Hexakosioihexekontahexaphobia

Apparently, the fear of the numbers 666 is so vivid that someone actually came out with a name for the condition. Actually, this phobia isn't just confined to the number of the beast, but also to all stuff related to the Book of Revelation - Satan, End Times, Anti-Christ, Lake of Fire, bla bla bla.

Me, I'm more afraid of a time when I actually have to spell Hexakosioihexekontahexaphobia!

But there it is anyway. Hexakosioihexekontahexaphobia. And you thought you'd never learn anything coming in here, did you now?

Oh, btw, if this feels like a filler post to you, you're probably right. I haven't been blogging very much lately cos I have been working my butt off. But you'll be pleased to know that in the course of my work, I have been thinking about you, dear reader. (Heh, I always wanted to call you fellas 'dear reader'!!) I stumbled upon the word in the midst of doing some research and decided to blog it, just for you. Heh!

Anyway, some announcements: This week, Mae and I celebrate our 4th Anniversary. If you guess the exact date of our anniversary, we'll bring you along on our romantic dinner. (Hahah!) In other news, a nice pharmaceutical company stumbled upon my blog and decided to let Jesse sample some kiddy supplements - a review, if you like. If the boy likes it, I'll give it a glowing review. If it makes the boy eat like a normal human being, I will quit my job and peddle the product like a roadside medicine show with kungfu demonstrations where passersby will be invited to step up to kick me in the groin or something like that. How's that for commitment?

In the meantime, be well and have a happy Hexakosioihexekontahexaphobia.

Big Little Boy

"Honey," and so begins one of Mae's late-night-can't-sleep-must-talk sessions. Getting almost no response from her near-comatoes husband, she decides to gun for the punchline. "I think Jesse is bigger than other boys his age," carefully emphasising "bigger", almost outlining, if that were possible, the word with her raspy late-night voice.

"Bigger how?" I had to know.

"You remember how Blunt was running around naked by the pool?" Mae reminds me of a kiddies party we had recently attended, "well, for a boy two years older, he certainly has a smaller birdy than Jesse."

I laughed. Because it was funny, and because my boy had a bigger dick than than Augie's kid. Hehheh... I'm still laughing. Still, I try not to encourage Mae. Nobody likes it when a soccer mom starts comparing their kid's... erm... underachievements.

"Maybe it's not Jesse," I rationalise, "maybe Blunt's just smaller than other kids." After all his daddy, Augie is a small-dicked man and the apple usually doesn't fall far from the tree.

Which also goes to explain why Jesse is a big little boy. *ahem*

Superman vs Loinboy

Mae and I saw Superman Returns on Tuesday. When that familiar John Williams theme played, I felt the same rush as I did so many years ago when I saw the first Superman as a 7-year-old. And just like those many years ago, I was awestruck.

This young guy in the row before us was completely unaffected. "This bugger was still swimming about in his father's loins when the first movie came out," I pointed out the disrecpectful young sprat and his father to Mae. Expectedly, Loinboy wasn't terribly moved by the whole John Williams thing.

Superman Returns is a love story disguised as a superhero movie. But, damn, it was good - beautifully shot and all. At times, it looked like it came right out of a comic. Even the poster you see up here - that must have been inspired by Alex Ross' Kingdom Come (Which is one helluva graphic novel that would surely have you... erm.. coming all over your... erm... kingdom. Hehheh!!!).

The hopeless romantic in me loved it to pieces - the lonely tortured guy thing, that bit about forbidden love, the heartbroken lovers angle, the tormented fathers and sons, and all of that crybaby shit! Watching it made me feel like Superman. Minus the good looks, 6-pack, and underwear outside, of course. Heh! So yeah, it was that good.

On the way out of the auditorium, Loinboy started looking at me funny. Faster than a speeding bullet, I grabbed him by the neck before he could react. Stronger than a locomotive, I hurled Loinboy out into the stratosphere where he shall orbit the earth for his remaining days. Then, I turned my heat vision upon Loinboy's daddy's crotch. Phhsshaawrkkksshh!!!!" And all at once, there was peace throughout the land.

No more shall the world be terrorised by the likes of Loinboy.

Girly Shoes

these boots are made for sashaying

"NooOOoOoOoOoOoooOo!!!!" we shrieked in horror as the world came to its devastating end. It was a natural disaster like no other. As we struggled to grasp the terrifying spectacle before us, we wondered where we had gone wrong.

Our boy likes girly shoes.

Jesse had been walking funny in his spanking new discounted Baby Zaras. "He must be uncomfortable in them," Mae observed. That's Mae for you - always trying to fix things. As far as I was concerned, the boy walks funny to entertain us. But no, Mae had to do something. And so we headed to the shoe shop.

I had picked up this cute but masculine macho-boy faux-leather loafer for the boy. Mae was looking at a more sporty Nike knock-off. But alas, little Jesse had other plans. We had left the boy on this own to do his thing and it turned out to be the biggest mistake. The moment we set him loose in the shoe shop, he had set his sights on the little white Hello Kitty booties.

The whole scene played out in slo-mo like some cheap, B-grade movie starring overweight and balding has-been, Richard Grieco and the still comely but long-forgotten Heather Thomas. "NooOoooOoooooooO JeesSssSssee, noOooOottt the whiiiiiiiiiiite giiirRRrrllly shhoOoooOoooes," her voice warbled like a walkman on old batteries as she lunged in slow motion to stop him. The boy reached out, grabbed the shoe, threw it on the ground and started forcing his feet in. It was the longest 2 minutes of our lives.

We coaxed him. We reasoned with him. We even threatened to put him up for adoption in Cambodia but the boy was unfazed. It was Hello Kitty or hello barefeet. *sigh* So no, we didn't buy any shoe that weekend. Everything else that we attempted to put on his feet would have him screeching like a monkey under torture.

First he likes pink and now he likes girly shoes. I'm starting to worry a little.

Weekend SMS

Two messages I got over the weekend. First one was from my father:

Don't miss Superman Returns. The new Lois Lane is gorgeous, not a dog like Margot Kidder.

And then there's Jeff:

One zero. Serves da brasil coach right. The gall of the man to suggest Pele Beautiful game was rubbish. Now he and his ugly football goes home.

Yes, yes, melodrama runs in the family.