Jack The Scribbler

(Also known as the cursory Christmas entry bloggers are wont to indulge in especially during the holidays)

And I mean that in a good way.
Not in the melancholy, maudlin sense expressed by Paul Simon when he wrote a song of the same title in an album which, by the way, is part of my CD collection (something that is becoming increasingly anachronistic).
In any case, as I said, I am still pixilated — yes, it means crazy — because I remain optimistic.
I remain grateful for my friends who have, in one way or the other, expressed support when I ran out of fuel, literally and figuratively, at various periods this year.
My gratitude goes to Barry G. and Art F. and others including Bernie L., Arvie V., Teddy R., Mads B., and Bing C. — individuals who may be uncomfortable about being mentioned in a website such as this one.
Thanks for the Christmas Eve invites, Barry and Art, but I just had to turn them down. I did seriously consider Barry’s offer to shack up with him, Maya, and Aemon at a fancy hotel in Ortigas. Reminded me of that time in Washington, DC five years ago at the Marriott Wardman Park.
Bing, thanks for sharing beers with me in Dumaguete in April. Let’s do that again.
Arnold Tenorio and Dennis Estopace also provided some humor and companionship even though I always shelled out more cash whenever the three of us went out for a drink. It’ll be your turn next time, I promise. Arnold and Dennis, thanks for staying sane, decent, and independent. Keep up the good work, or whatever it is you pretend to do.
Faye Ilogon deserves special mention for helping me out with logistics, broadly defined, and for always trying to cheer me up.
Paolo Manalo for the free books he willingly gave away and dropped off at a preset location — all at no cost to the recipient — before he went abroad to pursue studies further.
GMANews.TV colleagues and co-workers also deserve special mention for making my day every single working day, and here they are, in no particular order of importance — Raffy and Fidel J., Jon P., Karl K., AR S., Kim T., Aie S., Sophie D., Joseph U., Mark M., Jam S., Dreo C., Olmin L., Loloi G., and Jayme G.
Former colleagues also made their respective dents in my life such as Alex M., Abe C., Romy T., and Joe T.
Alan and Raissa Robles for lunch and more.
Thank you all and Happy Holidays.
Bottles of beer were opened, relished, and consumed in your individual honors.
Thank you Rapidshare for just being there, always tempting me to shell out cash for a premium account. But the thought of bills alone gives me pause.
Thank you, Julio Cortazar for writing Blow Up and Other Stories. I’m beginning to appreciate metafiction once again, fourteen years after I read this the first time around.
Thank you, twelve-inch PowerBook G4 for being my workhorse, continuing to function despite a case of kernel panic two years ago and a faulty C key that pops out occasionally.
Thank you, AlphaSmart Dana for allowing me to keep at it, enabling me to type in the unlikeliest of places (i.e., a congested waiting area of a bank in Quezon City) during the most unearthly hours (i.e., an hour and a half after Christmas, when everyone’s inebriated and I am — miraculously — drier than a martini.)
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From That Old Black Magic Department. As indicated, this whole document was produced and processed using technology that is roughly five years old. This document — typed on an AlphaSmart Dana — was then beamed via infrared to a Treo 650 from which the same file was transferred via Bluetooth to the PowerBook G4. Mrs. Santa Claus pic courtesy of ebaumsworld.com.

Compared to other urban areas within greater Metro Manila, Makati City – or at least its central business district – is clean, organized, and well-planned, making it the Philippines’ Little Singapore, without the ubiquitous cameras, the staid Singaporeans, and Lee Kuan Yew.
Despite the vigorous enthusiasm by which traffic laws are enforced in the country’s financial capital – a characteristic shared by the Asian city-state – many people still prefer to congregate in Makati City, with the hopelessly mistaken notion that working, shopping, dining, hanging out, and even living in the area is sophisticated.
It’s not: it’s just plain expensive.
The outrageous amount of what it costs you to do anything in Makati – use the pay toilet facilities, for instance, to expel the solid and liquid remains of that third cup of latté – is the price of the illusion that allows you to give off an air of wealth and sophistication.
Fortunately, this kind of air doesn’t contribute to global warming.
If it did, politically-correct, holier-than-thou, backyard-composting environmental activists would be all over Greenbelt calling for its closure while stinking up the whole place since organic deodorant is not available at their local cooperative.
Unfortunately, thanks to this self-sustaining Makati illusion, the city has attracted tourists of all stripes and sizes, tastes and inclinations.
In the process, it has also accommodated loud and tacky Filipinos, a category which cuts across economic classes and can be found in other countries, aping the locals and irritating the hell out of other people.
Products of stupid parents and the absence of a law legalizing abortion, these flashy individuals can also be found trolling Makati’s malls, exuding various degrees of pretension and self-importance, fiddling their expensive cellphones with thunderous ringing tones that can wake up the dead.
This, among others, explains why I avoid going to Makati City as much as possible.
But then again, it’s not as if that I have any choice in the matter.
Just like everyone else who needs to make a living – or at least until something better comes along – I put in the usual eight-hour routine in Makati, risking encounters with the usual set of drones, flacks, suits, and sell-outs found in every other financial capital.
And as soon as my work is done, I head for the door immediately, eager to resume my life which lies outside the Philippines’ business district.

(This was written in August 2007, when I worked in Makati. I remain grateful I don’t do so now. Photo from Wikipedia, contributed, uploaded, and released to the public domain by Eternal Dragon. Thanks, friend. )

Half an hour past midnight finds self-proclaimed protagonist in his self-proclaimed Bat Cave, confident that victuals will last the weekend

Unfortunately, certain cold beverages do not fall under the category of victuals, which explains why he remains awake at this unearthly hour

And so, he continues to Tweet, formulating thoughts into 140 character configurations while warding off the threats posed by sheer thirst.

While Tweeting, he discovers that Oprah Winfrey will end her show in September 2011 — a development best appreciated while nursing a beer.

To thwart outbreak of beverage crisis, self-proclaimed protagonist takes a quick shower, hoping cold water will get mind off beer. Bad move.

The failed strategy is further complicated by tweet from @Kid_Kilatis who mentions Frank Sinatra, bringing images of bars, saloons, women

Situation getting out of hand, protagonist mutters to himself, left hand clutching neck. Will tomorrow night be any different than this one?

Drastic plan change proposed. Instead of spending whole weekend indoors, protagonist promises to leave apartment and purchase more supplies.

Story now ends as protagonist moves on to other plans, including updating his Facebook status as he looks forward to tomorrow night’s beer.

(Certain punctuation regulations were relaxed to comply with Twitter’s 140 character limitation. Some entries didn’t have periods, for instance. Similar attempts in the future will absolutely do away with these oversights. Cropped photo on the top right was taken during the September 2009 launch of San Miguel Brewery Inc.’s Oktoberfest, which was attended by, among others, the Oktobabes, a group of lovely Brazilian women.)