GREATEST HITS


10. February or March of 2005: Pitik Mingaw

I don't think us four (Raymond Soriano, Richmond Mercurio, Aura Dagcutan and me) would have another shot at auditioning for the "Pana-panahon ang pagkakataon" drama commercial of McDonald's. Why, I don't know, but it's weird to think that even though it's one time when we would have made the Mush-o-meter burst, it's also one we are all sure we wouldn't want to live again.

We had to dance. Damn.



9. February 2003: Brokeback-tion

Another I don't know: Why I have to end up having lookers for bestfriends. Elementary, Highschool, College.

What happened after our JS Prom back in my sophomore years, though, only has to do with us of my ex-BFF. "Ex-", because, ever since I have confirmed the rumors around our Highschool clique that my bestfriend is a proud and outgoing member of the third sex now, he never talked to me again.

We had a fight a week before the Prom. I was at fault but because I was ma-pride, I didn't want to say sorry, so the cold stuff went on till the Big Night. Having no lovelife yet then, and knowing that he'd surely be spending some night out with a girl anyway, I went home early.

Next school day, I was sent to the Principal's office.

Turns out that my BFF did go out and had his share of beers with acquiantances- and got drunk, BIGTIME. He ended up walking all the way to the parish church near our school and sleeping there. His parents, in the meantime, was sending flames running through our principal's telehone till dawn.

I was told that I was the root of all evil. That my friend sitting already sitting in there said he can't take the ugly things between us anymore. Stuff.

Funny guy, that one.

Michael Angelo Tee, you fag, I miss you.



8. 2004 and ongoing: Dreaming of Caguioa

I have to admit: I forgot Ginebra some time in my life.

Right after Jaworski became a senator, my Kings and I went on some kind of a cool-off. We became long-distance lovers- news about them I catch second-handedly, their losses inspiring me to bawl no more, their players no longer familiar to me.

And then Caguioa came.

Of course I didn't know him. Just back in my first years in Highschool, our sociable Math teacher showed up with this weird hair-do, with his hair in neat, brushed-up lines, sorta like the Allan Iverson dreadlocks. The popular boys in class started teasing him: "woooh, Caguioa yan ser ah!"

Caguioa.

When the Philippine Team played Lebanon, Mark went 0/9 from the field- ZERO BASKETS OUT OF NINE ATTEMPTS. About six of those came from point-blank shots, the type of baskets that would have the statisticians automatically write 2points beside Mark's name on their statsheets, especially because Mark anyway dislodges about four pairs of ankles on his way to the basket. But then, whadoyouknow, Mark made none of them.

And just then Mark pulled to the air for a three-pointer in the 3rd Quarter, everybody expecting him to miss.

And then the ball came drilling its way through the hoop, draining itself loudly down the net.

And then Mark turned around, beat his chest repeatedly with his right fist, then pointed to the Araneta crowd that had exploded all of a sudden. Caguioa had just made his first fieldgoal after 10 tries.

I was brought back to that time when Mark had, in a most contrasting manner, been on fire, barraging in 45 points in a do-or-die with Air21. Back then, tears were salting my face so hard that I didn't get to enjoy the moment that I have engraved in my mind so well: Mark Caguioa being called for his 6th foul, the Coliseum in an uproar, the chant "CA-GUI-OA" echoing all around the walls of the Araneta Coliseum as our ace player went to his bench to receive hugs from everyone.

I Love You Mark.

PS: "Mark Caguioa is the first player after Robert Jaworski whose name became a chant among the fans."



7. First Semester of 2005: I Am Invincible

Ever since Jasper Martinez and I learned that we are both addicts of Battle Realms, we had been wetting our undershirts in drool-waiting of that day when we can finally kick the other's electronic butt.

The day came on a surprise academic holiday and Jasper came with a friend. 2-on-2, he said, to make things more exciting. The narcissistic in me, I complained not, so I conned my dear friend Raymond Soriano into playing with us.

It was Boom's first attempt at a network game.

An hour later, they attacked Boom's base and demolished it. Then they went into mine. Then they cursed me for not reminding them to say their deathwishes first.

I'm still waiting for that day when Jasper and three of his friends would ask me to play with them.



6. December 20, 2006: Paskuhan Got Dumped

Two of the three things I pray for everyday (Yes, I pray, no need to call Ripley's) I enjoyed in one night: my friends and my Ginebra. Well, not really all of my friends, because Boom wasn't there, the reason this here is not in the Top 5. However, it was Paskuhan over at the UST, along with Spongecola, Sugarfree (?) and ohmaygad, ohmaygad, Up Dharma Down and free foods and fireworks and what a wonderful night all in one.

And yet Aura Dagcutan, Richmond Mercurio and Samuel Medenilla decided not to go just to watch Ginebra versus Red Bull with me.

(Or was it because I was treating???)

I was so freakin' happy. And proud. When Red Bull's players came out to a chorus of boos and curses by us Ginebra fans, I was so proud that Papasam and Aura heard it. When my Kings got to the court amidst deafening roars, I was so proud that Papasam and Aura were there. And when Rudy Hatfield buried a lucky 3pointer to seal the game, I was so proud that Papasam and Aura and Richmond got to see me howling with everyone else in attendance.

Aura was depressed after Ginebra won the game. Papasam started to idolize the 6'9" three-point shooting center of Red Bull. Richmond, well, was cool. We ate in a rotting restaurant.

And Ginebra lost in the Christmas Game.



5. December 1, 2006: Szusza Bolera

I was doing the rounds on the blogs of my cyberspace circle when I stumbled upon this comment of Szusza Velasco over at Allan Policarpio's Gagopolis (the rapidly rising blog to overthrow Bob Ong):

"This blog is too funny for words. I'll never get tired of reading your blog and Arvee's."

I didn't get to sleep that night.



4. April 2007 and ongoing: Lost in Love

It cost me a hundred pesos. Originally, the price was P120, but I'm good in stuff like this, you know.

I finished the Midori no Hibi series first though. Bad decision-making, I guess, something I whole-heartedly admitted after inserting the season1 CD of Lost into the player.

Jack Shephard opens his eyes, a forest of bamboos starts circling him, and my heartbeat starts rhyming with his.

Three months and 69-episodes later, my cardiovascular system still hasn't returned to normal.

One of the saddest things that can happen right now is if any of the show's characters die in real life. That's a real queer thing to happen if you think about it- what would happen to Desperate Housewives if Tony Parker forgets to wear a condom one lovely Valentine's night? What would happen to GMA-7 if Raymond Gutierrez suddenly throws muriatic acid all over his brother's face in envy? What would happen to Ginebra if Caguioa gets traded?

My notebooks at home are full of graphic scribbles of what I think is going on at the damn island. My sister is avoiding me, sick of all the pop quizzes about Lost that I drop on her everytime we cross paths. Rainier has stopped calling because all I want to talk about when he does is Lost and how great it is.

My mother still isn't scolding me though because she's yet to learn that I have bought four copies of the 3rd Season, just so that I'd have the perfect subtitles and the perfect audio. Didn't get them though, piracy being lame and all. But it wasn't P200 lost in vain though.



3. June of 2007: Mirage of Three Years Ago

Beatles! "If I fell in love with you, would you promise to be true, and love me, understand? coz i've been in love before, and i found that love was more, than just, holding hands.."

I realized that I have a problem with infatuation and love. Before, I was so awfully crippled with my longing for stuff like Up Dharma and Kiko Machine and even Bee Gees, but I wouldn't touch them anymore now if somebody hands me a complete set of the songs of The Beatles.

I haven't listened to a Beatles song that'd resemble the lyrics of Kisapmata, though, thus "I Fell" I wrote up there doesn't quite reflect my feelings right now.



2. February 23, 2007: Second Greatest Day of My Life

One of the worst, most regrettable things I had done in my life was to watch my first championship experience of Ginebra back in the 90s and forget everything outside that picture of Jawo on the TV raising the Trophy in victory against Alaska.

Bal David as Point Guard, Vince Hizon as the Shooting Guard, Noli Locsin as the Power Forward, Marlou Aquino as the Center. Robert Jaworski as Head Coach.

I don't remember who was our Small Forward, I don't remember who was our import, I don't remember how many games the Finals Series went on, I don't remember who was the Finals MVP, I don't remember who had been our hero that night.

I don't even remember how I had felt back then.

Years later, I fell in love with Ginebra again. Sad thing is that I just can't tie the damn knot. When Ginebra went into the Finals against Red Bull, I watched Game 1. I forgot to watch the rest of the Series, and Ginebra celebrated without me.

The next conference, Ginebra blazed on its way to another Championship series, this time, against Talk N Text. I didn't finish Game1 because TalkNText destroyed us early. I finished Game2 with an unhappy smile, because we only looked like we had Lady Luck to thank for. The Game3 loss I was scolded heavily because I yelled Putang Ina Niyo Talk N Text Fans after seeing all our adversities happy and delighted in the Phonepals' defeating Ginebra by 40. Game4 I gnashed for even worse because Caguioa buried 42 points in vain.

The next outing went on for two overtimes. Halfway through the first overtime I decided to quit watching because all seemed lost, everybody was against us- the opposing fans were annoying, the TNT players were all too good, the referees were paid to make sure we lose, hell, even God decided to put an invisible force field over Ginebra's ring.

And then, over the quite sobs that I was doing up in my room, I heard a thundering ruckus outside.

Ginebra tied the score. I then promised to watch with all my heart the next quarter and sure enough the Kings took Game5.

I was in our JS Prom during Game6. Ginebra clinched the Championship.

http://arveesbored.blogspot.com/2007/02/february-23-2007-if-ill-want-part-of-my.html

Paulo Hubalde. Andy Seigle. Mike Holper. Billy Mamaril. Egay Echavez. Rodney Santos. Rafi Reavis. Mark Macapagal. Sunday Salvacion. Ronald Tubid. Eric Menk. Rudy Hatfield. Jayjay Helterbrand. Mark Caguioa. Coach Siot Tanquingcen. Coach Jong Uichico.

Hatfield went amok. Jayjay danced around topless. Coach Jong rolled around the floor like a pig in the mud. Caguioa wept. I died.



1. Late July of 2004: Cupid Is Blind

It was comical, actually. We were talking via YM and things were getting a little too friendly. Soon, she said her time in the computer shop was almost up. I said "ingat :">". The window went idle for a few seconds then came back up alive for a second before dying permanently with her reply that lingered heavily on the screen and in my heart: "aishteru."

I was like "na...ni?"

On the phone later that night, she raced against herself explaining that it's her friend who actually typed in those japs. Alrighty, I slowly replied. When she sensed that I was probably contemplating on writing to Charo already, she laughed hard then softly said not to worry because the sacred words were with her consent.

I still wanted to write Charo, though.






(just in case. don't call the Obituary editors just yet though, haven't seen myself headless in the mirror headless anyway. as i've said: just in case. Charlie Pace of Lost did the same thing in the season finale afterall, before he wrote my blog's title in his palm moments later. Curious? WATCH LOST. HAHA)

ive decided that ill commit suicide only on three events:
1. my thirtieth birthday, and istill ihavent fooled the gurl im supposed to spend forever with
2. my mother's death
3. when igo blind




nylon cords are my favorite metaphors for the act of permanently outwitting Life. i, however, am not that poetic to have my witnesses watch me pendulum in the air in sync with my heartbeat

the consolation would be the non-CG disturbing effects of the scene, ensuring talks around the neighborhood for long after the funeral. the cost of that however, would be suffocation (and humiliation, with my tongue comically dangling outside my lips like a male genetalia) for about thirty seconds, suffering that not even the promise of life after death could fool me into agreeing




in my sleep iam going to die. painlessly. its spineless, but if ever The Big Guy above starts laughing out maniacally (see three conditions above), ill see to it that iwont be His laughingstock in any way



(the culprit of a bangungot or "lamentation in lala-land" is a person's heavy meal minutes before a bedroom romp. papasam denies this, but something ive read makes me confident enough to be credible. the gist: the pancreas is right behind the stomach. stomach tries to digest the heavy meal. stupid person yawns and horizontally goes to sleep. heavy meal slides down stomach's sides. stomach gets bloated on the side and squashes pancreas. acids ooze out of poor, pissed pancreas. the acids apparently are fatal outside mr. pancreas, thus the manananggals, tianaks or exgurlfriends in stupid person's last nightmare)


(a drawback however will be the corny headlines for the next day: "boy dies from heavy meal; suicide letter in hands")


maybe ill just sample enough sleeping pills to suffice me atleast twenty thousand years in bed. or maybe just a nap in somebody's car







being suicidal apparently isnt synonymous with being gothic: "my soul tingles with your promises of love, the way leaves dance with the whispers of the dead night.. kiss me, oh my sweet salvation, no more of your finger's lovely spite down my wrists please; iwant you now, those cold and piercing lips of yours, oh kiss me, my love."

translation: UGH. iactually dig many things of pure darkness- the clothes, accessories, the artwork, even the gurls. just not their fascination for Reaper's kikay kit


ihad a party-animal classmate in Highschool who showed up one day wearing a wristband made up of bandages. asked what happened, she admitted to slashing her pulse with a pencil sharpener. yes, no reaction more appropriate than whatthehell. interestingly, the last ive heard of her, she goes clubbing with black pendants, black fishnet stockings and black eyebags already. yes, whatthehell







my death: painless, drama-free and sweet


understandably, euthanasia is something iam a supporter of, especially if itd be me whose going to be strapped on those vegetable-support apparatuses


really. idont know how the dim-witted rightists of the Sanctity of Life still manage the old "only God has the right to take away somebody" shit. for me, the sanctity would be saving someone from a reclusion perpetua in his bed with his lungs sounding like darth vader's. being a thinking lettuce doesnt mean that youre living the life of a lettuce no more


yes. iloved "Just Like Heaven" too but im talking about those homo vegetables that suffer a 24/7 view of their ceilings because "only God has the right to take away somebody."


same reason why there wouldnt be any Tuesdays With Arvee in the future







medical chuva claims that a bullet through the temple is an ideal way to court painless death. the speed of the nerve cells in transporting the message of pain from the skin to the brain is greatly inferior to the speed that the bullet will travel through the said mass of gray meat. also, the drama effect is outrageous, as this scene's a cliche already of asian horror flicks, hostage takers and mmk episodes


unfortunately, iknow not of a way for me to get a hand over a gun other than that of House of the Dead's. also, being a journalist (and a student at that) doesnt guarantee this highly technical death. extrajudicial killers surely wont find an FHM or a PBA sportswriter interesting enough to waste gunpowder on. even less so when imake it to those organizations only as an applicant. and yes, im supposed to be talking of self-induced coffin-wishing here, so getting shot at is already out of the question and of my drama-free requirements






another method ifound interesting is electrocution. electric chairs were given emphasis. though eerie, the thing actually tickles the user with bolts merciful enough to render permanent unconsciousness in less than a second. in other words, painless as well


ofcourse, the closest id be able to perform such would be by taking a bath with the TV set, like that guy from the US-version of The Ring. it was a creepy scene, terribly, and im not very sure he was dancing in that tub because its the angel's trumpets he's hearing already







id be playing with my own urn anyway if ever no double-digit automobile cared to kiss me within the next 30 years. my mother's fond of singing songs about our family's loyalty to Osteoporosis, and idont see myself being the blacksheep anytime soon. for now, however, ive cross-fingeredly counted of 12 more years in me


igotta badger someone to text me those carpe diem mushinesses right now