Day 21: moonlighting


Au clair de la lune Mon ami Pierrot, Prete moi ta plume Pour ecrire un mot; Ma chandelle est morte, Je n’ai plus de feu, Ouvre moi ta porte, Pour l’amour de Dieu

–   French folk song


Tuesday Evening

Dubai

Famished and with absolutely nothing on my mind to write about, I decided to go out.  The first thing I noticed was the moon and how big it was.  The first thing that came to my mind was the 1987 blockbuster Moonstruck that won Cher her Best Actress award a year later.  It was a movie that centered on desperation, Brooklyn and infidelity – with which all entanglements transpired before and during the advent of the full moon.  Cher was spectacular and Nicolas Cage had hair.

I, however, was restless.  If it had not been for my hunger to eat something wicked, I would have stayed indoors, wrote Day 21 at 7 PM and called it an early night.  Unfortunately, I was ravenous for food and clueless about what to write.  I did have a productive day at work, but it was purely routine. It would have been creative suicide to enumerate every appendage of my amplified stress in this book and I was not in the mood for murderous things.  Agitated, yes, but not in killing mode, plus I am too heightened by the immediate welcome of the wintry air that has invaded Dubai for the past three days.

I decided to capture the magic.  I grabbed my sneakers and jeans and decided to go out, see life and be among the living.  There will be something out there to write about anyhow.

I called my co-everything Catherine who was already at the Metro 5 minutes after I stepped out of my building.  We decided to eat Korean food.  I was 15 minutes earlier at Shogun Restaurant.  I watched the Indian and Korean waiters transport fine-smelling plates to the tables as I stood at the Filipina hostess, who was sweating her panties off trying to get me a table.  The restaurant was packed.  I had to sit myself at the waiting chair and watched everyone gorge on their sashimis and salads.  I salivated and wanted to skin the poor hostess for not getting us a table.  But I forgave her and smiled.  Catherine arrived and belted her famous, “Oh Fuck!”  after I told her that we were transfering to the Chinese buffet next door because Shogun could not accomodate us tonight.

WE MARCHED to The Chinese Palace, got our seats and felt that we were under the redness of the world as the huge restaurant was blazing with neon lights that you can actually see the dissolved salt in every meal.  The red pillars spoke and the Chinese surroundings and its motormouthed peoples spoke even more that the entire place was one big talk show.  Still wishing we were scalded by sashimi at Shogun, Catherine and I sat on our table and consoled each other that to the very least, we will be pigging out and won’t be spending much as well.  And so, for the first quarter of the evening, the moon and its fullness imparted the subliminal message of devouring cardiac delights that would make Catherine and I, full-bodied creations –  shaped like the moon.

But . . .

. . . the food lacked character and the diet Pepsi tasted like lead. Thank God for the fabulous chilly sauce and the ever-crucial white pepper, our supper made us go back on seconds and found out that it was not really that bad.  And then, came this thought while writing this:  did the moon and all its sorcery robbed our tongues tonight and actually had us wolf crappy Chinese food because there was room for appreciation anyhow?  Did its witchlike forefinger reverberated its judgment and turned it on Catherine who was known for her discipline and resentment for carbohydrates? And to me, who complained to the waiter the whole time but actually solicited for their buffet restaurant timings because I am bringing my sister and her fiance next week?  I mean, what the f*ck ?!?

Magic and monosodium-glutamate.  Perfect.

AN HOUR later, we literally yanked our full mooned selves out of the restaurant and into the elevator.  We even thought about not fitting inside the lift and plummeting directly to the ground because after all that squander, we both weighed 300 kilos apiece.

Catherine and I decided to walk.

And then we agreed to do grocery shopping.  Quickest way to get rid of the grease and noodles that was homing diabolically in our insides.  It was a good walk but we had to stop every 3 meters to rub our balled tummies.  I even farted gloriously much to Catherine’s guffawed awe.

With nothing in particular to buy, I forged ahead through the lined up shelves and got lost in my thoughts.  I wondered how all these items were actually being used.  I was thinking about demography.  I saw myself in the Health and Beauty section of the grocery and confined through the  hypo-allergenics, anti-dandruffs, anti-anthlete’s foot and hair repairs, concurrently wondering why the smell of the Metro in the afternoons is still of rotten beef and curry powder.  Did the recession – the global financial crisis – hindered man to bathe?  To use deodorant?  To disinfect?

Before I can even argue, Catherine bursted out somewhere and to my shock, scooped everything from her full hand.  I have forgotten that I had the cart was with me (with only one hand sanitizer to boot!) and left Catherine to carry on things (shampoo, canned goods, lotion et cetera) on her own.  Insensitive me!  What can I say?  I have a very active imagination.  Once it starts operating, I forget where I am and I get coasted to my never never land and stay there, nibbling on its free candies, for a while.

At the counter, I was amazed with how much Catherine have bought.  It was my idea to go to the grocery and I ended up buying only 5 items namely Listerine, a pack of Lucky Me Pansit Canton, a bar of soap, a hand sanitizer and 2 packs of Marlboro reds.  Catherine, on the other hand, bought toiletries, rice, canned goods and “real” food.  I guess I came to the grocery tonight only to think.  What can I say?  I always break rules.  Speaking, I opened a bottle of baby cologne on one of the shelves and splashed it all over me.  Catherine reacted and laughed.  I grinned my impish grin and told myself that it is the closest thing that I can get to kleptomania.  Yes, I love Winona Ryder!  She was born on a full moon too.

At home, Catherine and I watched Spread on dvd.  It stars Ashton Kutcher and Anne Heche.  It is a story of a playboy who was looking for the big wave in modern Los Angeles but ended up becoming a gigolo to rich and lonely women to get by.  Kutcher, beautiful Kutcher,  was too pristine playing a manwhore but his execution (and his splendid foot shots) gave the character Nikki a riveting appeal.  I think it is all about voice quality.

I saw The Butterfly Effect years ago and found that movie visually entertaining.  I also thought Kutcher performed well enough to propel him to serious acting.  In Spread, however, his poignant attack was filled with anarchaic character shifts.  In fact, the entire movie had a problem with painting emotional alterations. The supposed-bridge between the bad boy Nikki to the Nikki who fell in love with Heather was such a blur that I felt the movie was missing a 10 minute sequence in between.

Anne Heche, on the other hand, was scintillating!  She banged me with her nonchalance and confidence.  She was hot too!

I would recommend you to watch Spread not because of its candor and colorful picture of decadent Los Angeles but also to see Ashton Kutcher’s ass and heedless sex scenes that he has never done before.

Definitely, a film worth watching on a full moon Tuesday:   delectable, dissident and demonstrative.

It makes me want to go out again and get drunk.

Who knows where it will lead me?  It is full moon anyway.

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