A friend is possibly still very lonely because of a break-up. This is a friend whose house I never leave sober and whose house I once left in only my boxer shorts one rainy Saturday night. He of the endless cheap tequila, leftover stale red wine, cheese and various leftovers, whose heart, to borrow a phrase from one of our time’s greatest romantics, Stephen King, has just been shot to shit. It used to be a ‘Them’ with the cheap tequila, leftover stale red wine, cheeses, etc, but there would be no more them, the once unbreakable, Brangelina-like power couple. Now there’s just him and the leftovers.
Break-ups are ugly and normal. Breaking up means re-evaluating living conditions, dropping off regular activities, adjusting to the absence of the person you used to do fun things with like splitting utility bills and fighting over who gets to wash week-long dirty underwear. But ultimately like week-long dirty underwear, break-ups are shitty. Even shittier is that in this day and age, no break-up is spared from a Facebook status update.You would not like to be on the receiving end of a vengeful ex. It’s relatively safer to quote a line from a love (or hate) song to say what you feel because it’s easier to disown borrowed, already copyrighted anger should there be a need to disown. If you’re in a relationship, it’s impossible for you and partner not to be not connected on all of your online social networking accounts. So when you break, it’s important to be prepared for the possibility that your wall will have something along the lines of ‘Roses are red, violets are blue, fuck you, whore.’ If you’re the type who barfs at this type of crass sentimentalizing, you’d feel ickier by the fact that such feelings are obtained from popular movies. And there’s no escaping this. But if your ex were to be more compassionate, you might find this act of juvenalia safely burrowing in your inbox instead. It is never wise to break up with an online community-thriving person via cheating.
Moral: obliterate all connections of you and wronged partner immediately after admitting your sin and be more morally upright next time. Or just try. I hope my friend stands by his song of choice although I don’t completely approve of the idea, but who cares. Maybe next time he could pick something from Placebo, the emoest of all emos. I’m just suggesting because I can’t belive he picked Rihanna.
The day Junot Diaz decided to write the The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao probably went something like, I’m bored, but I have a terrific idea for a character which I’ll make out to be funny, and to which I’ll probably be able to devote an entire book to. He then went on to have these other character ideas with which to support the very endearing Oscar, and wrote and wrote and wrote until the sun came up, or it went down, depending on which time of the day he supposedly whimsically decided to write. Or maybe Junot Diaz did think about this novel, made extensive research, and carefully pieced together little bits of Dominican Republic historical details and stringed them together with certain pop culture personages and events (J.Lo, LOTR, X-Men, etc). Either way, the resulting book is a very funny, unintentionally hip novel that is just as wondrous as its titular character, the very fat and very smart Oscar Wao. I don’t know how anyone could think of Oscar Wao as a work thought out of nowhere but it reads to me like one in spite of the many, many footnotes. The footnotes by themselves are very interesting and you’d find yourself Wikiing certain historical things like Rafael Trujillo which turns out to be Dominican Republic’s Ferdinand Marcos and Imelda Marcos times ten. The book will attempt to bore you momentarily by going back to Oscar’s family history but it will fail. Diaz momentarily stops Oscar’s tale to tell his sister’s and mother’s and they’re just as fascinating and fucked up so you won’t mind. Lola the sister is a tough bitch whose toughness and bitchiness were proabably a result of the even bitchier mother. Basta. Magandang nobela ‘to. It won the Pulitzer Prize but the real reason to read this is for such gems as , ‘So you’re an album cover now?’ and ‘Negro, please.’ Lots of those. So bitches, please. Read it. Hehe.
Tower Records in Glorietta used to be pretty. It is now shabby and untended. It has become so unappealing that I now associate it with very old underwear, and I don’t know why. Tower Records is no good for CD-hunting anymore, and the MP3 revolution is to blame. And iPod and iTunes. It used to be three-storeys and now it’s just a tiny hole in the fringes of Glorietta 2. If I hadn’t been a barista I would have wanted to work at Tower Records and I would not have cared if we have to wear silly aprons. It looks like a fun job.
I met with Al, a Tori Amos-obsessed, semi-kalbo, 30-something guy. We agreed to meet because he was going to give me copies of all of his Tori Amos live recordings. The night before we met, we agreed that This Is Not Going To Be An EB. And it wasn’t. He really just gave me the CDs and I was profuse with thanks. It’s important for me to say because it is.
It was reassuring to know that certain people are actually interested in the stuff that they talk about in forums. He gave me After the Rain, Blood Girl, VH1, MTV Unplugged and other live albums, which I could find anywhere in the world. He also turned out to be a lucky charm because I found Air’s Moon Safari and Sneaker Pimps’ Bloodpsort on Tower’s pre-owned section. I offered to treat him to a coffee and he declined. What a great guy.