They Blogged.We Laughed. Then They Bitch-Slapped The Bejeesus Out Of The Competitors.

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Splash Of Second Stink

Success of yesterday's scentsational perfume launch is not reason for us here at LoudCloud Agency to sit idly on our laurels and bask at the glory of our dazzling genius. No, No, No. It only inflames us to push the bar higher. So: How do you shove the benchmark into loftier peaks? By collaborating with equally-gifted sparks, of course. And what better opportunity to follow up the first aromatic endeavor than to plot a follow up product with the very prolific Mugen of Pulsar? And when we thought we already hit our creative ceiling another overpowering accomplishment blinked upon us. Ladies, Gentlemen, Gays, Lesbian and Hulk Hogan, may we present the worthy follow up to Nostrils...

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Inhale This

Creditworthy Branding calls for appropriateness and here at LoudCloud Agency we take our jobs very seriously. Not only do we lose sleep conferencing friends over at YahooMessenger but we never rest our creative butts until The Work feels authentic. As part of our ongoing pro bono work we feel we owe the general populace an apt, honest product, branding and advertising design for a groundbreaking scent. We hope our efforts will garner effective response and demand for the product to shoot off the roof (and possibly a chance to be rewarded brownie points by “The Muse” and get invited to a—ahem—certain TV show). Ladies and gentlemen, presenting a new scent that will put an end to the entire Perfume industry. Bring out your gas masks!

[ CLICK 2 ENLARGE ]

Nostrils. The New Fragrance from Bhoy Abunda. Inhale it. Love it.

Naagpabango ka na ba, kaibigan?! Subukan mo! Now na!

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Naming Sundays

Propose some other name for Sunday. Take inspiration from what an author (I can't exactly recall who) once said: “Fridays are sheer anticipation but Saturdays are pure joy!” What does that make of Sundays then? Joy elongated or Joy abbreviated? How about bliss? Will indulgence be more appropriate? Or, perhaps, a compound of exhilaration dissolving into growing sadness of knowing that where Sunday ends, Monday is upon its heels scheming assorted grievances to dislodge your way? Maybe it's just what it is: a simple day devoid of complications. Like a familiar friend: easy, placid, the kind of day that makes your heart soar with possibilities.

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Book Me for TBAC

Conceived with one goal in mind The Blog Award Challenge wants to encourage good writing and recognize distinctive voices floating in the overwhelming expanse of the blogosphere.

It is envisioned to be a convenient place for bloggers to discover each other, linked together by pleasure for well-penned entries that feature strong points of view, style, humor, arguments or sheer entertainment value.

However there is one significant detail we haven't openly disclosed: Since the very moment of conception of The Blog Award Challenge we were already thinking of publishing a book*. Yes a book compiling the best written submissions in TBAC. We feel that this book project will be a worthwhile documentation of the pioneering bloggers whose creative talents outshine the flash of new technology. Besides, cash prizes are easily spent but being included in the TBAC book project is a tangible testament of talent that no passing technology and glitzy events can effectively capture.

More details at TBAC site.

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Requiem To A Dream

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Chase More Windmills, Doc Quixote!

Cheers on your second blogging year, Dr. Quixote!

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Planet Of The Weirds

Freaky things happen when you're oblivious to the moment. This week I had a couple doses of Salvador Dali episodes that are quite hysterical.

• Scene 01: I was waiting to cross a busy, congested street, totally absorbed with mindless thoughts whizzing like wild Frisbees tossed by The Flash. Out of nowhere a J-Lo bus conductor sprung out of nowhere and planted himself in front of me, and, before I could register my surprise he uttered “I love you!” I was flabbergasted. Then he grinned insanely and offered a goofy alibi to a another conductor standing next to us who saw the bizarre hoo-ha and was as speechless as I was. “Malay mo makabola!” (“Who knows, flattery might work!”) he chuckled and walked off to bark for passengers. I turned around to check if he meant the startling expression of love for some lady standing behind me only to behold three guys trying to contain an outburst of the giggles. I laughed and we all laughed. I shook my head, crossed the street thinking of the amorous ticket dispenser. For all our sakes he needs to have his eyes checked. Ditto his head.

• Scene 02: I was sitting in the plant box in front of the building where I live waiting for my Portuguese friend to pick me up for volunteer work. This cute lanky guy who used to live in the building sat in the same plant box, an arm-length from where I was sitting. Not in the mood for small talk I began fiddling with my iPod, pretending to scan for tracks to play while observing him with my peripheral vision. Some ten minutes later he rolled up the sleeve of his plain white T-shirt, revealing his moderately defined biceps, flexing a little. I acted nonchalant though in my head I was going “Whoa!” Is he trying to make me envious? Is he flirting? I have no idea. I used to eye this dude in the lift but being a dork that I am I follow a stern “Don't shit on your own backyard” policy. Now here he is showing off his muscular protrusions. I would say weirdo had it not for the fact that he's quite edible.
  

These two surreal episodes had me puzzled. Whatever possessed those two oddballs to act like that? Though the megalomaniac in me will declare that I don't look horrific I am hardly dreamboat material either. I do not inspire spontaneous orgasms nor will I be cast as Jude Law's body double anytime soon. So my suspicion goes: Do I have a neon blinking sign in my forehead that says “Oddball Magnet”?

Or it's just that the world is full of creepy characters.

If that's the case then, to some degree, it's a relief. I have something to blog about and there will be no space for boredom to drive me bonkers.

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Life Is [A Hysterical] Box Of Shit Sandwich

Disturbances are abundant these days. Pap is progressing slowly, work is a plateu of hopelessness, friends are equally miserable and for months now I have completely forgotten how to wake up capable of humming a tune. Shaking off the greyness that usually postdate a depressive turns of events is a herculean chore. So I consciously tried not to swim in alternating waves of resentment, self-doubt, anger and paralyzing sadness. I went to catch a couple of screenings at Cinema Europa at The Shang and got another helping of what could be viewed as a vicious cosmic joke: the one I was lining up was the British film And When Did You Last See Your Father? I immediately wanted to reread The Book Of Job in the same breath as wanting to laugh at the absurdity of how things hover from misery to comedy.

“Life is like a box of chocolate,” a friend attempts to comfort me over dinner, quoting from the movie I haven't seen.“You never know what you're gonna get.”

Let it be said that I am fond of this friend of mine and I would unhesitatingly dig a grave at three in the morning for someone she just had murdered. But that quote just made me want to peg her eyeball with a dull steak knife.

“Huh?” I say.

“Huh what?” she replies, furrowing her brows.

“How can you not know what you're gonna get? You're getting chocolates!”

She stares at me, incredulous. The kind of concerned look for my very own welfare.

“You said Life is a box of chocolates.” I push the issue a bit too far, teasing, enjoying the unplanned repartee with mad glee. “Unless someone is pulling a prank and packed goat droppings, you're getting the freaking chocolates!”

She tilts her chin inward, and looks at me like she's peering from imaginary spectacles, in complete disbelief of my perceived ignorance.

“Hmpf!” she scoffs. “You just don't get it.”

“I don't. What am I supposed to get from a box of chocolates aside from chocolates?”

“Give it a rest, genius.”

“If you said 'life is like a lidded jar in a Pharaoh's tomb' I will surely not know whether I'd fish out rubies or a live cobra. But a box of chocolates...”

“Next time I'd quote from Bride Of Chuckie!”

“Chuckie says, Life is a Box of...”

“Oh shut it.”

“For dessert I'd like to have a slice from a boxed chocolate cake. I wonder what I'd get.”

“Jerk.”

I laugh. She stabs her plate of linguini with a fork, and finishes her lunch grimly.

I feel slightly better.

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Sir Stubborn

Misalignments run thick this past few days. I keep missing a call/calling my mother who is in the hospital looking after Pap. (I finally talked to her awhile ago and it seems Pap was recovering slowly and was looking for me and my brother and sister and I am quite anxious, ok, scared that he is gaining slow pace towards wellness.) Come on Pap, you're made of tougher stuff. You are my mentor in the school of tenaciousness. Stubbornness is our steely armor in the face of great odds and I am looking forward to your birthday this November. I need you to kick some sense on my resigned face because these days I'm almost five breaths away from abandoning all thoughts that a significant good turn will meet me work-wise. I love you. Not because I have no choice but love you. I love you because you are irreplaceable. And that scares me more than anything I can ever imagine.

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Prodigal Son Here's Your Postcard From Home

Sent by my Portuguese friend this video stirred me. Agnostics, atheists AND Marilyn Manson, here's your last chance to hit the X button on the upper right hand side of the browser. You, Ian, on the other hand, listen well! :)

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Stand Back, Barack

All right folks! High time to band together and oppose the dark force that is Blog Ni Inday! I have previously admonished that voting for Chiksilog will usher a utopian universe of beauty, humor and world peace while voting for Inday’s blog will make your puny skull implode.

Now is the time to repeat that cyberpolitical cue: Catapult Chiksilog on top of Project Lafftrip Laffapalooza 2008!

Of all my previous nominees she stands as the strongest contender to squash the bid of the thesaurus-chomping nanny. So we might as well reinforce chiksilog’s bid to blog stardom and show the dollah-spokening, floor-vacuuming, neighbor-quarrelling hag that disgorging big words liberally will not necessarily translate to big votes!

Vote for Chiksilog!



And the rest of my nominees!

Or you might want to consider Mariano Huwantso too! AND Dear Diarya!

For all our sanity’s sake! For our children! And our children's children! For Inner peace! Prosperity! And Love For All mankind!

And while we’re at it, let’s link arms and sing It’s A Small World After All till we pass out.

~ ~ ~

P.S. I must admit that laziness bit my ass as far as illustrating this entry is concerned. Those red Chiksilog "posters" and the succeeding image were designs for customized shirts I sent Chiksilog for her birthday. But they look apt here, so I’m spared of another 20 minutes designing from scratch. Complaints, protests and dissenting reactions will be summarily ignored.

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See You Soon, Ban Ki Moon

Silje Nergaard awakened me, purring in breathy melody of The Waltz in my stereo, and I mumbled drowsily “This is going to be a neat day!”and immediately regressed back to sleep. Then my phone rang. All at once my blood circulation went berserk: work trouble!

This apathetic, irresponsible, crackbrained client justifies my homicidal streaks.

So much about world peace. Hand me a loaded Uzi!

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