my previous jobs. Factor all these things together and put me in a situation where I have to adjust to the nature of work and talk with my co-workers to coordinate with our project via e-mail or Skype, there will be some issues coming my way. Alas

6

I tried searching a local heavy metal forum site for ticket reservations of an Arch Enemy performance in A-Venue next month, when I decided to just search threads about my band instead. Back during my first few years with the group when I made a habit of constantly searching for comments on blog and forum posts on the web about our performances, I stopped all of a sudden because I realized that as a unit, we really do suck, which prompted less-than-stellar reviews from our peers. The negativity is well-grounded and I respect most of the feedbacks, but at the same time, it bore some unintelligent and inane ones that piss all over the constructive criticism. Sure, I'm used to unkind and scathing remarks, but it's difficult to seriously take comments that simply don't make fucking sense. Blame hipsters and bandwagon jumpers who lambast bands and musicians for not being metal enough. Whatever, men. Just enjoy the music for what it is. Well, two years past, and after all the pra

Intermission

Went to the university in hopes of borrowing books I need for my report this coming week. However, my drive was met with utter disappointment that the goddamn traffic prevented me from getting to the library on time. Disappointment then turned into anger after finding out that the traffic was because of the college entrance exam that crammed in all the kiddies aspiring to become a iskolar ng bayan . Well, screw them. The traffic not only made me go back home empty-handed, but also forced me to go a different and longer route. Thanks, kid! Saw I Love You, Man for the second time. The movie that introduced me the nickname Joban and that strange way of slapping the bass is the best of 2009, in my opinion, until I see Up. Was supposed to see The Proposal with girlfriend later that night, but because of some freak accident, it never happened. Instead, we played The Sims and drank some grub at a nearby bar. Drove by to her former house. Currently being renovated without their knowledge. Mus

7

The ISO is such a bitch. The organization that is supposed to standardize work process and make production as orderly as possible actually does the opposite: confuse the process and alienate workers. At least this worker. Organized person, I am not. Our team will create a presentation of the positive feedback and activities each project has received an performed throughout the past few months. Why our team, I don't know. Maybe it's punishment for me being absent this one meeting about, you guessed it, ISO. I'm desperately trying to fit in part-time work in between this fast-paced schedule of mine at the moment. So far, it's going well, unless I find myself coughing my way back to bed with a crazy fever. Overworking is never good to yourself, kids. Finished writing the third letter while riding an FX. Not the most romantic or idyllic of places to write a heartfelt note, but hey, it's the content that counts. And after her reading all the letters, it was somehow worth

8

The plan has been set to motion. Finalized everything with just a click of a mouse button and the plan will take effect a week and a half from now. Despite it all, I'm sure gonna miss a lot of things. In line with this, I treated the guys to a lunch out. Originally, the idea was for everyone to buy their own food. But since they goaded me like hell to treat them, and with all things considered, I spent more than enough to make the talking heads happy. Painful on the pocket, but what the hell. Note to self: I will never, ever ride the MRT on a Wednesday night. Holy shit. After that treacherous travel on my way to girlfriend's house, I realized that I forgot to bring the letter that I was supposed to give her last night. All I brought was the second letter in response to the first one. But since I forgot it, there's no point in having her read the second. Because of that, I am in line for a third letter.

9

There are two things I currently hate doing: writing travel blogs for a part-time gig that was due months ago and forcing myself out of bed early in the morning. The latter I struggle to do on a constant basis. Waking up is an equivalent of having a shriveled corpse rise up from the grave. I'm eating breakfast with my eyes closed and I can't remember a damn thing before I enter the car and get dropped off at the office. Work started out just like any other day at the office: check e-mails and watch out for client mails with scathing remarks, update documentations, coordinate with the new employees and see if they are still in the loop with the project, assist the current workers to continue with their work progress, and repeat. So yeah, it's a cruel cycle that bores even the ascetics to tears. Boss and I had a candid talk about my plan in her fortress a floor below our office. And so it went. After work has been done, I wrote a lengthy piece about July, which for me has bee

10

After that horrible Sunday evening, despair struck twice when I opened my company mail the next morning and read another discouraging message from the client. Great. All I needed was another voice reminding me how much I suck. Kill me now. Speaking of having me murdered, the day at the office won't be complete without the tiresome and retarded banter of my female co-worker. However, instead of her incessant ramblings about the same nonsense everyday, she talked about a real and legitimate problem, i.e. grounded on actual events and not based on speculation and flights of fancy. Well, it's about time, goddammit! If she could stop being annoying, then she might actually become a real person. I talked to the higher ups about my plans. So far, so good. Things are unfolding according to my expectations. The day capped off with a visit to the girlfriend's house and cooked spaghetti using the leftover sauce from last weekend. Despite the scattered rain showers during the afternoon

Attack of the Killer Fil-Ams

Last June marked the first time for more than a decade that my cousins from San Diego came back to tear this country a new asshole. And by ripping the earth a fresh shit crevice, I mean getting ass-drunk and puking brains, hitting on Filipina women, and just "making it rain," as my US Army cousin told me, referring to showering wads of cash to strippers like a confetti parade. In a nutshell, they did things I never have done, and will not do, in my entire life. The drinking, I can tolerate. Hell, I can shoot straight that disgustingly rad mix of vodka, rum, and Sprite on a tall glass as a result from a booze game them Fil-Ams introduce to this islander, no problem. So help me God, I almost crashed, burned, and pirouetted on my own vomit. But that I have been accustomed to self-destruction with alcohol before, so it's an acknowledged mistake that I am always more than happy to commit every time. However, I draw the line with women. I respect the kind of vice my cousins are

Tabula Rasa

Out with the old and in with the new. Let me explain. I was asked by my girlfriend if I was still "damned in blue," as the title of my blog indicated. For years, my entries on Damned consisted of mainly self-deprecating blow-by-blow accounts of what's up, or in this case, down with me, if not for the inconvenient ramblings I post once in a while. I never shied away from the fact that I have led a blog life that thrived on my insecurities and emotional indulgence written in an overly dramatic manner, to which I have a perversely immense pleasure to author. But for all my moronic attempts at second-rate nonfiction, the blog title clearly suggest one thing: that I'm a fucking sad sap. Which is not true. I'm fun at places, tap to my destructive nature most of the way in an inward manner, and dumb enough to shoot vodka through my nose using a straw and smoke cigarettes dabbed with toothpaste to get that "menthol" feeling. Enter The Magical Tumbong, the place

On Familiar Faces

First off, let me do a senseless rave about my new blog skin. It looks friggin' awesome! The blue-lit buildings make for an appropriate backdrop sympathizing with my mediocre writing. I know this is one of those things that doesn't affect lives or something, but as damnation beckons, this is the shit, folks! Last Friday featured the complete TPG (Trailer Park Guys. Don't ask.) on their very first group outing since the summer of 2006 in Zambales. The difference is that we went to a pool resort in Antipolo, which happens to be a far cry from the beaches everybody is frequenting to this time of the year. On the upside, it really didn't matter because we sang, smoked, and swam like there's no tomorrow. I also learned how to do a back flip pool dive, which is the highlight of the whole 12 hours we're on the resort. It's all about conquering your fear and disconnecting yourself from your physical state. It's also strange to think that, back in 2006, almost ev

On...

I'm always dropping emotional turds whenever I start writing from this pathetic page of mine, but screw it. Everybody knows I'm square, so let's leave it at all, shall we? Since taking that damned article writing job I've learned to hate before but have now taken comfort in doing for the unholy purpose of additional income (or lack thereof, but more on that later), I have lost the urgency to write something substantial in my blog. No surprise there. My added skill of producing a 450-word article in 40 minutes on a constant basis (although not anymore, but read on) has greatly compromise by ability to really write. You know, something that has nothing to do with search engine optimization, keyword density, niche sites, and countless other internet marketing jargon that has zero value in actual life. Aside from that, morale in my professional life is currently at its roller coaster stage. Although I experience this feeling of elation with regard to the nature of work in m

On Silent Waters Running Dead

I went under a lot of construction during the past few weeks. During hard times when I have to release the anger vent up inside to somebody or something without looking like a complete douche after, I have to look for avenues where I can channel said emotion into something less destructive. I erased my Facebook account for the time being. The reason? Something’s got to give. I didn’t have the cajones to erase either my Multiply or Myspace accounts because a lot of memories have been invested on them throughout the years. I eat lunch alone. There’s no better company for loneliness than with two sticks of Phillip Morris and a tuna sandwich while sitting on the table outside the dining area without a view. But who am I kidding? Regardless of my feelings, I am always alone during the day. But everything’s okay now. I almost didn’t get to see Wrestlemania 25 until I phoned my friend and asked if I could watch it at his place, since our cable provider does not air the channel that shows the

On Citing Sources

I have been keeping a secret for almost a week now, but now is probably the time to finally reveal it. Just so you know, what I'm about to say wouldn't really be a big deal unless you really care about me (I doubt), but here goes nothing. One of my write-ups was cited as a reference in Wikipedia. Whoopee-fucking-do, right? A couple of years ago, I volunteered to be a staff writer for Daily Vault , an online music album review site. I wrote a piece about At The Gates' Slaughter of the Soul (a damn fine album), and sent it to them in hopes of getting accepted. Luckily for me, they liked the work and took me for the spot as writer with an alias of Benny Balneg . For almost two years, I was able to conjure my inner asshole and lambasted albums that I felt weren't worth shit. However, for every album that royally sucked cock, there were albums that gave me an awesome boner. Hence, I subjected them to praises of the highest order, or something. Even though I have to pretend

On the Prodigal Son

I wrote an entry a year ago devaluing the article writing profession, stating that writing loads of articles over a short period of time is focused mainly on production while disregarding the writer as a self-entity. In this case, a writer being treated like a machine is not the main concern, but rather how the toxicity of his current work contaminates his creative well. I experienced firsthand the inability for expression in which everything that I write feels barren and divorced from life. After years of distancing myself from such work, I will soon find myself again in the company of empty words, 400 per article to be exact. Bulk article writing isn't really that bad after all. The workload is killer, no doubt, but I don't mind doing something -- hell, anything -- to make my day worthwhile, aside from the extra income that comes along with it. Apparently, doing nothing makes everything difficult to resist. --- On a side note, the Oscars wrapped up its festivities by having S

On Philo

At hindsight, philosophy is a dreaded college course not so much as it is a chore to understand the groundbreaking concepts relating to self and the other, but more so of the fact that philosophy is an anomaly -- a useless but nonetheless important pursuit worthy of study. Useless in a sense that it is difficult to apply said concepts in pragmatic situations we face in our daily lives. Important, because no matter how students of the course get a glimpse of how futile everything in the world is, there is still a seed of hope that we cling on to in spite of society's degradation. Philosophy does not produce a wealth of earthly pleasures, i.e. money, business success, and a reassured future. It deals with the realization of man's purpose that we are nothing and our perseverance to strive for become something. I just came from a delicate discussion about poetry in class and it strikes me then how the retarded and pretentious philosophical ideas dealing with the impossibility to di

On Artistry

The inaugural Philippines Writers Festival 2009 was celebrated last week and I was able to attend one of the talks held as Marikina Shoe Expo. It was about how international workshops can affect aspiring Filipino writers with their craft. I was hoping to attend the talk about the emergence of blogging and online publishing as an avenue for writers to achieve validity in their works, but I was nevertheless satisfied with the talk I attended. Listening to the esteemed panelists discuss their passion for arts and seeing the audience consisting of open-minded undergraduates nod in agreement with the insights delivered have reminded me of how much I enjoyed the craft back then. I had a blast reading and writing literature and trying to grasp concepts from primary philosophical texts assigned for class (you gotta hate Kant). Difficult but nonetheless rewarding experience, just as much as it is a treat to do. Looking back at all those things from years past kinda makes you wonder how life mak

On Ennui and Secrets

I finished work within two hours upon my arrival, basically accomplishing the entire project slated for the next two weeks. Not to mention, I'll have to commit extra hours in the office within the week in order to avoid a shed in my pay once the salary kicks in my account. All in all, lovely times are abound (note the tinge of sarcasm here). And so here I am with this quaint blog entry. Boredom can lead you to do conventional things in hopes of confusing them as productivity. Like registering for a Facebook account. Not my cup of tea, but hey, I'm all for hastening my stay in the office. Or so I thought. I just read the Civil War Chronicles, which I have been clamoring to do since last year, and it did provide an ample distraction from the problem of idleness I have in my hands. However, the series reminded me of my shot desire to pursue a comic book collection, leaving me faintly depressed and frustrated. Screw comics. My co-workers and I held a photoshoot for this pilot prese

On What's Up?

Approximately two weeks ago, I spent my weekends with my co-workers and had our first-ever team building in Island Cove, Cavite (formerly Covelandia). Not much of a social person, but knowing that an overnight team building is a rhetoric for an evening's worth of drinking binge after much ballyhoo, I had to go. That and because the event is required. The whole shebang was surprisingly fun; no dull moments whatsoever. It was mostly a physical and highly competitive excursion, as everybody had to participate in the games and run and paddle like mad in the obstacle race and boat relay, respectively. Not to mention, everybody engaged in their activity of choice after sundown by means of sliding down their swimming pool countless of times, playing billiards, karaoke singing, binge drinking, acting like a total retard, or all of the above. San the poking-the-ball-with-a-stick activity, I succeeded in not only doing most of them, but also puking the very essence of my consciousness in the

On 100

After four years, I have finally posted my 100th entry in this blog. Yes. Most people hold a lot of respect for anything that reaches or exceeds up to a hundred, whether it be number of years past, age, or something. It's the longevity that probably gets people wet with adulation and envy at the same time. However, in the realm of blogging, a hundred entries don't mean a lot. Nevertheless, it does mean a lot to me, especially after all these years thinking that this blog won't last very long. As I've said before, the purpose of this blog is to help me get over the acrid taste left by my final years in college. I do not hold any grudges of studying in the university, don't get me wrong, but the interpersonal experiences that I've had, regardless of how few they were, leave a lot less to be desired. It was the time of my first heartbreak, triggering the Sartre in me to sever myself from human contact, leaving me to have lunch, study in the library, and wait for cl

On Wrassling

I just saw The Wrestler (Mickey Rourke) the other day and I felt I had to write something about it. However, let me begin this entry by saying that, being a wrestling fan, I am absolutely moved by the film. The Wrestler is hands down the best wrestling movie ever made. Screw Ready to Rumble and its hackneyed attempt to entertain and put the glamor of wrestling into the big screen because, to put it bluntly, there is nothing glamorous about the sport. It is gritty, bloody, messy, and puts everything on the line, things that were successfully shown in the movie. Looking at the film into a more precise level, The Wrestler is perhaps the most evocative portrait of a person who has dedicated his life in the art of a harrowing sport that is almost akin to a freak show. Not that wrestlers are freaks, but the risks they have to take, trials they have to undergo, and tribulations they have to endure have forced some of them to lead a life similar to Randy "Ram" Robinson -- broken-down

On Resolutions

I love resolutions because they almost always don't happen. We just plan on doing useless stuffs to start the year in order to turn a new leaf, only to lose interest mid-year because, well, we didn't change. We never do. Which is fun. Now it's my turn. Learn how to cook. At the very least, I should be able to prepare a semi-difficult dish, like Valenciana or something. Play the guitar at least an hour a day. I simply lost my chops (not that I had a lot, mind you) because I meddle on menial things. After getting my mojo back, I'll record the riffs I make using Sonar or something so I can put them to use for the band or some other project. Invest on guitar effects in search of the perfect sound. Hopefully resign from my current work. Seriously. Upgrade our car. Change the stereo, have it tinted, change its color, furnish the interior, put some weird shit on it. Anything. Buy a laptop and use it to set up a site with a concept never thought of before. Like bungee jump porn
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