< hmmm... >

   Today was Christmas Tree Decorating Day at my house, and suffice to say there is more to a plastic tree, strings of lights and Freudian Christmas balls.  Christmas is around the corner... yet again.

   Nah, I'm not in a celebratory mood.  After all, it's about a full month and a few weeks away before Christmas season and I'm in anything but the Christmas spirit, that's unless we celebrate some other holiday at this time in November.  Which, of course, we don't.  I don't know what commemorative holiday exactly befalls us this day.

< hmmm... >

   You know the world is coming to a verge of a great discovery - or maybe some class of stupidity - when people start selling chicken parts for a living.  The gizzard being the most popular one.

   I was munching on chicken gizzards awhile ago and it got me thinking about stuff like the meaning of life from the probenticulus of a poor chicken now sold in a Magnolia shrink bag.  Don't get me wrong: chicken parts taste good, although they're no substitutes for KFC.  I've been so used to the idea of eating chicken that it becomes somewhat "chicken" for me to eat it, but parts take a bit of getting used to.  Like, does vinegar make for a good dipping sauce?  What is found in the true diet of the philosopher king?  What is the question, is it the punctuation mark or the verb "What?"

   Truly, chicken gizzards make for an interesting segue into the many aspects of forlorn truths that escape us.  Like, why not sell the chicken instead, contenting one's self only with the small deep-fried pieces sold at a buck a pop?  Why do OFW's wear maong gear or leather jackets?  What is in a Marlboro Lights that makes it so popular among the smoking youth?

   Today happens to be the second year anniversary of the Experiment.  All those questions?  Damn, they will be answered.

< second year anniversary boonkaka >

   So there, I've been around for a couple of years.

< hmmm... >

   By the way, November 9th is the second year anniversary of this here blog.

   Anyway, some pharmacist friends are suggesting that I take herbal medicines instead of chemicals to cure my, uh, psychosis.  They swear that a regimen of pito-pito will cut short the exacerbations associated with my illness and I'd be get-up-and-go by the time I steep said herbs in hot water.  Right now, I'm taking major tranquilizers, which can really get to my system and have me shivering in the middle of the night.

   Which is precisely the reason why I also hate taking in medicine.  Unless they come across beer-flavored pellets of goodness, I'm good.  However, since that can't happen I have to stick with the medicine I have now.  Now I know what my Pokemon feel whenever I'm drugging them with all sorts of boosters.

< hmmm... >

   It seems that I'm constantly on the verge of anything from a great discovery to a stupid day.  This is a stupid day.

   Today I queued up for two hours to pay my tuition fees and it was a good thing I planned it for the morning, or else I'd be pelted with rain this afternoon.  I still was, on my way to SM to buy a binder notebook.  Well, it's not exactly my fault that things aren't turning out the way I hoped...

   Oh well, 'tis experimenting time.

< hmmm... >

   Seems like I failed a subject.  My dream of a three-unit semester is busted.  Well, at least I can take solace in a seven-unit semester.

   To those of you expecting the e-book of TMX IV, it's on.  Next week.

< must quit making "hmmm..." statements on thought "bubbles" >

   Bangalore, India is changing its name into "Bengaluru," according to a Yahoo! report.  Apparently, in the local language, "Bangalore" means "the town of boiled beans."  I wouldn't want to live in the town of boiled cabbage, either.  Does anyone live in Pinakuluang Repolyo?

   Boiled beans aside, there are a lot of names of places in the world that deserve a name change.  Take Sexmoan, Pampanga, which I always seemed to consider the sexiest town name in the planet - a haven for sexual activities best left to the imaginations of serial rapists in Bilibid.  It all depends on how you would use a placard or a town marker.  "Sexmoan" thus became "Sasmuan," and all I know of it is that it is a town that specializes in sweet goods.  Aside from taking "sex" and "moan" out of the compounded morphemes, it's all good.  Except, maybe, that the people of the town formerly known as Sexmoan will have less sexiness than a prostitute in Angeles.

   Bangkerohan City, Davao del Norte is another Freudian allusion, especially considering the notions of "boats" and "boatmen" in the Filipino language.  Cabisocolan, Ilocos Norte might as well be named "the city of edible snails."  The city of androgynous lesbians is also found in Pampanga: Tibo.

   Maybe I'm being ethnocentric in saying that even my city, Baguio, would might as well be considered the town of storms or, in a more allegorical manner, the town of really bad diarrhea.  When you come to think about it, changing the name of a few roads or cities here and there may be merit to them.  I get confused about the two Marcos Highways in the Philippines, and even changing one into the Palispis-Aspiras Highway doesn't make any sense to me at all.

   Banzai, Pangasinan, which I am sure is a fine, fine town for recreation and perhaps a few flame-grilled bangus, is one cool sounding name.  Burat, Samar, however, is not something I'll be eating flame-grilled anything for those stray pubic hairs that may be found in a dish of roasted scrotum.

   The truth is, I have now unearthed our common problem.  Who would want to live in a nutsack?

< quote me on these >

   Not everyone granted that one day of "All Saints' Day" is a saint.

   Behold, the sarcophagus!  What do you see... a mere block of stone.

   Valor is best left to the living for nobody died because of it.

   Those who wish to be buried are those who cannot let go of living.

< now this is worth blogging about >

   The other day, during our nth class reunion, I came across a very obscure scientific fact: that tranquilizers and tequila don't mix.

   I'm on medication, and as far as I'm concerned I need to be a hell of a lot calmer.  That also means, according to my doctor, that because of the drug interactions between alcohol, Haloperidol and Chlorpromazine, I should stop drinking.  After all, I know I drink too much and I'm probably going to live the rest of my life popping typical anti-psychotics.  So I figured that if I'm gonna quit drinking but go out swinging, I should be wasted.  Thanks to cheap tequila, local vodka and a generous helping of green mangoes washed down with a few cold beers, I got knocked down good.

   I know a hangover like I do an old shoe, so after being carried away to a room where I had toxic nightmares thanks to drug interactions, I took to rationality and decided that if I'm going to be the same old liquor-swilling bastard, I must quit taking the medicines.  The more rational course of action would be simpler: while I'm on medicine, no alcohol.

< romantic experiment >

   A lot of girls I know hate the very idea of playing Warcraft III: Defense of the Ancients.  DoTA, for short.  It's not DoTA, per se, that annoys them, but the very idea of playing a computer game.  It seems like a likely tradeoff, between a real maiden and a Crystal Maiden.  Or, to play on the pun, there's a vengeful spirit behind every guy who plays a Vengeful Spirit.

   I'm used to the whining of many a girl about the mad obsessions of her boyfriend being addicted to DoTA.  But why?  It's a simple-minded game, no more than a point-and-click adventure through a battlefield.  A relationship gone "DoTA" is nothing more than a relationship gone awry because of a simple game of DoTA.  Big whoop.  They say computer games are addictive.  They're not: like smoking, the thought of playing a computer game is addictive.

   Girls: you can't expect your DoTA-addicted boyfriends to respond to your every whim.  To wish only to serve, to gladly obey, to give their lives to you if you're named Ner'Zul.  Ultimately, the choice is often between you and DoTA, right?  Wrong.  You may be looking for time with your boyfriend, a date...

   Come on, just play.