The Lazarus Chronicles: Collected Failed Excursions Of A Resurrected Nocturnal Fly

Friends thought I had a date with mortality and descended to the pits, didn’t like the scene, and rushed back to familiar haunts like a deranged bat out of hell.

This assumption was fuelled by my non-presence in various gimmicks of late. It’s largely because the past few weeks have been a series of blah non-events and I was not in the mood to importune folks I care about with monotonous monologues concerning frustrations over work, rotting projects, personal ennui and the inexplicable injury on the fun department. Even this blog saw dismal updates, which, at one point, was on the brink of extinction. Things, blogs and people bored me, and it didn’t help that I was stubbornly moping over a terribly missed truant.

Eventually I snapped out of the self-absorbed languish and stormed various hang outs with no encouraging results.

We went to Piedra at The Fort, gargled on copious tanks of Vodka, sparkling white wine and beer. The crowd was inadequate considering it was a launch of a signpost fashionable event.

I’ll skip on Il Ponticello or Embassy and narrate on the annoying Friday night launch of the new “it” bar Alchemy a few blocks down Julia Vargas Avenue. Our motley squad was on the VIP list so we were smugly confident we can just waltz in anytime. So before going to Alchemy we went to a nerve-grating gig of Christian Bautista at Music Museum. Listen, I am as shocked as you are. Listening to Christian Bautista shrieking forced falsettos on a Friday night is not high on my masochistic priorities. It’s because it was something to do with WorldVision wherein underprivileged kids are sponsored by people to have decent education. And a friend was so into it. You can’t fault such a noble quest. Enduring a nasal screech of Josh Groban-revived Secret Garden-original version of You Raise Me Up is entirely another thing. Bless Christian Bautista for his generous soul, but it is complicated being benevolent when your eardrums are shredded into sofa stuffing.

We arrived at Alchemy before the voluminous crowds trickled in but the one manning the steering wheel refused to park by the roadside so we circled Valle Verde at least eight times in hope of a spot in one of the parking lots. Three fifths of the car passengers have murder on their eyes.

In the end we parked by the roadside. A good block away from Tiendisitas and had to walk back to Alchemy which is now mobbed by streams of overeager partyphiles. Here’s the clincher: even if we are supposed to be on the coveted invited list, by the time we showed up, no one is allowed inside anymore because the entire third level is bursting to the seams and admitting one more reveller would send the whole edifice into ground zero.

While other VIPs openly bitched and whined and grumbled we split.

We had a driver whose body we had to dispose of.