I LOOKED LIKE WILLIAM HUNG ON A GOOD DAY. Sans the cheeky smile and the thumbs-up sign, and plus a couple of other body aches that was caused by the previous activities before I slept drunk last night, this chinese-y looking girl because of the overly huge swollen eye bags and swollen cheeks entered 7-11 with a don’t-fucking-greet-me-a-good-morning-and-keep-your-questions-to-yourself look and bought an instant cup noodles, ate it, then stared outside for a couple of minutes before bolting out at 7:25 in the morning for the Sunday morning rituals. I still had a slight tipsy feel over my head. Hah. Two nights in a row I went home tipsy.

I have anticipated the booze coming in that Saturday, and although I had a few beers over at Mayrics’ last Friday with the Play for Serve production up there (with Jumbolilith [who the hell are they?], Sandwich, Marty Mc Fly, Imago on the line-up–Raymund Marasigan’s Birthday bash too) I didn’t pass when my brother asked me to come with them to the newly-opened and heavily advertised SM Dasmarinas (positioned exactly in front of Robinson’s Pala-Pala but has a far better name recall than that of Robinson’s–I mean, sure, the place was indeed called Pala-Pala, but did they really have to be that stupid to name it after the place?!) for a draft-beer check-up. Of course, my brother being a part of San Miguel that only means free booze, but I didn’t expect though that something body aching will ensue after the speakers at the covered parking area speakers announced that Bamboo–yes, the former Rivermaya vocalist and his new band (with, ooh, Ira Cruz!)–would be performing in a few minutes.

Bamboo? Didn’t we, like, mock his antics on stage just last friday at Mayrics, with Miggy of ChicoSci taking the mike and the rest of Sandwich sans Marc Abaya, singing Eraserhead’s “Magasin” and alternately singing the chorus of “Noypi” with weird body contortments? He he. Now, with all these kids probably from Dasma anyway giddy of creating a body slam in the middle of the huge crowd…it’s Cavite, it’s not harmful, right? It’s just going to be a small, fake body-slamming fun, compared to the pillbox-throwing people of Amoranto Stadium and Pulp Summer Slam.

And so, after (ouch) successfully (awww!) elbowing my way (urk!) to the crowd, I’m…aawwwch…aching. My body’s severely damaged. “Lamog” is an understatement. But it was fun to think that after the event, I actually thought of formulating my own list of tips of what to do/how to prepare for such events that needed brash body contacts. Who knows who would find their way into this site and might actually find this useful later on?

Tips and other useful things when you’re about to deliberately hurt yourself (or the what you call the “body-slamming”)

 
• First and foremost, you have to stop calling those kids inducing the riot in the middle of good fun “creeps” or “pathetic losers” or “jologs” or the likes. The key to understanding them lies on how you view them. Don’t view them as the smart, thinking lot, of course, but at least don’t degrade them too much. It helps not to think that the moment you decide spur-of-the-moment to join them that someone out there is thinking exactly what you’re thinking about those assholes knowing that you’re going to be a part of the labeled. It also minimizes the pain after what you’ve been through (well, at least it helps to think you weren’t stupid too, that’s why your body is aching afterwards anyway).
• You should also learn to equip yourself before you go to the battle: trashy clothes help. You wouldn’t want to ruin that favorite shirt you bought that took you five years to save up for, would you? And rockers don’t sport those Chuck Taylors for nothing. The miraculous sneakers is made for wear and tear, aside from flat shoes is good when you’re pushing your way into the crowd and balance is what your life depends on. Bringing/wearing long sleeved shirts or jackets also help even if you’re already sweating like a pig–it acts as a mild armor sometimes, preventing you from obtaining bruises and such, and for girls, it helps that sometimes we disguise our chests so that at least the boys would have fewer things on their minds.
• Don’t bring too much personal things you’re not going to dispose of later on anyway (see below). It’s hard to slam without worrying if your mother’s picture is not getting ruined inside your bag.
• Bring harmless things you can throw at the crowd in case you get really trippy: styrofore cups, plastic cups, mineral bottles, pillboxes, grenades…the works. For desperate measures, bring a baseball bat. If there’s no available bat, a 2×2 wood as a substitute will do. Practicing nonchalant looks after throwing something can also help.
• Start training now on your defenses:
  • Figure 1. Raise your two arms in front of your chest. They would be used to block harm away from your chest.
  • Figure 2. Put your right foot forward, with your left on the back to support your body. Balance is crucial.
  • Figure 3. Move your right arms in a striking forward movement. This will serve as your attack.
  • Figure 4. Push using your two arms, or better, push around using your body but with your two arms placed near your chest. Obtaining chest cancer is not a very charming thought.
• In case you lose your balance, screaming for your mother in the middle of the riot will not help. If you find yourself sprawled on the floor anyway, someone is bound to help pick you up–people are still amazingly concerned even while slamming. However, in case of real emergency, desperation can call for serious use of profanity. (i.e., “Getoff my pants it fucking costs more than your lives, you fucking bastards! GETOFFME!!!”)
• Laugh. Sometimes it helps.
• If you need to tie your shoelaces, try to do it after the chorus of the songs, or at least when the melody is getting a bit slow. This is self explainable.
• Don’t scream, “Ang daming jologs dito!” lest you want your dignity to drop faster than you can even say, “jologs din ako, eh.”
• Learn how to acquire the proper look when flashing a peace sign afterwards–you know, that dumb look everyone shows after every slamming.

I’ll add up more if I would be able to think of more things. For now, I’ll just place a pack of ice on my body. Excuse me.

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On the news: Eddie Gil and Madam Auring launched as the new love team for a movie they’re going to do. Wow. Talk about soul mates. Sometimes these things make you wonder why PR people took them too long to figure this one out. I mean, come on, they’re the most perfect onscreen couple: they’re both fakes, they both can’t act, they’re both homely, they both have the innate power to arouse irritation and mock laughter from everyone, they’re both delusional (one thinks he can govern the country; the other thinks she can make men actually fall for her), and they both won’t probably sell that much tickets. Amazing, no? I just hope they earn enough to buy Eddie Gil a new toupee.