my last blog post (if the world ends tomorrow)

i really don't believe that the world will end tomorrow. there are so many reasons it should, but there are many more why it shouldn't. still, i'm 100% sure it isn't going to happen. but for the mayans' sake, let's say that they didn't just run out of rock space and actually predicted that december 21, 2012 is in fact the last time anyone will say tgif. oh how fucked we all are.

but what's going to occur? there should at least have been a global doomsday precursor every day for two weeks, each being different from the other. and no, the recent catastrophe in our country or the shooting in sandy hook are to localized to signal the approaching apocalypse. (and damn every priest and person who'll say it's the rh bill) it had to be something felt worldwide. so far, we've had none of that.

i'd also like to point out that we have different timezones. it will still be thursday in america when it's friday in the philippines. it can't be like, everything's crumbling to ashes in our part of the globe and it's all peace and quite in another. it also cant happen to us on friday while someone in the u.s. would be like, but it's thursday. a warning-less armageddon has to strike in one go.

to me, only one scenario is possible: alien invasion, the same aliens who met the mayans and told them, yousa be prepared on this date, bitches, 'cause wesa gonna be back to do some shit (yes, they were gungans). the mayans owed them big and there was no way to pay it back at that time so the space mafia gave us thousands of years to come up with the cheese. so tomorrow, a ginormous wormhole will appear near the moon, aliens will come out and bust through our ozone to do some damage.

i typed a bunch of farewell messages but they were quite awkward so instead im going to link to an article i wrote on the topic at hand. click here before the earth disintegrates.

the end?

climbing mount molehill

day three of my battle with general sniffles and his mucous army and i decide to pick up my imaginary pencil and make the blinking cursor vomit words into a blog post. with the digital dust and web cobwebs cleared, i type the first thing that comes into my mind:

i hate the duke of bloomberg.

don't want to talk about that so let's move on to the second thing that enters the thought theater:

"practice makes perfect. nobody's perfect. so why practice?"

contrary to what you might be thinking, i do not approve this piece of flawed logic. i have seen and heard it countless times and frankly my dear, i think it's a crock of bull. the first time i encountered it was in grade school, read it off a pocketbook of jokes because that was the stuff i was into during those years, along with burning paper edges and discovering porn. back then, my young smoke-filled and porn-baptized brain believe it was brilliant. it was right. it was three puzzle pieces perfectly connecting. and then i grew up and realized i've been misled, round the same time i found out santa claus didn't actually exist.

anyway, i hated it when the gears clicked and rang "bullshit" and i hated it even more when it got passed around through text messages. (and may the flying spaghetti monster have mercy on the soul of any person who deems it proper to use as a facebook status today) but the instance i hated it the most was when a local movie used it in the main character's speech because the writers couldn't come up with their own and simply hoped someone who had lived under a rock would at least giggle at it. but the movie's facepalm-worthiness did not end there. i did not watch the darn thing, so how did i know that the quote was in it? because they had the gall to put it in the trailer. yes, they honestly believed that the most effective way to sell the comedy movie to the public was to use an overused quote that wasn't even funny.

so what makes this logic wrong? the fact that it assumes that the things described as perfect in the first two sentences are the same. let's look at the second one first. nobody is perfect. what this simply implies it that no "person" is perfect. now, to the first sentence. practice makes perfect. what do you practice? singing, dancing, murdering, etc. with enough time and effort, you can perfect the singing or dancing of a particular song. sure, the perfection is subjective to the viewer or listener but that song was made in a particular way and that by achieving the same level of performance the song was meant for is considerable as perfect. so practicing can in fact help perfect a certain "action".

so sentences one and two don't really connect as perfectly as i had once thought. both are true but do not contradict one another because they do not pertain to the same thing. practice makes perfect because you can keep practicing until you perfect an "action" but no one can't practice being a "person" because that's just who you are. so even though nobody is perfect, it has no relation to the question practicing because you still have to practice to be perfect at something.

yes, this is me overthinking the mundane. and yes, this was a long and pointless exercise, apart from the idea that i needed to update this decaying blog. so,  thank you for wasting your time with me.


p.s. most trailers of pinoy movies are badly edited. especially comedies, where they pack all the jokes they have in them. i admit to have watched these kind of movies before but when i did, i definitely did not laugh at the jokes previously showcased in the trailer. a large majority of the moviegoers did, however, and i was like, wasn't that in the trailer that was on tv every fucking hour?!
p.p.s. my blog has risen from the dead. it is now a zombie blog. or a zomblog.

player select

on a gaming news blog, a socially important question was asked: what's your dream game? this i pondered over a teetering stack of cases of bottled anger for grammatically challenged company speakers suffering from dysarthria who should not be given the task of divulging vital information and insult my intelligence. my answer after this part where i pressed enter.

the world has ended and you are the last person alive. but unlike i am legend, there are no vampires fighting over a piece of your precious flesh. you are simply alone and free to do anything. and i mean, anything. everything works, there's enough water supply and electricity to last your singular needs for years. you can go anywhere. and i mean, anywhere. take a car and drive to the next city. locked doors can be kicked open or broken through with an axe. low fences do not constrain you to a certain path. you eventually end up on a skyscraper rooftop and fall and at this point you realize why you're the only one alive and why there is no life meter: you are immortal.

and then the mystery gradually unfolds. there is no specific location or action for the story to progress. you're out for food and you catch a glimpse of a moving shadow. you chase it but it's gone. clues pop up where you are, not where you have to be. the clues point to a place where there's a machine that will allow you to create one companion. the possibilities are endless. you can make a person of the opposite sex, an animal, a robot, anything. whatever you create, it will do your bidding.

later on, you'll find your companion dead, evidently murdered. you return to the machine to create a new one but the machine has been destroyed. and then from far, far away, a beam of light shoots up in the sky and when you follow its direction, you find out it is coming from an island which you must get to...



p.s. i dream of a future where there are no loading screens.
p.p.s. i left out the ending on purpose in case a game studio decides to purchase the idea. but i do have an ending in mind. you're god and its creation 2.0 and you're doing it as a human and erased your knowledge of goddom and... oh shit.

rollerskating octopus, exit stage left

while eating chickenjoy for lunch and hopping channels for good tv background noise, i came upon a zombie movie where a couple of doctors were explaining zombification to a soldier so i was like, yes gore! exploding heads, spurting blood and falling entrails, the perfect audiovisual complement to my meal. then one of the soldiers stumbled into a strip club.

and i immediately thought of a particular local talent show where an actress supposedly won by poledancing. when people had talked about her performance some time ago, i didn't react because, i guess, i just didn't gave a shit about it that day. but today, with the image of that actress accepting her prize for slithering around a vertical rod (even though i didnt actually watch it) projected in my cranial wall, i was like, wait a minute, mcfly, pole-effing-dancing?! that's one of the most useless talents ever, if it's even correct to consider it a talent. commence defensive argument:

i've always believed that talent is something that you're born with, that it's already part of your dna configuration the moment you're conceived. and talent being innate, it should be something you can do without using special objects or equipment or anything else. you can do it anytime, anywhere with near-zero preparation. anything that requires external aids and can be learned is not a talent but a skill. like in rpg games, you learn skills. for example, magic isn't talent. anybody can do it with the proper training and props. when you were born, you did not have genes that give you super card-shuffling ability. now, singing is a talent. and by singing i mean great vocal prowess and not ear-damaging wailing of people whose ears are already too damaged to hear how bad they sound. that is not singing.

my wife is an amazing singer. and because that is her inborn talent, she can sing on the spot because that beautiful voice of hers came part of the package when the stork delivered her to her parents. (which makes me hate my voice even more) dancers can show their moves without music. a couple of steps and you'd already know if one is a good dancer because that unfakeable sense of motion was built-in when they passed the assembly line in the baby factory. i considered writing as my talent but since that needs pen and paper (or keyboard), ive realized my real talent is storytelling. i can spend hours and hours blabbering about my ideas.

so, whether it's in the office, out on the street or a kid's party, my wife, some dancer and i can show everyone our talents. a poledancer cannot. and, of course, should not.

p.s. it's too early to determine iaine's true talent, but for now, her talent is being extremely cute.

p.p.s. although... a poledancer can do routines on a streetsign. but that's just stupid.

if you have a reservation, you're in the wrong place

if you've been living under a pile of dry cow dung or relying on your telltale neighbor's spithole for recent events, then you havent probably heard/read the latest great piece of news from the magical world of science. word is out from the astronomical grapevine about a newly discovered planet some 20 lightyears away from earth that just might be the next globe humans would inhabit if for some reason we'd need to skedaddle from third rock.

it's called gliese 581g and, being in the goldilocks zone (not too hot, not too cold) it is, for now, the best contender for our intergalactic squatting. and by having near-perfect conditions for life to exist, there's a supersize chance that there'd be living beings there, the looks of which, i bet, no sci fi novelist could dream up by a longshot.

what repercussions this discovery would have on religion, i'd rather not go there in avoidance of rant mode. but i really am psyched like a punk on acid about this because it has always been my big wish to be alive  on the advent of any alien race confirmation.

and who knows, at the rate technology's is evolving, it wouldnt be a moon-punch to expect that one day iaine would aking my permission to go on a vacation with her bffs on gliese 581g -- or whatever it would be named then (planet jaithemagnificent would be nice).


p.s. speaking of the r-word, ive finished the art of war and moving on to richard dawkins' the god delusion.
p.p.s. nam.