Written on 11:47 AM by isko b. doo
I love movies. Even if I fall asleep every damn time.
The last movie I remembered not falling asleep to was when I was still wearing short pants. My parents took us to see Flash Gordon back in 1980 at the old Lawaan Theater (before it was reduced to being the pit of depravity and hedonism, Lawaan was quite cool).
I still remember the story about a star football player, played by Sam Jones, and his friends who was transported to the planet Mongo to battle the evil Emperor Ming, which was played by Max Von Sydow. Sydow, of course, was excellent in his role as Fr. Lankester Merrin in the original Exorcist movie with Linda Blair as the possessed child. Sam Jones, meanwhile, couldn’t quite get out B-movie list and into blockbuster movies.
That was especially memorable because my parents took all of us to the movie, which was rare considering the expense. On government payroll during the 80s, it was quite a luxury to take four boys to the movies. Plus, we were all irascible. Hardly a minute goes by when we were not fighting or running around. Later and as a compromise, my father bought a betamax player and our house was a virtual library of Tom and Jerry, Looney Tunes, and Walt Disney cartoons. There’s also the endless list of Kung Fu titles like the Snake and the Eagle Shadow, Tiger Claw, Drunken Tai-Chi, Animal Kung-Fu, or Shaolin vs. Ninja.
In fact, the first lesson I learned came from Kung Fu movies: You gotta beat up the old guy with the white beard and impeccable Kung Fu moves in order to be the top dog. And later, when you sport a white beard yourself, some young punk will challenge your manhood and you get crushed. No sense fighting that truth.
Our Betamax player soon expired and was replaced by a VHS player. During all those times, going to the movies was a rarity. My love affair with the movies was renewed when I was in high school. And the endless slumbers pretty soon started.
Dates are always awkward. Just how do you explain to your date that your sleeping has nothing to do with ennui? When you would rather sleep than grope, there must be something wrong somewhere. And there was also the problem of being groped yourself. There was one time in the Queens theater when I fell asleep alone watching The Quick and the Dead, starring Sharon Stone, a young Leonardo de Caprio and the still sophomoric Russel Crowe.
I woke up to a hand quickly probing and touching, almost urgently, my crotch. I looked beside me to a silhouetted face of a guy who went on touching me as if I wasn’t awake. I punched his face and rushed outside of the theater. Even in the darkness, I could see that he was much, much bigger than me and my ass had no intention of being introduced to his friend dick.
The genre hardly helps. Be it action, comedy, drama, art movies, indie, animation, romance or any other variations, it did not matter. Im still sleeping. Though I pay closer attention to light romantic movies, which my girl always subscribe to, just to wait for one of them to mess up a big moment. You know, when Ann Hathaway in the Devil Wears Prada, goes off to Paris for the fashion show. I waited for her to trip and bump her head on the corner of the runway ramp and die. That would have been fun if the hero gets killed in the middle of the movie while the rest of the cast just meandering around like chickens with their heads cut off. Of course, it doesnt happen but that doesnt stop me from wishing and crossing my fingers, nevertheless.
It is good that my girl, who equally loves movies, understand my quirks. At least now, I have somebody who guards me when I sleep. Though I dread the day when the next hand on my crotch will come from hers, and instead of sexually groping… she would firmly squeeze.
Written on 8:19 PM by isko b. doo
it's been ages since i last entered a post. Sadly, i have no excuse. now, on to my story...
Inside Piapi public market in boulevard, and I remember this clearly, four houses from the first corner, in a small alley next to the shabby booth selling tuba is a small house, but it was really more like a quarters. A one-room grimy little quarters with a huge blue cellophane (those used to wrap bananas) hanging at the door. Up to this day, I wondered what that blue cellophane was for. It was not only superfluous, it was downright gaudy. But this is not about the blue cellophane.
One Tuesday afternoon after our high-school classes we went to the house we've been interested in for quite some time. Four boys with hormones seeping out of our ears. That day, some of us were going to be men. Weeks before, one of my friends who lived in Piapi has been bragging about scantily-clad women going in and out the alley nearby. He attested to one of his neighbor's (who was supposed to have visited the alley and came out rather satisfied) experience about getting some action for a small fee. As best as we could figure out from the way he told the story, the price for a lay with one of the scantily-clad women there was practically a giveaway.
We pooled whatever resources we had and came up short of 250 pesos. Not bad, we thought.
So we hied off to the house, our hearts beating fast, knees quaking, our eyes darting warily for
any familiar faces that could foil our plans.
At the end of the alley, beside the shabby booth selling tuba, are two adjacent houses. A blue-colored cellophane hanging at door of one house while the other one sports a fashionable white cellophane. Must be color-coded, I thought. Indeed, there were scantily-clad women sitting on the bench between the two houses. We cautiously approached one of the girls, while two tough-looking men standing nearby eyeballed us suspiciously.
She was accommodating. Her teeth were, at least, complete. Of course, if she had broken into pidgin English and said "Me love you long time," that would be the perfect moment. Instead, she asked: "Kinsay virginan nato sa inyoha?" Everybody got a kick out of that one. The tough-looking men included. We, however, were visibly embarrassed. The friend who invited us there took it upon himself to defend whatever dignity we had left and asked: "Tagpila man diay?"
The girl, she was about our age I think. replied: "P400 isa ka babae pwede na."
Well, that wasn't as cheap as advertised. Our money certainly did not reach P400. We declined and were to go somewhere else when she called to us. "Dong, sulod na lang mo diha sa pikas balay. Tanaw na lang mo bold," she said, pointing to the house with the blue cellophane suspended menacingly. We looked at each other and shrugged. We got the money and were extremely horny, a deadly mix.
We went in. The fee was 10 pesos. The man at the door collected 44 pesos for the four of us. We asked what the 4 pesos was for and he said it was for the ice water wrapper. We looked at each other, utterly confused, but I took the ice water wrapper nevertheless. My friends followed suit. We went into the single room where the showing was supposed to take place. The porno movie was still in the old betamax format. Eager faces of boys, some younger than us, looked up at us while holding tightly to their ice water wrapper.
The betamax player started to whirr. Images started to play on the TV screen. I forgot the title but it was a hilarious spoof of the Alladin story. This guy found a lamp housing a genie who gave him three wishes. Of course, he wished for girls and more girls. For lack of imagination, the producers made up for inundating the movie with naked and willing women. I forgot how many pussies I counted on that movie.
I watched entranced. The other boys started whipping out their ice water wrapper and what they did afterwards made me forgot about the movie. The ice water wrapper, it turned out, was to prevent the boys from spilling all over the room. My friends, visibly aroused, took out their ice water wrapper. Awareness enveloped confusion. Knowledge is power.
I, on the other hand, capitulated. To my mind, it was already preordained and the blue cellophane was my witness.
