Conversations In E Minor

"Oh, great, she's bringing out the headwaiter," I snickered as the radiant soprano led the tuxedoed tenor to center stage, to bask in the audience's thundering applause.

"Shhhh Ruddie, stop it!" scolded Ternie, making frantic hand movements as though he were trying to swat away a swarm of pesky bottle flies.

"Where are the flames? I want her to ride into the flames now!" I heckled, undeterred.

"Ruddie, behave!"

"It's not the Ring of the Nibelung until the fat lady fries!"

"RUDDIE!"


Thus went a snippet of our intermittent sotto voce exchanges as I sat through Wagner at the Philamlife with the musical connoisseur, blogspot deserter, and friend known as Eternal Wanderer.

Or Ternie, as we like to call him.

--------------------

"Sooooooo," Ternie began in his signature way. "How have you been?"


We were taking a leisurely stroll from U.N. Avenue to Remedios Circle to have dinner after the show. How very New York, both of us thought simultaneously. Him in sensible shoes, I in ill-fitting dress boots that pinched with every step.

I had been bothered by many things of late and part of why I invited Ternie along to watch the program with me after my original date bailed was the opportunity to get things off my chest.

And yet, this is what I said instead.

"I'd like to talk about many things," I glanced at him, " But you know that if I do, the word becomes flesh. And then it dwells among us."

He nodded quietly in agreement, and we spent the rest of the walk in relative silence.

--------------------

"You're a cougar!" hissed Ternie with no small amount of wicked glee.

"Excuse me?" I protested as I dug a fork into the Chicken Kiev.


We were at Café Adriatico, the last bastion of gentility on historic Remedios Circle, now ringed with Korean videoke bars and other assorted blights. I had just - well, not vented. "Sighed" is a more accurate term describing how I gave him the Cliff's Notes on my current affairs, pun unintended.

"You're like a sugar daddy, dating all these young boys." he continued as his eyes narrowed accusingly. "Dirty old man."

"Hey," I said evenly as I put my fork down lest it ended up in his jugular. " I like older men. Except that the older I get, the deader they become."

--------------------

"Speaking of young men," he teased. "There's someone who really really wants to meet you."

"Name names," I demanded. "Or in this case, name name."

"He keeps asking me about you," Ternie went on. "What you look like, how you are in person, how you talk, etc."

I continued demolishing my Chicken Kiev, and without looking up, replied:

"He must be a sucker for disappointment."

--------------------

"Who have you met from blogspot?" Ternie pressed.


Easy-peasy.


"Aside from you and Kane, no one."

"Who would you like to meet, then?"

"Well," I thought. "I'm supposed to meet Nyl, but that's neither here nor there."

"Why citybuoy?"

"I like the way he writes and thus, I'm curious about him."

"Anyone else?'

"Engel," I replied. "But mostly because I have to give him the trinkets I promised a long time ago - hopefully before the world ends on the 21st."

"That's it?"

"I owe Karl dinner and drinks, but since I'm teetotaling again, it's going to be just dinner."

"Oh, Kane."

"Yup. Besides, we never got to discuss the 'death' of whatsisname."

"Travis?"

"The very one."


Oh. And there's also maybe one more.

But that'll just be my secret.

Mweheheheheheheh.


And it's not what you're thinking, either.

--------------------

"Why don't you ever post about your love life?" Ternie inquired as the waiter plunked down his coffee, conveniently forgetting mine.

"I have," I countered as I tried to flag down the errant waiter while computing how much less his tip was going to be. "Just...cryptically."

"Do you feel it's too personal?" he prodded.

"Well, I guess," I conceded. "Don't get me wrong. I don't mind people who blog about their love lifes and sex lifes."


I'd be a hypocrite if I said I didn't enjoy reading some bloggers' accounts of their latest conquests, or the ongoing telenovelas that are their relationships.


"I just feel it's too much information to share on my blog."

"But if you posted about your love life, your blog hits would surely go up."

"Oh, you mean like soltero's? Or tristan's?"


He shrugged.


"People do enjoy gossip, don't they?" I went on. "And titillation sells, no doubt about that."

I paused as the waiter finally brought my espresso over. "My love life - such as it is - is boring me to tears, and I won't do my readership any favors by boring them with it as well." 

Brown sugar. 

"And while I won't be disingenuous enough to deny I have a sex life...I don't really like to kiss and tell."

Stir.

"I like to talk about my love life as much as the next guy. But maybe not in such detail."

Sip.


Because the devil, like God, is in the details, too.

--------------------

The blogosphere is dying, I thought. To seek fame - or notoriety - in it is like trying to elbow for a prime spot on the deck of the Titanic. I'd once mentioned that the dearth of bloggers and new blog entries - at least the ones I subscribe to - can be attributed in no small measure to the instant gratification of Twitter. It requires time and effort to solidify one's thoughts in complete sentences, that would eventually form coherent paragraphs that ultimately have a point and hopefully make some sense.

Then again, coherence is not necessarily a function of word count, or 140 characters.



"Mabuti naman at nag-post ka na," I grumbled at Ternie as I ordered another round of coffee.

"I've been busy rin kasi," he apologized. "And also, I'm mostly on Twitter."


"By the way," he demanded, suddenly coming to a realization. "Why aren't you on Twitter?"

'Coz I don't follow twits, went my mental reply.


"Come on, get on Twitter na!" he enthused. "Everyone's there. It'll be fun!"

It was my turn to narrow my eyes at him. 

"Oh," I interjected archly while sipping my second espresso for the night. "If I wanted to chat, I'd go on YM."

"You're so mayabang," he chided.

"Fine," I said as I put down my cup. "Let's see. If I were on Twitter, what would my tweets be? "


Ternie sat, eagerly awaiting.


"Candy and Coke. This is what I've been reduced to."

"I'd have killed myself by now if I wasn't so afraid of dying."

And what would probably be my default tweet, if there was such a thing:

"Go take a flying fuck at a rolling donut."

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"I thought you wouldn't be caught dead in Malate," I grinned as we walked to Nakpil after dinner. I had left my car there earlier, unwilling to risk not finding a suitable parking spot in U.N. Avenue, as well as apprehensive about not finding my vehicle there anymore after the show.

"No, that wasn't me," Ternie protested.

I'm pretty sure it was you, I thought, as I chuckled inside.

"Maybe it was someone else," he offered. "Maybe engel."

"Yeah. Maybe."

The bar was disappointingly full, but my suki waiter quickly produced a spot for us, although it was a bit cramped for my taste.

"They know you here," remarked Ternie.

"I get around,"  I shrugged.

Two rounds of Coke later, my "date" - one of the "young boys" as Ternie called them - showed up. And after the proper introductions, Ternie stood up to go.

"Thanks for the night," he said as we bid each other goodbye.

"My pleasure. And you're welcome."

"Dinner's on me next time." he promised.

I'm thinking foie gras.