pics in my phone

>been going through the pics in my phone, saw these intereseting ones. check ’em out:

now ain’t this something? i can’t even remember what the sign is suppose to be saying! something about not entering the restricted class area something. this is in wycoff-myrtle in the L line.

now this is along 49th street, and i happen to walk underneath this sign everytime i go to work. this is NBC’s rainbow room, and i think this is where saturday night live is performed live every saturday (now ain’t that a no-brainer!).

was going home on the M, saw this dude BREAKING UP ON THE PHONE! the dude was caught off guard, he was the one being dumped. the girl (or guy,we’ll never know) called him up, and the next thing i know, the guy is choking up trying not to cry. poor thing…

read this: FIVE streched hummers along 5th avenue.

this was a stolen shot with my phone when i had an interview with VH1. yes, i had an interview with vh1. didn’t get the job though. i was in MTV studios in times square. how many could say that?

best mime ever

just hit the play button
as seen on

maybe the lines can help you:

I thought I saw a man brought to life
He was warm, he came around like he was dignified
He showed me what it was to cry
Well you couldn’t be that man I adored
You don’t seem to know, don’t seem to care what your heart is for
But I don’t know him anymore
There’s nothing where he used to lie
My conversation has run dry
That’s what’s going on, nothing’s fine I’m torn

I’m all out of faith, this is how I feel
I’m cold and I am shamed lying naked on the floor
Illusion never changed into something real
I’m wide awake and I can see the perfect sky is torn
You’re a little late, I’m already torn

rock friends (friends that rock)

roughly two weeks ago, me and my co-workers went out on a payday 🙂 basically, at work, there are three kinds of people: the below thirties, the above forties, and the in-betweeners aka the supervisors. a customer once asked why it is too cold in the shop, which one co-worker, pedro, quickly replied: we have many old ladies who work here, we try to keep them fresh.

anyway, the young ones decided to go out. i think pauline was the one who thought of it. we were missing around five people: nick (he wasn’t invited, was he?), tristan (how about him?), chris (italian-looking rican), mike (chinese-looking pinoy) and cynthia (was supposed to be there, i dunno what happened). lauren was supposed to be there, too. she quit work the sunday before payday and started working at the bodies exhibition over at the seaport. but she wasn’t able to take off til ten that night.

we went to hooters 🙂 was fun. did lots of gossiping 😆

funny ramon, crazy maggy, hilarious pauline, rocker ron, pretty heather and moi.

i ♥ ny

on the M

Sitting between the sea and the buildings
He enjoyed painting the sea’s portrait.
But just as children imagine a prayer
Is merely silence, he expected his subject
To rush up the sand, and, seizing a brush,
Plaster its own portrait on the canvas.

So there was never any paint on his canvas
Until the people who lived in the buildings
Put him to work. “Try using the brush
As a means to an end. Select, for a portrait,
Something less angry and large, and more subject
To a painter’s moods, or perhaps, to a prayer.”

— from The Painter, John Ashbery

a walk in the park

“I don’t get it,” she honestly stated. “I know it’s pretty, but I don’t know why it is.”

“It’s the colors,” I said. “They’re analogous with a complement. Notice the great range of greens with blue-greens and yellow-greens. Then there are some reds as well, but not a whole lot.”

“Ooh… you sound like an art geek.”

“I try to be.”

“Did you like, study art?”

“You can say that. But it ain’t really my field.”

“You like Monet then?”

“My favorite modernist. I think it was Cezanne or Gauguin that said that Monet is ‘just an eye – but by God, what an eye!’ When his wife died, he felt a bit guilty that as he was watching her die, all he noticed was how the color of her skin changed to a purple – bluish hue.”

“That sounds deep.”

“It does, doesn’t it?”

I felt uneasy for a while. I was talking to someone I barely know. Her blue eyes were drawing me near, like falling into a deep nothingness. I loved her eyes. I asked her if she wants to have coffee. She said yes.

She drank her coffee black, like the way I like it. She sipped the warm drink with both hands holding the cup firmly on opposite sides.

“Stop staring at me.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t help it. You look cute when you drink your coffee.”

“Are you hitting on me?”

I had to laugh. I was never a good flirt anyway, even if I consider myself as one. She giggled like a three-year old girl who got her brother in trouble.

“So how old are you?” she asked.

“Twenty-four – no, wait, I meant twenty-five.”

“Ha-ha! I’m guessing you just turned twenty-five then. You don’t look bad for your age.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Of course, it is, silly.”

I smiled.

“Aren’t you gonna ask about my age?”

“Okay, so how young are you?”

“I’m twenty-one. I can now legally do what I’ve been doing for years!”

More laughs.

“Are you visiting New York? Or are you from around here?”

“From Texas. Visiting a college friend who now lives in Brooklyn. In Williamsburg, I think. I can’t remember. I take the J train, and then drop off at Marcy.”

“Where’s your friend? Why is he not with you?” I placed an emphasis on my “he.”

“She,” she quickly replied. “She’s at work. She works downtown. She took me around for the past few days, but she can’t get out today. She got me this CitiPass for like fifty bucks, I’ll feel bad if I don’t use all my passes, that’s why I went here even if I’m not a big art fan like you.”

I gave her a quick smile. “So you’re not really into art, huh?”

“I can tell you what’s pretty or not. And that’s about it.”

“Do you want to walk around? I know some pretty interesting spots at Central Park.”


She grabbed her cup of coffee, so did I. As I casually moved closer, she grabbed my hand and gave me a grin, with a bit of her tongue showing between her teeth. “You don’t have to shy around me, you know. We both have nothing to lose.”

I took her to Bethesda Terrace, and before the sculpture of an angel, I leaned and tasted coffee in her mouth. She broke away and told me, “the name’s Lisa, by the way.”