he said breast

As I type this, I’m downloading Atrocity’s Hallucinations. The little rectangular box at the bottom of the screen says only 2% of the album have so far been downloaded. It’s still a long trek, so I might as well write something.

Let me start by saying that I’m such music geek these days. The urge to download one album after the other is as strong as the urge to urinate on Andal Ampatuan Jr’s face. Perhaps it comes with the season. December, after all, is not a month for the clinically depressed. Next to cardiologists and corrupt journalists, shrinks earn insane (pun intended) amounts of money during the holidays.

Paying strangers to tell you you’re either depressed or cuckoo. No wonder the world is mad.

English playwright William Congreve once said, music has charms to soothe a savage breast. Obviously he’s not talking about Slayer, who wants you to go out there and shoot someone. Or Black Label Society, who wants you to drink, fuck, and start a barroom brawl like a true “berzerker.”

35%. So far, so good.

Indeed: Slayer, BLS . . . these are just some of the “music” that have been “soothing” my “savage breast” these days. Chip in some classic Motorhead, Atheist, Ozzy, and some relatively new ones from Avenged Sevenfold, the Black Stone Cherry and W.A.S.P., and I think I’ll be freaking out Santa again this season. 

It has always been my trick to load up my MP3 player and just let the sound carry my thoughts wherever I go. I find this useful every time I’m in an FX taxi sharing a long ride with dorks yakking about last night’s PBB episode. Useful too to drown the brainless cackle of FM deejays emanating from the vehicle’s radio.

57%. Nice.

Of course, a good pair of earphones is a must. None of those cheap colorful Chinese-made junks you can score in sidewalks from the same scarfed scowling vendor who also sells brick games, no-name batteries, and suyod. Those items diminish the quality of music. You might as well listen to a talentless high school garage band trying to do justice to a Dream Theater masterpiece . . . and failing miserably.

Personally, I prefer earphones with XBass capability. It’s louder, the sound more intact, and at the right volume I can feel my brain bouncing off the walls of my skull. This is exactly the reason why I abhor soundtripping on a computer, with its crummy built-in speakers and all. Frankly, I can’t see how music can be enjoyed that way. Even if I’m listening to something like “Sound of Silence” or “Enjoy the Silence,” I always prefer it loud.

When it comes to earphones, I highly recommend the Maxwell brand. They’re slick, loud, durable, and priced less than Php400. Throw me a bone if you’ve a better suggestion; Maxwell isn’t paying me shit for the plug, anyway.

87%. Can’t wait to listen to “When the Fire Burns Over the Sea” and “Blue Blood.”

Not all I downloaded were under the heavy metal genre. For variety I threw in some alternative/grunge shit too, like albums from Hum, Hole, Soundgarden, and Dishwalla. I’ve to move out of the box from time to time. I draw the line with hiphop and RnB, though. Techno, too, doesn’t yank my crank. But a little bit of pop every now and then doesn’t hurt.

100%. Happy holidays, freaks.

wtf!

Judging from this survey, this nation is poised to elect a dummy kid president next year.

To use the late Philippine Star publisher Max Soliven’s word: Sanamagan!

gunpowder

These days I can’t help but feel like Frank Black, the tragic, glum-faced hero in Chris Carter’s classic TV series Millennium.

In the series, Frank is a retired FBI profiler obsessed with protecting his daughter Jordan from the  world’s evils. In his mission to rid the planet of serial killers and mass murderers, he was swayed into joining The Millennium Group, a secret society of criminal investigators allied with the FBI, only to find out later that the group has been corrupted by the very evil it is fighting.

It is a depressing series, and it got canceled after three seasons — proof positive that even serial killer-obsessed America has only a certain level of tolerance for the deeply morbid and the utterly bleak.

If there’s one thing I learned about that program, it’s that the fight against evil is almost always a lost cause.

I remember a friend who justified his being a gun freak to me in 2001 by noting the number of nuts out there who can kill me or my loved ones just because they can and can get away with it, or at most get a mere slap-on-the-wrist courtesy of our inept justice system. His talk left me dumbstruck. If only I had a credit card back then, I would’ve gone straight to Hahn in Ali Mall for a Remington M597 after that conversation.

Why not? It’s better to go down fighting, as they say in war.

Every time I look at my family, I am gripped with the disturbing conclusion that we are indeed at the mercy of the Jason Ivlers and Andal Ampatuans of this world. That unarmed, we are nothing but clueless little mice in the same cage with the snake just waiting to be swallowed. Preys waiting for the predator.

Fight fire with fire. Something must be done to level the playing field.

I’ve a credit card now, and Cubao is just a ride away from where I live and work, and my head is full of gunpowder as I try to come to terms with the vicious reality outside growing more vicious with every passing day.

madness

“Man is the cruelest animal.” – Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche

Rido (clan war) in itself is a senseless thing that has no place in the modern world. What makes it more barbaric and insane is when it victimizes those who do not even belong to either party, like what happened in Maguindanao last Monday. It is repulsive, to say the least. The handiwork of bottom-feeding degenerates who are no better than those filthy savages hacking each other with machetes in those godless African jungles.

It’s sad that this happened while the country is riding the crest of a high and beautiful wave brought by the international success of Manny Pacquiao and Efren Peñaflorida Jr…

kiss the girl

On one hand you wonder what they’ll not do to get the public’s attention; on the other you’re thankful they’re not posing themselves as friends of the environment and bringing kasoy seedlings to media events. A vice presidential aspirant did that last week, and I nearly lost my lunch.

Meanwhile, five young dingbats from Long Beach, California, were arrested for groping.

So much for Sunday evening weirdness.

gibo

Come May 10 next year, I’ll be casting my vote on Gilberto “Gibo” Teodoro Jr.

Why not? Noynoy Aquino is a pansy, Villar an animated dummy, and Estrada a convicted plunderer who should be fearing for his ass in jail up to now.

The others are equally no good: Nicky Perlas is from another galaxy, Ebdane probably high on asphalt fumes, and Escudero can not walk his talk and, from the looks of it, is about to burn in his own light.

It’s not really a hard choice to make, on my part. I look at Gibo and see the class and smarts of a good leader. All one has to do is watch his interviews and ignore what the goddamn surveys are saying.

But unless Noynoy or Villar drops dead before Election Day, or admits he’s heavily into child porn or a chronic bed-wetter, it’s going to be their showdown next year. Four elections are enough for me to know the pulse of the electorate.

So again I might live the next six years of my life under a president that I didn’t vote and thus do not respect. But at least I can say with a straight face that, when the circus is finally over, I voted from my heart and avoided being a sellout.

Now, let me brood over Edu Manzano’s candidacy.

pride

It is always a source of high when total strangers give good words about Raven. It started sometime last month when, while attending the baptismal of a friend’s son, a geek with an SLR whom I haven’t seen before suddenly sprung from nowhere to snap photos of our little bird.

“Jesus Christ!” I yelled. “Better put a lease on that one.” Then I plunged into this loud, paranoid spiel on window-shopping kidnappers and scums who are out to get me and my family just because I sport long hair and refuse to play their insipid games. It was only through the intervention of my wife Charmaine that I realized what was going on. Fear and alarm transmogrified into pride and joy. Raven has just won her first fan.

I remember this because something like it happened several times over the weekend: Friday night in Gateway Mall where we had dinner with my father, and Saturday afternoon in Starmall while running an errand. Total strangers would look at our Raven, smile and say, “Ang cute!” or “Ang chubby!” (At four months, Raven looks bigger for her age, many say). Some would say it openly to us, others to their companion. Whatever the case was, those were rare moments that we’re glad people didn’t keep their words to themselves.

god updates

Hanging out with Marben Romero of Badburn last night at Ten02 Bar, I got the following info:

* The Lamb of God gig in next year’s Pulp SummerSlam – to be called Slam of God, how cool is that? – is already a done deal. The necessary papers had been signed, the proper arrangements made. All the band has to do is come here and blow our brains out;

* Talks are still ongoing with the Testament camp, but things are looking positive;

* Trivium will perform early 2010, probably in February, if things pan out according to plan;

* Four of the five Archenemy members are vegans. In the meet-and-greet after the band’s  Oct. 20 concert at WTC, only bassist Sharlee D’Angelo, the sole meat-eater in the group, showed up. So much for paying P2,000 to see Angela Gossow’s ass up close;

* Slayer was supposed to co-headline with Archenemy, but the Swedes, for some reason, wanted all the attention; and

* Shadows Fall enjoyed a week in Boracay early this year screwing whores (and, if I am to believe Marben, a female employee of a local magazine).

smells like team spirit

The last two days in less than 50 words:

“I excuse myself I’m used to my little cell
I amuse myself in my very own private hell” *

Day one of office team building gig at Tarawoods in Tanauan, Batangas: Drunk from a lethal combination of gin-beer and wiggy from no sleep or at least not enough. With friends at first: laughing, swapping stories, bonding. Then alone staring at the night sky, enjoying the sound of crickets and little wings and other things unseen.

Upchucking your dinner and finding yourself locked out of the guesthouse in the bitter late-night cold is never fun, but I’ll chalk it down as an “experience.”

Day two: From Tarawoods straight to the waiting office. Floaty head, watery eyes and a bellyful of Extra Joss to keep the Sandman at bay. A pile of stories to edit and upload and a bite-sized Toblerone for dinner (better let sleeping ulcers lie). CCR’s  “Have You Ever Seen the Rain?” playing on and on on Youtube.

Ominous droplets of something dark in my hankie every time I cough.

Maybe there is such a thing as clean, sober fun. But I’m not acquainted with it.

(Photo courtesy of TJ Dimacali)

* from Alice in Chains’ “Private Hell”

walking proud

The P500 gift certificate that came as a freebie in the Archenemy gig last October 20 made this kick-ass Draven shoes affordable for my severely malnourished wallet. (Considering that the other freebie was the band’s Wages of Sin album, that event was surely a winner.)

I’m not really big into shoes – leave that to those dudes who’d buy anything endorsed by an NBA star – but allow me to make an exception. To point: These motherfuckers are the second “branded” shoes I bought with my own money, the first one being a grossly discounted pair of leather, heavy-heeled Skechers boots I scored in December 2006, a week before I got married.

Draven is not up there with Adidas or Puma, but I consider them “branded” nevertheless since it is endorsed by Fear Factory, Slipknot, and Green Day.  And the price: You can buy cases of beer and decent pulutan with it. No-name shoes aren’t priced that much.

The pair I bought is a Duane Peters edition that boasts of suede, canvas, and rubber toe caps. Been trying it for days now, on muddied and rain-slicked streets, and am satisfied so far.

And since I’m not a Commie, I lust and drool and pant for things money can buy. For the holidays, what I really want – though will not get, as is always the case – is this:

And also this:

Why not? Anything to kill the blues that comes with the cold Christmas weather.