"t'was an act of god"

This is how Norberto Aguro, the captain of the tanker responsible for the oil spill in Guimaras (the worst in Philippine history), explains the incident. What he's saying is, "Don't blame me, blame the Almighty." So he wants God to face investigation?

Somebody coined a word for this dude, and that word is "doofus."

On the issue of his expired license, he says, "So what? I've been captain for 25 years. I've sailed around the world." The logic! John Wayne Gacy had more class.

If I were God, I'd come down my throne, give this moron a good conk on the head, tell him, "You shithead! You fuck up and it's my fault?"

Guy probably had a brain once, but it ran away. The same goes with his employers.

cubao antisocial

Cubao, 11:15am, Saturday.

Why I'm here is a personal mission to score all Elmore Leonard titles I can find in Booksale. There are four Booksale branches in Cubao, so this will not be a problem.

It's easy to be an antisocial in Cubao - all you have to do is look at the people. Here and there are well-perfumed freaks drinking designer coffee, smiling the smile of people who know they are drinking at the right place. Old ladies laugh like it's all they ever do in the world. Guys read foreign magazines to appear brainy. Fashionistas with shopping bags idle around enjoying the feeling of being looked at.

Behind me is a guy my age talking about his favorite brand of moisturizer. I think it's weird, but I remember seeing a poster of Sam Milby the other day endorsing a derma soap. Maybe it's me who's being weird.

Maybe.

In Araneta Coliseum is a poster announcing Westlife is coming to town. Teenage girls look at it and swoon. Some teenage boys look at it and swoon too. Cueshe will perform in Padi's Point, Cindy Kurleto in Klownz. Tonight in Farmers Foodcourt, a no-name made-for-Japan band will take the stage and regale the drunken "jologs" audience with cheesy renditions of Hey Mickey and When the Smoke Is Going Down.

Suicidal Tendencies on my MP3 player: How can I laugh tomorrow when I can't even smile today?

I imagine Gateway Mall in flames.

I imagine National Bookstore crumbling to the ground.

There's a girl infront me of me, saying, You know what your problem is? You're antisocial. I tell her, No I'm not, society's anti-me. Ok, I ripped that off from Grant Morrison. Sue me.

The girl disappears. Of course, she's only in my head.

Terrorist bombings in Araneta Coliseum, Farmers Plaza, Ali Mall. All those beautiful people running around shrieking like wounded faggots.

Cindy Kurleto will have to cancel her show.

I pick my Elmore Leonard books, drink the rest of the beer I bought from 7-Eleven, walk away. In my head, a question: "Why am I such a wanker?"

no smoking

It's as if I'm breathing flames.

Miss your vitamins for two days and your lungs start acting up. So those things actually work, huh?

Lots of people with downed engines these days. I was in Mercury Drug the other day and I thought a revolution was going on. My fiancee's complaining they're missing deadlines because somebody's always absent for work. People appear in the morning looking like botched autopsies. Pediatricians are making a killing (please don't take that literally).

It's the weather, man. Cold mornings giving way to cold nights. What the hell.

bad news

I was in this strange netherworld between sleep and wakefulness when I half-heard Cheryl Cosim on TV talking about three dead mediamen. "What?" my subconscious yelped, making me jump out of bed, thinking, Whoever is going around killing all these mediamen must've done some overtime work during the weekend. But it wasn't what I thought it was.

ABC-5 reporter Hazel Rencheta-Caliwag, together with her cameramen, Ismael Cabugayan and Arnel Guiao, died Sunday afternoon in a road accident. They were on their way to Manila from Albay when their service vehicle collided with a Raymond bus somewhere in Camarines Sur. They'd just finished covering the activities of Mayon Volcano and the mass evacuation in the area and were probably looking forward for some quality time with their families when it happened. It was sad.

I'm not really close with the victims, but I don't need to to feel the loss. After all, I was once in the media where everybody knows everybody. I faced the same damn risks with the rest of them, from dangerous assignments to dangerous persons, to boring presscons and equally boring Congressional hearings, which are life-threatening in their own way. Some mediamen make it, some don't. And for those who don't we are deeply affected, and can only offer sincere condolences. In a way, we are like soldiers. So long, fella. 'Til we meet again. And oh, please don't get yourself killed, so we can have a cool drink or two when the day's over . . .

entrails

I'm reading Chuck Palahniuk's Guts. Good thing this slimy short story is available online, because now I know what the hosannas are all about. (People are shoving Palahniuk in my face, saying I'm the type of guy who would enjoy his sick brand of humor. Whether that's a compliment or not is something I'm still figuring out.)

And so I intend to go deeper into the madness. National Bookstore has given me Php5000 worth of GCs and one of the titles I plan to score from it is Haunted, Palahniuk's latest book and incidentally the one containing Guts. I saw a hardcover copy yesterday at NB-Cubao, but since I hate lugging those hefty motherfuckers around, I asked for the paperback version. The saleslady, who looked like she didn't know Palahniuk from Gary Lising, said they don't have it. I went home with an Umberto Eco instead.

Maybe I'll just settle for Survivor, Palahniuk's 1999 novel. It has better reviews, and it's available in NB-Farmers. Also, suicide cults interest me more than bizarre forms of masturbation. So why not?

a little joke from upstairs?

For the past five Sundays I've been buying The Philippine Star not because I enjoy reading columns by the likes of Bum Tenorio Jr. and Korina Sanchez - or even Max Soliven, for that matter - but because it is the day they publish the weekly winner for National Bookstore's "My Favorite Book" writing contest. Like in Lotto, I'd been checking if I won anything more than another week of hoping.

But for some still unexplained circumstances, the Star my brother bought yesterday lacked one section. And of the nine sections the paper has every Sunday, the one missing was the one that had my (winning) piece on it. Imagine that! So I had to go out and make the Belmonte-Gos richer by buying another copy. (Sure I can always complain and return the paper to the source, but try doing that to a fat, tattooed news guy who looks like he gargles razorblades with gin bulag for fun. You're lucky if he only spits on your face.) Either God has a wicked sense of humor, or He just loves Filipino-Chinese businessmen very much. I was lucky my fiancee's uncle informed us of the good news (and asked for a balato in the process. But he's only kidding, I presume). Otherwise I'd still be spending Sundays reading Celine Lopez and wondering if she has other things in mind aside from being beautiful.

unwell

Sometime during my sleep I wire inside me may have snapped, because today I woke up not feeling well. The back of my neck hurts as if being slapped by an invisible hand, and my eyeballs feel like they are being wrenched violently from the inside. I have to squint and curse to see the world today.

Pop. Medicol. Here's hoping for a miracle.

I blame it on the sudden change in the weather - from too much rain the other day to too much sun yesterday. A little freaky thing the weathermen call a "monsoon lull." But if I were to believe my mother, this has something to do with my diet. All those meat and so little vegetable, she'd say, the song I've been hearing since when I wasn't old enough to gawk at a Pamela Anderson photo.

And speaking of green leafy diet, here's something I got from one of those kick-ass t-shirts they're selling at Blue Grape:

"After eating my vegetables, where shall I put the wheelchairs?"

Somebody said laughter is the best medicine. That somebody is a fool.