Two

Scud turns a year older after 232 posts and 10,000+ page views. I am humbled and blessed.

10 Random Facts

I got tagged by my good friend Sonia to write about 10 random facts about me. Since this is my first time to get tagged, I’m going to give in to doc’s request. There’s another reason too why I'm giving in - I may no longer be able to get free consults over the phone. Haha.

1. I badly want a car of my own. If I had one, it would only take me half an hour to drive from the apartment to the office. At present, it takes me an hour more since I commute daily and FX taxis are almost always full when they pass by my place.

2. I have a demented mind. When I see women fixing their eyes with a pencil, I imagine the fx taxi we’re riding on abruptly stopping and the pencil would get lodged in her eyes. Blood would ooze out and I would just stare at her with a smirk on my face. I also imagine planes I am flying on diving into the sea waters below or breaking into tiny little pieces in mid-air. Parang LOST lang.

3. It’s the middle of April and I have only completed reading two books – Honeymooners: A Cautionary Tale and Flipped. I have been reading Haruki Murakami’s Kafka on the Shore for a couple of months now but I am not even halfway through. I have also started randomly reading ebooks at work whichever tickles my fancy on a particular day – Elizabeth Kostova’s The Historian, Khalil Gibran’s The Prophet, Markus Zusak’s The Book Thief, Eoin Colfer’s Artemis Fowl, Haruki Murakami’s After Dark, Stephen Hawking’s A Brief History of Time – but could only muster reading a few pages before losing interest.

4. I get embarrassed when my family and relatives introduce me as Engr. Scud or when I see my name prefixed with Engr. on the mail. It’s not that I don’t deserve to be called one. I do. It’s just that that hasn’t been my profession for many years now and I’m not obsessed with titles.

5. I own two phones and subscribe to two internet providers. I am satisfied with all of them except for one. It makes me so stark raving mad I make my pillows my punching bag each time it conks out.

6. I sleep an average of 6 hours per day, even on weekends.

7. I am not a big fan of my writing. I wish I could free-write as well as Sonia or Kevin. Or write meaningful posts as well as Atticus or Panaderos. Or be as deep a writer as Prinsesa Musang or Ahmer. Or write short stories as well as Gillboard. Or be as articulate as Raft3r. Or review films as well as Oggs or WCS Minor Circuit.

8. I weighed 98lbs in 2002. I have gained 40lbs since then. I am more hefty but still look as young. Haha.

9. I have spent weekends at the apartment without talking to a single soul or stepping out of the front door to get some polluted air.

10. I am selling my Canon S5IS. Any takers?

Memories of Running

The last time I went on a run I could barely walk for days after. My right foot hurts. A lot. And I pretty much have a high threshold for pain.

Friends told me it was probably the shoes I wore. Our company doctor told me the same thing. I wasn't totally convinced. She didn't even try to examine where the pain was.


So I did what Scud would usually do. I bought new shoes. A Nike pair designed for running.

I used it on a trial run just hours ago. For the first few minutes it felt great on the feet. But minutes after my foot started to hurt. The right foot. My friends were wrong. The doctor was too.

Time to finally put my HMO card to good use and have my foot checked by an orthopedic doctor. Wish me luck!

Uncle

My nephews and nieces call me Uncle, Tito, Ninong, or Dadad.
In the Visayas where I grew up, uncles are called Tiyo (pronounced tee-yo or cho).
Tiyo is reserved for the elder uncles – those born on or before the 60s.

There’s another term which I think is only endemic from where my father grew up.
Uncles are called Ti.
I would have been called Ti Scud if I was born decades earlier.

Ti is actually short for something.
That something is Titi.
Ti Scud now becomes Titi Scud.

Now imagine relatives talking loudly.
Within hearing distance of Tagalog-speaking Pinoys.
Funny? Hilarious? Embarrassing?

Parang makalibog lang ba?

Aim

New Year's resolutions are not my thing. The only resolution I didn’t break was to hear mass every Sunday and each holy day of obligation. That was many years ago. Since then I have not bothered to make one. Until now. For the sake of blogging.

1. Travel more. I have 2 definite plans in the 1st quarter of 2010.
2. Read more books. Exceed my 16 books from last year.
3. Buy more books. I have 240 books in my possession. My aim is to upsize to 300 by year’s end.
4. Watch more movies. Exceed my 140 films from last year.
5. Buy at least 12, one for each month, original DVDs of my all-time favorite movies.
6. Watch at least one live concert and stage musical.
7. Get myself an insurance policy.
8. To not mishit a tennis ball most of the time.
9. Be sweet. I do not have a single sweet bone. My female friends have reprimanded me for not having one.
10. Save. This is most unlikely to happen. See 1-8.

The Year That Was

Here are the events that defined my 2009.

1. getting dumped
2. travelling to ilocos norte, bicol, cebu, corregidor, and pinatubo
3. getting hooked to EFA - my 13" macbook pro
4. vacationing thrice at my hometown
5. my blog hitting 10000 visits a week before the previous year ended
6. sporting a new hairstyle
7. receiving four salary upgrades in the midst of a financial crisis
8. watching all cinemalaya entries in competition except for one
9. helping out ondoy victims
10. celebrating my lola's 94th birthday

HAPPY NEW YEAR, EVERYONE!

Decade

2009 is not the end of the decade. 2010 is. Same as 1999 was not the end of the century. 2000 was.

It's just simple math really. If a year is said to be the end of a century, say 1999, you only have to divide the year by 100 and the quotient should be a whole number. You don't get that in 1999, you get that in 2000.

It's like buying a 10 kg of rice. You don't pay for a 10kg of rice which tips 9kg in the weighing scale. Lugi ka kung ganun.

That is why I don't understand (and pisses me off) why some people and online publications are churning out their 10 best of this and that. Unless the title says 'Best of the 2000s', that is just unforgivable.

Wishlist

I wish for the following this Christmas:

- a baseball cap
- Andre Agassi's autobiography
- tickets to Ne-yo's January concert
- Nike running shoes
- a Nikon D90 (the D5000 model will do)
- an all expenses paid to next year's Australian Open
- a fully-paid, fully-furnished condominium
- Sampras' serve, Agassi's return, Federer's forehand, Safin's backhand
- Eclipse and Breaking Dawn failing miserably at the box office
- GMA, the Ampatuans, and their ilk abducted by aliens

Unbelievable

After the honor brought by Pacquiao and Penaflorida to Filipinos, GMA and the Ampatuans cut the happiness short with their brazen and bastardly acts.

Inexplicable.
Mind-numbing.
Immoral.

Massacre death toll reaches 64. A total of 64 cadavers have been retrieved since Monday’s mass murder, which was allegedly carried out by a group headed by Datu Unsay Mayor Andal Ampatuan Jr., a ranking police officer said yesterday.

GMA keep friendship with Ampatuan family. “But it doesn’t mean that we are no longer friends with them if they are guilty. I think that should be treated separately,” Fajardo said. “The function of the President as head of state (is) that the law should apply to everyone whether they are friends, allies or relatives.”

Arroyo to run for Congress. “Gaya ng alam ninyo, hinihilingan ako ng mga mamamayan ng aking tahanang distrito sa Pampanga na manatili sa buhay-publiko (As you all know, I have been asked by the citizens of my home district in Pampanga to stay on in public life), so after much soul-searching, I have decided to respond affirmatively to their call,” she said.

Priest likens Arroyo's descent to Jesus Christ. “Do not believe you are diminishing the power of the [Office of the] President. Ating metung a taung migbaba ba yang sumuyo—I Kristo (There was a person who came down to serve us—Jesus Christ),” Moraleja said in a homily.

The Hangover

4 san mig lights.
4 tequila shots.
1 black russian.
1 blow job.

I drank all these last night and it is making my world spin, my head throbbing in all places, and bile threatening to spew out any minute. I feel like I had died and gone straight to hell.

This is not the best way to jumpstart a long weekend. I guess this is what I get when I chose alcohol over Mulder and Scully.

*****

I wrote this on a Saturday morning in the middle of a terrible hangover, willing myself to stay awake for a few more minutes so I could gulp down a 500mg mefenamic acid and a pint of water as prescribed by Sonia. Doc, a million thanks. I managed to drag myself a few hours later to toy-shop and hit tennis balls.

After the Point of No Return

The year is 2008. The Olympics in Beijing is in full swing. It has been the topic for days in your household and in your workplace. You were enthralled over the possibility of Michael Phelps beating the record of Mark Spitz.

The year is 2008. It is morning and you just had sex. You lay spent on the bed. A few minutes later you grab the remote and turn on the television. The Olympics is being shown. Suddenly the person beside you asks why the Olympics is being shown on TV.

Your face registers a bewildered look. Just the night before both of you had watched the swimming competition. You ask more questions. The blood drains from your face. Your partner does not remember anything except your name.

What triggered the amnesia? Was the sex that great? Or was the sex that forgettable? Find out here.

Boys Night Out

I and 7 teammates from my previous work have this thing on Wednesdays. We would hie off somewhere in the metro after work. Have dinner. Drink a few beers. Talk about the most mundane of topics to the more serious ones. Sometimes we would cap the night over coffee at Starbucks.

If I was from outside looking in we would look like college boys celebrating the end of final exams. Boisterous. Loud. Carefree. Except that we would be on business attires. And harassed after spending a day racking our brains. Or, in my case, keeping my sanity intact while having nothing to do at work.

Age knows no barriers in the group. The youngest is in their early 20s, the eldest in the early 30s. The night would always be fun but leaves a minor dent on the pocket.

THAT poses a problem for me. I'm almost broke and plan to save more after purchasing Efa. And spending hundreds of pesos every week on alcohol is not helping.

I'm at a bind. Should I go on AWOL for a while? Or should I not? W

We'll see in 11 hours...

Checkmate

I never learned how to play chess. I used to observe family friends play chess during the summer as a kid. I found it boring. I attempted to learn the chess moves but it didn't register on my brain. I was more interested in other things then.

I did learn how to play dama. When I and my brother play a game it would almost always end up in a fight since I would make up my own rules as the game went on to make me win.

Other board games that I remember playing were Millionaire's Game, Pictionary, Scrabble, Snakes and Ladders, Games of the Generals. It was always fun although I had to restrain myself from throwing a fit when I was losing. I am a very competitive person and I always want to win.

We didn't own any of those board games. Except maybe for Snakes and Ladders. A gift I received from a classmate on my 12th birthday.

I started toying with the idea of collecting those board games. I know I won't be able to use them as often as I would want to but it would be nice to own them as a collection.

So off I went to a toy store. I thought these games costs only a few hundred bucks. I was sorely mistaken. Monopoly costs more than 2k. Pictionary for 1.2k. Scrabble for 900. Expensive.

I ended up not buying one. I still plan to collect those board games. Not now. I'm saving up for a new baby.

Have a great week everyone!

Banter

I was watching episodes of The West Wing and the banter between the characters played by Bradley Whitford and Mary Louise Parker left me grinning.

The banter was smart and witty and sexy. It was like both characters were fucking with each other's minds. If they were doing the deed it would have been a really good foreplay.

I had a sudden realization, while watching the two flirt, that ever since the break-up I have not done flirting of any kind.

I miss flirting. I miss locking with someone else's eyes while playing around with words. I miss the throwback lines aimed at me leaving me grasping for words to shoot back which would make me sound cool but not look like a moron, a jackass, and a chauvinist pig.

I remember a friend telling me, which I believe I may have mentioned in a previous entry, that I am an incorrigible flirt.

Now, I think I may have lost my mojo.

Where could it have gone?

Notice: Sidebar

Since there is not much work in the office for the past few weeks I have been gobbling up articles/columns in cyberspace liked a famished man who has just regained his sight.

I have read bad articles. Good ones. Great ones.

I have decided, since I don’t have the luxury of time to discuss each article as a blog entry, to post these favorites on my blog’s sidebar. Here’s wishing you take time to click on those Favorite Articles.

Air Sex

Have you ever played an imaginary musical instrument in hand? Say strumming a guitar or beating the drums or pressing the piano keys while you play music in your head? Apparently a term exists for these kinds of instruments. Air guitar. Air drums. Air piano.

Now, the Japanese has innovated a game out of this back in 2006. They call this air sex. Yes, you did not misread it the first time. It is air sex.

The premise is that men would perform imaginary sexual acts with a partner on stage. Doing the missionary or girl on top positions is easy but what about the more complicated and acrobatic acts? Freaking hilarious.

I wonder if the criteria take into consideration the sounds emitted and the facial contortion needed for the act.

Hmmm...

Have a great week everyone!

Torpedo

The girl was tall. Tanned. Thin. Exactly his type.

The boy remembers when he first laid eyes on the girl. It was a weekend. There was a knock on the door. He opened it and there she was.

She wants to buy ice. He says they don't sell ice. She points to a cardboard that says ICE FOR SALE. He laughs and tells her the sign was left behind by the previous tenant.

The girl leaves. He removes the sign and watches her, at the corner of his eye, walk the pathway to the apartment next door.

The year was 2000. He was a college senior barely out of his teens. She was a college freshman barely out of high school.

He still remembers distinctly the place where she stayed. It was a little elevated. The roof was colored red and so was the floor. The curtains green. The walls unpainted. There was a small porch. A small table sat in the corner.

Mid-afternoon he would notice the girl pass by eating a stick of banana cue. He learns later that the girl's classes end around that time. His classes, on the other hand, start at that time until late in the evening.

For a whole semester that would be the pattern. The guy wakes up in the morning and eats breakfast. He sees the girl pass by on her way to school. He studies. Formulas. Numbers. Circuits.

In the afternoon the guy leaves for school. The girl arrives TCWAG in hand.

They pass each other. Their eyes meet. Not a word is spoken.

*****

A semester later the guy and the girl's class begin at the same time.

School was only a 10-minute walk from their apartments. A few times the boy and the girl would walk to school at the same time but never together.

There was, again, eye contact. A demure smile from the girl. A lopsided smile from the guy.

The girl would always walk ahead. The guy a few steps behind. He wants to quicken his pace and walk and talk with the girl. But he doesn't.

He went to visit her once albeit a short one. Both were too shy. Introverts both.

Nothing came out of the visit. He didn't ask her out. Nor asked if she wants to walk to school together.

He still remembers the time he brought pasalubong for the girl from his hometown. He waited for the perfect timing (or muster the strength) to hand over the pasalubong but couldn't find one.

The pasalubong ended in the trash.

*****

She was his crush and everyone knew it. The girl's housemates would knowingly smile when they pass by the guy. The guy would avert his eyes and bow his head. Embarrassed.

His housemates would tease him incessantly. Bagay daw sila. He would turn red but chose to keep mum.

One time the guy was alone in the apartment. He was bent on making the LCD circuit project work. He heard shrieking and giggling next door. He peeped through the window and saw food. Cake. Pasta. Barbecue. Roast chicken. Softdrinks. An afternoon party.

One of the girls steps out of the porch signaling him to come over.

He freezes. Should he? He looks at himself. He was filthy. He has not taken his bath yet. Has not even changed out of his clothes that he slept in the previous night.

He shakes his head and raises the circuit board he was working on indicating that he was busy.

His roommates reprimand him later that night. It was the girl's birthday.

*****

Soon after the guy graduates and moves elsewhere. Even miles away he continues to ask for news from his housemates. He even got her mobile number.

They exchange text messages but not often. Then the messages stop. The girl got herself a boyfriend his roommate tells him.

He moves on. He gets involved in serious relationships. He goes out on dates. One-night stands. Flings. Single. Married. Separated. Older. Younger.

He plays the field and breaks girls' hearts.

But why is it, a decade since, he still remembers her? Her walk? Her damp hair in the morning? Her hair tied in a ponytail in the afternoon? Her hometown? Her name?

Note: This is a work of fiction. Almost.

A Brief History of Scud

I have a unique name. Part of it anyway. It is so unique that I almost always would need to spell it when I am introduced to someone. The person who I am introduced to, usually women, would ask how my name came about. I shrug my shoulders. Ask my ninang who has been MIA for more than 2 decades.

One common mistake when spelling my name is placing a single letter between the 3rd and 4th letter which does not make it more interesting but more jologs. I tell you. It is not amusing. Especially when I'm in a foul mood.

I also tell a white lie when strangers/baristas/salespersons would ask for my name. I blurt out the second syllable, never the first. That is how protective I am of my given name.

*****

In the era of the digital age, from MIRC to blogging, I started using the nick Scud. That was the name sports journalists coined for Mark Philippoussis. I am not a fan of the Aussie tennis player. I thought then that the name was cool. Little did I know that Scud has a couple of other meanings too.

According to wikipedia, Scud is a series of tactical ballistic missiles developed by the Soviet Union during the Cold War and exported widely to other countries. The term comes from the NATO reporting name SS-1 Scud which was attached to the missile by Western intelligence agencies. The Russian names for the missile are the R-11 (the first version), R-17 and R-300 Elbrus (later developments). The name Scud has been widely used to refer to these missiles and the wide variety of derivative variants developed in other countries based on the Soviet design.

The second was shared by my good friend woogie. I am posting verbatim the first couple of paragraphs from the wiki site.

Scud: The Disposable Assassin (published from 1994 to 1998, and 2008) is a humorous, hyperkinetic science fiction comic by Rob Schrab about a world in which one can buy weapons out of vending machines, the most popular of which are intelligent robots that kill a specified target and then self-destruct.

The protagonist of the series is Scud, an average Heart Breaker Series 1373 model assassin. On his first mission, he is sent to kill Jeff, a rampaging female mutant with mousetraps for hands, an electrical plug for a head, and a squid for a belt.

Hmmm... My subconscious could be telling something when I first thought of using the name Scud. Perhaps I really am a war freak? A warmonger from a past life? A troublemaker?

One

One is my 118th post.

When you take the sum of these three digits the answer would be 10.

Adding 1 and 0 gives us 1.

1 means the age of my blog.

Yes, my blog is now a year old.

Today!

Wohooo!

And how do I celebrate?

By resigning from my job effective in 30 days.

Yey!

*****

Blogging has been a great therapy for the past year. If you've read my posts from Day 1 you would have witnessed my rants, my fears, my heartbreaks, my crappy movie reviews, my travels, my random thoughts.

Thanks to those who regularly visit my blog although I know my writing needs a major overhaul. I'm singling out from the top of my head Raft3r, Gillboard, Andy, Atticus, Panaderos, Gasoline Dude, Ely, Skron, Duke.

Thanks to Len for visiting although it sucks that I can't return the favor. Maybe you could share your multiply site?

Thanks to my fellow bloggers Sonya and Dong who I personally from many, many years ago. Please keep my identity a secret. I'll hunt you guys down when you spill the beans.

Thanks also to Woogie, KG, and CC for finally dropping by my blog after my incessant and shameless plugging. Please keep my identity a secret. If you don't I also would hunt you down - even if it would take me to another continent. Haha. You know I'm kidding right? The hunting down?

*****

I am not going to let this day pass without posting my flag counter results. Modest numbers, I know, but still. Not bad for someone who was never popular or never confident about his writing.

Facebook

There was Friendster. MySpace. Multiply. And other social networking sites that have since got buried alive after Facebook came into the picture.

I first heard of Facebook sometime last year when my friend S requested me to create one. So I did. I immediately forgot about it. I thought then that Friendster and Multiply were better sites to upload photos and get in touch with friends and family from all over the globe.

Then in January someone nagged me to update my Facebook. So I did. I have never stopped since. I am addicted actually. Proof?

Well, logging in to Facebook is the first thing I do when I wake up in the morning and when I arrive home after work. I stalk the site till the early hours of the morning including weekdays. I updated my status. I take their stupid quizzes. I use the different apps. Heck, I even had a memorable date playing Scrambler against my SO. I always lose. And I didn't do that intentionally. Dang!

Since the site has since been blocked by the network admin at work and I don't feel comfortable without going online in Facebook I use a proxy site even though I know I would surely get reprimanded when I get caught. I minimize the FB window to a 4x4 or 5x5 size to minimize the possibility of getting caught. Pathetic.

I also use the site's chat application to converse with friends on real time. I use it to stalk people I know who are offline in YM/AIM but are online in Facebook. They can't hide from Scud. I do that for a living.

So there it is. I am officially a Facebook addict. Are you?