shame and horror

Last night I went singing with some of my guys (Dean, Carl, Vinnie, El, Charles, and Tobie) at Music 21 on Timog. It was actually my first time to hang with Charles and El at length, but I now feel that we are bonded for life, having irrevocably humiliated ourselves in front of one another with sorry attempts to sing songs ranging as far back as our grandparents' generation. I'm kidding-- most of the warbling was really pretty cool, but there's nothing like the aforementioned shame and horror to bring people together...

Despite my burning envy of people like Tobie, El, and Carl, who can not only sing, but also draw, write, act, cook, and probably conjugate Latin verbs while dancing the Funky Chicken with one hand tied behind their backs. Either the universe is grossly unfair, or these pals o' mine have something deeply and secretly wrong with them, like a hidden conjoined twin or supernumerary pap*.

I live in hope.


*The supernumerary pap...

... is a third (or fourth, or fifth) nipple, which is one of the signs witch-hunters used to look for when investigating a suspected witch. It was thought to be an extra teat which the witch used to nourish its demonic familiar, whether cat, rat, bat, or toad.


Speaking of matters (pseudo)religious...
I heard on the news yesterday that some guy got himself arrested for stealing a tricycle in order to kidnap local singer/actress Jolina Magdangal. According to him, he did it because God told him it was time for him to pick Jolina up so that they could fulfill their destinies and get married. Mild shades of Charles Guiteau, who killed U.S. president James Garfield because, he claimed, the Lord had instructed him to do so.

Maybe I should take a page from these guys if I ever get arrested for smoking in the wrong place. Yup, "God made me do it!", I'll say.