Stalking

Oh shit, I can't write. I can't write anything worthwhile anymore. I'm starting to worry because...because....well, my other blog is dying. I don't have any more useful inputs. I can't think of anything, I can't write anything, I don't know why. Gods I sure hope this is temporary. Sigh.

Tomorrow We Can Drive Around This Town

I can't get enough of Hit the Lights's Hey Jealousy. Don't get me wrong, I like the version of Gin Blossoms---but I love upbeat. Upgrade upbeat into something more upbeat and you've got me hooked.

Something I also don't get tired of is K's Choice. I have their whole discography, I'm listening to it now, I'm rediscovering them. I didn't know that the Almost Happy I know is just an "acoustic" version of something more...well, upbeat would be the word for it.

and i don't know what you want
cos you don't know so
what's the point of asking?

Well, the point of asking can be something as mundane as having something to do. I like asking questions, even if they don't have answers. It's something to do to fill in the dead air.

Vibration

I'm supposed to talk about how my schedule for next semester sucks. Suddenly though, I don't have the energy to rant. I don't have the energy for much these days. It's just like dragging your feet left, right, left, right, kshh, right, slump. It's like waking up wanting to go back to bed again because you know the day ahead is just like the day tomorrow---dreary.

I was dreaming when the phone vibrated somewhere below my ribs. It was a bad dream, as lately I am wont to have. It was raining torrents and the water started to rise; I was panicking again. I was trying to save my stuff from the clutches of the cold, muddy water when I saw the plug of my desk lamp spark and then burn up the floor. Water and fire. Incessant vibration below my ribs.

"Hello?" I ask.
"Hi luffles," he says.
"Hey luff," I say.

And thus Murphy's Law was thwarted.

Jollibee, Bakit Ang Taba Mo?

I think there is something very wrong when all a kid looks forward to is seeing Jollibee on his birthday party. An obese bee swathed in spandex and plastic, adulated by a child, is one of the ugly manifestations of capitalism at its best. It can be argued that this bee is a symbol of family and good times (binge-eating on Chicken Joy and soggy spaghetti), but come on, you'll only buy that crap if you're brain dead from all the television you've been having since gestation. All Jollibee cares about is your money—not you or your family's happiness, or your health. I mean, come on.

Fastfood is fast comfort: you dial a number or go to a branch and happiness is within your oily-fingered reach. Do you get that good, homey feeling whenever you inhale the delicious smell of Chicken Joy? I have. Many times. It's irresistable, and I find it difficult to understand because I'm not a big fan of fried chicken in the first place. While puzzling it out, I went back to this happy memory when I first visited Megamall. I was four or five then and I was fascinated by the giant place with the bright lights and the big people. It was a family excursion: my cousins, aunts and grandparents were there too.

We had lunch at Jollibee. They didn't have plastic playgrounds back then, because rigid, metal things painted in the guise of animals were the 'in' thing, and that's what we kids rode. It was a great time to be alive. Maybe our stomachs have memories too, at least, I'm reasonably sure that mine does. It perks up whenever it senses Chicken Joy (that's all what it does though, because I can't remember the last time I ate a Chicken Joy. I'm more of a burger and fries person).

I 'm sure I'm not the only one with this magical childhood experience stored somewhere in the catacombs of memory, nor will I be the last. Jollibee, or any fastfood chain for that matter, may give one a good feeling and is therefore good. Anyone can turn to it and receive immediate satisfaction so why go the extra mile blah blah blah I just totally lost my point. I'll fix this when I post this in my other blog. Bah.