At The End of the Day

You know what I hate? People who shove their lifestyles down everyone's throats. Everywhere I turn there's always somebody who promoting their way of life, whether it's for religion, health or wellness, business, or whatever it is that they think is the proper way to live.

A week or so ago, I met these people who kept urging me to join their church. They weren't even subtle about it. They talked about how I could turn my life around and all that shit. Months ago, I was also approached by some guy and talked about his training program and shit like that, emphasizing how good he felt and stuff.

Now, I don't care about the choices people make, especially since most of those choices don't directly affect me, but for the love of all that's sane, do I really have to hear about it? No, I do not care about the type of diet you have. No, I do not wish to know how you've been saved by the Holy Ghost. No, I do not wish to know how you've applied some management philosophy you've read in passing to improve your performance for your dead end job. No. You can post that shit online but, unless I ask, do not come up to me and try to get me to join your "revolution". That's what Facebook is for.

I don't recruit people into reading comics, watching wrestling, playing video games and basically eating like a nine year old. This is how I roll, and I respect how you roll. Let's keep it at that. Rant over.

Long Overdue Night Out.

I've been bugging the guys to go out for a long time now. With the amount of stress I go through, I thought hitting the bars a little more regularly would be good for me. Plus, for some reason the boys don't really go out much, contributing to some of their lamer tendencies. Finally, the BIg Man and his wife, along with the surprising presence of the Tapa King (he was not supposed to be there, especially since he's been getting under everyone's nerves as of late) and we went to this unsuspecting bar by the highway. It was a good time, of course. There was singing, lots of drinking, a dude who got in a fight with his wife in the middle of the highway (not the Big Couple) and more of us subtly insulting the Tapa King's intelligence.

That was indeed a great night out, and I think we've found the bar that suits all of our needs. I'm a fan of the bad food and cold booze and loud music that all bars have to offer, and, as it turns out, the waitresses also function as GROs, giving the rest of the guys a reason to drink there.

See? Middle ground isn't that hard to find sometimes.

Crash.

Someone close to the Big Man and I got in an unfortunate accident wherein, while riding her motorcycle, drunk as drunk can be, she crashed and nearly had her face torn off and stuff. (The details are vague, and I really didn't want to find out more.)

We visited her in the ER of PGH, a hospital me and the guys have had some history with, and the whole thing just really bothered me. There was of course the incredible amount of misery in the air that's common in ERs and more so in that particular hospital. There's also the thought that the accident could have happened to any one of us. Seeing her all banged up, at the risk of sounding selfish, made me think about all those times me and the guys would travel completely shitfaced and out of it. I think of how the Critic usually eggs the BIg Man to drive insanely fast for no apparent reason, and when the Gadgeteer and I nearly fell off the road from the mountains in Tagaytay. I kept thinking about what would have happened if, in any one of those circumstances, things went wrong. Where would we be today?

Another predominant thought that came to my mind is that the girl was younger than us. We've been in a bunch of situations wherein people younger than us not just go through similar accidents but also died. There's Love's kid, and there's Kevin, from my Dungeons and Dragons party to name a couple. It's just weird that while we, a group of old fucking idiots, remain relatively unscathed.

And of course, there's the compassion I feel for the girl in question. A sewed up face, most teeth missing, who knows what kinds of internal injuries she got and of course the trauma from the entire experience, it goes without saying that she's facing a tough several months. Even years. And this girl, while not being a saint, has always been good to me. I don't know how she is with others, but she's been cool to me ever since we met back in the early 2000s. She always made me feel important, which is something I think she has a knack for doing. (I remember that old dude that she was totally putting over a year ago or so.) Not being able to help her feel sucky.

The Audition Video.

The day after the hospital visit, I shot my audition video for the Hong Kong competition, the deadline for which was just three days away. The finished product of the video was something that felt less sucky, in my opinion.

A Client Meeting, An Anniversary, and a Reunion.

Wednesday came, and as I've gotten used to by now, Wednesday is the day I go and pretend to know what makes the masses laugh in the weekly creative meeting for the TV show I am helping to destroy. Of course, just as I've gotten accustomed to the way things are, the Network threw me a curveball and included me in a client meeting in the morning. So there I was, at 9 in the fucking morning, with less then four hours of sleep from my previous unproductive night at the Think Tank (essays are scarce), trying my best to impress the corporate bigwigs of this new coffee product that's out in the market by talking as little as possible. (I've learned that the best way to deal with "important" people is to shut the hell up as much as possible while the grown ups are talking.)

After that awkward experience (I don't really know even today if I'm supposed to feel honored that they chose me for the meeting or cranky because I think they tapped me cause everyone else was busy.), it was off to the network for the actual creative meeting. The show is about to put out a 17th anniversary episode, and of course, we newbies got chewed out. Don't get me wrong, I'm still happy to be writing for the show. It's just that with every meeting, I remember more and more why I left the biz several years ago. Fuck it. At least I still get to listen in on Pete's genius once a week.

Once the meeting was over, I was obviously tired, but I had hours to kill before I could show up at the full time job, so I decided to follow up on my contingency plan if Hong Kong doesn't follow through. So, I met up with my long lost "nephew" in Makati. We talked over a couple of drinks and the prospect of working on this project of ours really excited me. He even threw me a few good ideas, and yeah, I'm pumped to get the Coffeehouse up and running.

All in all, I think I'm doing something right career-wise. It's going to be a while before I completely enjoy it though. While I'm not a hundred percent happy about what I do a hundred percent of the time,I always feel fulfilled, and at the end of the day, that's a hundred percent good enough. For now, at least.

Rejected.

Friday night, I went to my full time job, waiting for midnight when the line up for the Hong Kong competition, the single thing I've been looking forward to all year (despite the recent hesitation), was going to be announced. The clock struck midnight, I checked my email and boom. I didn't make the cut. With countless of applications from countries like the US, UK, Japan and others, I was not part of the 30 selected. I was stunned. Not surprised, but stunned.

Regardless of my newly formed reservations about joining, I still sent an application. When I got rejected, I felt things that I needed a couple of days to process, simply because I didn't know exactly how bad I felt and why.

Mourning Period.

I had more than a few drinks with the Big Man over the course of the weekend after my rejection. I figured it out. When I got rejected, I literally felt all the air get sucked out of me. It was because I felt less whole than I usually am. See, last year, I was happy to be picked for the contest simply because of what it symbolized. Getting selected meant that I was among the best in the world at what I did, and that's something that no one could take away from me and that very few people can claim. The knowledge that I could hang with all these talented people made me feel genuinely proud. It was something that was mine. When I got rejected, a lot of the confidence I had that stemmed from being a part of the competition somehow vanished.

I began to doubt. Even with all my contingency plans, my projects if ever I decide to not go to Hong Kong anyway, felt pointless. After all, I was having doubts about my desire to join the competition, but what I didn't need was doubts towards having the ability to claim my part in the competition. If I were to decide to not join, it was supposed to be because of my choice, not because I wasn't good enough.

The Big Man, as we were drinking on a Monday afternoon (a session that extended into the early hours of Tuesday morning) was uncharacteristically supportive. It's not to say that we're not supportive of each other, we just don't compliment each other verbally. I never really figured out why, but we were never like that. We make objective observations that sometimes come off as compliments, like "you're good at this…" or "this is your strong point…" and shit like that.

He even tried to comfort me as I was saying my piece about not being among the 30 best competitors by saying something like "Maybe you're the 31st. That's why you didn't get in." That statement of his, I remarked with a "that's not it", but in all honesty, I thought "man, what an idiotic thing to say."

The Phone Call.

I woke up on a Monday afternoon, stomach howling because of the ludicrous amount of alcohol that no two men of our age should consume. The Big Man had already left, we drank at my place, and I went about my day. Made myself breakfast, watched Robocop 2, and mentally prepared myself to do some more writing for the TV show, the project and even the new movie I was supposed to make before the year ends.

I received a text message, but I chose to ignore it. A few minutes later, my phone rang. It was none other than the guy who put together the competition in Hong Kong. Apparently, one of the contestants had to back out, and I was next in line.

Motherfucker. The Big Man was right. I was the 31st. The guy ended the call by saying "don't back out, okay? I'm going to kick your ass."

So yeah, I'm going to Hong Kong. Not because I'm afraid of getting my ass kicked, though he is Chinese and might know some sweet moves that would knock me on my ass. I'm going to Hong Kong with a killer set and show everyone that they shouldn't have rejected me in the first place.

Wade For It...

You know what I hate? Probably everyone in the service level of the food industry. I know that sounds a bit mean spirited, especially since I'm somewhat friends with a good number of people who have either been in that position or those who have made a career in serving people their food, but bear with me here.

You know how they say you never mess with the people that handle your food? There's a well known fact (and this has been corroborated by the people I mentioned earlier) that if you piss these guys off, you will get, at the very least, some spit in your burger or whatnot. That's the biggest issue I have with those people. As a guy who has worked and learned the intricacies of customer service, it bugs me that these bastards at fast-food joints and restaurants have the sense of entitlement to bully the customer for not reaming them out each and overtime they fuck up. I work hard. I work at least 16 hours a day almost everyday and all I want sometimes is to be able to enjoy nice, properly prepared meal that is served promptly and correctly. If I don't get that simple pleasure, a simple pleasure that I pay for, mind you, I am going to mouth off to the person responsible. Why? Because when I turn in a less than funny script, the director is going to get in my face about it. When I do stand up and I'm not funny, I'm going to get a heckler. If I do an essay markup that's not up to par, I get shit form whoever's doing the particular shit slinging. If I make a movie and it sucks, I get bad reviews. Point is, if I don't do my job properly, I get my ass chewed out. What makes these people exempt? Because they have access to my food? they'll respond to fucking up by accident by fucking up intentionally? What gives them the fucking right?

You don't want customers to get in your face, do your job well. You don't want your mistakes to get rubbed in your face, don't make any. You don't want to be called an idiot, don't be one. It's not the world's fault that you're flipping burgers while your high school buddies are off doing fulfilling things in their lives. Don't take it out on the customer.

Rant over.

Back in Makati.

I started my third and inly full time job. It's a boring online writing thing that gives me something to do every weeknight and something to spend whenever I actually have time to do so. The work is okay, though a bit taxing, and the office is full of, well, normal people. It's not the collection of comedians the TV network gig is, nor the diverse population that is the Think Tank, but I think it's nice. I need a dose of boring. I go in, I do the job, I go home. No drama, no unnecessary bonds made.

What I am amped about is that I'm once again back in Makati. It's been two whole years since I've worked in the city and on my first night back, I felt something that I haven't felt in a long time. I've always been talking about my history in the place, and while it's too much to get into detail, Makati will probably always be my favorite place. Cavite is my home, it's where my roots are planted, but ever since '98, (and in some years before that, some can argue) Makati has played a huge role in my development. Even in my lowest point, (2009), Makati has been good to me.

I don't want to jinx it, but I simply cannot lose in that town. I simply can't. It's there that I'm at my best, it's there that I have a level of clarity that I just can't explain. That place empowers me, and I'm sure it has the same affect to a lot of people.

I'm still working at the Think Tank. Part time. Only on weekends. At least, if they get around to fixing my computer, yeah, I'll be there every weekend.

The Big Storm.

Everyone knows about the constant heavy rains that caused a bunch of floods all over the country, leaving hundreds in danger and facing possible homeless and whatnot. I don't care much about that. In fact, I love it when there's a huge disaster like that and I'm relatively unaffected. I'm not saying that to be a dick, I'm just being honest here. I love rain. I love how such calamities ensure that no one is traveling, making it easier for me to move around. A few years back, I was working in Purgatory when Ondoy hit. I was comfortably living in my Fortress, alone. The only effect such fucked up weather has in the general area I live in is that it makes the temperature all the more cozy. Again, I loved it, and I don't want to be insensitive to the people who were hit pretty bad, but that's how it is. I'm not a guy who cares about these things. I'm not really selfish, but I'm not entirely selfless either.

When last week's storm got worse, I was planning on just chilling in my bed, watching a few movies and eating a bag of chips as the weather slowly swayed me to sleep. But then, I heard about Marvi, one of the Scoobies, and her troubles without he flood. How her family was stuck at home, which was half submerged into the flood thanks to the non-stop rain of the previous night. I heard about how she had to get home, cause she was the home who was bringing food into their house and there was no access to get in. Not even her car could have helped her get into the subdivision.

Again, normally, I wouldn't care about other people's plight. That's just not me. But the Scoobies are not other people, especially not Marvi and her family. Most of anyone else, I would have wished them luck on braving the elements. But these guys, the Scoobies, have been on my side constantly since 2003 and if I am in any position to help any one of them with any thing, I don't hesitate to do so.

So, she and I braved the whole thing. We walked through the disgusting water, carrying bags of groceries making sure that they get to her family. It was a long day topped off with drinking, as , Marvi, Kokoy and I cracked open a few beers and surveyed the damage. I felt really good, seeing how the two of them took everything in stride. Impressive and admirable. I also felt good about being able to do something good, despite how little it was, to people who have done so much for me. I'll admit, I'm a bit of a prick to everyone else, but when it comes to my inner circle, I don't think there's nothing that I can't do for them.

I felt so good about hat day, that I even sent a text message to one of my "arch-foes", burying the hatchet. He replied, we did the SMS equivalent of shaking hands, and hopefully, that's one chapter of my life that's over. (I become a good guy approximately three days in a year. Don't get used to it, people.)

Everyone Brings The Funny.

Regardless of the conditions, TV people always feel the need to make sure the show goes on. And it did, so off I went to another creative meeting with the Gang. It was faster than usual meetings, and but there were a couple of noteworthy events. The first event: perhaps the funniest sketch idea of the day came from the director's personal assistant. It blew everyone else's proposals out of the water, including mine. I still snicker every time I think about it. The suggestion was so good, that the director specified two writers in the table to should be making him coffee and let the PA write the sketches. The second event, I wasn't one of those two writers. So, yay for me.

Seriously though, that moment reminded me of one of the many things I like about comedy. Everyone can do it. It's not really about talent, it's about a certain point of view. I left the meeting with a smile.

Second Thoughts.

Regarding the moments I clarity I usually have when I'm in the city, you know, the kind that hit you at 2 or 3 AM, in a dimly lit bar that's getting ready to close down, or as you smoke a cig along an empty backstreet? I had one of those. It made me question the need to do, scratch that, WIN the Hong Kong thing.

Truthfully, I'm not motivated by anything pure and noble. I'm not under the gun like I was last year. I'm not even that crazy about hitting the stage anymore, not like I was before writing for TV. I just got to thinking, here I am, busting my ass, working three jobs and for what? Stripped away from all the mental distractions, (working a lot does that) I couldn't provide a single, sensible thing to justify my decision to join the contest again.

It's true, sensibilities or practicality never comes into play whenever I find something that I really want to do, but that's the thing, I'm not sure I want to do it. A part of me thinks that the only reason I set my sights on that because I always need an end goal. If I don't have one, I don't function. BUt what's the end goal here? The TV writing thing is fulfilling my creative needs. I have a job that pays well. A part time job that's suitable. I already made a movie and there's a second one in development. It's not like there's a lack of avenues for me.

It sucks that I don't have anyone I can air this out to, and I guess that's why these lingering thoughts are coming out in this post. I'm sticking to the plan, but these thoughts can lead to burn out, and well, I've been down that road before.

The Weekend.

The thoughts, the anger, the burden of the jobs, despite everything that's positive going on, I'm still a big ball of stress. The weekend came, and I just really needed to blow off some steam. It's a good thing my boys were there. I don't talk abut my shit with these guys, for various reasons: The Big Man and I, we have a dynamic wherein he gets into silly shit, he talks about them to me, at length, I give him my thoughts, and that's it. Sometimes he follows my advice, sometimes he doesn't. The point is, that's how our relationship works. That's our dynamic. There have been moments wherein shit were reversed, but they're rare. The Tapa King, on the other hand, is someone who fancies himself as a wireman, given the hardships he's claimed to have survived. Because of that, he's a little too open when it coms to providing his insight, which, and I don't mean to insult the guy, are not that insightful. Maybe we're just too different, but still. The Critic, Jonic, everyone else, well, my relationship with them is very similar similar to the one I have with the Big Man, but to a lesser degree. They talk, I listen, but only offer my thoughts when asked.

Now, while I'm not entirely comfortable with talking about my issues with them, I could always rely on them when it comes to weekend stress management. And by that I mean, getting downright drunk and silly, bitches. We drank from the BIg Man's place, to this other place, and the new guy, this latest addition to the crew, was his usual drunk self, not making sense and shit, and we even almost left him at the bar. We were hiding each other's footwear. We overdrank, overate, insulted the Tapa King's intelligence a couple of times, it was classic. I can't even remember the last time I laughed that hard and that genuinely. It was nuts, and while it wasn't exactly what I needed, it helped.

As of now, I don't know what I'm going to do yet, but it's good to know that I can still rely on the weekends to help me out.

Brick by Brick

I actually thought that this was going to be a rant-free post, but there seems to be no shortage of annoying things people tend to do consistently. For this post, I'm going to complain about how people seem to be incapable of valuing other people's time.

A couple of weeks ago, I got a phone call from a high school friend inviting me to go to her kid's first birthday party. That was fine with me, had it not been for two important details. The party was to occur the following day and she lives in some far flung section of the north, thereby attendance to said party would take up the majority of the day. Seriously? She calls a day before? What did she think I was doing in my spare time? Sitting at hem with my thumb up my ass waiting for any invite? Inviting someone to a party that's far away the day before the said event, to me, means only one of two things: Either you think your event is so significance that it eclipses everything else that's on my schedule, or you didn't want me to show up in the first place and you gave me a polite invite. Either way, it's not cool. 

I hate shit like that. I hate it when people start conversations through text messaging then would take forever to reply because they are too busy. (Why start the fucking conversation in the first place?) I hate it when people show up in my house unannounced, expecting I have nothing better to do than entertain their rude asses. (If I'm at home alone, it's because I want to be home alone. Don't show up without notifying me in advance, cause unless you have a better offer than the prospect of me sitting around watching shit on a rare day off, I'm going to make sure I can fuck up your day as much as you fucked up mine.)

It's time, people. It's one of those things you can't get back. Leave my time alone, and you'll get the same respect from me.

Initiation?

Speaking of valuing time, the day after the company trip, I went to the TV network for the weekly creative meeting. When I got there, no one was around. Apparently, the meeting was held at some Japanese restaurant. I wasn't informed of this beforehand, and I even got chewed out for not knowing where the meeting was held. (I chose not to tell them that the person in charge of informing us about certain things conveniently forgot to message me, as she was already in trouble for other oversights.) One of the older writers took me aside and told me that this was some kind of initiation, a rite of passage for new guys like me. At the time, I was cool with it, but thinking about it, it didn't sit well with me. I mean, why would I need to go through a shitty ordeal just because I'm new? They called me to write for them. If this was a matter of earning my spot, shouldn't I be earning it by doing the job I was hired for as well I could? I'm not a fan of any sort of initiation. Why should i go through hoops just so I could be considered a part of something? It's ether you want me on board, or you don't. I should not have to be made to eat shit and like the taste. I do my job. I'll keep doing it until I am deemed no longer capable.

With that in mind, now that the luster of writing for that show has somewhat faded, I now remember why I left the TV industry several years ago. I'm not saying I'm going to quit tomorrow, but don't be surprised if I don't stick around as long as expected. It's cool and all, but if I was really made to work in a field that are veritable sluts to the audience, I would have stuck around MTV as that particular ship sank. The job's still fulfilling; just not as much as it used to when I started.

Birthday Amidst The Storm.

As a huge storm hit the South (I don't know nor care about the other places it hit), I dragged myself out of my extremely comfortable room to go and drink with Jonic and his friends/classmates to celebrate the guy's birthday. Now, I did say I was going dry, but of course, certain exceptions have to be made. It was the guy's birthday, and though we're not really as close as people might think we are, I had a feeling the storm would keep most of his guests from showing up.

The Tapa King was there, who apparently was trying to bed the McDonald's wench that hosted the Big Man's kid's birthday party. (I like the guy and all that, but if he devoted at least half of the determination and effort he puts into these meaningless affairs to his own personal and professional improvement, who knows what the guy can accomplish. But, to each his own, no matter how stupid his chosen path may be.) The GIrl Who Saved My Life was also there, along with her sister, and that was cool. I drank a lot, which resulted in me decorating the sidewalk with half digested spaghetti.

Probably it was the agreeable weather, but it was a fun night. 

The "Big" Meeting.

I was also blessed with a prospective freelance gig. ONe of the people responsible for giving me a job as a writer for a magazine about dogs and pets and shit looked me up and introduced me to people who were launching this new business and were looking for a writer. I felt really good attending that meeting, since I really do miss those days when I was freelancer extraordinaire. I felt in control. I felt optimistic. Plus, with the upcoming Hong Kong possibility, I felt like the universe was giving me a gimme. 

But then, I learned that the company was one of those network marketing stuff that sold beauty products and other similar shit, well… let's just say I gave them an offer that was easily refused. I'm not trying to be an asshole here. I just didn't agree with the values being sold, and regardless of whether or not I needed the gig, I couldn't do it. It was back to the old drawing board on that one.

Old Faces.

While all of those things are going on, I've been meeting up with Hannah and the Friendly Almost Neighbor, each asking for assistance on certain projects. Among other things, these two I worked with back in the Evil Empire. Hannah in particular, convinced me to leave my self imposed isolation and join the corporate world once more.

Those meet ups reminded me of old times, way before the drama of failed relationships and the discovery of comedy. Life was a lot simpler. I got up, went to work, got drunk, went home. Who knows, after I'm done with Hong Kong, I'm thinking I would welcome a return to the old ways.

The Third Job.

After sabotaging a freelance prospect in a not-so-subtle way, my slow loading brain bitchslapped me into remembering that I needed another source of income if I was to engage in my plan to end the year in the only appropriate way that I can think of. Fortunately, my feelings of returning to my old life, and the irrational sentimentality that came with meeting up with a couple of old friends and the solution to my frivolous financial need all came in one attractive yet mundane package: I just got a night shift online writing job in Makati. 

I was thinking about the last time I felt absolutely content in what I was doing, and I came thought about 2008. I had the same job, but in Ortigas. I wasn't happy, but I was okay. I was never in need, I was having insane weekends, and all in all, I didn't chase after anything.

So, my weeknights belong to this new company, Wednesdays to network TV, and weekends to the Think Tank or anything or anyone else who has a better offer. Yeah, that could work.

Back in the Bar.

Me, The Big Man and a few people from the Think Tank at Marbles on a stormy night can only yield good things. And they did.

A Life Less Ordinary.

I have three jobs now. I have a couple of passion projects and another movie on the horizon. I have far less people in my life than I did before, but the truth is, I've been content with dealing with everything alone. Truth is, while all of these things are going on, I've been feeling a lot of negative things and an intense amount of pressure. I wish there was someone that I could rely on during these times, but everyone who should don't really want to, everyone who's willing are not able, and those who are able, I recently discovered, are too full of themselves.

It's cool. It's my choice, hence, it's my burden. While I would appreciate the help, it's not required; all I ask is that everyone steer clear of my way. I'm rebuilding something important here, and I don't mind if I have to do it alone, brick by brick.

"I didn't think I would make it,

Thought everybody was against me
All those conquered eyes
And Christmases alone.

I never gave an honest answer
But I made a lot of angry organs.
Are we copacetic? Are we behaving now?
Filling up on endless enzymes
From other people's ugly insides

All this bitterness is starting to grow cold
Encompanies an empty evening,
Hanging onto complications
Sometimes quick sand has a massive appeal
To me

I want to be somewhere else

I think I can figure it out, but I'm gonna need a
Little help to get me
Need a little help to get me.
I think I can figure it out, but I'm gonna
Need a little help to get me through it
To get me through it

I always knew I had the answer
But I never understood the question
Indoor living
Lacerated to the bone

And now we've realigned the edges
I'm doing very well I thank you
All this sympathy is starting to wear me down
I wish I was someone else

I think I can figure it out, but I'm gonna need a
Little help to get me
Need a little help to get me.
I think I can figure it out, but I'm gonna
Need a little help to get me through it
To get me through it

I'll try to work this out
I'll try to get it on
I'll try (repeated in background after said once)

I like to tell you that I'm ready
For whatever's coming
But to be honest there's a part of me
That loses control (2x)

I think I can figure it out, but I'm gonna need a
Little help to get me
Need a little help to get me.

I think I can figure it out, but I'm gonna need a
Little help to get me
Need a little help to get me.

I think I can figure it out but I'm gonna
Need a little help to get me
Need a little help to get me
Need a little help to get me

Need a little help to get me through it." - Motion City Soundtrack, "A Life Less Ordinary"

The Less Than Royal

One of the things that I really hate is when someone oversells his or her mundane ability. That misplaced sense of self importance. You know, when you act as if people are supposed to be impressed with something that you're supposedly good at, lacking the ability to recognize that the thing you're supposedly good at is not that impressive in the first place. I encounter this a lot, and for some reason, very few people in my life realize that they do it.

A recent example of this would be the Tapa King. A few weeks ago, I wrote about this, the BIg Man's car got a flat, and we asked for his assistance, and he shows up. Every time he'd see me assisting he'd give some compliment along the lines of "wow, you're a mechanic like me". Apparently, fixing a flat is now a craft that's reserved for a gifted few. It's a wonder why Mang Lito, my old school bus driver, hasn't received his Nobel Prize yet. The most common occurrence of this usually involves cooking. Whenever I tell someone that I can cook, they'd be all surprised. Some are amazed, even. Dude, it's cooking. In a world where there are videos online wherein you can learn how to remove an ant stuck to your eyeball, how hard is it to comprehend that I, in all my years of living alone, could have picked up such an elementary skill? If you haven't seen me cook, it's only because I didn't cook for you. And the reason behind that is that there's always someone else more than willing to show off his or her culinary skills. I can cook, but I'm also fucking lazy. One of the more perplexing manifestations of this (I've encountered worse) is when I was dating this girl who'd brag to me about how good she was at shopping. Shopping. The act of going to the mall and buying shit. Apparently, it's a skill now. If so, then I guess the Midnight Sale at the local SM is like the Olympics to her. No, we didn't break up because of that. She made amazing pork chops.

My point is, unless it's heart surgery, rocket science, quantum physics or crime fighting that you're good at, then don't. Just don't.

And that's the random ranting section for this post that's done with. Let's head on to the drama.

Mid-Week With The Boys.

Despite my rededication to the Think Tank, I found time to join The Tapa King and The Critic on a mid-week drinking spree. The Critic is now officially jobless, and the Tapa King is,well, I don't know. The night was pleasant. There were way too many bottles of brandy put away by us three, and I ended up crashing in the Critic's sleeping bag. 

It was also a night of interesting conversation, of both past and future with a few touches of the present, and it led me to think about the past few years of my own life. From my own flirtation with rock bottom (To which the Tapa King vehemently insists didn't and couldn't happen. For him, apparently, unless you know how to use a hammer, you haven't been poor. That's why the Mighty Thor is widely renowned as prince of Asgard and God of Hobos.) to my long road back to somewhat stable ground. It made me somewhat proud(er) of the meager things I've accomplished.

It's weird, knowing that talking to the Critic actually helped out. I remember last year, when I was about to perform in Hong Kong, it was the Critic that I was chatting with. No homo, but flaws and all, he's not so bad.

Plus, I gotta ask him where he got that sweet sleeping bag.

The Week The King Died.

After a two week break, it was back to the network for another creative meeting with my fellow comedy writers. There was an odd vibe in the writer's room as the meeting took place a day after the death of the country's King of Comedy. With the veteran comedians there each sharing his own experience with the King, be it their early days in television, or their on screen appearances together, everyone had something to share and something to teach us younger comedians.

I sorta imagined what would happen if one of these older dudes pass away. Will I be the one talking about them to younger writers? Will I still be around making people laugh at such a time? And hearing their stories, a lot of them personal, gave me a clear insight of what it is to be a man who passes away and leaving a legitimate legacy. The same thoughts that were running through my head back when I was in the hospital after a heart attack back when I was in college came rushing back. The same thoughts that were in my mind during my darkest, least hopeful days ace back. If I died back in college, I knew what I would have left behind. If I died back in 2009, I'm a little less sure. If I die tomorrow, I have no idea what kind of impression I would leave. It definitely won't be the world's best boyfriend. It's doubtful I'll be remembered as a good friend. While yes, I have a habit of acting like I'm everyone's best friend, giving out advice and help left and right, but I rarely really reached out. I'm 30 years old and there is no one in my life that has a full understanding of who I am, of what motivates me, things like that.

Still, I enjoyed entertaining those thoughts. I also enjoyed sitting down in that meeting and seeing the unmistakeable gleam in their eyes as they talked about their early days in the business, and how the King has, at the very least, provided them some really good memories. 

And of course, I feel honored that I will be one of the writers that will be writing the tribute episode to a guy who has made so many people laugh for decades. I don't care which of my stuff they air. I'd be ecstatic if any one of my material got on.

Bars and the People in Them. 

Two days after the meeting, I spent the entire Friday writing my ass off. I had a feeling of self consciousness, since this seemed to be an important episode. There was a moment there when I was definitely blocked on commercial spoofs, so I went on youtube for some inspiration. I randomly clicked on a video and saw they all of the spoofs format hat particular product came from me. Some were revised a little, but still. Once I was done with all of my "chores", I felt a feeling of accomplishment.

Too bad no one was around. That's what I noticed recently. Whenever I score a win, no one wants to celebrate with me.

The Galera Trip That Wasn't.

I was supposed to spend a weekend in the beach with the Scoobies for the first time in our long history together, but that was not meant to be. One of these days, the stars would align and that would come into fruition. I was a little disappointed, for many obvious reasons, but one of which is that I was hoping to get really drunk on the beach that weekend, some sort of last bash before all of my focus and energy's devoted to getting in the Hong Kong Comedy Festival once again.

Unexpectedly, it was the Think Tank's company outing that provided me with that little personal satisfaction. The trip was mostly uneventful, but it did give me the chance to somehow get to know a lot of the new faces at the Think Tank and spend some quality time with some of the old ones. Most of the Breakfast Club opted not to go, which, in retrospect was a good thing. 

Drinks, songs and the beach. Now, I'm ready to focus on the funny.

Two Months.

Okay. I have a month to prepare an audition video, and two months to come up with the money in case I actually get in again. Last year, I wanted to join the competition just for the experience, to celebrate my first year as a stand up comic and to somehow prove myself to myself. This time around, a lot of the same motivations are still there, but I'm also driven by less than noble reasons. I have two months to show the world that not only do I got it, but I got in spades. Cue "Eye of the Tiger".

Sudden Clarity, Inexplicable Inspiration, Fighting Form

Last time around, I ended my post with a somewhat personal and nearly violent rant. I mentioned this before; I like ranting. With this in mind, I figured out a way to really get me in the mood to write blog posts that don't get ruined by sudden flashes of anger. Every week, Ill start off by taking about things that I hate. It sounded like a fun idea in my head, so let's put that theory to the test.

You know one thing that annoys the living hell out of me? Fake geeks. See, back in the day, my fellow geeks and I had to go through a hard time being tormented by our peers because we like certain things that were not considered the "in" thing. And now, people think they can just put on fake glasses and get in line to watch the Avengers, play a couple of video games, watch a little Game of Thrones and that earns them the write to call themselves geeks? Uh uh. No way. No sir. It's cool that you like those things, because there's no reason not to, but label yourself a geek once you've walked a mile in our DnD playing-comic book quoting-Hobbit feet. We'll still be celebrating the glory that is MODOK long after the trend has passed and you no longer think the guys from The Big Bang Theory are cool. I mean really, we didn't pretend to be good at playing ball or getting girls back in high school, don't try to pretend that you couldn't get laid now. 

Oh, and by the way, Farmville isn't an MMORPG.

That… felt good. Now, on with the updates.

The Job Hunt Concludes with a Day in the City.

My long quest to find a job that provided a higher level of security and benefits has ended, resulting in… me staying at the Think Tank. 

My decision to stay bloomed during my last job interview. It was the job opportunity I missed due to some not-quite-divine intervention. It was for a web content writing position. It promised all the benefits I said I needed. the pay was good. It was not only in Makati, but it was in a very specific spot in Makati that carried a lot of memories.(I think I mentioned this.) They called me in for a test, and then I had the interview after I passed said test, and I was pretty much informed that I was going to get hired. The catch: it was either that supposedly ideal job or the thankless, comedy writer gig.

Guess what I chose.

I took a long walk around Ayala Ave; had an enjoyable lunch with the Friendly Almost Neighbor and she dazzled me with tales of the Evil Empire; saw a movie with the Human Torch in the cinema in which I've had the most memories with, and I had a chance to think back of all the years I've spent around that area. From the highs (freshman year, 1998 and the years where the Big Grill was home) to the lows (working as a part time phone monkey while being drunk every morning of 2009 and working in the the Evil Empire a couple of years after that) to the pleasant mehs (smoking with the Angels, cigars with Jo F'n Regis, etc.), I realized that those days are over, and what I have now, while not as secure as I want it to be, it is mostly how I want things to be: a regular job with mostly good people that allows me to pay the bills and still do my comedy. And while everything seems different, I am, essentially, me, and I've always been pretty good at moving on and pretty bad at being secure. Freelancer at heart, you see. I'm sure future-me can deal with whatever's coming.  

An Important Conversation.

The product of my previous posts' outburst resulted in a face to face with a friend of mine with whom I was at odds. His response was timely, and we ironed things out. Before I posted the blog, I've had some people attempt to talk me out of such a confrontation, but I'm a firm believer that there are some things that are worth the potentially damaging face to face, then by all means, risk it. The pay off may well be better than one can comprehend. And if the outcome is negative, then there would not be any doubts or regret, or even unanswered questions. Fortunately, the meeting yielded positive results. Important questions were answered, things that needed to be said were said in no uncertain terms.

Without dwelling so much on the details of our conversation, everything was ironed out and I was glad that I did things my way. If I had heeded the advice of people who made it their way of life to avoid confrontation because it's easy, then I think, my friendship with the said person wouldn't have been somewhat saved. That has always been my way. If I had a problem with someone, I talk about it. I fight sometimes, and not because I'm a fan of confrontations, but because I'm a fan of fixing problems. I've encountered several people who don't seem to grasp this. 

For now, I'm just glad things are seemingly over, and there's at least a temporary air of honesty all around. 

A Spree Like Before.

The weekend came, and unlike the previous few weekends of June, I didn't drink with The Tapa King and The Critic. Not really. It was me and the Big Man, and the aforementioned King showed up a few hours later. There was beer, and for the first time in the longest time, there was singing. There was a guy named Aldrin with us (he's been hanging out with us for a few times before) and he was drunk and nonsensical by the night's end. Back to the basic ingredients: loud music, lots of beer, and a drunk guy babbling nonsense. I'd like to think that my weekends are finally back.

The Return To The Think Tank.

After my relentless search for new employment, as well as adjusting to life as a TV scriptwriter, I made my underwhelming return to regularly working at the Think Tank. Apparently, I just needed some time away. The last week wherein I've been showing up to work with some level of frequency reminded me of how happy I was the first few months of working in Alabang once more. The slow, almost non-eventful days and the delightfully mundane conversations with the people in the office was something I missed. Even the repetitive nature of my job is an amazing contrast to the rowdy weekends and the stressful comedy work, as well as a perfect complement to my rather peaceful personal life.

Yes, I'm back, and from all indications, I might be here for good.

Moving Forward.

The job hunt and its results, the confrontation, the newly found bond between me and some of my boys and writing for TV has given me a fresh perspective on the old and the new. With that in mind, my goals, both professional and personal, have become much, much more clearer. I'm ready to take another shot at Hong Kong, at making the comedy thing permanent, at hanging out with the same people in my life now for as long as possible, and at doing it all in my own trademark manner. Don't even think about stopping me.

"The wolf is hungry

He runs the show
He's licking his lips
He's ready to win
On the hunt tonight
For love at first sting

Here I am, rock you like a hurricane" - The Scorpions, "Rock You Like a Hurricane"

High Spirits and High Opinions Don't Mix

The job hunt sorta goes on, despite my still unconfirmed status at the Think Tank. Separation anxiety, plus the need to score some cash, as well as the need for change, all play a part in my ongoing battle with the "should i stay or should i go" drama. Not quite surprising is the rise of another drama that has been brewing for years and has finally reached the tipping point. 

I've heard some really ugly things said about me to a third party, and as I write this, I am still contemplating my response. There will be a response at the end of this post, cause I'm not the kind to not say my peace, but given the choice of letting cooler heads prevail and being… well, me, I'm giving this situation the benefit of second thoughts. I guess we'll see about how I feel at the end of this post.

One of the Gang.

I actually asked the girlfriend to join me, the Critic and the Tapa King for Saturday drinks, though it was not a planned event. See, someone played a rather innocent prank, but considering my history with people wanting to cause me harm, I've decided to play it on the safe side and direct the imagined assailant someplace much, much more used to trouble: the Tapa King's house. Granted, it was not a move I'm used to doing, as I've ventured many of these situations alone, but again, the girlfriend was there. 

Anyhoo, the same way that it was nice to have her around with the Scoobies, it was also fun to have her around with me on guy's night. And I love the new "man cave". This is where we're honest (most of us at least) and openly crass (that goes for all of us). This new routine works for my need of change but my reticence for the unfamiliar. It's all good in the hood.

The Guy Council.

Sunday night, unexpectedly enough, saw another session take form as Jonic (no nickname as of yet, but since it seems he'll be a staple, I'm pretty sure I'll think of one), unable to answer the call to arms the previous night, was in need of company and drinking buddies. We later found out that he was having some sort of woman trouble, the kind that happens on the onset of attraction and right before the declaration of intent. Thus, the first ever "Guy Council". With my vast relationship history, the Critic's experiences as a single father and the Tapa King's in depth knowledge of John Lloyd movies and outstanding batting average with women (albeit with the damaged goods crowd) what you have is the most insightful and entertaining night of guy talk you can possibly ask for. The alcohol doesn't help, but it never hurts.

Now, that was a meaningful way to spend a Sunday night. Kicking back, helping out a bro while simultaneously making fun of his braces and hair and basically everything else we could think of, that's how we used to do it back in the day, and that's how we should have kept doing it. I remember those weekends fondly. Friday nights were for the Grill, Saturday nights were for Marbles, Sunday was meant for domestic drinking and dire discussion. 

I'm guessing we were so helpful that the guy had us over the following Friday for another one. The Council has spoken and will not continue speaking until the drinks are done.

(To those keeping track, yes, I am still sober.)

One on One with a Great Comedian.

As far as my own exploits go away from the girlfriend and the guys, I'm doing pretty well. The comedy writer thing is progressing still, and the latest meeting I attended allowed me the chance to pick the brain of one of the few local comedians that I admired. True, it was on the rooftop of the network where people seemingly smoked weed, and true, it lasted the duration of two cigarettes, but when you hang out with the right people, any short amount of time would be educational. We talked about his early days as a comic writer, and how he does his thing right now. He asked about me, and he seemed to be genuinely interested. (Seemed.) He gave me more than a few tips about surviving in the trade. What got to me most was his general demeanor. He doesn't walk around acting like he was important, despite of what he's achieved. He's a guy that has been making people laugh since the late 70s, both on and off screen, and there he was, just happy to be doing what he does.

I'm not a big fan of authority, and like I mentioned several times, I rarely get impressed by titles… but I do know how to recognize and respect my betters. And when it comes to the field of funny, few are better than Pete. If I do get old, which I doubt, but if I do get old, no matter what I end up doing, I will always try to be happy just doing what I do. Seems like a right way to live.

The Job Interview That Wasn't.

While I've been going back and forth on the Think Tank thing, I still thought it would be a smart move if I kept applying to jobs I potentially might like. One office called me, ironically not one of the dozens I sent my credentials to, and told me that they were ramping up. It was an opportunity to go back to writing online, one of the longest jobs I've ever had, in Makati, the very street where I met the Angels, and it was for a graveyard shift position, thus still not interfering with my comedy thing.

But then, the universe, in the form of my mother and inept workers, stepped in. The shitty movie I made in the summer premiered, but technical glitches cause the movie to stop as it played. The copy I gave them worked fine, but whoever reproduced apparently thought burning DVDs was may too complicated for his skill set to do properly. So she asked me to make copies. Preparing movie for burning takes two hours. Burning it into a disc takes twenty to thirty minutes each. I needed four copies. I came from my TV network meeting, way up North. I had my job interview the following morning. Do the math.

I woke up the following day, a little over lunch time and way past the time of my interview, and went over to my mother's house for updates. Apparently, someone else figured out how to make the fucking discs work in the first place, and there was no immediate need to make copies.

It was then that I figured that going back to working 18 hours days juggling two or more jobs still wasn't in the books. Awesome.

Wholesome Saturday With the Scoobies, Not-so-wholesome Satur-night.

It was the celebration of Marvi's first-born, and they decided to celebrate by going swimming. My financial status would have rendered me unable to show up, but it's fortunate that they picked a resort that was a stone's throw away from where I live. We spent an afternoon eating, talking, eating some more and generally staying sober, all the while preparing ourselves for next month's trip to the beach where something extremely important happens. 

I, for one, am excited for that. The annual trip to the beach is great, but to be a part of someone's turning point, it's something that I can't refuse. Damn, this really is an eventful year for me and my Scoobies, and it's only halfway done.

That same night, as the rain poured, I visited the man cave once more and it was on. There was booze, there was the Council, there was Jonic (and he brought his muscle bound friend) and there was the Girl Who Saved My Life. We were loud. We were funny. People passed out. There were even a few heated discussions. At the end of it all, despite certain bits of unsavory information, we had a good old fashioned night.

My constantly legendary weekends are back, thanks to friends old and new. (Mostly old.)

Straw, Meet Camel's Back.

And now, we've come to the end of the post. See, what led to this was something the Tapa King revealed to me at Jonic's on Friday night, and while most of the things weren't really revelations, one particular statement caught my attention as it was nothing less than an insult. I was all for a confrontation with the guy who made the comment, but the Tapa King requested I don't, and so did the girlfriend, each having different reasons.

There were many things to consider. There's the source of the information, who, while not being a known fibber, isn't as good as relaying information accurately and objectively. There's the history with guy who made the comment that, if for no other reason than sentimentality, perhaps causes me to not want to react the way I normally would. But then there's my own view of right and wrong, and not addressing such an insult in kind would be wrong. Then there's logic, dictating me that a response is not only futile, but also unnecessary. There's also honor, in how my own personal code encourages me to do what I feel needs to be done, regardless of the consequences. But then there's the social structure that is so delicate that how I may react to the message would ripple throughout that sphere. But then, there's the insult itself. It seems that someone thinks a little too highly of himself and assumes that I, along with our other friends, are envious of him. Gee. Now I'm embarrassed. It seems that you've figured me out. Yes, I am envious. After all, I've always wanted a wife i could cheat on. (That's sarcasm, in case they don't discuss that in your "who's the one with the biggest bank account" meeting.)

Apparently, there was a comment I made in my previous blog post that may or may not have caused a lengthy tirade wherein said insult was made. So now, here I am, blogging once more, and it's time to address that matter and that person. No cute nicknames, minimal jokes, just mostly straight talk from me, to you. You know that I don't edit or even proofread my blog, so you should know that all of this rings true to me. This is might be a rather long rant, but trust me, this is me holding back.

First off, you don't need to worry about Mak. He's still your little errand boy whenever you need someone to help you get laid. As for your little assumption, really? Envious? Me? Of you? Of what, exactly? Again, I'm sincerely considering the source of this info, but if this is how you really feel, then you know what, if that's what makes you feel like the big man you so desperately want to be, then by all means. See, I was supposed to go off and blast you for every single reason why me envying you is just one of the hundreds of preposterous things that I have had both the privilege and misfortune of being exposed to in my life, but after rereading the above sections, as well as thinking back to the last several years of my life, I realized I don't need to. Good, bad or downright ugly, I've always been happy and proud for who I am, what I've done, and how I've done it. Can you say the same?

What bugs me, as always, is that you had a problem with me, and you saw fit to just get drunk and whine to Mak in the same place you seem to be very fond of making stupid decisions instead of growing a pair and discussing it to me face to face. But then again, that's not really your strong suit, is it? You can scold someone half a world away over the Internet but doing so to someone who lives approximately 15 minutes from your house is something you can't do.

Tell you what, since you've always prided yourself in being able to be in control of things, you contact me when and if you want this thing aired out. Bring Mak with you if you want, I don't really give a fuck. One way or another, you and I are going to have a talk. One of three things are most likely to happen: One, we talk, you use your usual argument style of using a loud voice and tossing irrelevant curses and insults. Two, we talk, you try put some sort of spin or justification on the situation, seeing as you think of yourself as quite the  liar. Or three, you vanish for weeks while continuing to badmouth me behind my back. I promise you, if any or all of those thing occur, I'm going to make you regret it. It may not happen immediately, but I will. Another thing I can assure is that when we face off, I'm not going to be as tact as I am while writing this.

I'm not trying to be a tough guy and such. I'm not pretending to be someone I'm not, but I will not be disrespected by anyone, especially not someone from whom I deserve better. I'll be waiting. 

No Prize for Consolation

The year's halfway done, and things have changed. It's still that time of the year, and I can't believe of noticing this just now, wherein I do some sort of clean up. Around June this time last year, I became single, I had feelings for a particular girl that I ended up not going for, I started doing the TV stuff and a bunch of other miscellaneous shit. The year before that, around June, I believe I just started working a new job, hung out with a bunch of new people, I was living in the Big Man's house and all that other shit.

This time around, it's no different. Here I am, just a month or so in as a TV comedy writer, working on a second (and hopefully less shitty) movie, and looking for the possibilities of a new day job. The past week didn't really show great strides in that last thing, but here's hoping. I gots to get paid, and I gots to get paid soon. Somewhere else that is.

Getting Creative.

As I mentioned before, I'm not the kind of guy that gets starstruck normally. Hell, I have a big TV in my room and I don't use it, so I'm not up to date on who the supposed stars are for me to be struck in the first place. As I also have mentioned, my short (and possibly temporary) stint in the TV network had me in awe of the comedic talent that has graced the creative meetings so far. Last week, I finally got the chance to be in the same creative meeting as the man himself: Michael V. To those who may be living in a rock that's filters out more information than the one I usually inhabit, this guy is perhaps the premier name in local mainstream comedy, and there he was, reacting to a sketch I wrote in a somehow positive manner. Boom. I metaphorically jizzed in my pants out of sheer pride.

I was in high spirits after that, despite the looming poverty and unemployment. (One can argue that yes, the TV writing thing is employment, but I don't necessarily see something I enjoy as a job. I don't know, I think it's important that there is one aspect in one's life one can constantly bitch about, and for most people, it's the job. So I really need one. That, and a steady paycheck would be sweet.) It was a temporary high, but if there's someone who appreciates a temporary high, it's me.

Another good thing about the meeting is that they finally want me to sign a contract thingy. It's either my supposed two month stint is to be extended, or they just need the paperwork so they can pay me for the work I've done so far and wish me well on my future endeavors. Either way, it's awesome.

The Job Hunt.

The fact that I need a job and that I keep bitching about a having a job may be a bit misleading. I still am technically employed. I spoke last week to the new HR person at the Think Tank, who has always been one of my top five non-Breakfast Club people in the office, about my intention to quit. As of right now, she's still helping me with options, but I've been advised to keep doing my thing as long as I'm employed. It's going to be hard to do my job though when I mentally have one foot out of the door.

I had a couple of promising leads on jobs for companies that would still allow me to work in Alabang while being a completely fresh breath of air. One was for web content writing, which happens to be the longest day job I've had (two years or so, I think, back when Ortigas was synonymous to home) so the transition wouldn't be that hard. Plus, given my credentials and experience, I was in line for an attractive financial package. The other was a writing gig that would have me double as the GM's point person in meetings with clients. Also in Alabang, also was supposed to pay well.

I decided not to go for either of the jobs. And for the life of me, I can't really pinpoint why.

Oh, there were several factors. The music they played in the lobby wasn't cool. The HR person who called me about my application sounded rude, and worse, boring. There was also this nagging image in my mind wherein I would be walking around in a suit and carrying a tablet and being all corporate-y and professional. Normal people like to refer to it as "grown up". Sensible people, you know, the ones who don't jump at the opportunity to sell their souls for money, refer to it as lame. It's shallow, yes, and grossly impractical and idealistic. But, I am impractical and idealistic, and I think everyone deserves to be shallow once in a while.

The thing is, almost all of the jobs I've had, I jumped into because they were there. Hence, the early exits. While I regret nothing, I'd like to hold out for something I can really settle into. I don't want to turn into a mass produced douche-bag who severely lacks identity, like some of the people I know who are clearly on the wrong path. I like looking at the mirror, seeing my ugly mug and accepting that ugly mug with a smile.   

A Fitting End.

With a week full of unremarkable highs and lows, what better way to end it with two of the most unremarkable people I know: the Tapa King and The Critic. The Big Man was not able to join us because of some network marketing cult activity. (I'm not slamming the guy's choice for a livelihood, all I'm saying is, if you join an organization that presents an ideal lifestyle and mindset while encouraging you to recruit other people to embrace that paradigm in exchange for some form of reward… you're in a cult.)

Anyhoo, the three of us, all unemployed or soon to be unemployed, all broke and still coming from three extremely separate paths and schools of thought, yet finding ourselves agreeing to some pretty strong concepts, drank as the rain poured down. In fact, that particular section of the Tapa King's house, the disarrayed third floor that substitutes as a work place, is perhaps the ideal place to drink in, especially with the typhoon teasing its arrival. The place reminded the Critic and I of the Gadgeteer's house back when we were in college.

It was an ordinary night, something that, much like the previous weekend, exactly what we needed to end the week. I really see the value of these two chuckleheads now. The Critic, despite being emasculated and pretty much had the majority of his brain cells fried beyond any point of salvation, is one of those rare guys who will always try to see the best in people. After everything that he's been through, the Critic has become an insecure guy, which sucks, but he's the right kind of insecure guy. He's not the kind who would silently compete with his friends, or talk shit about them behind their back just to make them look good, or be extra loud about his or her meager accomplishments. There's one in every group, and it's usually the least attract, least intelligent, least accomplished, and least interesting. Thankfully, the Critic is not that guy. Right now, he's just a guy who's waiting for his turn. I, for one, am rooting for him.

The Tapa King, on the other hand, is someone I just figured out. Not entirely, but I have a better idea of who he is, especially after we shot the shitty movie where he hands down was the MVP on that particular team. He's a working class dude who takes pride in being a working class dude. I admire that. He's uncomplicated. He lives, he works, he drinks, and he's happy as long as he manages to do all of that shit. And the guy's legit too. You know how some broken, low self esteem dudes go to strip clubs and get duped by the girls there to drop huge amounts of hard earned money? The Tapa King's broke as fuck and he has all these women of ill repute going to his house to do the nasty. That shit is game, people. Respect. I guess those stripper mind games only work if the guy has mind. (BAZINGA.) Seriously speaking though, I'm impressed. Not just with the whole ladies' man thing, but how he somehow managed to find what makes him happy, albeit not completely. I don't impress easily. Of all the people that I personally know, there have only been four persons that have impressed me. Marvi and her husband Kokoy (they count as one), Ol' Football Head, The Therapist, and Shelly. Now I'm counting The Tapa King among those people.

Again, pleasant night, surprisingly insightful conversation, a little gossip thrown in and I had me a good night. I just wonder if next weekend yields the same results.

Inspiration Strikes.

With all the uncertainty in the air, I found the best way to ease my mind. Sitting in my room on a Sunday night, I intended to wrap up the treatment for the next movie, but hanging out with the two idiots woke something up inside of me that I haven't had access to in a while. I flipped open the laptop, and banged out a couple of scripts for short films under the Coffeehouse banner. And since I have access to a camera and an editing device, I think it's the perfect time to live out some Coffeehouse Dreams. I just need to assemble the right crew and cast. 

Let the changes come. I've proven I always stick the landing, anyways.

"All stuck in the middle

between what is and what might be
a great sensation
has swept the nation
everybody wants the image you’ve got for sale" - Motion City Soundtrack, "Boombox Generation"