Screw this.

It's 7:52. Plans of going home=nil. The whirr of the aircon. Alone again in a two-room office. The hard rain that just died down. Noises from vehicles. The semi-bitter after taste of orange juice. Christmas lights from the department store up front visible from the slits of the window sills. Picture frames in front of me that should convey meaning, but don't. The music player that stopped playing my self-professed favorite person of the year. I want to shrink or implode and let the universe just forget about me. Dammit. Fuck this spontaneity. Fucking overrated.

Hell hath no fury like a geek scorned.

Jay | is finding it hard to find a decent copy (Torrent) of The Social Network online. (3 days ago)

Jay | saw The Social Network on his favorite bootleg haven! Jesse Eisenberg, with a precocious-looking smirk, dons the poorly laid-out cover with pictures of the cast during of the gala premiere which is totally unrelated to the film. (18 hours ago via Mobile Web)

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Rey | Jay, I saw it already. The pirated copy has been around for days!
Jay | You should have texted me.
John | I saw it na. Naka-download ako. Pero halata sa sinehan kinunan. It’s so talkish. I don’t like it. So boring
(Write comment here)

Jay | is slurping ice float at McDonalds and seeing from afar a poster of The Social Network in the Coming Soon portion of the cinema. Can’t wait to get home! (16 hours ago via Mobile Web)

Jay | is watching The Social Network now. (hyperlink) The Social Network HQ trailer http://www.youtube.com/watch?=mygtlkjsfd (10 hours ago)

Jay | just finished watching The Social Network and feels like it’s still growing in him. (8 hours ago)

Jay | “Hell hath no fury like a geek scorned.” Haha. (an hour ago)

Jay | is fighting the impulse to talk, in feverish jolts, like Jesse Eisenberg.
Rey Perandos likes this.
Jay | I guess that’s the way he really speaks. I liked Jesse way back The Squid and the Whale. And his precocious way of talking really works astoundingly in this film. It’s like don’t talk to me if you aren’t able to catch up.

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Jay likes Jesse Eisenberg (actor).
Jay likes Andrew Garfield (actor).
Jay changed his Profile Picture.

Jay | “You’re not an asshole Mark. You’re just trying so hard to be one.” ~ The Social Network. It’s kind of funny, that no matter how Mark maybe trying so hard to be an asshole, or an asshole, if you’re on Eduardo Saverin’s side, that you don’t entirely loathe him. Somehow, you still root for this guy. It’s like, if you hate him, you hate yourself too. (35 minutes ago)

Rey Perandos, Ever Abasolo and 2 others like this.

Jay| “Sorry! My Prada’s in the cleaners, along with my hoodie and my fuck-you flip flops, you pretentious duschebag! …You better lawyer-up asshole, ‘coz I’m not coming back for 30 percent. I’m coming back for everything.” ~ The Social Network. Love this line. But the reaction shots shifts confusingly from Justin to Jesse that it looks as if the “duschebag” was intended for Mark. Eduardo is Brazilian, but Andrew’s version has no trace of the accent. (30 minutes ago)

Rey | Jay, Saverin is a Harvard student.
Jay | Ganun ba yun? You know, Eduardo is tanga. He’s an Economics major, and he got busted out because of a very obvious legal lack.
Rey| He believed that he was facing their (including Mark’s) lawyers.

Jay | “You’re going to be successful and rich. But you’re going to go through life thinking that girls don’t like you because you’re a tech geek. I want you to know, from the bottom of my heart, that won’t be true: It’ll be because you’re an asshole.” ~ The Social Network (20 minutes ago)

Ever Abasolo, Rey Perandos and 2 others like this.
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Rey | Jay, we only see Rooney Mara’s character twice, but it’s really a pivotal character. She basically started it all! Mark shouldn’t have messed with her name. You know, Albright to Albrecht and then call her a bitch.
Jay | I think what really pissed her off is when she referred to her bra size. “She’s a 34 B. As in barely anything there.”
Rey | Hahahaha
Ever | Hehehe. The best talaga si David Fincher.
Jay | @Rey. But really, Erica is important because she embodies what Mark cannot get and will not get, his failure to connect. Ironic, noh? You are like this bazillionaire inventor of a technological revolution that supposedly connects people, but you fail at this basic human relationship tremendously. Btw, Trent Reznor really does an awesome job with the music. (1 person likes this)
@Ever: I think Fincher has put his stamp on it, his attention to details, etc. But he worked on a very brilliant script by Aaron Sorkin. It plays out like a Greek tragedy even.

Jay | Review of The Social Network (2010)
“In the last scene of The Social Network, Jesse Eisenberg as Mark Zuckerberg is refreshing the page of the “girl who got away” every 5 seconds or so to check if she has responded to his “friend request”. It’s an indelible scene, not because it encapsulates what the film is trying to say about his character (creator meets creation), but because we saw ourselves in Mark, endlessly glued to the monitor and trying so hard to “make friends” with everybody, trying to connect the threads of relationships that were never there in the first place. The Social Network is terrific entertainment. You think you wouldn’t get more than technogeek-speak out of these Harvard-bred wisecracks, but the story (never mind if its fact-based or not) speaks to a plenty of contemporary social realities than say your current FB shoutout or relationship status.
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Jay likes The Social Network.

Jay | is watching The Social Network for the second time tonight. (a few moments ago)

This is a repost from here. I won a shirt, so sue me. Haha

No surprises

When I realized that I left my laptop charger on top of a table inside a municipal gym somewhere in Davao del Sur, it was already too late. Or maybe not really that late; the vehicle could turn back, amidst the drizzle, and allow myself to realize once more how disoriented I am. I should be alarmed. I know a charger costs that much enough for me to surrender one more time my desire to buy a new pair rubber shoes, a pair that has eluded me for more than a year now, hell, like forever. How destitute, yes. But I wasn’t alarmed. And I am even more alarmed that I wasn’t surprised I wasn’t alarmed at all, enough to just shrug it off and tell my companion if she can just check with the people there tomorrow if they’ve seen the stupid charger. I checked at a computer store and found out that a universal laptop charger costs 2,700. The Adidas shoes I’ve been eyeing since 1939 costs 2,995. So there, goodbye Adidas. Waking up the next day, my sister pointed out that the stupid charger is sitting comfortably atop the DVD player, one of the most reliable, cheap things I’ve bought. In my mind - Oh - and I wasn’t surprised at all. My usual self would have attributed it to some craptastic supernatural shit. But I took it and put it in the bag as if it was some lost pen I’ve stopped searching and caring for.

I didn’t event surprise myself smoking a joint, something I haven’t done in, what, like an eternity? I had three joints (not marijuana, as the am-slang would usually put it) for the past two weeks and don’t plan to go back at lighting one, but lately I saw what used to be my favorite brand and felt an inexplicable itch. It’s as if the joint and my lips are meant to make some forbidden kind of love. It’s obscene I know, but again, didn’t bother myself at all. Is this from reading too much Ellis? Obviously not because the characters in an Ellis book are either usually drugged out, boozed out of fucked up. I am not some Clay Easton or Victor Ward (Glamorama I am reading now; Less Than Zero I just finished), and don’t aspire to be, but the disaffection kind of transcends from the pages of the book to my own version of fucked-up reality. A few days back, or maybe a week ago, I caught myself staring blankly at the wooden stairs. Or maybe I didn’t really catch myself at all. The distance between the steps, the spaces between the cacophonies of neighborhood sounds, are solar systems, eternities away. You know, it’s really kind of dangerous. The plunge into those unknown eternities can pull you into oblivion that you need to have some kind of earthly force to pull you back. It’s like spacing out from too much dope only ten times scarier, I think, though I haven’t really spaced out because of dope, though, for the nth time, I think it wouldn’t even surprise me at all.

The kids are alright.

Sometimes, I really think my eight-year old half-brother has this split personality. When his temper flies off, he becomes this uncontrollable dynamo of rage, sometimes spitting, wishing us dead, wishing he was never born, or that he was not born having us as elders. He says this with eyes that pierce like Damien the satanic child from the Omen series. I don’t know where he gets this stuff; I hope he doesn’t comprehend just how big and hurtful those words are. Just this afternoon, we had a nasty bout which turned me into the usual monster he thinks I am when I get angry. I spat the curse, which I always, always regret. I didn’t were coming off my eyes, it was just a useless moment of pouring out, a recital of an uncalled for litany of personal hurts for an unintended, inappropriate young and unmindful audience.

As do kids of their age, they get annoying and brutish. His brother, only one year older than he is, is also not an exception. They get into unapologetic fights that really wear me out. They are lovable kids. In fact, they are reasons why I still wanted to stay with my incapable father and stepmother-I want to make sure that at least they do good, even though influence from other gala kids outside and the miserable upbringing is hard to shake off. I love these kids even when they really push the button off me they think I’m just a useless kuya, who sometimes won’t give in to their little whims that I think are just too much for their age. I want to teach them prudence, good manners, which I think we three siblings have always had despite the consequences that would have made us do otherwise. I want to stress to them that we are poor, and that I’m just a struggling nobody wanting to prove something out of the misery of life, and that they should be thankful they have food to eat and that they are able to go to school, in uniforms and all, even though it’s just a public school that never really cared how much they learn, or if ever they learn at all. But then I realize, was I made to comprehend all these realities when I was their age?

I never had a kuya, and even up to now I still wonder what it must feel like having someone to be always at your rescue, rather than the one always being depended upon. It seems like childhood was light-years away. Maybe this is why I get so grumpy at their ADHD-ish behavior. For I cannot remember the time when I bullied other kids. I can’t remember the time that getting into trouble is always no big deal as getting an earful from mama or the proverbial belt-slap from my father. I and my 21-year old brother never really had a genuine bond with him after mama died ten years ago. Perhaps the falling away took some of the familial intimacy or tenderness. Not concern, because I always have been, on their welfare. Now sleeping, with teeth that have been unkempt, bodies frail and thin but surprisingly agile, especially when it comes to play, I feel sorry for being such an ass. How am I to rear kids their age? When not in their usual boxing bouts, the kids are sweet, just hard-headed. Which I think, I often am.

Must be the clouds in my eyes.

It was as if Elton John was breathing in my neck last week, like a devilish whisper the automatically sets your mind into some kind of trance. Daniel is leaving tonight on a plane/I can see the red tail lights heading for Spain. Oh now, I know where this is headed – Spain. You know, like a vamos por todos, etc. No, but honestly, you know those times that a song is just so stuck in your head it feels like the notes have been imprinted in your cranium? It’s not even a last song syndrome (LSS) but a last-sung syndrome. As I can remember, the last Elton John I heard before I was suddenly humming Daniel in a soundless jeep, was Your Song, the proverbial piece of my officemate who incessantly thinks he is Ewan McGregor looking for Sabine, while singing it in the videoke. But really, you know when it hounds you and follows you like dirt in your sweaty skin. As if I’m gonna get through with it already, when I traveled this week to an adjacent city, the oldies guitarist in one of the rooftop grills we ate at suddenly belch an oh-so familiar tune. God it looks like Daniel/Must be the clouds in my eyes. I dunno, I’m not really leaving for Spain right now, nor even flying on an airplane. Oh I know, I have to add this to my videoke repertoire next session. I think I may be getting it now. It’s really hits me probably on the leaving part. I’m like on a letting-go-moving-on mode right now. And waka waka couldn’t be any more timing. I think with the WC coinciding, things are looking good in the near future, not that I equate soccer with anything going on right now but maybe there is. Must be the clouds in my eyes.