Heat of the Moment

They could be heroes (pic from Yahoo TV)

Whoa, Benedict finished 24 episodes of Veronica Mars in two days. And I thought I was the couch potater.

Been watching eps of Lost season one again, and it’s gotten better, thankfully, from the last time I saw it. Also getting better is Heroes. Its last two episodes were really tense and the most memorable ones for me so far. It only has a few episodes left before the huge season finale, and because these latest eps have been good, I’m wondering how the big prophecies unfold and how some characters will end up.

I’m glad that serial killing freak Sylar is facing Peter Petrelli and that it’s finally pointed out that both of them are multi-powered copycat beings. Hope the ensuing battle is good. It also feels like The X-Files, back when it was good, now that it’s revealed that there’s a not-so-benevolent group keeping tabs on the superpowered humans, as well as a secret alliance that’s protecting Claire the impervious cheerleader. The connections are becoming clearer, and things are finally making sense. I hope the ten or so powered characters interact and organize real soon, as it would be great to have them work on a mission that would really make them heroes.

Summer Sky, Throat Bone Dry

Once in a while, I get a lingering heavy feeling, the kind I get when getting out of bed seems like a serious chore. I don’t normally procrastinate… well, maybe I do sometimes, as some friends will undoubtedly tell me when it comes to certain things. But no, I know my responsibilities. Yesterday, I was just feeling a little bummed out. Perhaps it’s a delayed response to the just-finished holidays; it’s probably my mind and body’s way of telling me that I should stop for a little while and get more rest. I don’t get to enjoy the days off like others may have, because, mainly, I didn’t go somewhere different last week and maybe I’m wishing for a change of scenery. Or maybe I’m just worrying about money. That’s probably it.

I’ve always tried to make the most of the summer season when I was younger. For kids, ten-month schoolyears meant that the remaining months of the year should be spent on just bumming around and enjoying the great outdoors. The thing back then was the family excursion, where relatives from one side would plan a trip together to some Laguna hot springs resort or some beach that wasn’t that far from southern Metro Manila. Those were the times when the famiy members and relatives felt closer, when joining them really wasn’t a question. Sure, I can enjoy time alone at home drawing, reading and watching TV, but those occasions seemed rare enough and I was a kid who didn’t want to be left out.

Nope, I’ve never been to the fabled land of Bora, but one day, I’ll have to visit just to see what it’s all about. I have, however, been to La Union as a boy, and later, as a college student. I’ve been to Baguio, too, right after those short stays at some not-so-swanky beachside resorts. The change of pace did me good every time, though, and getting in touch with nature did have some recuperative effects. It was especially helpful when I was away from the country for a brief vaycay in Hong Kong back in the ‘90s. Not that it was a healthy place to visit or anything, but the change of atmosphere was exciting. But some summers didn’t have to be spent away from home to be memorable.

One summer vacation in high school was kicked off by a farewell party at a classmate’s house. Some guys bought heavy booze, got really drunk, and soon passed out. My other classmates and I--the non-drinkers--were panicking, as our class adviser was about to arrive soon. I think I left really early, as the others were trying their damnedest to sober up the boozed-up guys. It was going to be a serious issue if they get caught that way, and we didn’t want any grief about it either. What a disaster, I thought, but I called up the classmate’s house later to check up on things, out of curiosity. The adviser even talked to me, and she sounded real happy, with nary an inkling of what transpired earlier. Pshew. I know, I’m such a nerd.

I wasn't into sports, but I kept myself busy. I drew a few pages of comics art for a friend’s brother the summer before fourth year high school, when I was 14. I think the guy was so dissatisfied with it that he just shelved it, and I remember that it really looked icky, so I guess it’s for the best that project didn’t continue. Three years later, one summer was spent mostly with new friends and fellow comic book fans, and we enthusiastically started working on a fantasy book. That has yet to be printed, heheh...

About the same time, when I was in my late teens, I took summer classes, not because I failed subjects, but because I wanted to get some of them out of the way. I took up advanced Filipino and Constitution classes with a friend, to free up the upcoming schoolyear somewhat. And I wasn’t gonna spend the season holed up at home. I soon met _________, which led to the end of the relationship with ________. But I’m not at liberty to discuss that, really. I won’t get into how I ________ with ________, either. Or my ________ with ________, some time later.

But back to the present. I need to step on a beach or something. I’m feeling a little tired, but now that I’ve written this, I feel considerably better. I’m just reminded and a bit relieved that I’ve some nice things to look forward to, even when I’m really itching to do something different. Hmmm… I colored my receding Bruce Willis-Diehard 1 hair a brownish hue again, which I haven’t done in about three years (been dyeing it a different color since around 2000, I think). My hair's a tad thicker now than when it was pictured in a post below, and I just felt like doing it. Maybe I’m just incredibly bored. I dunno. Time to pick up a sport or something. Or maybe I’ll just slump back and sleep some more.

Cock-Fu Fighting

Back when I was 11, I dreaded the coming of summer because that was the time I was scheduled for circumcision. As a kid, I always heard about how being circumcised is a necessary rite to manhood, and so on. I didn’t think about it too much until one April afternoon, when my mother told me that, along with three other cousins, I was scheduled for it in a matter of days. She was contacted by an aunt, who told her that her male doctor friend was going to do it. I don’t remember which hospital or clinic it was now, but we all went there together in an old van, that second week of April, to get that over with.

My cousins and I were nervous about it, but they didn’t show it too much. I think we were advised to wear loose shorts prior to be comfortable after the procedure. Inside that van, I think I was jittery but distracted, as I was suffering from tonsillitis. It hurt just to swallow, but I only complained about it a few times, since I was more concerned with my impending thingie. We arrived and were welcomed by my smiling aunt (who wasn’t a full-fledged doctor yet during the time), and the male doctor.

I think one of my cousins volunteered to get circumcised first. I don’t remember it clearly now, but I think I waited outside for a bit and paced nervously. But the thought that I wasn’t alone during that time made me feel okay with it, as my mother, and my cousins’mom, were both there to keep us company. When I was outside, the driver quietly shared that back in the province, they had to chew stuff (Leaves? Guava? I forget) to spit on their schlongs, as some kind of old medication practice, soon after some guy worked on them with crude but sterilized instruments. I don’t know how helpful or hygienic that was, but I kinda knew about that old “style” from the tule story of Funny Komiks’ “Niknok.”

When my turn came, my face contorted, and I just trusted that the thing will be over before I knew it. Two cousins were already milling about, as if nothing happened, so I felt assured that it wouldn’t be that big a deal. Still, I was kind of prepared for the worst. I remember biting down on the collar of my shirt, just so that I wouldn’t yelp out when things get painful. The anesthetic injection on my thing was the worst of it, and I didn’t feel much after that, thankfully, except the tugging and squeezing, which were probably the incisions and the sewing. It was weird; my mom and cousins would watch from time to time, ew!, but embarrassment was the farthest thing from my mind. The doctor even seriously commented, in front of the impromptu audience, that my penis was “so masculine.” Heh. I’m not sure what he meant by that, even now, many years later.

I was bandaged up, and after we were all done, we zoomed to a 7-11 to get some snacks. It was really hot outside, so we ordered Slurpees or some kind of slushy flavored drinks. I quickly finished a big one, but it was strange, because the pain in my throat was totally gone at that point. Somehow, and I’m just guessing here, all that straining and serious grimacing at the operating bed must have contributed to its rapid healing. I don’t know. But anyway, I’d be a little cranky and kinda embarrassed for days. I was careful not to accidentally bump my crotch into furniture and stuff. Getting the bandage off the shaft was not easy, but I felt really free once I removed it, when the “wound” totally healed about a week or so later.

Whether or not circumcision gives the penis character (Elaine, in Seinfeld, opined that it does), well, I guess it depends on your perception of aesthetics. It’s such a big deal for some people, but I don’t really think too much about it. Many, many years after that rite, one of the things you hope for is that people will fancy your cock… but no, whoops, I won’t be talking about that. At least for now. Wink. Cock tease.

So that’s my tule story. Nah, I’m not tagging anyone, guys, only the ones who can remember their own civilized mutilations. Just kidding.