(My) Best.. Worst.., Whatever of 2009

I’m not the list-y guy, like Rob in High Fidelity, or even Jack Black’s ‘fave’ guy; I roll on and off, with the punches, like Dicky Fox in Jerry Maguire. So for 2009, I don’t have lists, but memories, of what I can recall or ‘listed’ down.

One good thing is Google Calendar. I used to write my weekly schedule on paper, and then moved over to Excel. Since the file is in the office, when I get home, I forget what’s written, entirely. Since I’m online most of the day, I’ve then used Google Calendar for scheduling things. It’s super. And I get to share the details (If I want to). I can also sync it to BlackBerry; but of course, mine is archaic and I’m not the techie guy either.

I have somebody with me now. Like a deep relationship kind of somebody. Even love is a too broad and misunderstood word (or feeling). We agree on most things (and most would mean about almost everything in human psyche, even those that border parallel realms, dimension, insanity and cute things—like weird laughs). We don’t agree on taste and anything I’m aloof on. What I won’t say would spurn more arguments and angry sentiments.

I still don’t know what my interests are. And I mean f-u-l-l interests. I know what I like, sometimes. But what I would die for, or electrifies my nerves, I don’t. I used to think: cars, art, graphics, words, movement, bodies, dance, music, cinema, and the like. I don’t. Because with my forgetful brain, they escape me all the same. Now I’m not the most forgetful man, but I tend to lose information when I’m nervous, agit, impossible. Imagine I’m at a photo shoot and I keep on forgetting my stuff (batteries, wires, memory cards, poses, lighting, smiles, etc.) I drink to calm myself down.

I’m not exactly a thrifty person too. I can save and not eat lunch. But I pay double on postage and bid excessively when I want something. So part of this year was spent buying things I want and not used that much.

This year would be my decline in music. Imagine the whole day online, with itunes and genius, with a ‘new’ ipod, with last.fm, and more net radios, classical music, I still can’t hear the difference between a Bach and Beethoven (it’s exaggerated). We’ve (band) also started recording, yes, but live playing and influential music coming in—zilch. Although this year, I’ve heard more Jeff Mangun and Kristian Matsson, for personal and romantic reasons.

This is also the year I’ve seriously started to develop my photographic skills, even though it’s still shit. I’ve delve more in the works of contemporary artists, and trying to do more ‘commercial’ skills. Funnily, I can’t seem to pose someone for a ‘nice, commercial, likeable’ portrait of a friend; Artists, they can pose on their own, I don’t have to do anything, just arrange the lights and click. But seriously, looking at my flickr for the past year, I haven’t produced anything substantial (in my sense). I was supposed to submit a portrait portfolio for a workshop, but didn’t push thru because the lack of material.

Actually, that sums up the year. The lack of production—on anything. Two screen-printed shirts! C’mon. *Face Slap!*

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Now gearing up for more pieces of everything this coming decade.

Pakikinig ng Musika ng 'Lucksmiths' sa Wika

Siguro mga halos kalahating araw naka repeat lang sa mga kanta ng Lucksmiths yung mp3 player. Pero panalo talaga ang bandang iyan, lalo na kapag alam mong minamalas ka. Ika nga ng isang kataga, 'when you're out of luck, your out'. Kung totoo man iyan, hindi ko alam. Malamang ako lang nagsabi niyan. Kaya siguro kumukuha ako ng suwerte mula sa mga kanta. Malas sa lagay ng pagtatanong sa limang piso ang 'oo o hindi'. Parang may panig ang tiyempo at palad sa 'hindi', 'huwag'. Hindi mo alam kung ito ba'y babala, maski mamilit ka na 'eto ang gusto ko'. "Kung gusto, maraming paraan, kung ayaw, maraming dahilan", sabi ng guro ko. Pero pag gusto mo, at ayaw ng mundo, ayaw ng tadhana. Papaano iyun?

Kaya sa hirap ng tanong, magpapalipas muna ng oras. Iba ang maupo sa tabi at makinig lang ng makinig, paulit-ulit. Iba ang karamdaman na nagmumula sa awit at karanasan ng iba. Lalo na kung ang kanta ay parang ikaw, parang katapat ng buhay mo. Siguro ganoon naman talaga ang mga kanta, at ang buhay. Sumasalamin lang sa isa't-isa. Nasa paghahanap lang iyan, at walang tigil na pagtugtog.


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Kung sa pagsusulat ng pormal o impormal sa wikang ito'y napakahirap sa akin sapagkat maski ako'y nabubulol habang nagtatayp ng mga salita at kung ano pa. Marahil dahil ang panahon ng pagiging pnoyz ngayon ay ang pagiging 'westernized' at ang matagal na nating problema sa paghahanap ng sarili.

Yung Filipino, ay dahil hindi raw maintindihan ang malalim kong ingles (sabi ng mga ibang nagbabasa, at may nagbabasa pa pala nito).

Isa pang 'note'. Parang diretsong pagsasalin lang mula sa Ingles ang pagsusulat ko, may saysay man o wala.

Disorders

Disorders, Disorders.

I have not yet eaten on time for the past two or three weeks or so. During lunch, I nibble my fingers surfing the web and doing the usual rounds of social networking and the like. There's not much to learn from there but kill time. Kill it like killing yourself--myself.

On mornings, the only taste I get is from my gum protective toothpaste (wow. Happee has gone scientific! and caring). Not that I swallow the residue, but clean teeth and fresh breath just feels awesome. And you do not want to spoil that cleanliness with food, ugggghhhh. I have fought hunger!

I eat skyflakes in the afternoon, getting credit from our officemate's 'sari-sari'.

I take in water most of the day, cup after cup, minute after minute. Hence the almost regular "I've-got-to-go-to-the-bathroom" thing.

At night. Just sleep.

I do wonder how I get by, and how I'm even able to think.


Now what to disorder> hmmmnn..

Timepieces

Round the ant goes in circles, and watches flying trickles

Elevator

The scene could’ve reminded anybody of horror sequences, or of panic and world destruction. I was in an elevator with 4 others. One was a huge baldy guy. One was stocky, like George stocky from Seinfeld. One was a construction worker kind of guy. And the other one was a construction supervisor. We pinned our hopes on him.

Rewind the sequences a little bit and I was just awakened by 6am, on a small single couch. I had slept most of the night while transferring photos from the memory card on to the laptop. Imagine how sleepy I was to get bored by that. I woke up from that transitory sleep, with daylight bouncing off the walls. I blindly got up, and switched off the lights and hurriedly went to the bed to sleep. By 930am, I woke up again, aghast that I was already late for work. Kept a few moans, but still dressed up and fixed my do. What was I thinking before I closed the door and left the condo unit.

From the 27th floor, the lift was going down, picking people up, opening its doors and smiling for it had new things to eat. It was all mirrors. We could see everything from where we were, even that hidden nose picking. I, on the other hand, just kept on looking on the floor display, going down, lower and lower. I could’ve sworn the car fell and stopped around the ‘13th’ floor. That hidden floor in-between buildings. It was the 11th. I stared at that display for 30 minutes. The fall wasn’t like anything in exaggerated cinema; it was like jumping the last two or three steps on the stairs. I couldn’t even react that fast to panic.

Baldy guy uttered something like, “2nd time this week”, and looked at the construction supervisor. It was a Wednesday. Mr. C-S, wasn’t panicking; we should know, he worked here, worked the elevators. It was always him they called when people get stuck in the elevator. But we were with him, inside. He kept pushing the call button and banging the doors.

There was a CCTV camera installed above the doors. Mr. C-S kept waving and no one answered until. ‘George’ was getting a bit impatient and was ranting; “Is the CCTV even working? Is there anybody watching us? There should be a guard down there to monitor.” After all, we were just there, waiting. Like henchmen, eager to go out and rob the world. Waiting for the boss for orders. Waiting to be unleased outside.

I didn’t utter anything or even mouthed words of senseless help and cries of despair. I was looking beyond the people and their reactions. We were stuck and I was claustrophobic. We were five and we had air, lights, and sweat. I was amused at these thoughts. Hey, it was my first time stuck. I could’ve imagined being stuck with Twins, the Hollman’s, the Taylor’s, The Barbi’s, the Jaboom’s... We could’ve partied or sipped tea. We could’ve had sex; I could’ve been worshipped.

I smiled some more, and just then, we heard a knock. Someone from the other side said we were halfway between floors and weren’t able to open the doors. They had to go up the roof deck and restart the whole system. He warned Mr. C-S what would happen. And after a few minutes, there was a blackout, and the elevator conked those weird robotic sounds of heavy lifting once it gained power. The voice from the intercom was telling that everything was ok now. We were going down, back to being grounded.

Hooky

I was downright bored in the office that I was surfing the waves most of the time. In real life, I couldn’t stand on a board. But on the net, waves were calm and there was no pressure. There was one good wave though (with a silent belch of ‘google wave’); I just realized that I had this Captain Hook impression (long wavy hair with an almost quaint laugh, a Briton in the 19th century, a seafarer of Neverland, a restricted right arm, and has a handlebar).


Funny, but that’s just like me. Almost.