Category Archives: Living fine

Friday Five: Contrasts

Better late than never. It keeps on asking the differences between your tastes and those of “most” people, but I have no data. Like I fucking care. In contrast to what most of the people I know. I’m sure that’s what they meant.

  1. What food do you like that most people hate?

    I’ve loved sushi long before it was “pussified.” I like certain vegetables when properly prepared. I like fried pork belly. I wonder if “most” people I know would be willing to eat those glorious chunks of pork.

  2. What food do you hate that most people love?

    Being Filipino… I can hardly eat rice anymore. I could have a serving (American size) of either fried or white rice around once a week or two, but not more than that. I have a hard time having more than one slice of pizza. I’me done eating pasta regularly too. This must be force-of-diet, to speak, but once it goes away from your system…

  3. What famous person, whom many people may find attractive, is most unappealing to you?

    I have no idea, off the top of my head.

  4. What famous person, whom many people may find unappealing, do you find attractive?

    Pink. Lara Flynn Boyle (mmm ribs). Dyan Cannon (she’s an oldie).

  5. What popular trend baffles you?

    Body piercings in strange places.

Hmmm. I think my brain is in ashes right now.

Dirty, dirty old man

From a conversation with Matthew J. Stinson, Saturday:

Matt: Haha, you know, your nickname makes you sound kind of older
Jay: OF, “one fine?”
Jay: Old Fogey Jay
Matt: One Fine Jay makes you sound like an ex-swinger.
Jay: LOL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Jay: LOL!!!!!!!
Jay: oh my god this is so getting posted tomorrow
Matt: you know, it makes you sound like you should wear an open shirt with a lot of chains
Matt: “hey ladies, I’m One Fine Jay, who are you?”
Jay: oh my lord
Jay: I’m John Travolta at 60
Jay: it’s like that Expedia commercial, “flying with cooper”
Matt (12:18:40 PM): yeah, you could hang out with Acidman and shoot the shit

Great, my cover just got blown.

Seize the carp

It’s first day of November and I am wearing shorts, and was shirtless in my backyard. I’m actually going to have to wear short sleeves today.

Seventy-three in central MD, as of blog time. I’ll be off having a life and enjoying the weather. See y’all tomorrow.

Happy Halloween

It’s the Devil’s day, or so I was told, growing up listening to thumb-up-ass Catholic old fart priests. Yep, this is the night where the devil roamed free.

Growing up in the Philippines Halloween was hardly festive. The rich people participated in it. They had fun. As for the average folks, and the poor ones, well, it wasn’t exactly the best day to be running around asking people for candy. All sorts of stories would float in the media surrounding this day; of poisoned or drug-laced candy, of stalkers, and house break-ins. The fear wasn’t exactly a matter of having fun.

I never got around to actually enjoying it. Of course, the token decor sold cheap at the chain bookstores would appear in school. No one actually believed the bullcrap about any evil silent runnings involved with this holiday. It’s not like celebrating the day would have turned us all into pagans who run naked howling at the moon, nope.

My first Halloween that I dressed up for was in 2000. I didn’t want to spend any more money than I had to so I bought myself a few bandages, some clips, and tried to find a used neck brace (which I couldn’t). I wrapped my face up, bothmy arms, got an old rave shirt that suffered a few cigarette burns while dancing with bombed-out preps, spattered some blood on it, and called myself a car crash victim. The lady at the front desk of the club that I frequented recognized me immediately; how she did, I may never know.

Beyond any existential musings of the sort about this day, I do appreciate it as a day to be silly, to have clean fun with the kids, and to actually have an excuse to be hanging out with young ones, especially since there are real dangers that do not respect nor consider calendar days, as Kate points on in her entry here., along with her reasons for not liking this holiday.

Michele, on the other hand, is loving every minute of the day and she does mind that the entire holiday has been infected with the politically correct bullshit that seems to be thick enough in the air to be able to cut through it. Oh and yes, she is cutting through it best as she could.

I wish I could go trick or treating with her. I still don’t know what to wear tonight.

Five years

Back when I was eighteen I was a pretty “lost” teenager (and no, not God-wise, before you start on your proselytizing…) who was an emotional, self-esteem-lacking (also no, not in the politically correct area of self-esteem) kid who had no belief in what he could do.

I met the one friend who inspired me to believe in myself. It was part hero-worship, part-envy for being what I am not. Even heroes fall, and he has shared his own fears. After seeing (yes, he saw) the slight admiration he did humanize himself and made sure I got the point.

Five years later sometimes I still feel I need a hero sometimes. (Cue that Mariah song.) Just someone to rely on, for once, or twice. Someone who wouldn’t judge, and someone who could inspire.

Oh. But that’s a rare “sometime.” Hopefully I’m in that previous friend’s place for someone else.

Good times, good times. Time to pass on something good, for a change.

Acid Ten

All right. I’m, done covering lunatic sheep for today, and would like to take a break from all of this for the very special Acidman Ten-Question Interview.

1) Does anybody really see a correlation between the size of a man’s feet or his nose and the size of his penis?

How the hell should I know? I have size 11 feet and I am impressed with my plumbing. Go figure.

2) If you are a woman, would you ever get a tit-job? If so, why?

Disproportinately massive breasts frighten me. (Yes, I mean that. Those can be used as weapons of mass asphyxiation.) The only tit job I would recommend for any woman is the reductive kind.

3) If you are a man, would you buy a bionic Roscoe if your dick quit working? If so, why?

No, because when Jay Junior decides to quit working, I think it’s a message for me to do other things with myself.

4) Did you ever sleep with someone and wake up in the morning unable to remember their name? If not, WHY NOT?

I do not have what would be considered an average American sex life. So, yes I do remember the few that I have slept with.

5) Which would you rather have for a pet? A DOG or a CAT? If you answer “cat,” you’ve got some serious explaining to do.

Neither. I’ll stick to my fish tank that I could watch while either drunk or buzzed out on sleeping pills. Such… motions…

6) Do you eat grits for breakfast?

I quit on carbohydrates three weeks ago and I hardly look back. I will try grits but I never grew up with them. Besides, I’m a self-hating Filipino coconut so I should not be eating rice.

7) What is the most dumb-ass thing you ever did in your life? Was it fun or has it haunted you for years?

When I got drunk mixing various hard liquors at the tender (not!) age of fifteen, I was spastic the next day. I vowed I would never drink again. That unfulfilled vow haunts me to this day, and I am unapologetic about it either.

8) Do you exceed the speed limit regularly when you drive, or just do it occasionally? Don’t tell me that you NEVER SPEED you lying shit! Tell the truth!

I used to. Not everyone who reads this blog needs to know the filthy details.

9) Describe the happiest day you can remember living.

Feh. I forget those easy. Ask me about the days where I feel like killing myself and haunting everyone else.

10) Do you believe that some things are worth dying for? If so, name one thing worth dying for and tell me why you feel so strongly about it.

Plenty of things. My freedom as an American, simply because if I cannot pick up a pistol and a sawed-off shotgun and defend my liberties should fighting happen on the streets, I’d rather use those to kill myself out of dishonor and shame. Wait… you were asking what was worth dying for. Hmmm. I’d rather enumerate the things I’d rather kill for. Like Michele, I will never die.


Blogging is fun, but I take every opportunity to be actually away from the home office as I enjoy the company of friends who care.

I have seen the Matrix Reloaded and now, through a quirk of being infected with things that irritate me, I am talking Frog a la Merovignan. Somebody save me from the nothing I’ve become.

Blogging may resume tonight, although tomorrow would be a better time to expect something from me.

Brutally honest. Of course.

You are Form 2, Angel: The Pure.

“And The Angel rose as holy protector for all that was created. She fought with honor and valor to serve the good of the world. But the coming of the mankind was her downfall; and end to purity.”

Some examples of the Angel Form are Michael (Christian) and Hercules (Greek). The Angel is associated with the concept of virtue, the number 2, and the element of wind. Her sign is the zenith sun.

As a member of Form 2, you are a person of your word. You generally keep your promises and give everything you do your best. Although some people see you as overbearing sometimes, you know that you have to stay true to yourself and do what’s right. Angels are the best friends to have because they are brutally honest.

Which Mythological Form Are You?

Brought to you by Quizilla.

So David, what do you think? Fits?

(Damn Quizilla’s ancient HTML markup. I had to edit stuff out.)

Something you might know

..but if you don’t, this is so refreshing.

As I’ve mentioned before, I got Dive and I’ve been spending the better part of the morning making my fair-use backup copy. The problem with the disc is that some tracks are indexed as two (that or there are no gaps between two tracks. Data geeks you know this more than I do): there are no audible gaps between Ship of Fools and Once in a Lifetime, also between Siren and Seven Seas.

Rip to MP3, and then record? Noticeable gap. Yeck.

I tried the disc to disc copy of RecordnowMax, no avail.

I took one last leap of faith and built a global image. Well whaddya know? Windows Media Player recognizes the album ID (if you record from ripped MP3s it doesn’t) and displays the tag info too. Okay. Now I know why it’s called a global image.

Now the original is sitting on my shelf, safe and now part of my collection.

UPDATE: Just to cover my ass, do not do this method if you do not own the CD you are copying. Yes, that means you, borrowing a friend’s copy. Remember, the musiKKKops are out to get you and will fine you if they catch you humming a tune not in your collection of legally owned music.

Backing my sails

We all need to slow down on weekends. That’s one thing I’ve learned of late. A week after my grave personal crisis, I’m holding up; in fact I’m feeling better.

Not manic, mind you. I dread those even more, because the inadvertent crashes are even more devastating.

Who knows? Maybe I’ll be able to eat my first full meal in a week, though I doubt I’ll be able to keep it down. That gut-wrenching feeling still lingers around me, like a weird ache, an ulcer that doesn’t exist except in the mind. (And no, I didn’t just contradict myself by saying I’m feeling better. Go figure.)

I’ll be putting up a few more photos I’ve taken over the past year and a half; who knows? Maybe another photo-lyric (like this). Ron likes those; heck I like it too.

First post-rebirth Friday Five

  1. Name five things in your refrigerator — Water. Beer. Cigarettes (they stay fresh longer). Soda. Another can of soda.
  2. Name five things in your freezer — Ice cubes #1, 2, 3, 4, and 5.
  3. Name five things under your kitchen sink — Windex. Dish soap. Dishwasher detergent. Gloves. Stray cricket.
  4. Name five things around your computer — Wallet. Digital cam. Stack of blank CDs. Picture of me when I was 19 and looked like a crack-whore skinny POS that I’m trying to get back to. Bottle of Hydroxycut, 210 caps. Sadly, ephedra-free.
  5. Name five things in your medicine cabinet — Nytol. Tylenol PM. Q-tips. Dental floss. Peroxide.

Conclude something about this, other than the fact that I no longer eat. Go get your own Friday Five.

The Wheel

…really does go round and round.

I didn’t even realize that I’ve been blogging for more than a year now. When I started, I needed an outlet (like we all do), to be listened to and heard, and ever since I got my own domain and space February this year, my blog’s growth was slow and steady. I didn’t really care about stats and hits back then. Just that I wanted, needed, to write.

What I didn’t come out about then, which I came out on for a short period in the test blog, something that only Matt Hamilton knew (he would be the first of many people I have met on AIM as a result of blogging), was that I suffer from bipolar disorder.

Oh, there are so many resources out there, so much documentation, that it’s almost “hip,” “cool,” and “trendy” to be bipolar.

It isn’t hip, cool, and trendy to be galvanized into major action not knowing when to stop.
It isn’t hip, cool and trendy to be paralized by depression, not wanting to get out of bed, taking Tylenol PMs in the middle of the day just to go to bed.
It isn’t hip, cool, and trendy to be paralized by fear of taking steps both forward and back.
It isn’t hip, cool, and trendy to pace around the house thinking of something to do because you just have to do something.
It isn’t hip, cool, and trendy to to lie in bed thinking of something to do because of the guilt that comes with doing nothing.

I have foregone medication for two reasons. Affordability, and something… else. Something… that only those who have taken it once know. I felt like a different person. It was scary. I didn’t know why I didn’t feel the same kind of reaction to what would have been a trigger, and it scared me.

I have foregone therapy because the quacks and shrinks don’t know shit about me. They never will.

I embraced this disorder and made it my own, and in looking for a vent, I started blogging.

Somewhere between my birthday and late September, I felt discordant with my blog. I could not connect. True, I did great thinking, vigorous linking, and though I resented none of those, the words rang empty in my head.

The outlet that I ran to for catharsis was getting narrower and narrower.

I felt the walls closing in: on my writing, on the blog, on my life. When I walked through Baltimore Sunday afternoon, it was a liberating experience. Unfortunately it wasn’t a lasting one.

(At this point any sane person would say, “well, that’s life. You get away, go back home, and deal with it.” How could I explain to anyone, judgment notwithstanding, that I cannot?

In a way all the alcoholics, and drug addicts, and those who speak of addiction as being powerless over something, these people who I did not understand at all, who I judged to have been skipping responsibility by calling it an illness, became kindred.)

Coming home from Baltimore, my 8 by 9 room felt like a coffin. I needed to lash out, to do something, to destroy, to create. To rebuild.

Reworking the template was not enough. By now, dear reader, you know that. Or at least you should understand that. I can only put so much concealer on a zit before its festering infection became noticeable beyond any means.

When my words started feeling like white noise everything fell silent. Once again, I was suffering in silence, and I promised myself to never go through that again.

So, I screamed. I screamed in a way that few would expect.

Now, for the very same reasons, for the very same hurts, aches, and pains that I started blogging with, I started over, and strangely, I feel free. Now the circle closes and starts rewriting itself.

Am I “back?” Getting back is the uphill battle. There is no “new” me. There is only me.

Hello again.