Thursday, August 10, 2017

Girlfriend In A Coma Is Serious, Dark And, Well, Kind of Funny

       Today, August 10, is the birthday of my (two-year old) nephew (lol) and the 30th anniversary of  "Girlfriend In A Coma," one of my favorite The Smiths songs. It was released on August 10, 1987, a few days after the group disbanded.

       Probably the group's most famous song and the most scandalous and, well, hilarious (especially the way Morrissey deadpans through it), the song seems cheery and harmless until you take a closer look at the lyrics and realize that it's about a lady who overdosed and currently in coma, and the boyfriend, while seemingly distraught and is trying to see if she'll pull through, reveals that his thoughts (most likely because of her antics) weren't always pure and innocent. Before the song is through, you'll have doubts if he really wants her to survive.

       Yup, it's a typical The Smiths (and Morrissey) song, which means it's sad, sarcastic, funny, hateful, miserable and, yes, sad.

Thursday, August 3, 2017

The Scariest Moment Of Our Lives (And How We Could've Outrun Usain Bolt That Night)

       I saw this request somewhere while browsing the internet: Describe your scariest moment.

      Well, I had a few really scary moments (one of which is experiencing sleep paralysis for the first time. Imagine waking up and seeing demons and dead relatives inside your room and not realizing what the hell was happening) but this incident (a scene straight from a nail-biting suspense-thriller movie) stands out.

       I was at a classmate’s house then (we were graduating then and finishing some project at that time) and it’s almost midnight when we decided to grab some beer. The stores were already closed so we decided to walk and enter the first beerhouse (which was small and cheap) we saw. There’s an announcement at the door so we weren’t surprised (there were three of us) when a lady started dancing provocatively on a small stage wearing a very skimpy outfit. At midsong, she approached our table, started to grind and hump and bump near us,  throwing us naughty stares and seductive smiles. When the song finished, she disappeared into a room.

       The lights went out for a little while and when they turned it on again, another lady was dancing on the stage. And again, she (I thought her earrings were bigger than her bikini) also went to our table and danced and looked at me like we were long-lost lovers. The song finished and she, too, disappeared into a room.

       Then, another lady appeared on stage, as if it was routinary, she also went to our table and danced and flirted with us but we were polite and kept our hands to ourselves (we were college boys, remember? we’re educated. Lol). That’s also the time when I noticed the grumblings and the groans coming from  other tables. They wanted the ladies to dance to them, too, but apparently, the ladies, for some reason unbeknownst to us, were ignoring them. 

       Anyway, it was another intermission and the lights were still out and the stage was still empty when we heard a gunshot—yes, a gunshot—and a beer bottle crashing, shattering into pieces. It turned out that it was one of our bottles. We stared dumbfounded at the shattered beer bottle on our table.


       It was dark so there’s no way that the shooter intentionally targeted the bottle, he probably missed us and hit the bottle instead. Panic naturally ensued inside the bar and some personnel approached us and inquired, and while we were being interrogated, we saw four men sneak out of the bar while throwing us dagger looks. That’s when we realized we’re in serious trouble. We were certain that the shooter came from those four men and now they’re (most likely) outside and waiting for us. Darn, to think that that place was notorious and corpses littering its  streets at the break of dawn weren’t really an unusual sight there.

       We started hatching a plan. That moment, it was getting business as usual again inside the bar, and we could tell that the cops weren’t called. We decided to just run out of the door and then run as fast as we could. Not really a wise plan, but we didn’t have much options, there was no way we would engage them in a fist fight, they had guns, for Pete’s sake, and we also couldn’t stay long inside the bar because the culprits could come back inside anytime and corner us and shoot at us again, this time finally hitting their intended targets.

        There was a stair leading down to the door and we nimbly descended on it and then, slammed the door open and ran, not into the street, but on the sidewalk leading to a major street. And—gasp—the four men were there waiting for us. We ran past them and they yelled, “Hoy, mga Pogi!” (together with ear-piercing curses) at us but we didn’t look back, that wasn’t an option, though that was probably the first time somebody called me “Pogi” and I felt flattered.  We heard another gunshot and it just made us run faster. We ran for our lives and I was sure that Usain Bolt would’ve been no match for us that night. I probably chalked up eight seconds in a hundred meters that night and my two companions, 7.5 seconds. We didn’t run that night, we skyrocketed.

       We only stopped running when we’re certain that we’re safe. We were panting and my heart felt like it would die on me. So why were they trying to harm us? The f—kers probably got jealous with us because the ladies were preferring us, but really, we, too, would’ve preferred the ladies dancing for them, we only wanted some beer that night. 

       Ah, the things you do for a bottle of beer. And the things they do for a little flesh.

Friday, July 28, 2017

Wait For Her (The Song And The Poem)

       “Wait For Her,” a ballad from Roger Waters’ new album, Is This The Life We Really Want, was inspired from the following poem by Palestinian poet and writer Mahmoud Darwish.  Mr. Waters set melody to it, tweaked some words and the result, a hauntingly smart love song.

Lesson From The Kama Sutra (Wait For Her)
By Mahmoud Darwish
(Translation by Dr. Fayeq Oweis)

With a glass inlaid with gemstones,
wait for her 
on a pool around the evening
and among the perfumed roses, wait for her…
with the patience of a horse
destined for the slopes of the mountains, wait for her…
with a distinctive aesthetic taste of a prince, wait for her…
with seven pillows stuffed with light clouds, wait for her…
with the fire of women incense filling the place, wait for her…
with the scent of a male sandals on horseback, wait for her…
and do not rush it, if she arrives late then wait for her…
and if she arrives early, wait for her…
do not flinch the bird from her braids and wait for her…
let her sit comfortable as a garden
at the height of its flowers, and wait for her…
let her breathe this air that is foreign to her heart,
and wait for her…
to lift her dress from her leg cloud by cloud
and wait for her…
take her to the balcony
to see a moon soaked in milk, wait for her…
serve her water, before the wine
and do not glance at the twin partridge sleeping on her chest,
and wait for her…
gently touch her hand as she puts the glass on the marble,
as if you are carrying the dew on her behalf , and wait for her…
talk to her as a flute talking to a fearful violin string
as if both of you are witnessing what tomorrow is planning for you,
and wait for her…
ring by ring, shine the night for her, and wait for her…
until the night says to you: no one exists anymore but the two of you
take her gently, to the death you desire, and wait for her…

       Yes, always wait for her. Wait for her  to come home from work so you can serve her a reinvigorating dinner, wait for her to get all sleepy so you can tuck her in bed, wait for her to wake up in the morning so you can serve her a sumptuous breakfast, wait for her  tears to fall so you can wipe it with your lips, wait for her to finish her bath so you can kiss her whole body dry, always wait for her with the intention of treating her like a princess, a treasure that is fragile and rare. Wait as long as she wants and intimates, and stop once she tells you or even with just a hint of annoyance from her whenever you’re around. Move away because not a single woman deserves to be pestered by a love that has ceased to be requited, or that isn’t there from the start.

Thursday, July 13, 2017

The Birth of THE WALL (Or Who Was Trained Not To Spit On A Fan)

"Aww, for f--k's sake, stop lettin' off fireworks and shouting and screaming,
I'm trying to sing the song! I mean I don't care... 
if you don't want to hear it, you know. F--k you.
                                               ---Roger Waters, telling some noisy fans to f--k off during a concert
        Since I'm still quite obsessing with Roger Waters’ new album (Is This The Life We Really Want?), I can’t help but remember this quite nasty but defining story about him. When Pink Floyd hit it big ( and I mean big) with Dark Side of the Moon ( this album stayed in the charts for 17 years and is one of the best-selling albums of all-time and IMO, the greatest album of all time with The Wall a close second), the band started performing in bigger venues (read: stadiums).

       And it caused Roger some anxiety because he preferred smaller, more intimate venues where their audience clearly appreciated and treasured their music. In stadiums (and other huge venues) some concertgoers, instead of concentrating on listening to the songs would be noisy, unruly and would scream at the band. It so annoyed Roger that one night, he simply exploded. While performing in a stadium in Montreal, Canada filled with 80,000 people, he stopped in mid-song to castigate and curse those spectators that were lighting fireworks during the concert and asked them to be quiet or go out of the venue because “some people want to listen to us sing.”

       But some part of the crowd remained agitated and when a young man threw something into the stage (some say it was a bottle of beer), Roger reportedly asked that the young man be hoisted up into the stage. And as the young man was climbing up the stage barrier, Roger walked towards him and spat on his face. The young man scampered away and Roger taunted him by catcalling and shouting, "Come back here! Come back! All is forgiven! C'mon, boy!"  You can listen to the incident here.

       Roger regretted it afterwards and apologized and it so distressed him that he reportedly stopped performing for a while, after which he started writing songs intended for a concept album that centered around a lonely rock star who had built an imaginary wall around him, isolating him from his peers and fans—thus the epic double-album The Wall was born.

       Fans of The Wall album (and its movie version) could only thank the young man whose face was unfortunately spat at. It was terrible, yes, but great things often come out of terrible things; positive and beneficial things out of tragedies. Who would've thought that a nasty spit would lead to the creation of one of the most influential rock albums of all time? And if you want to scream while you're in a concert, click here to learn how to do it properly.