Changes

disclaimer: published on August 17, 2006

Saw Chik2x last night and as is our wont (a tradition almost) when we have no money, we decided to splurge.

And so we hied off to Kaen Dawet along Roxas Avenue to eat and just chill out. I hated the crowd — the cacophony of voices, of bottles being served, of the shrilling DJ on the background, of shuffled feet, cellphones beeping — all gave me an earsplitting headache.

The thing is, I used to find the chaos of the crowd comforting, seeking tranquility in the anonimity it provides. I was drawn to them like a moth to a flame.

It doesn't really matter where I was. Mostly I and some other guys found ourselves in some dingy honky tonk, beer in our hands that were rendered blue or red (depending on where you sit) by the flourescent lights wrapped in cheap colored water cellophane.

Or sometimes, we enter strip clubs laughing our asses off over some antics of the girls onstage that are anything but erotic. So we just nurse our beers, munch on peanuts, and focus on the girls beside us.

To keep the girls that we "table" from clapping for a ladies drink (which, by the way cost over a P100) every ten seconds, Tonix and I wooed two girls. Mine was married (or so she said and you don't lie about a thing like that in the presence of your customer). It didn't matter, at least the claps now come at 20-second intervals.
We also frequent posh disco houses where dancing entailed standing on one place bobbing your head for lack of space.

I couldn't help but wax nostalgic about the old Mad Max along Legaspi Street. That was a riot in a literal sense of the word. The crowd was rowdy, the entrance was cheap, and a fight almost always break out. PARTEEYY!!

It didn't even matter that I couldn't hold my drink. Every so often I passed out or puke whatever I had for that week. I'd sleep, somebody wakes me up and hands me a glass of booze, naturally I accept it and drink some more; and naturally puke some more (there goes my intestine, my gall bladder and liver).

Free band performances were heavenly. Slamming, thumping, shouting, and get smashed afterwards. Of course, this was the era of grunge, where Nirvana, Radiohead, R.E.M and Pearl Jam reign like gods. ROCK ON!!!

I used to be that guy who shouted catcalls at every lousy joke the DJ made, my stupidity amplified by the alcohol in my veins; the one who took on every dare his friends issued; the jerk who couldn't understand the concept "no means no." I was boisterous, irascible, and generally obtuse. I've mellowed since then.

Last night, for example, I couldn't wait to get out of there and just sit somewhere quiet to talk, and instead of beer, it's my girl's hands I'm clutching.

Does that speak of my maturity? No, more like I'm moribund.