Just helping out.

First, of all, here's a handy guide on how to actually use the ellipsis.
http://grammar.ccc.commnet.edu/grammar/marks/ellipsis.htm

It is not used to separate two sentences.  That is the job of... a period.
And you always use three dots, unless you want to use the ellipsis to come at the end of the sentence.  In that case, you should use four dots.   Not five.  Not six.
Four dots.

Secondly, the word Tuesday is meant to be capitalized.   Yep.  It should be.

Third, the word is charge.
NO DOOR CHARGED means that the door has not been plugged to the wall socket and powered up.  Yes, that doesn't really make any sense.

Fourth, the word "yourself" is a single word.
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/yourself

Lastly, realize that there is nothing wrong with choosing to stick to one's vernacular if one isn't used to a second language.  It might help communicate things in a clearer and more professional manner.

I wish you the best.

A host of messages I wish I could say

In this era of social networking, one can easily get a glimpse of the lives of one's friends through their newsfeeds and updates.   While this is mostly good and cool in keeping in touch, it does also at times place one in the strange zone of knowing more than one wanted to know.  Or worse, feeling the urge to offer unsolicited advice for friends who clearly are doing things the wrong way.

But since unsolicited advice is never welcomed, I decided to just write this open blog post and dedicate them to the many people who will probably NEVER read this page anyway since they are absorbed right now by what they believe to be insurmountable problems of their own.

So yeah, let's begin:

If you think the relationship is that fucked up, then by all that is right and holy, end it.  You do deserve better.  And guess what, so does your partner.

Stop looking for love by going to a gay club and flirting with strangers.  You'll have a better chance meeting new people through friends at parties, or contacting someone online with a clear declaration of wanting to get to know each other and not sleep together as a first intention.

If you caused your own damned problem, stop whining about it on the social network, then getting angry when people point out it is your fault.

No, we're not talking about you.  But yes, it is amusing to know you still read everything I post as about you.

Don't worry too much.  Your work will always be as successful.  You have true talent.  And an innate ability to reach out and touch people's lives.

I'm sorry you're in your situation.  But I'm no longer in any position to help you have a better life.  You had your chance.

Seriously, look in the mirror.  Keep your eyes open this time.

It ain't escape when its leaving someplace that keeps you from being happy and taking steps towards taking back responsibility for your own life.

Behind a Wall of Dancing

The music pounds a hypnotic beat.

Harder and harder.

Bass throbs through our bodies as you hands clamp against my head.

My lips part; hints of alcohol escape with my breath.

You lean close.

Your eyes locked at mine.

"Kiss me," you command.

And I pull back.

The lights swirl around like sirens

luring the unwary to their doom.

Smoke surges through hidden alcoves

and bathe us in cold swirling cloaks,

hiding us from prying eyes.

"Kiss me," you demand

And I pull back once more.

Beer bottles clink in the darkness.

Hands grope against sweaty bodies.

Tongues slide against tongues.

We kiss.

The music shifts.  

You pull back

And leave.

I guess I should have warned you.

I bite.

---

by tobie

It is not my fault you read my stuff. But clearly, you do.

I guess some people just love to think the world revolves around them.
Even worse.
Some people so desperately want to make others think MY world revolves around them.

Yes, you probably even think Global Warming is because you're too "hot."

I know I can hold very strong opinions about things.  I know some people have found me to be at times a tad too proud or too intellectual about certain aspects of life, gay or otherwise.  I know I can be very vocal about how much I hate this movie, or how much I found that politician to be abusive, and in many ways I make no apologies for that.  Perhaps me choosing to see sleeping-around-with-every-possible-hot-guy as an idiotic and disgusting lifestyle rubs off the wrong way towards some people.  For certain my having no love or understanding for people who devote their lives in the pursuit of spending someone else's hard-earned cash has not won me awards in the eyes of many others.

As they say in Filipino, "Bato bato sa langit..."

I can have blog posts about how pathetic a movie remake was and have the same passionate anger towards how I overheard a certain couple is having a guest over and that guest happens to be a "FUCK YOU" to certain people... and to mock these people further, create a profile pic of them together.   When I share my opinion, I don't hide it behind a facade of friendliness or disguise it under a clearly false attempt at looking classy.  Class isn't purchased with francs, I'm afraid.  Neither is respect.

That big?

But what amuses me the most is how for some people, EVERYTHING I post is supposedly about them.  And worse, the same said people post self-affirming delusions in hopes of counter-acting my blog or status update posts.    I don't even have those people as contacts in my social networks.  I never even shared to those people my blog addresses.  But somehow, every now and then, a little bird (also known as mutual contacts I shall, for their sake, leave unnamed) whispers to me about how "Mr. Gollum got insulted by your post about him."  Or how "Mrs. Leech is really angry right now, so hope you don't bump into the bitch."   And when these little whispers reach me, I find myself many times wondering, "What?!?" because those said people aren't even part of my daily notice.  Heck, they aren't even part of my weekly notice.


But clearly, they would like to be.
And that amuses me.


I once posted out of frustration a status update about how admitting guilt is the first step to properly asking forgiveness.  Pretty general post, I felt.   My rant was directed at some political-religious issue which you may have heard of:  how the Church admitted they were hiding pedophiles, and recommending nuns that got pregnant should get abortions.  It didn't take long before another little bird came a chirping.

"Tweet tweet"   But I don't use Twitter.

"Tobie, XXX is angry.  Why don't you just let it slide?"


I shot back a message, "What? What are you talking about?"


"Let it slide.  XXX has moved on already.  You should do the same."


Once again, XXX thinks it was all about him.  And worse, got even his own friends to think I was writing about him.    Oooookay.  Someone needs to take a chill pill.  Better yet, stuff one down his throat.

Supposedly there are hordes of people who hate my guts, even if they never heard bad stuff about me from you.
So these people just happen to think I'm an asshole and they all happen to be your friends.   Suuuuuure.

Another time, I got a message from a concerned friend who decided to contact me because YYY was bemoaning how my posts ruined his day.  The friend asked me why I felt I had to say such things about YYY and how YYY was "stopping his friends" from confronting me.  I blinked my eyes a few times to confirm I wasn't dreaming, then asked the concerned friend, "YYY thinks my posts are about him?  Why the hell would I even care to make YYY part of my blog.  Do people normally keep shit in their photo albums?"  Concerned friend tried not to laugh but perhaps in a misguided attempt to be constructive suggested, "Maybe you should just think about your updates, how they might be misconstrued to be about YYY and rewrite them if need be?"


I was aghast.  I felt insulted.
I posted a status post in reply.


"I will not censor myself for the paranoia of others."


Why should I?  Why should the pathetic paranoia of someone who doesn't even matter my life dictate how I write my updates?  Why should I stop writing about how certain things like infidelity, insensitivity, selfishness, lies, self-centeredness, and many others are things I hate just because some people out there are clearly feeling guilty of such things, are getting emotionally affected by them, and somehow think their silent admission of being guilty as charged in this hierarchy of sins allows them to spin their friends around to painting me as a bad guy... when all I am doing is actually just saying what I think in general.

Don't hate me for being happy.
Take steps to get better.

Do I have to get to the point where I be more honest to get my point across?  About how some of these friends don't realize how they get badmouthed by the same person they defend?  Or how some have been explained away as having "mental issues" as a reason they aren't voicing out any complaints about certain lifestyles?  If my posts and updates were seeking to accomplish dirt-digging blind items, by God I have many I can choose to say.  But again, that's would have been assuming those people mattered at all.   I don't care if others choose to live their lives in their perfectly woven web of lies, spinning their own friends around with layers of well-constructed manipulations to get what they want.  That their life.

You don't want me to blog about you.  

But no, no one gets to tell me I cannot voice out how disgusted I am of that kind of a lifestyle.  Just as no one gets to tell another person that he has no right hating rap music.  Or that you cannot say in your own blog how much you think Twilight was stupid and seems to promote an unhealthy lifestyle.  No one gets to tell me to censor myself just because the things I hate happen to be the lifestyle he or she proudly leads.   Anyone can freely have their own opinions about the same things.  They can love being the kabit for all I care.  They can celebrate having cash cows they can habitually milk cash out from.  They can even have a fireworks filled fucking parade for all I care to commemorate stabbing your friends in the back and sleeping with people they cared about.  That's your life.  If you're happy living in that kind of shit, then good for you.  It is the happiness YOU deserve.


You don't get to ask me to shut up for being in such a better place.

No need to say it.

I was tempted to end this blog with the song from Lady Carly.  But I decided that there was no need.
I already know you do.   You know who you are, reading this blog and already making more buzzing about how I've "once again" blogged about you.   


And the most amusing thing?  You aren't alone.  There's at least two of you who somehow live in this delusion that my blog posts are about "you specifically" and yet there's at least two of you who make that claim.


I hope you all realize someday how sad that is.

Monkeys are Invading, Oh my. Or Should I say, my O?

I was at my favorite haunt earlier at my usual reserved table when a bunch of newcomers showed up and planted themselves beside my table.  At first I was considering being congenial when I realized they were new to the bar after one of them asked a friend, "Where's the rest room in this place?"  Newbies to my favorite haunt nowadays usually meant people who used to go to the currently closed "other" bar which had shut down to do renovations due to a very "timely" fire that happened recently to the place.

Things turned south, however, when two in the group looked at me and noticed that I was sitting and enjoying some mixed sausage dish with my beer rather than scouting for man-meat or dancing.  Two of the group, perhaps wrongly thinking I had less-than-adequate hearing skills, started a conversation about me:

Monkey One:  Pare, You'd think people would go to a bar to drink and dance.
Monkey Two:  Probably cause no one is minding him.  That's what happens when you're not hot.

I had half the mind to educate the monkeys on a few facts, when it dawned upon me any attempt to illuminate them on the truth would fall on brains that were unable to comprehend higher communication.  The facts were:

1) The bar was my favorite haunt.  One that had to a great extent recognized my presence as one they enjoyed having.  While most patrons enjoy a bar just to hunt for man-meat or get drunk, I was actually one of the few who gave back to the bar my own display of gratitude by supporting it in various means, from spreading news of the place to others to generate new customers, or by informing them of any problems that arise (e.g. drunken patrons who need to be shown out, abusively rude patrons who think anyone in the bar can be molested sexually, etc)  As such, I actually am reserved a table for the nights I show up.  I am given some extra space when I am there to celebrate a birthday or other special occasion.  And more.

2) While drinking and dancing was expected of such a place, they also pride themselves in having great food. And that was a service I was indulging in gratefully.  For them to think eating there was a "wrong thing to do" was clearly a show of how inept and ignorant they are of the place.

3) I am happily in a relationship.  I had no intention of hunting for meat.  I had no desire to be the target of people hunting for meat.  In fact, I had two guys trying to eye-volleyball me whom I ignored, and one guy who hit on me in the bathroom who I turned down, gently.   I don't recall any of them actually being approached the whole night.  Oh wait, the waiter did.  I guess that *should* count.  At least he was someone who wanted "something" from them.  Bwahahah!

4) They were monkeys.  For all their pomp, they were barely attractive or noteworthy.  Heck, I only noticed them because they chose to plant themselves near me and had the gall to mouth me off.  No sass.  No style.  No breeding.  Nuff said.

So rather than make an issue out of it, I enjoyed my food and drinks and shared more laughs with my friend, and quietly smiled as the show began and their drinks, which were littering the stage area, were gathered as they were shooed away to move to some other dark corner instead.

While I am given some level of special treatment, it is a bonus that I have been given having earned it.  I am a regular of the place and in more times than one have shown that I give back to the bar in many ways.    I only hope that the place those monkeys frequent reopens soon, just so that they stop polluting places I hang out at with their clearly misguided self-delusion of self-importance.

Monkeys, be warned.
I bark back when pushed.
Don't wait for the point I bite.

Musings on Coming Out

Coming out to my parents was something that I have long wanted to do.  For many years I had been wanting to take that final step but there was always some "reason" that would come up that would "convince me" that it wasn't the proper time.  I would find myself blaming concerns about their health, worries about whether or not I was ruining their day, etc.  For many years I would find myself getting depressed on my birthday with the thought that it was another year that my parents did not know their own son.   And while the thought of coming out was always there, the push I needed to make that final step was not to come until I met my partner.

My partner has been out of the closet for years before I met him.  In many ways, he helped me realize how much I had been keeping myself from truly making that final step forward.  I would like to share some quotes of his which really struck me:

"There will always be a reason not to come out."

For someone who isn't ready, there will always be a reason not to.  This was the very truth that I had been living the last few years.  It didn't matter if I was actively part of some event that called for Gender Equality.   It did not matter if I was working on a production that enlightened people on Gender sensitivity and the importance of being aware of the politics behind such things.   It did not matter if I was going to dress up in women's clothes for a play production.  My parents saw me as a young man who viewed the world much more openly than they did and was willing to do anything for his art.    They never assumed I was anything but straight.  They never questioned the fact I would have a "best friend" who stayed over so often, and eventually  replaced with a new "best friend" who would stay just as frequently over.

And while that made hiding in the closet easier, it never changed the fact that the choice to come out was a choice that I had to make for myself.  Others don't have it so lucky.  Others find themselves thrown into the spotlight of coming out by the actions of other people.

But unless the choice to do so is embraced, there will always seemingly be an endless number of reasonable excuses not to.

"Coming Out is a Personal Thing."

No one, ideally, should be the reason for your coming out save your want to be out.  Being outed is never a pleasant experience.   (While there have been instances where the reaction is favorable, the moment of being outed is always a stressful moment of helplessness which I have heard is best never experienced by choice.)   Coming out is a personal choice.  It is an act of self empowerment.  It is a moment of recognizing yourself and being able to say who you are.

When I met my partner, part of me desired to finally come out in order to be able to proudly say I am with him.  But on further reflection, I realize how that the idea of being able to proclaim we were together was only born from the desire to firstly be able to say I am who I am.  While his presence in my life has inspired me and  lent me the courage to come out, it was my need to be able to be recognized as me that demanded it be done.  All those years of introducing my parents to my "best friend" had to end.  All those years of playing the pronoun game of "with my partner" or "with my significant other" tired me.  I wanted to say, "with HIM".  I wanted to say his name and not just his role in my life.

Coming out also became a personal act of reintroduction to my parents.  I wanted them to no longer have doubts of who I was.  Rumors fly quite easily in a Filipino community, and I was certain there have been those who asked them if I was gay before.  I am sure that they said I wasn't.  And I am doubly certain that they had moments they did ponder if I indeed was.  Coming out was to put that wondering to rest.

Did it make things more difficult for me and my parents?

Admittedly, I have been having it much easier than most.  My parents have been very expressive of how much they love and support me, even if they are still shocked and disappointed by the fact their son isn't as they had hoped he would be.  Their upbringing and personal ideals see my being gay as something they are still in some ways denying to be real, and in other ways, hurting but struggling to accept.  I've had my share of painful comments from them, but ultimately, I understand it is their way of coping.  I feel more the love and support they share than the fear they have of their son having "lost his way."

And while yes, there are those awkward moments (like when I joined my dad for dinner with his friends.  They were grilling me on whether I was seeing someone, and my dad adamantly told them, "No he isn't." even if he was aware of me living with my partner for over a year now.) they aren't anything more than growing pains of a family that is learning to recognize each other as adults and see each other clearer without having to read between the lines.  I had planned to post an entry detailing how the night of me coming out transpired, but as I write this entry, I realize that night will for now be something that I will not have online for the time being.  It will have to be something for me and my parents for now.  Something I may share in discussion face to face, but not something left out on the web for public consumption.

Maybe later on, when the hurting is less there for them (and in some ways, for me), I can give a clearer account of how it transpired.  Who knows, that might even inspire others to go for it to.

They say once you come out of the closet, you can never come back in.

Frankly, I've finally come out and I can't help but think why I even tried to stay in for so long in the first place.

Kitchen Based Musings

I have recently learned to cook soft shell crabs.

Hell, to be more honest, it has barely been more than a year since I actually started cooking.  Thankfully, I've discovered among the many dishes I have gradually learned to do better that there are two dishes that I can do pretty well.  Both dishes were staples that I used to always order with my partner at this restaurant called Fish and Co.

Fish Fillet with chips.
Soft shell crab salad.

Fish Fillet is quite easy now that one can buy Cream Dory fillet in a supermarket.  With just a light seasoning of salt and pepper, then an egg to bind flour to it and you got a dish ready for pan frying fun.

Soft shell crab on the other hand takes a bit more effort.  Having been able to toss my partner and myself a salad when the urge was there, I decided a few days ago to take a stab at actually making soft shell crab salad.  I had discovered that Shopwise sold alfalfa in a generous amount for its price, and with the balsamic vinaigrette salads I've been making, the idea of being able to add to it a soft shell crab was something I could not resist.  I mean, how hard could it be right?

It turns out, creating a soft shell crab salad does require a strong determination to accomplish the task.   Well, at least it did for someone like me.   I discovered Shopwise also sold soft shell crabs in the frozen Japanese section for Php250 a box (which had four crabs) and while I was letting two of them thaw, I decided to surf the net for any tips on how to cook the sucker.

Soft shell crabs, it turned out, need to be cleaned before cooking.
Oh my lord.
Lemme explain that reaction  by letting you watch the video I viewed.



OH MY GOD.  Yes.  They cut off those parts and the FACE while the crab is still alive.
Alive!  Do you read me?!??!
I don't pretend to be an animal rights activist or anything, but seriously couldn't they have at least killed the crab properly first before cutting those parts off and cooking it?

This video kinda hit me bad.  And even though I was working with long dead frozen crabs, I found myself feeling sad for the fellers as I took the kitchen shears and snipped the faces off.  I felt their firm bodies in my hand and hated how my brain could still imagine them squirming and struggling in dying agony.

Wah.

It is interesting how you don't even need to season the crabs much.  Just roll them in flour that has been seasoned a bit with black pepper and paprika, and that's it, it is ready for frying.

So yeah, the salad was delicious!  Very easy to prepare and well worth the effort.  I'm certain certain chefs and foodies out there have loads of suggestions for me (like how to better prepare the crab, or what is a better way to season things, etc) but ultimately what matters is being able to cook something my partner and I will enjoy.

I just wish I didn't find myself stopping each time I had to clean the crab and remembering how somewhere out there, some of these poor things have to get "cleaned" before they even die.