Yesterday’s Hash turned out to be something of a fiasco. But don’t blame the Hares! I stepped out of the shower around 2:30 and heard the tell-tale sound of thunder rumbling. And then the skies opened up. And it rained like something from another world. The lighting was directly overhead, punctuated with loud sonic booms. Damn it, I knew our trail was doomed.

I made my way to Johansson’s for the 3:30 scheduled start of the Hash and got soaked, despite carrying an umbrella. And this was the scene inside:

Everyone was standing around with a “now what do we do?” look on their faces and it seemed clear they were looking to the Hares for an answer. Thankfully, my partner in crime Pubic Head came up with a Plan B. We’d do a pub crawl! Almost everyone was satisfied with that solution and the few who weren’t decided to take off and walk on their own. Whatever works.

I did feel badly that we had several out-of-towners who traveled to Subic for the Hash. Again, the day had been completely sunny and nice right up until an hour before our scheduled start. Oh well, next time they need a Hare I’ve got a good unused trail ready to go!

True confession time: Maybe the rain was my fault after all. When we were marking trail Monday morning I came across this demonically possessed doll laying on the trail:

Oh by the way, the rain stopped completely at 4:00 p.m. but the damage was done. I guess it was a good thing the rain didn’t start at 4, or everyone would have been on top of the mountain dodging lightning bolts!

And so it goes.

The thunder rolls
And the lightnin’ strikes
Another love grows cold
On a sleepless night
As the storm blows on
Out of control
Deep in her heart
The thunder rolls

Woke up to a sunny morning. Agreed to meet up with my co-Hare, Pubic Head, to mark our trail for today’s Hash at 8:00 a.m. On my way to Johansson’s I’m walking down a sidewalk with a slight decline. It was wet and I saw the tell-tale signs of algae, so I expected it would be slippery. And sure enough, despite my efforts at being cautious, I lost my footing. Instinctively, I reached up to grab the concrete wall on my left hand side. Alas, the top actually broke off in my hand and I went down pretty hard on my ass. A couple of scrapes on my fingers was the extent of the damage though. Well, that and the loss of my e-cigarette that I’d been holding when I fell. It went sailing somewhere over the wall and wherever it landed I couldn’t see it. And so it goes.

With three hours to go clouds are starting to form. Que sera, sera.

As we hiked today, Scott told me that a pretty well known expat here discovered his girlfriend dead from an apparent suicide (hanging). Said expat is currently being held in jail pending an autopsy. From what I’m reading on Facebook, her family doesn’t believe she killed herself. Whatever happened it’s a tragedy. She leaves two young children behind.

I’ve kind of been on the offensive (heh, that’s a double entendre), posting memes I’ve found regarding racism from the left. I’m frankly sick of hearing that ALL white people are (fill in the blank) based solely on the color of their skin. Here are some of my favorites:

Well anyway, there ain’t much point in belaboring the point. But if I have any lefty readers who wish to express a contrary view, feel free to speak your mind in the comments.

Nap time now, then off to the Hash. I won’t be doing the trail again this afternoon though. This morning was enough for me. But I’ll still quaff my ration of beer of course!

I get knocked down
But I get up again
You’re never gonna keep me down
I get knocked down
But I get up again
You’re never gonna keep me down
I get knocked down
But I get up again
You’re never gonna keep me down
I get knocked down
But I get up again
You’re never gonna keep me down

UPDATE: One hour before it is time to Hash and the rain is pouring down. This will be sufficient to wash away our morning efforts at laying trail. Damn it to hell.

A lot of things really are inexpensive in the Philippines, especially those involving labor or services. For example, yesterday I got a very nice one hour Swedish massage for 400 pesos ($8). I could have received an extra 30 minutes for a dollar more but I don’t like being on the table that long.

This was actually my first massage since moving here which is a bit surprising. I use to do massages in Seoul a couple times of month. Back then I was paying $70. for an hour. Anyway, I went yesterday because of the ongoing aches and pains in my neck, shoulders, and back. For what was described as a “relaxing” massage there were moments when it was a bit painful. I woke up again at o’dark thirty this morning with body aches and took some aspirin. Today so far I’m mostly pain free so maybe the massage did some good. Overall it was a pleasant experience. And having a woman’s hands touching me (no, not there; it was a legit massage) for an hour for only eight bucks seems worthy of at least a weekly visit in the future.

What else? Well, I got my morning steps in despite being doused in liquid sunshine. Once again I got sucker punched thinking the storm had finally moved on only to see it regroup at my farthest point from home. Ah well, it is forecast to be heading to Korea for a visit soon and good riddance. Of course, we have another tropical depression forming off the coast here now. It seems this rainy season will indeed be rainy. Go figure.

I don’t engage much in political stuff these days, either here or on Facebook. But every once in a while I can’t resist tossing a rhetorical grenade. Like this one:

And while we are on the topic of politics, it turns out the latest rage in racism is the Gadsden flag. Who knew? I’ve been “flying” it proudly atop the right hand column of this blog for over a decade. And there it shall remain. Don’t tread on me motherfucker!

In what I’m sure has nothing to do with politics, this study said that 70% of Americans wished they lived somewhere else. And 20% of those would like to live out of the country. Welcome to the club!

Okay, let’s cleanse our palates of all the ugliness with this, shall we?

Of course, it is always big news in the Philippines when boxing legend Manny Pacquiao takes to the ring. He’s got a big fight coming up on Sunday and establishments all over town are going to be broadcasting the blow-by-blow. I don’t really much care about the fight but I do respect and admire the Pacman. He’s also a Senator here but more importantly in my view is he leads by his actions. He spent a goodly portion of his riches building housing for the poor. Lifting people up that way is something we could all use more of in this poverty stricken land. Good on you Manny! And good luck on Sunday.

Oh my! A break in the clouds. I feel like Charlie Brown trying to kick the football, but I’ve got some more walking to do.

UPDATE: Curses, foiled again. Well, what are you going to do when you get caught in the rain?

After a wet and windy night I awoke to what appeared to be clearing skies. I took advantage of the opportunity by giving the dogs their walk, then heading out to walk myself. Here’s how that went down in pictures:

And finally, Facebook has been burning up with people posting photos using an app that shows how you’ll look in twenty years. I finally relented and gave it a try*:

*I hope it is obvious I’m joking about using that app. I almost never play those games and as it turns out, with good reason. Beware the Borg!

And for goodness sake, be careful out there!

The tide is high but I’m holding on
I’m gonna be your number one
I’m not the kind of girl who gives up just like that
Oh, no

It’s not the things you do that tease and wound me bad
But it’s the way you do the things you do to me

I’m not the kind of girl who gives up just like that
Oh, no

The tide is high but I’m holding on
I’m gonna be your number one
Number one, number one

I got some message on my phone that was mostly in Tagalog. The only part I could read was an “Orange Rain Alert” for Zambales province. Well, it’s been raining all day but it doesn’t look orange at all. Go figure.

I guess what’s happening is we are on the edge of a Phi-phoon (we are in the Philippines, so it can’t be a Thai-phoon, right?) And don’t you dare try and correct my spelling. I might go crazy like this gal did. Scary, huh?

I didn’t get to walk today because of the rain, so the trail scouting had to be postponed. Ah well, nothing to be done about it. Truthfully, I probably needed the day off. I’ve been experiencing a generalized body ache these past couple of days. Not sure what’s up with that. I did check the ‘net for dengue symptoms and I think I’m good on that account at least. Anyway, Tylenol takes the edge off so I should be fine.

Facebook reminded me how I looked three years ago:

I’ll venture out into the wetness to chuck some darts tonight. Might even practice a little first.

And that’s all I got for today…

Hoo boy, yesterday’s Hash was a pisser. I might bitch and moan about a trail that is too long, steep, or otherwise exceedingly difficult. But that’s the Hare’s prerogative. What I can’t countenance though is being unnecessarily placed in danger. And in my view that happened not once, but twice, on yesterday’s Hash. It actually made me angry at the Hare’s irresponsibility. I would never knowingly lay a trail where normal caution and diligence are not enough to prevent serious injury.

Okay, well no one got hurt yesterday, so there’s that. I exercised prudence by declining to follow the trail into danger on the two occasions mentioned above. So yeah, I took responsibility for my own safety but I was mad about having to look for an alternative route and it pretty much ruined any enjoyment I might have otherwise had. And I vowed to never go on a trail laid by that Hare (Two Bottles) again.

And that’s pretty much where the enjoyment ended. Because I was faced with this:

Another thing I don’t personally like are checkpoints. This is where at an intersection of paths, the Hare requires you to pursue all possibilities until you find the “true trail”. Now, you might get lucky and guess right the first time. Otherwise you’ll have to walk a hundred yards or so looking for trail marks. If you don’t find any you have to retreat and try the next alternative. If you are in a group you can send one person off in each direction and when (if) they find the trail mark they yell “on-on” and everyone goes that way. It just seems like a pointless waste of time to me, but some Hares and Hashers seem to think it makes for a more interesting trail.

Anyway, there were at least two checkpoints on yesterday’s trail. I guessed right the first time, but didn’t even see the second one. After going on for awhile without seeing any Hash marks I retreated to see where I’d lost the trail. And that’s when I discovered the checkpoint. Well, I’d already eliminated one of the options, so I headed on down and sure enough I was “on-on”. Still, I had a bad feeling about this path. It was eerily familiar and not in a good way. And sure enough my fears were soon confirmed. It was the trail that led through a creek bed that includes an 8 foot waterfall drop off you are expected to climb down. I bitched about that loud and long the first time I experienced it. If I had known this was that trail again before my descent I’d have aborted then and there.

Actually, it was even worse this time around. The rocks were wet and slippery. I knew with one false step and I’d likely break a leg. But here there was no easy walk around. I eventually decided to move to the other side of the waterfall, sit on my ass, and slide/crawl down. Because of tree limbs rocks and roots, that was no easy task. I made it with everything intact except maybe my dignity.

Anyway, once out of harm’s way I shortcut the remainder of the trail (actually the flat part I was going to use next week) and headed on-home to Johan’s on Baloy Beach.

And at the conclusion of the Hash circle, I asked the Johan’s mascot for a little assistance:

(Sung to the tune of the Mickey Mouse Club song)

S-H-I-T-T-Y T-R-A-I-L

Shitty trail (it sucked)

Shitty trail (it really sucked)

The Hare has laid another shitty trail

I would rather drink this beer than hike your shitty trail

S-H-I-T-T-Y T-R-A-I-L

UPDATE: Haha! I used the “worst trail ever” title just last month. But that wasn’t a Hash trail. And yesterday’s was worse!

Went to Arizona yesterday. It was good to be back. Only stayed for dinner though.

I briefly considered ordering the Swedish meatballs but didn’t want to press my luck. Anyway, it was all quite good.

After dining, I walked up (or is it down?) the street to Cheap Charlies for some beers. Arrived in time to watch the sun go down.

Another thing I like about drinking there is they play a good mix of music. Oldies from the 50’s, some classic rock, even a little country. And they play the music videos on a large screen TV. My head often feels like it is on a swivel as I alternate between the street views and the videos. But last night I kept hearing a distracting buzzing sound. I was thinking that maybe they had blown out a speaker or something. And then I turned around and saw this:

Finished the night at Wet Spot and called one of the dancers down for drinks. Turns out she is a named Hasher (What’s Up Doc), although she hasn’t been to a Hash for many years. She happens to be off on Mondays so I invited her to join us this afternoon. We’ll see if she actually shows up.

Speaking of which, I came across a pretty interesting article called “The Unbearable Smugness of Walking”. The subheading provides the basic premise of the writer: “Glorified for its creative benefits, the pastime has become yet another goal-driven pursuit.”

Hmm. Well, apparently a lot of writers through the years have found walking to be a good way to get the creative juices flowing. But when walking becomes part of the work process does it lose its value as a respite from work? That’s like asking me if I’m ignorant or apathetic–I don’t know and I don’t care. *ahem*

For me, walking is as much a chore as anything else. I do it for a reason and for a purpose. Mainly to avoid becoming morbidly obese again. But yeah, it also clears my head and helps me maintain perspective in my sometimes troubled mind. I can also attest to the fact that I often think about what I’m going to write here at LTG whilst I’m hiking about. Which I guess undermines the premise that walking improves one’s writing. Or maybe I’m just the exception. That’s it–I’m exceptional!

It was a pretty productive morning on the internets today because I also came across this article: “Want to live longer? Drink alcohol, new study says”. Hell, I might just live forever! Oh wait. It says moderate drinking. Never mind.

And now it is time for me to bring it all together. Walking and drinking that is. Yes, I’m talking about the Hash my friends. The drinking club with a hiking problem!

I keep a close watch on this heart of mine
I keep my eyes wide open all the time
I keep the ends out for the tie that binds
Because you’re mine, I walk the line

I find it very, very easy to be true
I find myself alone when each day is through
Yes, I’ll admit that I’m a fool for you
Because you’re mine, I walk the line

As sure as night is dark and day is light
I keep you on my mind both day and night
And happiness I’ve known proves that it’s right
Because you’re mine, I walk the line

UPDATE: I guess I shouldn’t have been too surprised that I’ve used the “I walk the line” title for a post twice previously.

In September 2017 I was comparing how I looked after two years of walking.

And in May 2013 I was extolling the health benefits of darts, pathetically trying to calculate the total distance walked between the throw line and the dart board during a tournament. I was such a rookie at walking back then!

It happened again this morning. I’m walking along the highway and a woman walking towards me smiles and says “hello, John.” And I didn’t have a clue as to who she was. She was older and kind of matronly so it wasn’t a random bargirl I may have met some drunken night. I just smiled back and nodded, then kept on walking.

Something similar happened the other night as I left Cheap Charlies. A woman was sitting with a young child on the front stoop of an abandoned building. I glanced her way and she too greeted me by name. Again, I had no clue who she might be. I guess I’m going to need to start stopping and asking “who the fuck are you and how in the hell do you know my name?” Eh, but more politely than that of course.

I guess it is one of the things that comes with small town living. A couple of trike drivers know me by name (by virtue of being involved with Buddy’s rescue last year) but several others will call out “Alta Vista?” (my subdivision) when I walk past. I only take a trike maybe once a week so it’s not like I’m a regular customer for any of them. I took one last night because it was raining and although I didn’t recognize the driver at all, he knew how to get to my house without me giving directions. That’s a little scary!

On balance though, I kinda like being recognized as I make my way about town or when I frequent my usual haunts and venues. Hell, even places I rarely visit seem to remember me by name. I suppose it sort of makes me feel like I’m a part of the community or something like that. And maybe a little less lonely.

Making your way in the world today
Takes everything you got
Taking a break from all your worries
It sure would help a lot
Wouldn’t you like to get away?

Sometimes you want to go
Where everybody knows your name
And they’re always glad you came
You want to be where you can see
The troubles are all the same

You want to be where everybody knows your name
You want to go where people know
The people are all the same
You want to go where everybody knows your name

Not that there is anything wrong with that.

So, although I lean right politically, on social issues, including homosexuality, I’ve always been more of a libertarian. I don’t care about anyone’s sexual orientation. Not my business or concern and it certainly should not be of any interest to the government. Be loud, be proud, fly your flag, be who you are or who you want to be. Just leave me the hell alone while I do my thing.

In all seriousness though, I do not condone discrimination or other forms of harassment of the gay community. I’m not sure how big a problem that truly is in the USA, my sense is that the media tends to hype issues to keep Americans divided, including gays versus straights. I’m proud of my gay daughter who, while outspoken, never plays the “victim” card.

Anyway, I no longer live in the states so maybe I’m out of touch with the realities there. I can speak to what I’ve observed here in the Philippines and quite frankly it is shocking. This is a majority Catholic country and in many ways very conservative. Abortion is illegal. Birth control is available but not widely used. There is no legal divorce, only a lengthy and expensive annulment process. So it may come as a surprise (it was to me) that when it comes to matters of homosexuality no one cares! At least there are no outward signs of stigma or discrimination. Well, actually I just discovered that gay marriage is not permitted here yet.

But I’m not talking about the government so much as I am the citizens. I can’t keep up with all the letters in the rainbow universe, so I’ll confine myself to the “traditional” LGBT community. Except here in the PI it is not so much a separate community at all. People are what they are and are accepted as they are by everyone else. It is just not a big deal and people don’t seem to notice or differentiate between a gay couple or a straight couple. Why should they, right? Well, I guess that’s what I’m kinda doing right now, but only to make the point that it’s really cool that no one else cares.

In my small circle of friends here I know two gay couples. They are both part of the Alley Cats/dart scene and great fun to be around.

Funny story in a way about Billy. I’ve always addressed her in the feminine manner but I’m pretty sure she identifies as male. This was brought home to me when I noticed the women calling her (see, there I go again!) “Kuya Billy” just like they call me Kuya John. Kuya is akin to older brother. Oh well, you can’t teach an old dog like me new tricks (especially when I’m drunk) but Billy never complains and jokes back with me, so it’s all good. And I guess that’s kind of my point, no one wastes time being offended when no offense is intended. That’s a great lesson for us all!

I can’t say that I know any gay males, but then I don’t know many Filipino men at all. I know there is a club called the Hunk Zone, but I’ve never been in there. And there is another bar in town called Count Nicolas that is a hangout for transgenders, or as they are known here bakla. I don’t frequent that bar either but I actually see quite a few baklas on the street as well. Again, no one pays them any attention and the locals seem to accept them as the gender to which they identify.

I emphasized locals above because some of the expats and a lot of the sex tourists do seem to have issues with baklas. One girly bar had the audacity to actually hire a bakla as a waitress and the mongers went nuts on the internet forums. Seems they were worried they might get drunk and not notice the difference before it was too late or some such crap. Well, honestly speaking, I’ve never been that drunk where I couldn’t tell, but whatever. It’s like the old joke–“I know my girl is a real girl. I can feel it inside of me”. *ahem*

My favorite non-dart bar, Cheap Charlies, flew a rainbow flag during pride month and some foreigners complained about that too. Bigotry like that seems to me to be perhaps more about projection. What is it about a gay that they really fear?

Ah well, there I go rambling again. The point being that people of all kinds and persuasions are accepted by the Filipino community. Their kind and loving nature are among the things I truly admire about them.

And now I feel empowered to admit that I’m a lesbian. Trapped in a man’s body. I love women. There. I came out.

I met her in a club down in old Soho
Where you drink champagne and it tastes just like Coca-Cola
C O L A cola
She walked up to me and she asked me to dance
I asked her her name and in a dark brown voice she said Lola
L O L A Lola la-la-la-la Lola

Well I’m not the world’s most physical guy
But when she squeezed me tight she nearly broke my spine
Oh my Lola la-la-la-la Lola
Well I’m not dumb but I can’t understand
Why she walked like a woman and talked like a man
Oh my Lola la-la-la-la Lola la-la-la-la Lola

Well we drank champagne and danced all night
Under electric candlelight
She picked me up and sat me on her knee
And said little boy won’t you come home with me
Well I’m not the world’s most passionate guy
But when I looked in her eyes well I almost fell for my Lola
La-la-la-la Lola la-la-la-la Lola
Lola la-la-la-la Lola la-la-la-la Lola
I pushed her away
I walked to the door
I fell to the floor
I got down on my knees
Then I looked at her and she at me

Well that’s the way that I want it to stay
And I always want it to be that way for my Lola
La-la-la-la Lola
Girls will be boys and boys will be girls
It’s a mixed up muddled up shook up world except for Lola
La-la-la-la Lola

Well I left home just a week before
And I’d never ever kissed a woman before
But Lola smiled and took me by the hand
And said dear boy I’m gonna make you a man

Well I’m not the world’s most masculine man
But I know what I am and I’m glad I’m a man
And so is Lola
La-la-la-la Lola la-la-la-la Lola
Lola la-la-la-la Lola la-la-la-la Lola

I was out of town most of the day yesterday. Nothing real exciting, just taking care of some business in San Fernando, Pampanga. Anyway, I didn’t get the chance to post some photos from the Hash on Monday, but I’ll rectify that now.

And so ended another Hash.

Otherwise, life goes on in the usual ways.

And I may have gotten a little drunk last night.

And did I mention I might have been a little drunk last night?

I’m going to do the hike with the Wednesday Walkers. Although it is starting to look like rain. We shall see!

That’s certainly a worthwhile goal. At least to the extent we have any say in the matter.

The other day I noticed that the subdivision security guys are now sporting firearms, what appear to be short barreled shotguns. This is a new feature as in the past they only carried pistols. In fact, on many occasions I’ve noticed the holsters they wear were empty. So, I asked one of the guards what was up with the new firepower. He simply responded “to protect lives and property, sir”.

Hmm. He didn’t elaborate, but I got to thinking maybe it has something to do with the recent arrest of an Al Qaeda affiliated terrorist here in Zambales province. Now, he was captured at a hotel in Iba more than an hour away from Olongapo/Barretto. But Iba has no real foreigner presence, so assuming he was plotting to kill us Western types, a trip down the National Highway may have been in his plans. Or maybe the arming of the guards was just a coincidence. Who knows?

Staying alive these days seems to be more and more a matter of chance. I mean, you can do the prudent things to alleviate risk factors, but short of living like a hermit (which to my thinking isn’t living at all) you can not control the timing or actions that may ultimately lead to your demise. Probably the most dangerous thing I do is walking alongside or crossing the National Highway. People drive like idiotic maniacs and it seems pedestrians are just expected to get the fuck out of the way. Even in the bars safety seems to be an afterthought. Cheap Charlies is my favorite hangout these days. It’s on the third floor with one access/egress point and one set of stairs. I guess in the event of a fire (or terrorist attack) you’d just have to dive out the window and onto the highway below. Oops. Choose the method of your doom!

Anyway, I also visited the doctor recently to go over the results from my blood and urine tests. As I had discerned from my own reading, I was in the normal range in all tested categories with one exception–my uric acid level is too high. My doc says this can be caused by eating certain types of foods in excess. Or drinking too much beer. Hmm. I guess I better watch what I eat! Anyway, he gave me some meds to help reduce those nasty acids and seemed satisfied that my health was otherwise pretty good for an “elderly” man. Bastard.

Speaking of risk factors, it’s time to get ready for the Hash. Wish me luck!

Yep, one of those. Did my my morning and afternoon walks. Boring highway hikes. Sunny and hot as well. Took a nap. Hung out on the internet. And that’s about it.

Well, I did find this mildly interesting article “10 facts about the Philippines that will blow your mind”. That’s a bit of an overstatement, but judge for yourself if you are so inclined. A commenter did add these which I found funny in a sad way:

12, The most beggars per square meter than any other place in the world.

13. The most missing limbs, per capita, from dynamite fishing.

14. Largest importer of other nation’s trash and surprisingly, the least capable of properly disposing their own trash.

15. Has the most over amplified karaoke machines in the world. 

Especially those last two.

Anyway, that’s all I got. Time for my beer ingestion.

UPDATE: And here’s #11:

Who me? Um, no. Not yet anyway. How do you define cavorting?

Last night was my first weekend out as a newly free man. As usual, I started out in Cheap Charlies. Got there in time to enjoy the sunset.

One of my favorites in this bar is Maya, so I had her join me while I imbibed my beers. Well, she joined me for the lady drink commission, but still. She’s a nice enough gal, pleasant personality, and gives a pretty good back rub. Interestingly, she’s a Muslim. Don’t see many of the pedophile Muhammad’s disciples working in a bar. Although Maya’s drinks are in fact non-alcoholic. She’s sexy enough though and I probably wouldn’t mind “doing her”, but alas, Cheap Charlies is not a prostitution bar. Of course, the gals are free to do as they please before/after work. I kinda got mixed signals on whether Maya would seriously consider a date or if she was just playing me for more drinks. If I had to place a bet I guess my money would be on the latter. Just as well I suppose.

I decided to change things up and visit the recently opened Thumbstar bar. This is your standard go-go bar with scantily clad dancers. And yes, the girls are available for takeout. I was a little surprised to discover that at a little after 8:00 on a Friday night, I was the only customer. I sat down and ordered up a beer. There were maybe five or six dancers on the stage and one of them caught my eye. A tiny little thing, but cute as a bug. She was making eye contact and smiling at me so I knew she was obviously thirsty. Like any gentleman would, I called her down to join me. Oh my. Her name is Rose. At 32 she’s a bit long in the tooth for a dancer, but I prefer the gals to be approximately half my age, so no problem. And damn, she just snuggled right up to me and it felt so sweet and right. I was surprised how much I was enjoying her physical presence. We both had two drinks and then I knew it was best for me to move on. She made me promise to come back and see her again and so I reckon I will.

I then successfully crossed the National Highway without getting squashed and popped into the Alaska Club. Once again, I was the only customer. Well, it is rainy season which keeps the tourist numbers down I suppose. As is my custom, I called my usual dancer down to join me for drinks. Kim always insists I’m her favorite customer (I’m sure I was at the moment anyway). And since I didn’t have my ex with me as I had in the past, Kim was especially, um, friendly. Very touchy feely if you get my meaning. Now, nothing lewd or illegal, that’s not allowed in the bar of course. You have to pay to take the girl out for that kind of thing. And I think if I ever decide to barfine a prostitute, Kim might just be the one. But last night wasn’t the night for that. I’m still not ready to go “there”.

But. It did get me thinking. It might be fun to spend some intimate moments with Kim, or Rose, or maybe even Maya. Or hell, all three (but not at the same time! I’m in my 60’s for crissakes!). Now, don’t be concerned dear readers, I have no intention of making a prostitute my future ex-girlfriend. In fact, I’m trying to get my mind around the idea of living my life without a girlfriend at all. But that shouldn’t mean living without some female companionship now and then, right? These girls might be fun to hang out with for awhile, and then send them on their way. After paying them of course. So we shall see what the future holds in that regard.

This morning I went out and walked the trail I tried to do yesterday in reverse. I had somewhat better success I guess.

Progress is being made I guess, on both the emotional and Hash Hare fronts. Let’s see if I can stay strong and get things right this time.

I can’t light no more of your darkness
All my pictures seem to fade to black and white
I’m growing tired and time stands still before me
Frozen here on the ladder of my life

Too late to save myself from falling
I took a chance and changed your way of life
But you misread my meaning when I met you
Closed the door and left me blinded by the light

Don’t let the sun go down on me
Although I search myself, it’s always someone else I see
I’d just allow a fragment of your life to wander free
But losing everything is like the sun going down on me

Out into the heat and humidity on a quest to find a suitable wet weather trail for my upcoming stint as Hare. I figured a portion of My Bitch could work. No real steep hills so should be manageable. A small creek had some running water, but it was easy to hop across. There was some storm damage creating obstacles though:

The problem came a bit later when I began my descent. The path I planned on taking is apparently seldom used. After the rains it was overgrown in that tall ass grass. And I lost the trail. Tried to blaze my own way down but kept getting stymied by impassible obstacles. Finally, I gave up and tried heading back to the top and got turned around somehow and a little bit lost. I eventually got back to the junction and then once again tried to find the trail down. But it was so overgrown as to be invisible. I gave up and did the long walk down Rizal Extension and eventually back home.

I still got three weeks to figure something out.

In other news, today is the anniversary of Buddy’s rescue.

He has his “accidents” now and then (like this morning), but he’s a good boy and loves to give me hugs when I come home. Hard to not love him back.

And then there was my drunken snack when I finished my bar crawl last night.

And I had it a la mode. That’s French, right?

Time for the afternoon walk now. Stay tuned!

Welp, the valley trail I was thinking about for July 22 ain’t gonna work after all. Went out this afternoon for a scouting expedition and it turned out looking like this:

Anyway, I’ve got a couple of more weeks to explore some alternatives.

Meanwhile, the dinner I prepared tonight was well worth the time and effort. If I do say so myself.

And life goes on.

Well baby, there you stand
With your little head, down in your hand
Oh, my God, you can’t believe it’s happening again
Your baby’s gone, and you’re all alone
And it looks like the end.

And you’re back out on the street.
And you’re tryin’ to remember.
How do you start it over?
You don’t know if you can.
You don’t care much for a stranger’s touch,
But you can’t hold your man.

You never thought you’d be alone this far down the line
And I know what’s been on your mind
You’re afraid it’s all been wasted time

The autumn leaves have got you thinking about the first time that you fell
You didn’t love the boy too much, no, no, you just loved the boy too well,
Farewell
So you live from day to day, and you dream about tomorrow, oh.
And the hours go by like minutes and the shadows come to stay
So you take a little something to make them go away
And I could have done so many things, baby
If I could only stop my mind from wonderin’ what
I left behind and from worrying ’bout this wasted time

Oh, another love has come and gone
Oh, and the years keep rushing on
I remember what you told me before you went out on your own:
“Sometimes to keep it together, we got to leave it alone.”
So you can get on with your search, baby, and I can get on with mine
And maybe someday we will find , that it wasn’t really wasted time

Or maybe next door.

I have this friend I’ve known for around three years now. Yes, she works in a bar. She’s in her mid-30’s and has FIVE kids, ranging in age from 17 to 9. All by the same Filipino partner, or so she tells me. He’s out of the picture now, and as you might imagine, she struggles to make ends meet on a bargirls salary. She had a Swiss boyfriend who was sending her some monthly support (around $100.) but apparently he decided to end that arrangement/relationship. Hence her financial woes were exacerbated and she was in near panic mode about paying rent, buying food, and keeping her kids in school.

As fate would have it, she’s living in one of the shanty villages right outside my subdivision. I can practically see her “house” from mine. I occasionally walk through that area and will sometimes hand out candy to the kids. It’s a sad situation but I do admire her strong sense of duty as a mother.

I may have mentioned previously that I’ve not been entirely comfortable with the arrangement I made with a small orphanage in Olongapo. My domestic helper thinks I’m being scammed and that the support I provide is not going to help the children. I’m not sure if I agree with that, but I’ve seen kids out on my hikes who appear to be in far greater need than the ones in the orphanage. It’s been in my mind to find an opportunity to provide some direct help to those who need it most.

So it occurred to me that my neighbor’s situation may indeed be that opportunity. I know her well enough to know that my support will not be wasted on selfish needs, drugs or alcohol. There were only eight or nine kids at the orphanage, so providing for her five does not really diminish the overall impact of my contribution. My goal in giving has always been to “make a difference” and I think making my neighbor’s family my primary charity accomplishes that.

We’ll see how this works out. It was gratifying to see the look of relief on her face when I told her of my plan and provided my first installment of cash. One of my long range goals is to help a worthy individual attend college or vocational school. That’s how you can change a life and break the cycle of poverty. We’ll see if her eldest (a junior in high school) studies hard and warrants that opportunity.

It’s probably gauche to write about this on the blog. I’m not trying to brag and act like I’m some kind of saint or something. In fact, my motivations are pretty much in keeping with my selfish nature. By helping a few I am alleviating some of the guilt that comes with living a “rich” life whilst surrounded by poverty.

That’s my plan at least.