The Big One

Surely you've seen it in your feeds.

Those dire warnings about "The Big One."

Mmm. The Big One.

Everyone - from the feckless zucchini masquerading as the head of the incompetent government agency that rhymes with MDMA, to your hysterical aunt invoking anti-earthquake immunity by chanting "IN JESUS' NAME GOD WILL NOT LET IT HAPPEN" - has posted about "The Big One."

Seven point something that'll supposedly "rock the planet."

I should be so lucky to have something 7.something rock my body.

But I digress.

I'm sure Philvocs and the MMDA may have the general public's interest in mind by posting these dire warnings "to prepare for The Big One." But curiously, the effect it has on me is the opposite: instead of level-headedness and calm, each and every time I see those blaring words "PREPARE FOR THE BIG ONE" I am filled with expectations of carnage, destruction, and death, instead of competent emergency services, community cooperation, and a general maintenance of law and order.

Arguably, that's just another day in this godforsaken land.

But once more I digress.

I also get the feeling that some sectors seem to have this morbid, almost giddy anticipation of "The Big One." As though this was heaven's long-awaited crushing fist of divine righteousness come to punish us for our wickedness at last. 

Indeed. Rebar and styrofoam do not meet standard building codes.

The poor dense dears. If it's punishment you wanted, you already got it by being born Filipino.

At any rate, the only way this could be poetically-perfect for the huffing just is if "The Big One" were to hit this Good Friday, and crush all the godless heathen who decided to hit the beaches instead of contemplating their wretched lives in church.

Fat chance.

The city will be empty. Given God's wicked sense of humor, it'll probably be the pious who'll be crushed in their unrelenting piety as unreinforced churches crumble around them.

What a ball-buster it'd be to die in righteousness during Holy Week, only to find out you can't quite eyeball Jesus yet because, well, it's his annual Death Commemoration Orgy and he's busy, well, playing dead. 

Shut up, dweeb.

And I digress yet again.

Of all the natural calamities, I'm pretty sure most of us fear earthquakes the most. Typhoons have an infuriating habit of being hyped and then ending up as no-shows. Floods, like periods, are mostly wet, sloppy inconveniences. But there's something about literally having the earth move under your feet that triggers a primal fear. I guess it's because we're flightless creatures who cannot launch ourselves into the skies while Gaia has an orgasm.

But more than I fear earthquakes, I fear the incompetence of my countrymen. Especially those who purport to be in "public service." For all their blather, if and when "The Big One" strikes, I'm pretty sure Manila will descend quickly into lawlessness, chaos, and murder - and probably stay there till Christ returns.

Again, just another day in paradise. But this time with the city literally reduced to rubble. The only bright side is that the government will have more ghost voters to usher in the next plague upon this benighted land.

What's the point of this ramble over rumble?

Ah.

As the government and your sainted aunts keep screeching at us "to prepare for The Big One", I think my dear red-headed hellion Red Sonja said it best  :

"And now, you music-makers from hell - if I'm to die in this temple of abominations, at least I'll go down in SILENCE!!"


A-fuckin-men.

Encore

Plus ca change, 

plus c'est la meme chose.

And Then There Were Demons

The world as we knew it had ended. There was no warning. If there were, I had missed it.

The apocalypse was not one of cleansing fire. From where I was, it was a ringing emptiness.

I remember yelling and screaming that it was all a bad dream, and that I wanted things to go back the way they were. But my mind said that it was not a dream.There was no going back.




And I just yelled some more.




Presently I found myself opening the front door.

People were shuffling aimlessly outside. My heart was beating so fast as my body tensed, fight or flight kicking in.



I ran out.




My feet turned to lead.

I didn't get very far until one of them got me.






Then I was dead.






And then, through a haze of surprising half-consciousness, I saw the other undead, shambling my way.

No threat now. We were one.



I saw mothers. And children.
They were moaning.


Then I realized why they moan.

They do not moan because they want to scare the living.

They moan because they do not want to be undead.

The moaning is a cry for help.

But no one listens.

No one can help.




And then there were demons.






A small one was taunting me. Sitting next to my head.

The other - a bigger, silver-blue one - held onto me as it stabbed tines into my side.

Over and over.

Then it leered, and thought - rather than said - that it was going to stab me for all eternity.




Then I woke up.

Encore

Almost a year ago to the day, we had that incredible meteor exploding dramatically over Russian airspace.

Tonight, an 885-foot long asteroid will make a flyby near Earth at 27,000 mph.

I understand you can watch it live, online.

Good times.

The Last Dance

The Malate of our generation gained fame as a bohemian district dotted by edgy dance clubs, quirky cafés, and novelty restaurants. Its Renaissance in the early 90s was heralded by establishments diverse and colorful: Blue Cafe, Joy, Pepe N' Pilar, Batavia, and Sala, among others. 

Among these, Joy, the gay dance club, had the most meteoric rise, blazing bright and beautiful before it inevitably burned itself out. From the shimmering trail it left behind rose the next wave : Bath*, Acquario, and yes, BED. Red Banana emerged and, for a time, ruled. But when the WPD blundered through its doors one time too many, it self-immolated.

From its ashes, O-Bar took flight, and reigned on the corner of Orosa and Nakpil for seven years until it, too, just very recently abandoned Malate for Greenhills pastures.


And now BED has followed suit.


Last Saturday, BED - the last remaining vestige of the Malate renaissance - played its music one final time.



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BED stood loud and proud as a Malate landmark for a good decade, a record that surpasses those of its predecessors Joy and Subway, and, to a somewhat lesser extent, Mr. Piggy's. 

The party fever generated by Joy could not be sustained by the short-lived pretender Bath, and BED quickly ascended the throne, eventually ruling the Malate gay club scene with a velvet fist. Anyone who was anyone had to be there, to see and be seen the same way we all did in oh-so-tony Giraffe or Venezia, ABGs and later on, down to Orange and eventually, Emba, Government, and wherever it is nowadays that the half-breed kids and aspiring models pose and preen.

But while these other clubs shared Makati and Taguig airspace, BED was singularly Malate, standing alone, its lofty position unchallenged. Expats, tourists, celebrities, social climbers of all stripes and various hangers-on shared the same smoke-filled air of BED, sipping their cocktails and swigging their beer, the occasional waft of amyl nitrate in the air mixing with the distinctive smell of the fog machine.

Joy may have started the party, but BED pumped up the volume and rocked the house. And that house party raged and raved for ten long years.



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The death knell for BED Malate came as a surprise to many; my only surprise was that the owners were able to keep such open, common Malate knowledge secret for so long.

One of BED's principals stated in his FB page that the crowds simply dwindled over the years. This much is true, although the presence of cheaper alternatives such as O-Bar Malate and Che'lu surely siphoned off a good chunk of BED's clientele.

But there was no denying that times were a-changing. At its zenith, the door policy in BED was a formidable thing, as daunting as the long lines snaking a path to its hallowed portals. A serpentine, testosterone-fueled procession of young men, offering themselves to worship at BED's altar. Even with a steep door charge, people were flocking to BED on the weekends. It was, quite simply, Party Ground Zero.

But after its last (and, as it turns out, final) renovation, the writing revealed itself on the wall. BED never looked so good. From the hottest gay disco in town, BED had transformed itself into a super club comparable to what the best in the region had to offer. The owners seemed to have spared no expense in turning BED from a local clubbing legend to an international phenomenon.

And yet sometimes, if you build it, they will not come.



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There was a lot of talk and movement in Malate even before BED made the announcement. Malate being Malate, there was advance knowledge of the looming void, and as naturally as the muscled hustlers hanging around the Orosa-Nakpil intersection eye drunken Malate habitués, certain sectors were hungry to fill the black hole BED would leave behind.

But some voids cannot be filled; not because they are unique and irreplaceable, but because they are products of their place and time. 

Now, clearly, inexorably, that time has passed.

And soon, so shall the place.



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There is talk of a loose consortium formed by at least three of the remaining gay establishments left in the Orosa strip. And that this Trinity was hoping to take over the newly-renovated space where BED used to be, and convert it into a multi-level, multi-establishment venue: shades of the old Streetlife in Glorietta, or the various dance clubs and videoke bars that sit cheek by jowl in Soi 2, Silom Road, Bangkok - otherwise known as the DJ Station alley.

However, there appears to be an unforeseen development: one that the Three perhaps hadn't anticipated. If rumors are true, the owner of the property vacated by BED may not be keen on renting out the place to anyone at this point. Apparently, no matter how grand our schemes are, there's someone whose plans are even bigger.



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If you've found yourself in the Malate district anytime lately, you'd have noticed the proliferation of mid-level buildings: gray, characterless concrete monoliths reaching for the sky. Along Orosa itself, the beautiful white architectural marvel with graceful, sloping curves that used to be Acquario - as well as the lovely structure that used to be its sister establishment, Raj - have both fallen into a gaping hole in the ground where a mid-rise condo will eventually flip a middle finger to bohemia.

That middle finger is Progress.

And as surely as the backhoes claw empty spaces into the earth, Progress will reduce the Malate we know into Nothing, before rebuilding it into Something Else.

Buildings! Condos! As high as the dubious ground beneath water-logged Manila will allow them to rise. Ave, Ave Avida!

And for this brand-spanking new district of middling condos and multi-purpose, anonymous buildings to rise, something else must first fall.

As all the once-mighty do.



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The formidable owner of the section of Orosa where BED - and before, Komiks, The Rainbow Project, Pride Xchange, and other establishments once clustered - has been famously known to remark that "It doesn't matter to me whether someone rents out the place or not. My price, take it or leave it."

It is truly marvelous to be so rich that one could simply shrug one's shoulders and let prime property stay idle. But rich men do not become - nor remain - rich by sitting on non-performing assets.

The current conjecture is that the reason the Trinity's plans may yet go up in smoke is because the owner may very well be planning to sell the property to any of the big realtors gobbling up the city, one old neighborhood at a time.

One big cash-out, no more headaches about the turnover of tenants who cannot rekindle the faded magic of Malate.

One simply cannot blame the man.



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And when one gleaming, cookie-cutter condo rises, like a cancer made of concrete, others shall quickly follow.

It isn't far-fetched to presume that the strip on the other side of the street - the famous line-up once headlined by Café Caribana (then the short-lived lesbian bar Ladida), Pepe N' Pilar, Joy, Café Breton, and Batavia - will also fall to Progress' irresistible march.

Already, one by one the lights are going out. O-Bar has extinguished its presence from the area. And half in its place, Midz rages, rages valiantly against the dying of the light. Che'lu stands impassive, a poker player holding its cards close to its chest. Beside it, the nameless Korean videoke/resto seems to be clueless about the neighborhood's impending demise.

And as-yet unconfirmed rumors say that Dados, that refreshingly anachronistic throwback to the old Malate watering holes, has closed its sentimental doors for good.**

There is something sadly poetic about establishments that come alive only at night being swallowed by the darkness one by one.

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Whatever the ultimate fate of Malate - particularly the "gay nexus" of Orosa and Nakpil - BED will always stand as a glittering disco ball point in time. A time when we were young and beautiful, and our eyes sparkled with all the possibilities of youth. When life was full of fun and laughter, full of music and dancing.

BED was a beacon, summoning the scattered members of the LGTB community from the dark. Beckoning them to come one, come all, to dance in the spotlight and embrace the nightlife. To flirt, to grind, to cruise and be cruised; to live in wild abandon, if only for the night, all cares thrown to the winds as we celebrated to a different drumbeat.

There will come a time - soon, some insiders say - when Malate will no longer be recognizable to those of us who were fortunate to have witnessed the glories of its ever-changing face. The charming cafes and defiant old mansions of the elite that used to reside in the once-exclusive district will soon all give way to the new lords of progress.

When the last café made of antique wood and decorated with memorabilia probably more suited to a Segunda Mano bazaar is demolished under Progress' heel, then the Malate we knew and loved will pass into myth. 

And then, like the fabled Coco Banana, a new generation will only know it as legend.



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To BED - the last gasp of the Malate renaissance.


Thank you for the music.


And now, a moment of silence for the late, great Malate.


Where the band plays on, not knowing - or caring - that the music has died.







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*And MINT, of course, how could I forget? Thanks, JM!

**Good news. Reports of Dados' death were exaggerated. They merely shut down for a few days for renovations. Fight the good fight, then.

Skyfall

So how was your VD?

Meanwhile, over at Russia...

The sky is falling.

More to the point, a meteorite has reportedly been intercepted by Russian air defense forces, who supposedly blew it up while it was still 20 km in the air.

A series of explosions in the skies of Russia’s Urals region, reportedly caused by a meteorite shower, has sparked panic in three major cities. Witnesses said that houses shuddered, windows were blown out and cellphones have stopped working.

According to unconfirmed reports, the meteorite was intercepted by an air defense unit at the Urzhumka settlement near Chelyabinsk. A missile salvo reportedly blew the meteorite to pieces at an altitude of 20 kilometers.

Did we not learn anything from repeated viewings of Armageddon, Deep Impact, or Independence Day, children?

Blowing up a large incoming object runs the risk of shattering it into smaller objects that may hit even more targets. As the ensuing meteor showers below show:

Interestingly, it's tonight that an asteroid is actually scheduled to be doing a near-Earth fly by.

O,hai!

As per this Slate article:

On Friday, Feb. 15, the Earth is going to get a veryclose shave by an asteroid^*. Called 2012 DA14, this 50 meter (160 foot) rock will pass just over 27,000 kilometers (17,000 miles) from the Earth’s surface. This is closer than our geosynchronous satellites, so this really is a close pass!

But, to be very clear: This asteroid poses no threat to us right now, nor in the foreseeable future. Friday’s miss is just that: a miss. And, in fact, this is a good thing, since any time an asteroid gets close (but misses), we learn a lot, including how to find them, how to track them, and even how to talk about them to the public.

Oh, a miss, eh?


Well, it's not like government agencies never lie to us or anything.

And from what I've read:

At its closest point, 2012 DA14 will be above Sumatra, Indonesia at 2:24 PM EST (19:24 GMT).

Well, howdy, neighbor.

And one more for the road:

Smile!

Interesting how that flash at 0:13 could be the last thing you'll ever see.


Dun dun dun dunnnnnn!

Apocalypse Now?

Mmmm...hmmm!


First day of the sixth month of 2012, and boy, we're still here, aren't we?


Smile!

Having said that, seems like the world might end this year, after all; just not the way the Mayans supposedly pictured it (suck it, Emmerich).


First, last Sunday, we had the uplifting tale of a naked man shot dead for eating off another man's face,*  displaying very 28 Days Later symptoms:




"According to police sources, a road ranger saw a naked man chewing on another man’s face and shouted on his loud speaker for him to back away.Meanwhile, a woman also saw the incident and flagged down a police officer who was in the area.

The officer, who has not been identified, approached and, seeing what was happening, also ordered the naked man to back away. When he continued the assault, the officer shot him, police sources said. The attacker failed to stop after being shot, forcing the officer to continue firing. Witnesses said they heard at least a half dozen shots."

Well, so much for eating lead. Then again, the undead have been known to crave brains: something the police force normally have a short supply of. At any rate, any zombie survivalist worth his shotgun knows only a headshot will take care of the nasty buggers - a double-tap to make sure.

Read more here: http://www.miamiherald.com/2012/05/26/2818832/naked-man-shot-killed-on-macarthur.html#storylink=cpy

And just a scant two days later, the University of Illinois released this ominous tweet:

Digging further, I found this Tumblr page, which very helpfully outlined a timeline of events, from the 5/16 Mysterious Rash Infects High School Students  incidents, to the doctor spitting blood on a highway patrolman after getting arrested for DUI.


And as the blogger notes:

"All in same week and same state…. may God be with you Florida."

Booyah, Sunshine State.


(Not to be outdone, this just in: a Hackensack man has reportedly stabbed his own stomach and hurled his intestines at police. New Jersey, represent!)




If life has an annoying tendency to imitate art, then imgur sure had the jump on us, it seems, via this very convincing (and chilling) image series of how the emerging zombie apocalypse might be televised (or Facebooked, or Tweeted, or Instagrammed, or pick your choice of modern media) :







As a fanboy, I must admit I'm torn over this Resident Evil turn of events. On one hand: zombies, yay! On the other: well, more chances of a horrible end plus the stench of all those putrefying walking undead.


And of course, locally, we have the pickled front act of the Zombie Republic right here:

Did someone eat brains, or just lose them?


Oh, well.


Om, nom, nom, nom, nom!




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*If you're a ghoulish, rubbernecking Pinoy like I am, you can see the man's bloodied and eaten face here (courtesy of imgur via Reddit.) Don't worry, he survived the attack - barely - except "Eyes Without A Face" by Billy Idol inexplicably comes to mind right now. Obvious warning is obvious: NSFW, NSFL.


'Course, if you're a squeamish do-goodnik, here's kinda-sorta what it looks like:

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Edit: As I was writing this, all the power just went out, leaving me illuminated only by the light of my laptop as I lay surrounded by pitch-darkness.


Braiiiiiiiinnnnnnnssssssss...

Rattle and Hum

This being 2012 and this being my first post for this banner year, let's kick it off with some End of the World shit.


Last week, all across Costa Rica a strange sound could be heard that scientists could not ascribe to atmospheric or meteorological phenomena.


A low, booming hum that has, so far, defied a clear and single explanation.

As a matter of fact, this strange sound has increasingly been heard all over the world, particularly during the period from August to September 2011. Knock yourselves out:

Brazil.

Montreal.

Denmark.





Taipei.




Florida, USA

The one above, from the Ukraine, sounds almost...sentient. Like some nasty, humongous, angry monster awakening:

Listen to the monster's bellows. Sounds familiar.

Or aliens.

The Tripods' horns sound awfully familiar - and menacing - as well.

Always the frickin' aliens.

Raise the roof.

Conspiracy theorists and religious nutjobs have ascribed the mysterious hum, respectively, to anything from HAARP to the strumpets trumpets of Judgment Day. 

No, no. The other Judgment Day, Gov.

Others have proposed that it is literally the Call of Cthulhu.

"You called? I was in the shower."

Yet others have posited that it might be the Behemoth and his bff, the Leviathan, come to destroy us once and for all.

B&H, just chillin', y'all.

Bah. If Ghostbusters was to be believed, I thought the Destructor would be a little more...cute and cuddly.

Have I been lied to all this time, Mr. Stay-Puft?

But really - what is this pulsating, rumbling, ominous sound?


It sure ain't Justin Bieber singing "U Smile" 800% slower while the world burns.

Damn you, you Canadian lesbian! Damn you to hell!

On second thought, I take that back.

I have heard the sound of our doom, and its name is Bieber.

Look! Up In The Sky!

Is it a bird?


Is it a plane?


Well, it sure don't look like Superman.

Thanks to sheer and utter boredom, I haven't been keeping tabs on the news lately. Apparently, sometime between Mark Herras' dick-exposure-while-chatting-with-another-guy-on-webcam scandal and the continuing saga of the Kris Vs. James domestic drama, there's been a rash of UFO sightings this past week - the latest happening last Wednesday, October 13, over Noo Yawk.

This looks like some Independence Day shit.

Remember how those humongous alien crafts in that movie suddenly appeared over some major cities all over the world?

San Francisco, USA

Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia

Montreal, Canada

Qinling, China

Considering how shitty things have been of late, I, for one, welcome our alien overlords.

Oh. 

And happy payday weekend.