One step at a time

This would be the ERD (entity relationship diagram) of my thesis; basically one part of the sum total of my existence for the past… damn, six years. There’s still the DFD (data flow diagram) and other parts of the paper left. I’m getting there, one painful page, one damned diagram at a time.

Yes, I’m doing the long-overdue documentation of my thesis. You know what they say - the shitting ain’t over till the (toilet)paper work is done.

NU 107

A little history for a while: I bought my first music appliance during HS. It was a basic Sony Walkman - AM, FM, tape player with reverse. During that time, CD players were in the vogue and well, I’m the sad awkward guy making mix tapes during the weekends with my PC and a stereo with a line-in input and record function. For a commuter who was (and is still being) plagued by idiot collegialas who are always so damn noisy and the aptly-called idiot tube, that Walkman (and subsequently, digital audio players) was a lifesaver. And that little puppy’s FM radio was locked to NU 107.

NU 107. That radio station that started as Atom Henares’ way of courting Vicky Belo (of all persons!) introduced me to a wealth of local and foreign ear candy. A Murder of Crows (and subsequently, Paramita). Hungry Young Poets (and by chain reaction, Barbie’s Cradle and Mojofly), Cynthia Alexander. Sugarfree. Imago.  Radioactive Sago Project. Wolfgang. Razoback. Up Dharma Down. There were a lot of others; I think it’s safe to say NU 107 trained my music palette.

On the seventh day (of November 2010) the god of rock said, ‘Ok, fuck this shit, I’m tired. Where’s my beer’ and decided to call it a day. But that doesn’t mean rock dies. There’s a shitload off cliches that’s already been said by others but it all sums up to rock living on in all of us. Fuck the so-called masa radio. Fuck those sheep whose bleats sounds like ‘baaaah-by / baaaaaah-by / oooooh’ and ‘tweeehh-neeehh-one’. There’s more to music than what is being shoveled down our throats by the money-crazed -and-blinded media.

Now, it’s the end of an era. Maybe it’s the start of a new one where people actively search what’s new, discover, find the really good stuff. I really hope so. Because WHEN (when, not if, you bitches) the time comes when the god of rock decides to get his ass back to work, it better be intro’d by a long kick-ass rock improv number, a ton of fireworks and barrels of beer.

Rock on NU 107. You will be missed but you will always live in us.

This thing called "writing a blog post" is like riding a bike. It takes some getting used to again after a hiatus of some time

It was a cold day. Perfect bed weather; the only thing that missing was someone to cuddle and tangle with the sheets. You. Wait what.

“Abre los ojos mi amigo, un nuevo dia!” my brain said. I think my brain managed to buy some instant optimism. Just add hot water, viola. But like my beloved instant noodles, this optimism gives off the same nasty aftertaste as an overdose of MSG.

What’s new today, I wondered. I looked at the time and saw it was way too late for work.

“You forgot the tonto, my brain. Nothing’s new; I woke up late, grumpy and quite under the weather. And cut the optimism, you’re not fooling anyone.”

“You don’t get it, do you? Something new happened today. Think about it.”

This brain can be such a pain in the ass.

—

It hit me while I was drinking my second mug of brewed coffee. I still remember my first thought today. It’s rare for me; the thing I remember most of the time is this zombie-like rush to get out of the house and hustle to work. Look what I did there. Zombie-like rush. Heh. Don’t start asking about dreams. These days I don’t remember my dreams anymore. I’m not even sure if I still dream. A lot of them went down the drain two years ago and I ran out of reasons for reviving them. And now comes my first thought for this particualary rainy morning.

I really, really hate waking up.

On pets, digging graves and why cats are better than dogs as pets.

Before getting a any pet, make sure you have a garden or a place where you can easily bury them. Which means chances are I won’t have a pet when I move out of this house. If you can’t take having a pet die on you, as in gasping-its-last-with-its-eyes-on-you die on you, don’t get one. Chances are, pets (especially dogs) would wait to see and interact with you one last time and then they’d keel over, shiver and die.

When you’re burying something, dig a grave at least thrice as deep as the depth of the body. The mass of the soil on top will prevent the body from bloating too much and well, getting exposed to the elements when it starts decomposing. It will also prevent other animals from digging up the corpse. You’d be surprised how much soil you will dig out even with a small 2 x 1.5 x 2 feet grave.

Cats are better than dogs in those aspects; with a cat you only need to dig a smaller hole vis-a-vis a mongrel. IF you see them die/dead that is; cats hide when they feel their time is up.

When you start covering up the grave, stomp hard (or even jump) on the soil on top every third part up i.e. one-thirds filled up, stomp; two-thirds filled up, stomp. Or every fourth, depending on the depth of the hole. This will compact the soil and make for a more even surface (i.e. not much of a bulge) when you finish filling up the hole. Don’t worry about squishing whatever you’ve buried - it’s dead fer crying out loud, it can’t feel any more pain.

God I’m tired. 

Twenty-three past midnight

It’s twenty-three past midnight already.

A pile of dirty shoes beckon to be cleaned. They say you can tell what kind of person someone is by looking at how he/she treats his/her shoes. I wonder how much of that is true.

My work bag is open, its contents scattered on my desk. Leave any one thing and I’d be screwed tomorrow. I wish I was kidding.

I have half a dozen articles left to write. Some of them are refusing to be written but for some sneaky reason I think my brain is just calling it quits… for the night at least.

My heart is aching. Literally. A dull pulling and ripping pain somewhere in my chest is telling me to stop whatever I’m doing and get some sleep. For some reason I don’t think sleep will cure me this time around.

I have work tomorrow (wait, LATER) and I want to be on time for a change. But for some reason I can’t pull away and turn the monitor off. This has become a bad habit I swear.

It’s twenty-three past midnight already, yet here I am still poking and pulling and cutting away at my digits, chipping away at nail and cutting away at excess skin. It’s twenty-three past midnight already but here I am jumping from one webpage to another. I may die tonight or be screwed tomorrow but chances are I’d die with clean digits and a satisfied ADHD mind.

And for some reason, it’s ok.