Posted by: nastypen | April 3, 2008

Divaness as a Theoretical Framework in Life

So, for the past few days I had no permanent residence due to the prolonged summer brownout in my area. Last night, I finally went home and as first act with my desktop, I watched for the nth time To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything Julie Newmar.

My sister came into my room just in time for the scene with the Wonder Woman sequence. And she smirked “Ah, your comfort movie.”

I was actually looking for my copy of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert, because that movie is far superior than the pale American version of the drag queen road trip. While I appreciate Wesley Snipes as Noxema Jackson in her vermilion fur brassiere, I feel that the Australian film is more substantial and accurate delving into the lives of fabulous homos.

During my first semester, as I was waiting form my Intarmed students to go to my Hum II class at the College of Medicine, I watch the dance sequences of this film to keep my spirits up. Not because my students were horrid….far from it…..it’s just that it was on Mondays and I need something fab to kickstart the week.

Speaking of fabulous homos, my friend since high school Larry and I chatted online. He and I are trying (hat’s the operative word: TRYING) to finish our Masters degree.  His MA has something to do with literary theory and criticisms, mine is Art History.  Both our Masters Degree is laden with research and critical analysis as opposed to application (ie. painting or writing fiction, etc.).

Here’s part of the transcript:

Larry screamed, “JOSE, I CAN’T WRITE MY THESIS. I JUST CAN’T. AAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGG!!!!”

I replied “I thought i should have gone to the MFA (Masters in Fine Arts) program because i really miss the application side of it. MA Art History IS great though. I like the research and the history but I sorely miss doing art instead of just studying it.”

Larry said, “My sentiments exactly! i wish i took a CW (Creative Writing) course instead. meanwhile, all this literary theory and critical analysis. is BORING….parang it’s so UN-DIVA kasi. and you know naman us. We THRIVE on the possibility DIVA-NESS! afrg! Parang kung wala namang korona at the end of the red carpet, and wala naman palang paparazzi along the way. VAKHET FA?”

I told him that it’s great that we have a summer vacation so that i could paint. I bought the canvases. I’m moving to a pad temporarily near UP Manila and do art there. I just hope I have the guts to paint something fabulous as opposed to just “nice.”

Larry, is our class valedictorian with one of the superior IQs. He got in UP College of Medicine. I would drop by his room when he was a student and he did not look happy. He was forced to take medicine and his love is literature. this took a major toll on him.

Until, he decided to pursue what he wanted and needed. He’s teaching Literature and won a Palanca award, and he’s just starting.  In a manner, this is Diva therapy.

Oh well, it’s time to summon the Diva World spirit to take me higher in sequins and plum-colored feathers. For the past few weeks, it has been tough for me. I feel so bedraggled by checking papers, calculating grades, dragging my students’ papers from one house to a hotel room.

This is why I need my Diva Therapy. I cannot wait for tomorrow when I will meet up with fabulous professors Mikee and MC to watch an opera. This is diva therapy, it’s when you need grand gestures of fabulousness added with a high level of art doused with a bit of gossip and giggles to keep one’s mood buoyant.

There are just times when I need to talk to homosexuals….just homosexuals and frolic in our wild conversations ranging from politics to mink eyelashes. This calms me down. This is Diva Therapy. It’s when I am looking for something off my usual diva world like an RC jack at the testosterone-rich hardware store, I gravitate to the coffee shops and do some bakla-sighting, wherein I have a mental running commentary of the homos I see sashaying the mall. This is Diva Therapy. It is when I don’t feel good and had to go to the mall rest room and puke, to make me feel better, I go to the bookstore and read about Rumi. This is Diva therapy.

It’s like when I am forced to listen taxi radio with those horrid jokes told by midgets, I rush to pick my ipod and flood my ears with the Puppini Sisters to make me smile:

I think their version is an improvement. I’m sorry. Beyonce may be called a diva but I think she tries to hard. Divas are supposed to be effortless in their magnificence.

Can’t stop the flood, bitches!

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