planet crap

1. Experiment with Vine - even though there’s nothing about the app that interests me. I already have Cinemagram and that’s enough.

2. Check out the Grand Canyon - via Google Maps. Over 9,500 panoramas can now be viewed after Google’s Street View Trekker (its newest camera platform) went around the Grand Canyon since October. Through the interactive maps, anyone can now “Take a walk down the narrow trails and exposed paths of the Grand Canyon: hike down the famous Bright Angel Trail, gaze out at the mighty Colorado River, and explore scenic overlooks in full 360-degrees.”

3. Watch Paperman in YouTube - and preferably with someone to cuddle with. Oh, February.

4. Make music with Orphion - call a friend with an iPad and pretend to be extremely talented music artists. The app is available in the App Store for free.

5. Check out Menswear Dog in Tumblr - screw Lookbook.nu and worship the newest bow wow fashion icon in the Internetzzz.

A brawl/riot of some sort ensued last night in Anda Street while we were eating durian in a corner.

A bunch of neatly dressed guys (aged 18-19) ran our way while some bystanders were yelling “hoi!” repeatedly.

Cars stopped in an intersection where the teens rushed by.

More teens came out of an auditorium where an event was held. Hearsays account of guys beating up another guy; the latter refused to resort to police assistance.

What happened?

In an ocular, we saw there was a fashion show (or something like that) held in the area. It appeared to be organized by one of those web popularity contests in Facebook because there were posters hung by the gate that bore the social networking site’s URL.

In an interview with one of the remaining guys in the area, it was revealed that one of the “designers/stylists” of the show provoked one of the teens (who were “models” in the show) in a blackmailing fashion (badum tss!); one claimed that they allegedly engaged in a sexual act with each other.

The teen was said to be denying the allegation; he later felt insulted. This brought him and his gang to assault the “designer/stylist,” causing a riot of some sort in the area. Bystanders said that the person assaulted was badly injured and was bleeding, bruised.

Is there any form of authority who is looking into the welfare of these teens (who are probably minors) involved in the events organized by Facebook web popularity contests? Are they being harassed? Or are they the ones harassing?

What happened last night wasn’t exactly alarming; it seemed petty. But people were hurt.

And horrible ensembles were probably showcased in the runway.

But we are more interested to hear from real authorities than the fashion police. For now.

Because if this list were my 2013 resolutions, then I’m way past Earth’s deadline. This is just a list…of things.

Like, there are things that I promise to myself I’d do. And there are things that crop up randomly which I decide to do.

This 2013, I have told myself to

-hydrate more: drown in Gatorade, smother my face with moisturizer, and drink lots of pineapple juice. The idea of rehydrating sounds fun to me; it’s like pressing all four attack buttons in Tekken for a counter attack charge or something.

-drop the attitude: be less of a bitch of the people around me and to the snotty sales people in cheap malls. Ugh!

-buy more fun stuff: splurge on anything that’s colorful; I started with Topman underwear. My crotch feels so happy wearing vibrant prints.

-talk to my sister Maria more: she’s as crazy as I am.

-never go offline: apparently, I’m not online enough. When Temple Run 2 was made available for download in the Apple App Store earlier this week, I was offline. I was last in line when the news broke. Unacceptable!

I’m not so smart sometimes. Sometimes, I’m not so smart all the time.

I have confessed to my mother that there are some things about my family that I do not know about. I am referring to the family beyond the Boga and Pizarro circles.

I am not very knowledgeable with my super in-laws, my 124th degree cousins, and my titos and titas whom I’m pretty sure never really did anything significant to make my existence better.

And so when the time came that I had to drive everyone to a birthday party of a cousin whatever, I was caught in a sea of strangers.

There were grandparents whom I had to exchange mandatory pleasantries with. There were cousins whom I had to pretend I cared about. And there were titos and titas who were completely strangers to me. Gasp!

“Ay, ito pala si Jay-R!” they called, surprised. They talk so excitedly as if seeing me were like seeing light for the first time.

Who are these people? I gathered hints from the conversations that followed. Childhood. Take care. Seven years-old.

Oh, they’re those people who used to like me and take care of me back when I was still cute or something. Tita chummy pinched my cheeks.

Dafuq?

And then came the question that caused planets to align: May girlfriend ka na?

You know those scenes in movies where people choke on dinner tables? Yes, I choked.

Not with a drink but with Jufran chili sauce.

I’m pathetic.

I really should have skipped the sauce. Dinner’s lechon wasn’t bland.

Earlier today, I told someone that I tend to rant in my head every time I get beaten in Tekken.

When I lose in fighting games, I often find myself thinking and writing stuff in my head. These don’t only concern things about the game; I scream in my head about life and the miseries I’ve encountered in it.

Somehow, I am okay with that violent mental catharsis. A part of me wants to stay like this and in this insane state of mind. I want to stay worried about the most petty of things: shoes sizes, braces I never had for my teeth, and countless “could have done” ways to win a Tekken match that I’ve already lost.

I’ve been to this dark, dusty corner of my brain where I found piles of dirt that came alive to haunt me. Specks of that dirt clung on to my neck and ears. They constantly whisper heart-crushing words about how bad (really bad) the reality of my life is.

I never want to go back to that corner ever again.

Strangely, I am constantly drawn to that dark side. I muster a small amount of courage to check whether I’m ready to face the monsters of my lifetime.

More often than not, I end up crushed. Sometimes, I fight back and try not to get bruised.

In the end, I pretend that no battles were fought. I go back to my pretend worries and petty concerns regarding shoe sizes, braces for my teeth, and Tekken.

Lili and to fight like her is the only fantasy that keeps me going right now.

En garde!

Dondie returned to our table with a tray: it had fries, a burger, a sundae, and a toy.

Jack Frost!

He bought a happy meal. That was our cue to have one too. Shyne had Tooth (the tooth fairy), Levi had the Sandman, and I had one of Santa’s elves.

They all look so adorable.

My first Happy Meal from McDonald’s after literally a decade of forgetting it existed. I think it’s less happier than its previous iterations, though.

I remember Happy Meals at 39 pesos. I remember the toy being housed in a fancy box. I remember the toy being real (and with less plastic; like the Matchbox cars).

Happy Meals have become cheap; they carry less happiness now. Curse you 2012!

My friends and I were in a dark corner somewhere in Anda Street on Halloween.

We were in HIPHOUSE, a quirky utopia in this side of the world that has become a nook for some of the city’s indie artists, writers, photographers, filmmakers, and other “visionaries.”

On that night, HIPHOUSE was a crazy alternate Halloween universe of some sort.

There were no sexy bees and slutty nurses in Star Warts, the HIPHOUSE Halloween costume party.

There were only awesome things and crazy people.

There was an Imperial Stormtrooper, a batman villain, a gigantic matchbox, straight guys (yes, those are Halloween costumes now), undead from the Victorian era, and a not-so-little Red Riding Hood.

There were drinks, lights, music, a lottery (that either makes the winner sing or take in a shot of vodka), and intense visual artworks projected on a wall.

There were mind-blowing pica-pica (Rad Rolls by Cheekie Albay) that everyone gobbled up.

There were also quirky coupons that entitled holders to a photo and—wait for it—a dance with someone. My friend Kat and I giggled at the idea because we’re creepy people like that. I knew exactly whom to use the ticket with.

The only thing that was absent was a program. The party felt like a laid-back hang out and that’s what makes it so awesome. HIPHOUSE was a place where I could enjoy the company of people who, in the words of musician Jad Montenegro, are “bored with going to regular bars/clubs.”

Nevermind the walk of shame, the little heartache (HNNNNGGGGG!!!), and the hangover on Thursday morning.

Run your eyes around this page as photographer Kenth O’Bajo captures the party insanity that the entire human race can only experience in HIPHOUSE.

(Source: mindanaotimes.net)