Is this what you call it?

 

It's still schadenfreude when you revel in other people being revealed to be hypocrites, right? Because over the past few weeks I've really been delighted by a number of people being revealed as...less than savory characters. And these people have often been very noisy about how ~upright~ they are as citizens of the world.

True, the reasons of their fall from grace involved a lot of people getting hurt and maybe I should empathize with the victims instead of enjoying the misery of the assholes but...that's a character flow of mine that I should contend with. Maybe when the pandemic is over.

Why am I old why am I fat

 

Well, I know precisely why I'm old and fat hahahuhu ~emotional crisis~. But the past week has really emphasized the old part because goddamn my back hurts. It's not just the lower back at this point either. It's just full-on back pain that will probably result in me with a hunched back.

Me irl

I always used to laugh at how older people would be all "Get off my lawn!" at young people but now that I am that old person who can blame them? Their body hurts everywhere and kids carousing on your lawn really isn't something you want to have to deal with on top of everything else.

Rejoining the rat race?

 

For most of the past two years, I've really just been scrimping and saving and taking on any jobs that I could just to keep my head above water. It's got its particular stresses, to be sure, but I do appreciate that I've mostly been able to do what I want when I want to do it.

But that hasn't stopped me from sending out job applications every now and then, mostly resulting in rejections that did sting a little but I also welcomed, in a way? Since I still get to work on my own time without having to answer to anybody. The other job that I got accepted for is pretty lax about the rules so it's not like a regular job either. It's a ~cool job~.

It's been 84 years...

 No, actually it's been less than that. Just a decade and five months since I last updated this. I think there were more updates on my Livejournal -- which I will not be linking here -- but who's really counting? Or reading?

That's the better question, really. Who's reading and why bother starting this up again when everybody else is on a different social media site blaring their own horns and basically being their own newspaper/message board/radio station/television station?

The fact that no one's going to be reading is PRECISELY why I'm restarting this thing again. Just making this a space where I can vomit out my thoughts without having to worry about what anybody else thinks. And I'm doing it online rather than in a notebook because I've got no artistic skill and can't do those fancy bullet journal things that always get a billion Instagram likes.

Why they don't call me anal boy

One of my resolutions over the New Year was to keep track of my finances, seeing as I want to get a place of my own. And one of the things I've found after a couple of weeks of doing this is that I would make a horrible accountant.

After the first week, I found out that I was missing P24. Of course I was worried. If I can't keep track of small amounts, how the hell am I expected to handle house finances? The following week I kept receipts and listed down everything -- and I end up with an excess of P631. I was so surprised and worried about my inability to keep things in check that I forget to be happy that I have more money than I thought I had.

It really is becoming clear to me why I failed Math.

* * * * *
Since I am a man of the gay persuasion, anal sex is something I am familiar with. Or at least something I hope to be personally familiar with. In the meantime, I will look at studies that say women who have anal sex get more orgasms.

* * * * *
And just so I don't look too much like a whore, I decided to put this up at the end of the post: Check out my book blog!

A long way down

Before anything else -- I did it! I went out there and started a book blog. You can check it out over here. It's pretty sparse at the moment, but I have quite a few entries planned and a thing that I hope people will enjoy.

* * * * *
Last week, I posted on my Facebook Wall the agonizing last words of programmer Bill Zeller. It's a suicide note written by Zeller, wherein he recounts being sexually-abused as a child and the damage it has inflicted upon him for the rest of his life.

It's a well-written farewell note, and I particularly related to this part the most:

I've told different people a lot of things, but I've never told anyone about what happened to me, ever, for obvious reasons...It feels incredibly lonely to realize you can never share something with someone and have it be between just the two of you. I don't blame anyone in particular, I guess it's just how people are. Even if I felt like this is something I could have shared, I have no interest in being part of a friendship or relationship where the other person views me as the damaged and contaminated person that I am.

I've had my share of childhood trauma, and trust me when I say that it isn't being forced to sing in front of a group of visiting relatives. What I've found out from the five times (yes, I've only told it that many times) I've shared this trauma is that...it only results to more trauma.

The first time I told it was to friends I had when I was a kid. That...ended up badly. Let's leave it at that.

The second time I told it was to a classmate in freshman year, who then insisted that I tell it to our other friends. Other friends then went on to be...not receptive, to put it mildly. That sure taught me to shut my piehole.

The fourth time I told it was in junior year, when I was in a particularly vulnerable situation and was quite frankly overwhelmed by the presence of a guy that I liked. I felt that I was around people I could trust and who would sympathize with me. While I wasn't mocked, I didn't exactly get any sympathy either. More like an apathetic shrug.

The fifth and final time I told it to someone face to face, I was told that I was just using it as an excuse. That stung. On the bright side, the person was extremely apologetic afterwards, and I've learned to dismiss it as just the product of us being stupid kids.

But I did tell myself, never again. Evidently, trusting people with that kind of pain will really just get you a whole bag of nothing in return.

* * * * *
To continue with this delightfully morbid note, check out this depressing item from Valleywag: Facebook suicide note gets mocked, turns out to be real.

Books and a boy

Question for everyone: Should I start a book blog? An honest to goodness one, without any random entries about The Pee Lady or The Condom Shunner.

Also, should I do it on Livejournal? A lot of my friends who are also book bloggers seem to prefer Wordpress. Any other blogging platforms you guys think I should try out? Or is this whole idea of putting up a book blog a bad and misguided one?

* * * * *
While that book blog is up in the air, let me tell you about this book i just finished reading: "Halo" by Alexandra Adornetto.

This is the fourth novel for the 18-year-old author, and is being branded as "Twilight with angels". The story is about an angel who falls in love with a mortal and the challenges they face. The epigraph is from Romeo and Juliet and Beyonce. Yes. Beyonce. Beyonce. BEYONCE.

The book starts out well enough. Adornetto isn't bad with description, and the way she depicts her heroine, Bethany Church, as being overwhelmed by the sights and sounds of the human world after coming from the all white Kingdom of Heaven is done quite well.

Of course, all good things come to an end. The only problem with "Halo" is that the good times end less than a hundred pages into a 400+ page book. OHMYGOD.

With Bethany being an angel, you'd think that for once, we'd have an actual female lead in a YA supernatural romance with a backbone and who kicks ass. A heroine who takes control and schools the man for a change. But what we get is even more insipid teenage girl whining that everybody else has already lived through in the 10 million similar books that have come out in this genre.

It's hard to sympathize with Bethany as she is often portrayed to be overly naïve and constantly swayed by the other characters that surround her. For someone armed with the sum of all human knowledge, Bethany comes off as being no better than the mortals she is supposed to protect.

All the characters are flat and the world-building is crap. There is no dramatic tension or compelling plot for about 300+ pages and when the complication does arrive it is absolutely worthless and disposed off in the schmaltziest way possible that I kind of want to vomit poop.

Everyone knows about my problems with "Twilight". I have a lot of those. But it is absolutely depressing to me to find books that ARE EVEN MORE HORRIBLE. To haphazardly quote , "'Twilight' may have had lots of bullshit, but that bullshit struck a nerve." The sort of bullshit that you are fed in "Halo" isn't just unappealing, it is uninteresting as well.

* * * * *

And since we're on the subject of bad books anyway, Snooki from Jersey Shore is now a published author!

It's been getting a lot of press (duh), with Jezebel dissecting a date rape scene and Slate interviewing Snooki's "collaborator".

My favorite tidbit about this book so far? That these lines were actually committed to paper: "Gia danced around a little, shaking her peaches for show. She shook it hard. Too hard. In the middle of a shimmy, her stomach cramped. A fart slipped out. A loud one. And stinky."

Wonders never cease.

* * * * *

Finally, you all know I have a James Franco obsession.

So don't be surprised if I direct you guys to an interview where James Franco says "Maybe I'm just gay."

Brand new year, same old assholes

I believe the photo is from the AFP? French Press Agency?

My family welcomed the new year the same way we have for years now -- watching those wounded by fireworks being carried into the hospital right next door to where we live. There wasn't a whole of of them this time around, so I guess the Department of Health's campaign against fireworks really is accomplishing something.

I also went back to work yesterday, after failing at my holiday resolution to get some blogging done and make a dent on my reading backlog. I had everything planned for my first day back, and at first it seemed like everything was going swell. Everything I had planned for the day was progressing the way I wanted it to progress. But since 2011 seems to have it in for me, some deluded twatwaffle threw a monkey wrench into my plans and completely derailed my day.

However, I'm not letting it set the tone for the rest of my year. It's still pretty early, and there's still plenty of opportunities for me to make this year an awesome one for me. Here's hoping that any future complications won't be even tougher than yesterday's.

* * * * *

Watch it while you still can!

One thing that I was able to accomplish was watch RPG Metanoia.

Truth be told, I was a bit skeptical about this movie the very first time I heard about it. Filipino animation isn't exactly what you would consider cutting-edge, and I was worried that it would be a gimmicky waste of my time like almost all of the films at the Metro Manila Filmfest.

I have never been so glad to be proven wrong.

From its thrilling opening sequence, to how well-written the characters and conflicts were, and even to its musical scoring, RPG Metanoia was such a pleasant surprise and a definite step in the right direction not just for Philippine animation, but for Philippine movies as well. A lot has already been said about this film, and I just want to focus on the fact that RPG Metanoia proves to our filmmakers that you can make a good, exportable film without it having to be about Filipino gays or living in the slums.

There is a moral, of course, and there are values that are being pushed, but RPG Metanoia doesn't do it in the ham-fisted way that mainstream movie productions seem to think will win awards. And unlike independent productions, it isn't grim and foreboding and it doesn't make you want to slit your wrists afterwards. A happy medium can be found!

* * * * *
I love boys. I love tattoos. Boy with tattoos? SOLD!

HE HAS A NIPPLE PIERCING. HHNNNGGGGGHHH.


HE HAS TATTOOS NEAR HIS CROTCH. ALSO, HE SKATEBOARDS. BOY WITH TATTOOS AND PIERCINGS WHO SKATEBOARDS? THAT'S LIKE ALL OF MY KINKS.

There are three more pics over at Made in Brazil, who just named Mateus Hottest Brazilian of 2010. I have no problem with that.

* * * * *
Finally:

Let's see if I still know how to do this

Here we are then. More than a month has passed with nothing but silence on my end. Not that anything earth-shattering has been happening in my life or anything.

A lot of things have happened since I last blogged about walking from the Cultural Center of the Philippines all the way to Intramuros. I interviewed two foreign authors -- Vikas Swarup and Lauren Kate -- which I guess is only a big deal because NOBODY COMES HERE. Well, Neil Gaiman, so I guess that evens things out?

I also took up Spanish, but that is on hold right now as my class is dissolved because there weren't enough people taking it. I still have my textbooks, though, so maybe I'll just wing it and try to learn all on my lonesome.

Christmas is also in the air over here, even if the weather is being uncooperative and enveloping us in a blanket of smothering humidity. I've been to a number of Christmas parties and have gotten some really great gifts, and one incredibly hilarious one in the form of a Jacob Black standee.

I've set it up outside our apartment, in a hallway that everyone passes through. So far, we've had three terrorized housemaids and four fawning teenagers.

I'm going to go on a break from work next week, which I'll probably use to catch up on my reading and probably to start blogging regularly again. I had initially planned on visiting again, but my finances weren't in order.

My goodness, I apologize for the utter boredom this entry has brought to all of your lives.

Walk of poverty 2010 edition!

As the people who follow me on my Twitter account already know, I had a #walkofpoverty a couple of days ago. It wasn't fun or pretty.

Those who don't follow me on Twitter are probably asking themselves what the hell a #walkofpoverty is and how I ended up taking one. Let me share my tale.

This isn't the first time I've been on a #walkofpoverty, although this is the first time I've actually named it. The very first one I did was in 2007, the details of which you can read here. That was a very sweaty day.

This year's iteration pretty much started out just like the one three years ago. I was off to cover the press conference of a theater company, and since I was running late I decided to take a cab to the venue, which was the Cultural Center of the Philippines (CCP). That would prove to be my undoing.

Because just like the 2007 edition of #walkofpoverty, I had forgotten my wallet at home. But unlike 2007, this wasn't a jeepney I was in. This was a cab, and I most certainly couldn't just jump out of it and not pay. And I couldn't just ask the cab driver to take me back to my house and then back to the venue because I was already late.

So rather than take a trip to the nearby police station, I took a chance and offered the cab driver what I thought was a reasonable arrangement: He would wait for me outside the venue, with the meter running, and take me back home, where I would pay him. To my surprise, he agreed, and I thought that everything was fine.

Thirty minutes later -- after rushing through my interviews and not even eating any food -- the cab driver was gone. I spent about an hour walking around the CCP, checking out parking spots and side alleys where the cab driver could have parked. NOTHING.

My first thought was "OMG I DON'T HAVE TO PAY!". And immediately after that, "HOW THE FUCK AM I GETTING HOME?"

I thought about getting on a jeepney and jumping off at my stop without paying, but I was pretty sure that I wouldn't be able to make as quick an escape as I did back in 2007. Taking another cab and paying them when I got home seemed like a good idea, but I wasn't sure if I had enough small bills in my wallet to pay the cab driver. I didn't wan't to fight over change on top of everything else.

That's how I ended up walking all the way from the CCP to Intramuros. Here are six tweets recording the event for posterity.

* * * * *

This is Joshua Bumpus

One thing I've learned in my years of being a gay man is that you do not mess with the trans folk or with drag queens. They may look fabulous, but they are more than capable of cutting a bitch.

Some idiot found that out the hard way when he tried to rob a transvestite prostitute.

I quote:

"He got the gun away from (Bowman), he grabbed (Bowman) by the hair and beat him down. He beat the (daylights) out of him," [Assistant Hamilton County Prosecutor Ryan] Nelson said.

That's about when several of Bumpus' friends, also dressed as women, flagged down Cincinnati Police Officer Dave Kennedy. Other Bumpus friends helped Bumpus beat Bowman."

I would not want a crowd of angry trans folk ganging up on me. Just saying.

Election, schmelection

Explanation here

Watching the news tonight, it boggles my mind that so much effort and money has been expended by some candidates running for positions on the baranggay level. I mean, really. It's a baranggay level position.

Yes, I know that there's a lot of money involved in baranggay positions. And that the fact they can hold multiple terms makes it especially lucrative for corruption. But still. IT'S. A. BARANGGAY. POSITION.

Maybe I'm just too much of a snob for my own good.

* * * * *
As most of you guys know, I've had my phone stolen, I don't know, a bajillion times. And as anyone who's ever had their phones stolen from them, it's the loss of the contacts that hurts more than the actual phone.

Boy do I wish that all those thieves were as considerate as this Swedish thief.

* * * * *
Finally, here's a link to The Evolution of the Geek.

Suddenly, Singapore!

I just returned from Singapore a few days ago, and it hasn't been hard to fall back into the daily grind as I thought it would be. There were a couple of times last Thursday where I thought I wouldn't be up to doing anything besides sleep, but I managed to rouse myself anyway and get back to work.

So, about my trip. As most of you guys now, I've been planning to go on a vacation for what seems like years now, and I finally got to do it several days ago, when I went to Singapore and stayed there up until Wednesday afternoon.

My visit was far from being my first time there. I think I've been to Singapore four times previously, and I've gotten so familiar with the Island -- as J would call it -- that I didn't even need to have D pick me up or anything from the airport.

This visit, however, was the first time that nobody was bankrolling my expenses. I was staying over at 's apartment, and while he graciously paid for most of my food and for the tickets at the Asian Civilization Museum, I was on my own for anything else.

Thankfully, I wasn't there for Singapore's numerous malls. After all, I've visited them often enough before. What I was looking forward to was spending time with friends I haven't been able to see for quite some time now, and in that regard Singapore did not disappoint.

Just being with my friends gave this visit an entirely different dynamic. For one thing, I wasn't staying at some hotel on Orchard Road, but one of the estates at Lengkok Bahru. Staying there certainly made a lot of difference, as it felt like I was in Singapore and yet, not in it as well.

For one thing, there were quite a lot of us staying under one roof, and when Filipinos get togeher we get LOUD. Even Neil Gaiman acknowledges this. Add to that the constant stream of Filipino shows from TFC and it didn't even feel like I left home at all.

And yet, all around me was that heavy silence that doesn't exist even in the provinces over here in the Philippines. Even in remote places here in the country, there's always the constant buzz of nature in the air. Compare that to Singapore, where silence definitely means silence. It was relaxing and unnerving at the same time.

I also made a conscious decision not to visit touristy destinations this time around, and I think that decision worked out well since I got to catch a glimpse of Singapore without going through the filter of tourist guides.

It's the best way to see a country, honestly. For once, I wasn't thinking of Singapore as a a mall that found itself turned into a country, I was actually looking at it and seeing a little of what the locals get to experience everyday.

For instance, I would never in a hundred years have expected to spend a night in Singapore just sitting quietly in a bar, listening to poetry and talking about the nature of friendship. But that's exactly the experience J gave me my third day there. I got to swim in a public pool (I think that's what it was) with locals and eat the same way office workers do at Lau Pa Sat. And that pole dancing recital I attended with D certainly helped ease my view of Singapore as a sexless city.

All in all, I felt like it was a great four days. I reconnected with old friends and met a lot of new ones. Sure, I didn't get any shopping done or gone on any of the amusement park rides, but who really cares about that?

NOW FOR PICTURES! I didn't get to take a lot, though.

Chinese lanterns over at Chinatown. Because it would be weird if they had...uhmm...non-Chinese lanterns?


's J being Korean.




A Hindu temple over at Chinatown. I used to know what they call this. In fact, I think I have it labeled in a previous entry, but I'm too lazy to search.


I like this building's facade. Am not an architect so don't blame me if this comment is uneducated and uninformed.


I don't know if these posters are authentic, but I wanted to take one home with me.


Also in Chinatown. I have this uncontrollable urge to take photos of sex shops in Singapore because I have always thought of Singapore as a sexless city.




This is the construction happening over at the Marina, seen late in the afternoon.


Dinner at Lau Pa Sat with D and Y!


The view from Y's digs.


Still from Y's digs.


C and her pole dancing certificate!


The Singapore posse.


K and C battle for pole dancing supremacy!








Presented with no comment.

* * * * *

Mr. Gwen Stefani

I may not have been into his music at the time, but I definitely knew I was into Gavin Rossdale. And it seems that for some time, Mr. Rossdale was also into dudes.

I'm curious as to which one of them is telling the truth. Was it really just a one-time thing, as Rossdale claims it was? Or was it really a five-year affair? Because I wouldn't call a five-year relationship an experiment.

* * * * *

User's Guide: Going to Butt Town.

My goodness me, that's a lot of steps. Also, the constant references as to how it's going to hurt do not make it sound appealing at all to me. Still wouldn't turn down an offer, though. From an acceptable individual.

* * * * *

"Uh, no I didn't enter."

Finally, The Top Ten Classic Homoerotic Movies That Need Sequels. LINK SO NSFW LIKE YOU WOULDN'T BELIEVE.

The Cassandra Clare dilemma

I'm supposed to review Cassandra Clare's latest release, "Clockwork Angel", and to bone up on the mythology I spent the past two weeks reading her series, "The Mortal Instruments".

Overall, the novels are entertaining enough, if a little predictable at certain parts. Besides, the predictability is offset a little bit by the possibility of an incestuous relationship between its two main protagonists. If I didn't know more about Clare, I would have had no trouble recommending her novels to YA-reading friends.

But the problem is that I know all about Clare's tumultuous past. And by "tumultuous past", I mean she is an "alleged" plagiarist. Do click on the link if you want to know more. It's a great read in and of itself.

This is where my problem lies. Even if I do find good stuff in Clare's work, there is always a nagging voice at the back of my head asking "But are these her actual words? Or did she just copy them?" It doesn't help that Clare's background in Harry Potter fanfiction makes the derivative elements of her work become even more prominent.

Would it be fair to bring this up in my review? Or would that be too unfair? I've always been told to separate the author from the book, but what if what the author has done something as serious as plagiarism?

* * * * *

Growing up, the big author rivalry was between Christopher Pike and R. L. Stine. I always favored R. L. Stine, although for the life of me I can no longer remember why.

ANYWAYS. It turns out that my preference for Stine was well-placed, as Christopher Pike has turned out to be a major douchebag.

The high points:

1.) Christopher Pike's editor telling a Turkish woman that he, an American man, knows more about Turkish culture than she does.
2.) That "editor" turning out to be Christopher Pike himself.
3.) And Christopher Pike, through this "editor", has been leaving orgasmic reviews of his own books on Amazon.

There is so much more wank than I've outline here. And the best part is that Amazon still hasn't deleted most of the comments coming from the "editor".

Of fuck lists and feminists

Here's something I stumbled on a couple of days ago: The Duke Fuck List.

In case you don't want to click on the link, it's a PowerPoint presentation made by a recent Duke graduate about the multiple sexual encounters she's had with 13 Duke athletes. It's quite a detailed list, wherein she breaks down the penis size, aggressiveness in bed, and overall attractiveness of the guys she's slept with.

She had initially forwarded it to two friends and thought that it would remain between the three of them. But as often happens to things shared over the Internet, the list quickly became viral and now everyone is either pissed, embarrassed, or really smug, depending on how they placed.

But what has been interesting to me has been the discussions about what this list means with regards to what it means to be a feminist.

When I first saw the list -- and got my laughter under control -- the first thought in my mind was "You go, girl1!" Why shouldn't a girl enjoy her sexuality and engage in consensual sex? And why shouldn't she objectify and rate their performance as well, since men have been doing that since forever?

And some of the disparaging stuff she says really would cut a man down to size (heh). For instance, she describes one guy's penis like this:

"That gorgeous, perfect body of his was supporting a penile structure so disproportionately small I had to take several deep breaths and force a smile before commencing the hookup session, lying every few minutes (when asked) about how he was 'the biggest I had ever seen'. Also, he came pretty damn quickly."

I thought all the negative comments would be from guys who would predictably call her a slut and a whore. So I was surprised that a lot of the commenters objecting were female, and that they were objecting about things I didn't even think about.

Take this comment, for example:

This is shitty because she is treating her male partners in the very way that we discourage the males to treat their women partners.

How the hell is degrading men a 'success' for feminism?"

And I have to admit that I honestly have not thought about feminism in that way, ever.

So, I wanted to ask you guys: Is this lady an enlightened and independent woman enjoying her sexuality? Or is she hurting the cause of feminists everywhere?

Tangentially related: I am never e-mailing anything personal to ANYBODY EVER AGAIN.

Also, also: I have copies of the slides unblurred and with the names not redacted. If anybody's interested.

* * * * *

Additional information here

I was going to write about Tyler Clementi and the spate of gay suicides that happened in the United States as the main topic for discussion, but everybody else has been doing such a great job already that I'm just putting this up as another voice in the growing crowd.

*too sleepy to think of a title*

Brother and sister duo Dylan and Lauren

To call the past two weeks "harrowing" is an understatement.

Two big book events happened a couple of weeks ago, which resulted in me having to wake up at 6 in the morning all of last week. And if you know me, you know that those are UNGODLY hours. And I had to take cabs to the venues because I couldn't trust myself enough to stay awake on a jeepney.

I didn't mess up at the events -- I am nothing if not a trooper -- but it did wreak havoc on my sleep. And it bled into last week, where I would often find myself groggily looking at my laptop's monitor trying to will stories out of it. It wasn't until yesterday that I finally got a lengthy amount of rest.

I'm yawning even as type this out now. Used to be, I could pull all-nighters and still function perfectly the next day. Now I have to get my eight hours in. I hate being old.

On the bright side, my leave has been approved! I just need to get my funds and it's off to Singapore for me!

* * * * *
I haven't heard of Maureen Johnson or read any of her books, but I do like what she has to say in her blog post Sell the Girls.

And I have to thank her for providing the link to the interview that proves without a doubt that Nicholas Sparks is a grade A douchenozzle.

To quote:

"Sparks' favorite tale of youth? 'I think A Walk to Remember,' he says, citing his own novel. 'That's my version of a coming-of-age.'"

You should read the part where he compares his novels to Greek tragedies.

* * * * *
I used to be a wrestling fan in the faraway days of my youth. Maybe that's why this is intriguing to me.

A weekend of screaming, part 1

Not as prominently displayed at the concert as I hoped.

I went to the Rain concert yesterday night at the SM Mall of Asia, expecting more of the craziness I encountered when I went to the Super Junior concert at the Araneta Coliseum. And I guess I did get what I wished for.

Just as with the Super Junior concert, the lines were already long hours before the concert even began. But despite that, everyone was pretty well-behaved. When they started herding everyone into the venue, everyone was still on their best behavior. I thought that it would actually be a pretty sedate crowd compared to the Super Junior kids.

How wrong I was.

When I finally managed to get in, the people in the VIP area were already four rows deep, which I didn't mind at first because I'm not really a big K-Pop fan. However, as more and more people kept coming in, I became more and more concerned.

You see, most of the people I was sharing the VIP area with were either Koreans or teenage girls. I will most definitely sound racist and ageist after I type this down, but it has to be said -- these two groups can go really batshit crazy at events like these when push comes to shove. But I tried not to think about it, even if one the fans (a Korean teenager OMG) kept pressing her boobs against my back.

I got an inkling of trouble when Christian Bautista -- one of the two front acts -- took the stage. Because from behind me, I felt what could be best described as a Korean rush. You could feel them pushing forward en masse and if it were not for the other Filipinos I was with they would have broken through the ranks.

But that was just the first attempt. U-KISS was up next.

This is U-KISS.

Perhaps my countrymen were distracted by the Korean teenagers onstage -- one of the members of U-KISS is only 16-years-old -- because when the Koreans pushed again, the barricade gave way like a battalion of Orcs being trampled by the Rohirrim. Since I was the only one standing firm, I ended up being carried by the current all the way up to the second row.

While all of that was happening, the Korean girl behind me kept pressing her boobs against my back, distressing me enough to tweet this:

And yet, I still wasn't prepared for what happened when Rain finally came out. Because when he finally did, it was crazy.

I guess you can't blame them.

When Rain came out, the girl behind me practically heaved me and everyone else forward, and pretty soon I found myself against the railings. The Korean teenager was right behind another girl, and she had both her hands and a leg grabbing onto the railings for dear life. By this time the other concert goers were furious and were yelling at her to stop pushing. Korean girl replies in an indignant voice that she is not pushing, even as she looks the way she does.

All throughout Rain's performance, Korean teenager was screaming her head off. "Oppa! Oppa! Opppppaaaaaaa!!!!" followed by really heavy breathing. She may have been convulsing too but I didn't care to look. I was, however, curious as to what "Oppa" meant.

The craziest and most hilarious thing about the concert, though, was the fact that it ran so short. I barely had enough time to get my metaphorical panties in a bunch before Rain was bowing to the audience and departing the stage. I wasn't too bummed out, but the guys all around me had this shattered look in their eyes.

Afterwards, I went out with a bunch of friends to a karaoke place and screamed my lungs out, as I did precious little of it during the concert itself. A fun time was had by all, especially since one of us got hilariously drunk.