Friday, May 21, 2010

Whatcha say?

Which would you choose? A Free ride or a free Ride? Assuming the latter is enjoyable, of course. Whatcha say? Whatcha say? Decisions, decisions.

Hahaha just so in the mood to finally hit a gay club after all this while. I can tell you I am damn sick of Pump Room. Just a few more hours.

Whatcha Say?

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

Random Ramblings 10: Unexpected Encounter

Bumped into an ex-BMT mate this morning at the taxi stand while headed home after the impromptu clubbing session. Well, maybe bumping is the wrong word, he never recognized me and I nearly didn't place his face till I'd gotten a full view of his face. By that time, he was getting into the cab and it was too late.

I've forgotten his name, it could be Julian, Jack, Jason or Timothy, I'll need to try dig up my old BMT photo. I'd remember a face anytime though. Especially the face of a person I've been intimate with (unless the said person is sooo forgettable), an unexpected corollary of a very visual person, the quirky workings of the human mind.

He was assisting an APNN, arms around the APNN's waist, smiling and offering words of encouragement as he guided him into the cab, before heading into the next himself. He looked the same, short punky hair with a couple of spiky ear studs and casual gothic like dressing. Call him! B. exclaimed when I uttered a cry of recognition. I did, waving at him while his name and consequently, words, escaped me. But it was too late, he was already in the cab by then, oblivious to the motions of a stranger at the edge of his peripheral vision.

It was really that look on his face, that strange, bemused, caring and almost tender look that made me take a second look at what appeared to be a quirky stranger assisting an unlikely APNN companion and place the face. The same quirky look he gave when describing how he was constantly picked up by men at bars and clubs even though he was attached, the same look when musing how he was probably bi, the same look he gave when our lips touched...and more.

He always had that cool, laid-back fucker air about him though he was anything but. It's hardly appropriate or fruitful to search for that ghastly BMT picture at this (relatively) unearthly hour on a Wednesday morning and I doubt I'd find it anyway. Perhaps the refrain from James Blunt's 'You're Beautiful' expresses it best :

"You're beautiful. You're beautiful.
You're beautiful, it's true.
I saw your face in a crowded place...
But it's time to face the truth,
I will never be with you."

Got into the cab and heard J. Jackson crooning "Like a moth to the flame, burned by the fire. My love is blind, can't you see my desire." Which brought back a flood of none too pleasant memories. God, I hate that song. Now, just 4 hours to crash and I'll get round to identifying Mr 'laid-back' fucker. Eventually.

Monday, May 17, 2010

Farcical Humor

I seldom blog twice a day. Not out of habit or due to some idiosyncratic principle. I'm just too lazy. But this is an exception, fuelled in no small part by the fact that the modem was fried by the recent thunderstorm which means I'm stuck with a 500kbps internet tethered connection over my iphone. Meaning I can do precious little (ie: no downloading, gaming, etc) Wouldn't even let me access Auction Sniper for fucks sake.

The subject of this entry is an innocuous article I stumbled upon while googling a wholly unrelated phrase 'what does it mean when my watch is hard to wind'. With the title 'my farts smell really bad' and a website called poop report, it sounded like an aunt aggy forum/ helpline for the offensively flatulent. Something like your average litany of embarrassing health problems that hapless souls often relate in your average women's/ men's magazine. Only presumably more embarrassing. In other words mortifying if you're the person with the ailment, amusing if you're the spectator reading about the problem.

The brief synopsis found in most google searches was the clincher that made clicking on the link, the natural thing to do. (I.e :' if I fart in the car,it takes about 2 days for the smell to go away. ... For I am destined to spread the unhallowed wind of raw sewage until I expire. ...')

The main article was serious enough (read: not very entertaining), a desperate plea by 'Smellyass' who can't even stand the smell of his/her own farts for advice and help. However, it was the farcical, unabashedly shameless comments to the article (scroll down) left by people that left me in stitches, laughing so hard till I cried.

These are obnoxious, brash sods with flatulence noxious enough to clear the room in seconds and peel paint, yet they have no qualms about reveling in their odorous abilities and depict their smelly escapades to devastating effect. In a tongue-in-cheek perversion of sorts, a decidedly major social handicap is trumpeted as a major virtue with manifold benefits. Take this hilariously, shameless anecdote by the aptly named 'Chief Thunderbutt':

'ChiefThunderbutt (3375) -- 06.26.2008

I picked the user name ChiefThunderbutt because my flatulance is the stuff legends are made of. I was told by a friend when in the Air Force, "If you were an indian your name would be Thunder Butt."

I take pride in my farts and love the really stinky ones the best. I enjoy them even more when I am able to share them with others.

I have shared them through devious means a few times. I was once expelled from the control tower cab in which I worked because of my gas. The watch supervisor sent me down to the latrine and told me not to return until I had taken a shit. I continued down one more level to the room that contained the air conditioner, I climbed into a chair and farted into the air return vent. The crew was huddled around the vents in the tower cab getting fresh air. It made me very happy when I heard their voices coming down through the vent, "God damn, it smells worse over here."

Stinky butt,you have been blessed with a great gift. Learn to enjoy it'

Another person after adroitly noting that the person in question (Smellyass) must have really smelly farts if he couldn't even stand the smell of his own farts, remarked that eye-watering flatulence was useful to have in situations like 'when you're standing in a long line at a store or bank, or when you have guests at your house that you wish would just go home.'

Spent 20 minutes reading all the comments and almost died laughing. Pretty sure the abs got a good work out in the process and no, I didn't fart. Good to know some people can still make the best use of their stinky situation. That's one league I'm happy staying out of.

Though for the loud, proud and happy gasers amongst us, Chief Thunderbutt has a tip or two:

'For the most wonderful smelling of all possible farts you must eat "gyoza",

small meat dumplings (your choice of flesh)
with lots of cabbage, garlic and onion. These little gems can be steamed but are much better pan fried. They are dipped in a mixture of soy sauce, sesame oil, rice vinegar and chili pepper. They should be washed down with prodigious quantities of beer.

The farts that ooze from your anus several hours later will be hot and rancid. Those who are around you will be highly entertained.'

Good lord, now I know why Y. is so hung up about paos smelling like Fart. LOL.

Sunday, May 16, 2010

Random Ramblings 9 : That's the Way it is.

Inspiration's a funny thing. When you're inspired, you feel exuberant, empowered and the creative juices flow abundantly, seemingly ceaselessly. Then, when like the fickle mistress she is, Inspiration flees, you're left apathetic and feeling drier than the Sahara. Suspended in a state of blah.

I've been singularly uninspired these past few weeks. I can't tell whether it's the drudgery of work, the ongoing fascination with eBay or the lack of stimulating company (and no don't bother reading anything into this because chances are, it's probably not what you think it is). Probably a bit of everything. Different factors which build up to form a debilitating malaise of sort. The kind that makes you do the mental equivalent of a glassy eyed stare with drool leaking out from the slightly down-turned corner of your mouth.

Still, there's no cure, no automatic stimulant to evoke inspiration and rouse one from the mental stupor induced by the utter lack of inspiration. Sometimes, all one can do is to wait until that fickle mistress returns to your arms for another passionate sojourn before the cycle repeats itself all over again.

On an wholly unrelated note, an individual from the Gang has left for (presumably) greener pastures. A fact bemoaned by some, bewilderment by others and mild amusement by yet more. The dynamics have changed, nothing will ever be the same again! An individual in the first (though more likely second) category uttered. Of course it will, though not necessarily for the worse hahaha.

But that's the way it is. People change like the seasons. Things change. You live with it, the way it is, and adapt accordingly. And for the few who bemoan the changes, lock themselves away from the world to mourn the passing of an era, the same that make idle talk about whiling away the time as the world passes on uncaring, it's time to get over the self-pity and move on. As Dion Boucicault aptly put it, "Men talk of killing time, while time quietly kills them."

Get moving, for we are young (for now) and time is not on our side.

Kick Ass (We are Young) by Mika (On another random note, I just realised Mika looks like a leaner younger version of Jeremy Irons, yum. haha)

We are young
We are strong
We're not looking for where we belong

We're not cool
We are free
And we're running with blood on our knees

We could rule the world
On a silver platter
From the wrong to the right light
To an open stream

With a crash and burn
We could make it better
Turn it upside down
Just you and me

We are the dream
No other way
To be

We are young
We are strong
We're not looking for where we belong

We're not cool
We are free
And we're running with blood on our knees

I could change the world
I could make it better
Kick it up and down
Take a chance on me

When you fake a smile
And you think you're better
Gonna put it down
Rip it at your feet

No bridge to burn
Nowhere to turn
For me

We are young
We are strong
We're not looking for where we belong

We're not cool
We are free
And we're running with blood on our knees

What do they know about us?
Are they thinking of somebody else?
Are they wondering what we might be?
Are they thinking of you or of me?

We are young
We are strong
We're not looking for where we belong

We're not cool
We are free
And we're running with blood on our knees