What do you mean I'm a freaking spoon? Hand me that pitchfork, will ya?

I am getting antsy. I think I'm going to run out of the house, get on a bus somewhere and disappear. If I don't go out, I will spend my day buried under blankets or in front of this computer. It doesn't look so good, whichever way you look at it.

Why are there ants skittling along my desk? Am I too sweet for them? Hm, nah.

Hm. I didn't know Che Guevarra looked so much like George Clooney. Hm, yummy. Hm, am incapable of words. Hm, yummy.

[ yummy Che pic discovered via blue arden ]

Cumming soon 2 a writng clas nir u:

txtin iz messin,
mi headn'me englis,
try2rite essays,
they all come out txtis.
gran not plsed w/letters shes getn,
swears i wrote better
b4 comin2uni.
&she's african

Who would have thought that there is such a thing as mobile phone poetry? It reads like a cross between a haiku and e.e. cummings. You can also check out poetry in 160 words or less here. [ via metafilter ]

Just got back from watching Jologs -- on the first day. Lotsa people in the Megamall theater my friend Abi and I watched it. I absolutely have no expectations nor clue about what the film is all about. I haven't seen the trailer, which I've been told had been on heavy rotation in the other channel. The only thing I only is that Ned wrote it, and he won first place in the scriptwriting contest.

It's about the intersecting, six degrees of separation lives that we all live. And to further prove the point that it is a small world, Abi and I were talking about texting Ned and no sooner do we get off the escalator and who do we run into? Ned and his girlfriend. Ah, how comforting.

My beef about that movie is that the soundtrack is too loud. Other than that, read the review here.

Jessel is Jewish and Jologs.

A couple of weeks ago, I got an e-mail from someone who's also named Jessel -- only that he's a guy. Apparently, he was curious about his name's origin and as any sane person would do, he googled it. This blog is now the top search result for "jessel" along with a gallery , a toastmaster general (eh?) and sports cars. It's always weird to come across someone with the same name as yourself. And the weird thing is, we're also both 23 this year.

He asked me how I got my name. My father is nicknamed Jess and my mother's name is Elvira. They put it together and voila! A name for their firstborn. A lot of kids in the Philippines get named that way, i.e., mixing and matching parents' names, or any two names. Thus the proliferation of names like Jobet (Jose and Betchay --or whatever other variation), Jomar, Jopay, ad infinitum. Or like Maricon (Maria Consuelo?), or Marites. So very jologs 'no? Hehehe.

But if you want to assume some, ehem, lineage, I also found out that Jessel is Jewish in origin. But it's pronounced differently -- "Hesel" not with a J sound. I also looked up my/our name in Kabalarians.com but they give out meanings and not a complete history.

There you go, two people born in the same year with the same name. I'm guessing that he must also be Asian or some other related ethnicity, not that it matters much to me.

So how did you get your name?

I have wasted all my wishes on you
I have nothing left to gain
So goodbye
Wishing you well
And hello, rain.

--The Softies, "Hello Rain"

[ via meg ]

What do you do when mostly everyone tells you that nothing good will ever come out of it? You will be better off without blah blah blah. There will always be someone better than that blah blah blah. Who will appreciate you better blah blah blah. Meanwhile, you sit on your hands and try to give it one more shove, because the person involved has said, Let's talk, don't worry about it. Then proceed to impose the same things, arguing that people can't change overnight. That we wouldn't have lasted this long if there isn't something there, yes?

Crap.

It's like, yes, I've spent most of this year in a roller coaster mode, and it was fun. You point out that I'm not liberal enough because I cannot grasp the wisdom behind the Vanilla Sky proposition you are offering me. I refuse. Because I think it's a false measure of bravado that intimacy is all about adventure. The real risk involved here is an emotional one. Not the acrobatics, or the thrill of doing what you want, but being ready to risk everything so you can be together with someone. We stand on opposite poles, two islands perhaps. Until we bridge that, there can never be an us. I think I've spent way too much time trying to realize what I already know.

Why is the measure of love loss?

I just thought it was a very nice opening line for a novel. And obviously, somebody already beat me to it because I just saw it in a printed page yesterday. Bummer. I like the way Jeanette Winterson writes. Lush and crisp, language flowing, the ambiguity of her characters. But she always gives me a headache and an uncontrollable feeling of sadness. One summer afternoon I read "Oranges are not the only fruit" in one sitting. By the end of the day, I wanted to run out of Powerbooks and hurl myself off the MRT. Nah. I was just being hyper dramatic.

I hope it doesn't rain tomorrow. I've been neglecting some really important chores, like say, doing my laundry. I have stacks of it sitting in a corner of my room, in color coded piles, socks all together. It's almost a month's worth. It has gotten so bad that I have limited choices of what to wear already. Good that it's raining, because it wouldn't be that off if I wore light sweaters or long sleeved shirts. If it's too warm, go without sleeves. I've been scraping the bottom of my suitcases, so to speak.

Last Monday, I was out with my angas buddies. We had dinner and some drinks, then we were hanging out for some fries over at Brothers Burgers in Katipunan. Arlyn picked up some newspapers lounging around and turned it to the horoscopes. She read them out loud. When it was my turn, I thought I heard her say "Spend some time alone with your clothes tonight." I had this weird scene of myself in my head, sitting on my bed, having a heartfelt conference with all my black clothes. "Hey, you guys, would you like me to use Vernell or Downy?" Weird. Now why would I do that? It turns out she said "with your thoughts" not clothes.

Argh. Maybe I should get myself a washing machine.

Now I know why they call it "running an errand." If you aren't athletic, then you won't be able to accomplish anything in such a short time. It helps if you leave the house early. But Manila traffic not withstanding, things can get pretty rough. As usual, I woke up rather late. By the time I had my lunch and ready to go out, it's already afternoon. This would have been fine if all the offices in the world are run like convenience stores. No such luck. Banks close at 3pm, offices at 5pm -- and if you're unlucky, government offices close much earlier than that, like say, 4.30pm.

It didn't help that I am now practically clueless about UP geography. I think I need maps to navigate this place now. I also demand to know who is responsible for putting the office of the University Registrar in some godforsaken corner of the UP republic. Hello, that's a jungle right there, with barely no jeeps coming in. Then again, it could also be bad timing. It's a Wednesday. There are less toki jeeps on Wednesdays.

So I got my forms and stuff, but the cashier has gone out for the day and I will have to go back tomorrow or later in the week. I'm also perhaps the most unethusiastic potential graduate student ever. I have no transcript, or a clearance. Heck, I don't even have a diploma yet. If I don't make it to the deadline, hmm, I'll think it over. Meanwhile, I already had a week's worth of workouts with all that running around I've been doing.

Meanwhile, I am here at a computer shop at the UP Shopping Center, being despicably bored. I'm waiting for a friend so we can have coffee. Damn those blasted STS (science technology and society) exams.

[ Warning: Reading this can be potentially dangerous to your health. You have to be tough. To on and read. But if you aren’t, don’t come running to back to me and say I didn’t warn you. ]

I had dinner with my friends in Suko Thai. I like Thai food, and my friends and I particularly like eating there. We don’t even have to look at the menu anymore because we know what to order already. I was really hungry already, and my friends have been roaming the mall since noon with no break whatsoever. I told the waiter to serve the tom yang and the iced tea immediately. Which they did, and everyone slurped the soup and yakked about our lives. I think I had several servings of the tom yang.

Then the waiters served the chicken, the rice and all the other stuff and we all fell into this deep silence. Not that we didn’t have anything to talk about, but we were just really very hungry. So eat we did. Then later my friends insisted on singing “Happy Birthday. They brought out the cake, and asked the waiter for a lighter.

“But you’re in the non-smoking section.”

“We’re just going to blow out the candles.”

Now as they sang I felt a slight rumble in my tummy. I drank more iced tea, thinking that I just needed a good burp. On the last notes of “Happy Birthday,” I drew a deep breath and blew out the candles and felt something surging up my throat. I knew that even if I ran at lightning speed across the restaurant, I wouldn’t make it. It had to be right there. I grabbed the plastic bag that came with the cake and hurled.

It was a mad rush out for all the chicken, the bagoong rice, the vegies, the squid and around 3 glasses of iced tea that I ate in the last half hour. Meanwhile, all my friends and the people at the surrounding tables looked absolutely horrified. I think I nearly filled the bag.

When it stopped, I excused myself and headed for the restroom. I barfed the rest of my dinner and I stared at myself in the mirror. I had just emptied the contents of my stomach in front of a lot of people. I didn’t have time to be embarrassed. If I had been with people I barely knew, I should have been looking for some rope right there.

I went back to our table and pretended the other people from the nearby tables didn’t notice anything. My friends ordered a pot of hot tea to calm me. I had barely sipped my tea when the waiter came with the bill. It’s like they’re rushing us to finish everything and get out. I took my time finishing my tea. I didn’t want to get up because I was still feeling slightly woozy. Besides, I had just saved the restaurant crew from the possibly horrible experience of mopping up slightly digested versions of the food they served. So to hell with composure.

The whole episode reminded me of the time Astrid barfed out her nice birthday dinner. The lesson is, she told me: Do not pig out and drink iced tea. Iced tea wouldn’t make you burp, trapping the air in your stomach and it will most likely make you throw up. As for me, I don’t think it’s a very good idea to wolf down too much tom yang when you’re really very hungry.

Or maybe this: Do not eat too quickly, even if you are very, very hungry. The food is already there, it won’t go away. If you get too much of something too soon, it will just end up in the toilet bowl. A good thing gone bad. Take things slowly, slowly.

Plans? What plans?
Or, it’s already noon of the first day of my 23rd year, and I’m still lounging around in my pajamas.

So I slept late. I had a really trying day yesterday. It took me three hours to get home from yesterday’s workshop in Cavite. Note to self: Put patience in grocery list.

The van going to Manila took so long to fill up with passengers. Grand total of two passengers, and they won’t leave until they have at least five. The other girl passenger and I waited outside because it was too cold in there. It rained, and after fifty golden years she said she’s taking the jeep instead. Having no umbrella, and not wanting to spend another ice age just waiting, I went along with her.

Jeep pulled out just as we got to the station. We were the first passengers there, then a whole posse of burly young guys filled up the jeep. Other passengers were a housewife and a slightly gay guy. So sleepy I closed my eyes a bit. Got caught in traffic. Woke up just in time to see the girl with the umbrella get off jeep. I was the only girl left inside jeep, and I’ve never been more conscious of it in my life. My mobile phone’s batteries went to heaven and I didn’t want to get stuck with a jeepney load of burly guys in lawlaw shorts in the middle of the expressway in rainy weather. Jumped off jeep.

Discovered that horrible traffic was caused by the sale at SM Bacoor. Flagged down an FX. Baby boy in red jacket interested in playing peekaboo but I was really tired.

Buried myself under blankets as soon as I got home. Didn’t even get to text people that I got home safely. My apologies. Also, thanks to all the people who greeted me already. I read them all this morning.

Meanwhile, I think I have to get up, wake up, and have some brunch. Have a nice weekend everyone.

Random things I like

Five
Crushed lipstick, various colors, mixed and turned into hair streaking things, as demonstrated by Clar and Abi. They weren’t mine, but I liked the concept of crushed lipstick and turning them into highlights or new blend lipstick. Might do this with my mum’s other stuff. Hm.

Four
That sugary high frisky feeling, induced by Cookies and Cream and Belgian Chocolate Haagen-Daaz. They took away the Tutto Gelatto stall at the canteen, and replaced it with a freezer full of Haagen-Daaz. So we raided it for lunch, and by god, ice cream should be present in all workplace canteens everywhere. Marge says Ben and Jerry’s tastes better, but I’m happy with this one. Expensive though. But we charged it to the show, and we all felt underpaid, so it’s fine with me.

Three
Certain segments of “Got 2 Believe,” the bootleg copy, complete with laugh tracks from the audience and shadows of people getting up to go the bathroom. A friend of a friend tried to cheer me up after the nearly disastrous workshop.(because grade school kids are smart-alecky, and smart alecs annoy me when I’m cranky from not getting enough sleep) Good save by Claudine Barretto, who it between bites of brocolli and twitching eyebrows asked “Maganda naman ako di ba?” Other highlights include the proposal at the crossroads of Quezon Avenue, West Ave and Timog, with all the pedestrians grinning in the background. I think I laughed because she reminded me of someone I know.

Two
My smallish red shirt and my now slightly baggy jeans. Goes well with a red/maroon sparkly sweater that says “Sell your soul” in front, worn tied around the waist. I really really like them. I read somewhere that denim expands, which could explain why my jeans now droop to not quite Britney standards, but still comfy enough to go around in.

One
Arm wrestling inside a theater, while watching a very funny movie. Arm rests are of consequence, as this will be the venue of your push and toggle. Produces immense giggling. This only works if you are extremely fond of the person attached to the arm. Otherwise, do not bother. Strangers don’t like having their arms pushed off their armrests.

Quick rundown: Saw a bunch of movies this week. Peony Pavillion isn't as entertaining as I thought it would be. Even if their tagline went something like "Farewell, My Concubine--with girls" it still didn't explore the possibilities that much. I mean, hello? Where's the conflict? And I'm getting sick of that spring song over and over again.

The Sweetest Thing floats on the charms of Cameron Diaz. Nice karaoke moment. If I were Selma Blair, I would cry too. "There's Something About Mary" is still way funnier. Plus all the wacky moments in this movie is already in the trailer. Go figure.

Also watched Cruel Intentions. Ryan Philippe is hot, and he resembles a gay guy friend I have. Too bad. Two Selma Blair movies this week. Hm.

Best movie of the week is still Unfaithful. Diane Lane is mighty. I liked the nice intercutting scene in the train after her first tryst with the French lover. She literally entered a storm in her life. Very theatrical, clear with its objectives. I wanna watch "La Femme Infidele" or literally "The Unfaithful Wife." I wonder if the Pinoy movie with the same title is also based on that.

Habol: My runner up movie of the week is "About a Boy." Marge and I was supposed to watch "Killing me softly" but I was horribly late. Like two hours because of the dreadful traffic, and I nearly lost a movie buddy. So I volunteered to get the tickets to see Hugh Grant. We still got an earful of Hugh and Mr. Spock --er, Marcus, singing "Killing Me Softly." Song's been hounding me for days now. Can sort of relate to Will. He's like Troy Dyer, and he doesn't do anything.

Okay, that's it for me. Have to hit the sack already because I still have another workshop tomorrow. This time with grade school kids. Argh.

Speaking of Leo birthdays:

Birthday ni Lola Madonna!

There is a huge possibility that I will be spending the afternoon of my birthday in the jungle that is Megamall. The Click kids are hitting the road with their mall tour, and the Fairview fainting incidents not withstanding, they are now preparing for a bigger crowd, more burly security men. Then our headwriter, who has been called the Kevin Williamson of the Philippines in an interview with a newspaper that hardly anyone reads interview, had this brilliant idea that maybe we should drop by and say hello or something.

So this Sunday, if you don't have anything better to do, do drop by Megamall. I will do the front act as a security measure. Natch. We don't want the crowd to thin out that much.

Meg on the perfect drag:

there's something sexy about cigarettes, i have to admit. this slim little paper tube holding dried tobacco hash dramatically disintegrates at the lick of a flame. have you ever sat down to watch a cigarette ashen? the smoke slowly flits up in the air and when there's no breeze to redirect its course, the white wisps forms various shapes daintily climb up to finally disperse into the atmosphere..

I am not a smoker myself, so this must be why people who have a way with their cigs fascinated me. There is something so graceful with holding that one stick, the gentle flick of the wrist as it shakes away the ash, then bringing it to one's lips before inhaling. The wisp of smoke...Then of course, it could also help that I was sort of infatuated with the owner of the cigarette. Hehehe. I've never found smoking so sexy until then. But if you consider how the smoke clings to your hair and your clothes, that scent forever dented in your brain. Well, think instant flashback. Winston reds and Lucky Strikes. Hm.

Here's something I got in the mail from mechajol, my resident angas buddy.

Classifying Pinoy Newspapers


1. THE INQUIRER is the newspaper read by the people who run the country. If you don't know who runs the country, don't read the Inquirer, as you may end up thinking that a newspaper actually runs the country.

2. THE BULLETIN is read by people who don't care who runs the country, as long as the telephone numbers in the classified ads are correct, and the prices negotiable.

3. MALAYA is the newspaper read by people who used to run the country and think they still do. it is confusing to read Malaya because while the date may be correct, the administration is always wrong.

4. THE STAR is read by people who will run the country, as soon as their newspaper overtakes the inquirer in circulation and advertising revenue. Until that happens, they will be happy to read the absolute latest in show business news.

5. THE STANDARD is read by people who might run the country someday, if certain Chinese geomancers so predict. it is also read by people who think they are in another country, or even another planet, judging by the stories that come out in that newspaper.

6. TODAY is preferred by people who will oppose anyone who happens to be running the country, unless those persons happen to be the Powerpuff girls or the Eraserheads, in which case they will be heartily endorsed by a certain female columnist.

7. THE TIMES is read by people who think they are close to the people who run the country. the fact that so few read the times might lead to conclude that a) only a select number are close to those who run the country, or b) practically no one cares what those who run the country are up to.

8. No one has claimed to have read THE TRIBUNE recently, although some employees of that newspaper are said to do so from time to time. As for the people who run the country, they simply assume that this newspaper does not even exist.

9. ABANTE is read by people who have a vague idea that someone is indeed running the country. they will promise to figure out who that is AFTER they read Xerex Xaviera's latest sex confessional.

10. TORO is bought by people who cannot even read, but who can make out the pictures taken from cut-out scenes from bold movies. Tthey will be surprised to learn that somebody actually runs the country, since they believe that the smut they buy would surely be outlawed, if that were the case.

Excellent Guardian essay on the cult of the Dead Elvis. The article traces the rise and fall of what many (white) Americans consider their once and future king. The hysteria reaches a new height this year, on the 25th death anniversary of the King. Believers flock to Graceland and pay tribute not to a pop star but to celebrate their faith:

What happened here? How can it be that the young Elvis who burst on the world in the 50s, all raw sex and danger, and the sorry Elvis of his last days have morphed into this third being, not quite a god, but more than human - a figure who, according to Charles Reagan Wilson, a history professor at the University of Mississippi, 'blurs the boundaries between the supernatural and the sacred'?

In England, the notion may seem bizarre. But in America, and elsewhere around the globe, it's a vision shared by millions. By the standards of Elvis worship, Death Week is not an aberration, merely the most dramatic demonstration of just how deep and wide his power goes.

It has always fascinated (not to mention boggled) me why people --mostly old than young, and more white than black, and sometimes the Japanese, but the Japanese have a different world altogether-- preferred to deify the sad, bloated Elvis rather than the young and raw incarnation. The article explains that the pilgrims at Graceland don't want to see the "symbol of life eternal." They don't come there to see the shag carpet, the army of television sets. They want to head straight to the bathroom where their king died on the throne, blood and dignity splattered on the walls:

In death, as in life, this is a story about innocence. Elvis lost his, and so did America. Youth, vitality, belief, they have all withered and died, and what now is left? Impersonators.

Death becomes Elvis, who for some is still alive and knitting sweaters on the planet Pluto.

No, “Asian Brown Cloud” isn’t a new coffee blend that goes with lots of whipped cream. It’s a vast and very dense blanket of pollution that hovers all over South Asia and in other parts of the world, and it can possibly kill you when left unchecked.

If you’ve been wondering what’s causing all this crazy weather changes, this could partly be the reason for it. The cloud is two miles thick, cools the ground but causes heat in the atmosphere. Add that to the greenhouse effect, acid rain, and your hairspray, and it’s really going to be tough living here on earth.

We should consider migrating to the other parts of the universe then. That is, unless you can get Captain Planet to save the world.

I have the room of a modern conservative. Figures.

Jason Priestley, icon from my preadolescent years, had his spine crushed in a racing accident in Kentucky.

He and Shannen Doherty played fraternal twins in the Aaron “Dad of Tori” Spelling. Like we would ever be convinced that they ever came from the same bloodline, or that Tori Spelling was nice and virginal forever. It was so outrageous that everyone in my high school class followed the show just for kicks, and in between boring lunches, we occasionaly trooped to the phone booth to leave prank messages on Jennie Garth’s answering machine.

Jason Priestley didn’t cross the threshold from television to the movies. I can’t think of anything he starred in, aside from “Tombstone.” He started racing in 1991, won his first tourney in 1998.

It must be another case of all things at once. I got that Quarter Life Crisis e-mail again, just when my birthday is looming and unescapable in just a few days. Then I was surfing and came across this article about the disillusioned youth that rants on about how it’s so difficult to be young and twentysomething these days.

I really don’t want to buy into the designer apathy thing. I am not a slacker, this is not America, and Douglas Coupland can be difficult and boring to read. Generation X, for me at least, is a marketing strategy, and I was born at the tail end of it. Besides, I like Chuck Palanhiuk better, and man, they’re just talking about the same thing, only with more violence mixed in.

There are just far too many choices available, like there are coffee flavors. Too many choices that blur and make you undecided what you really want to do with your life. Or maybe you really cannot do anything at all. You feel cheated out of some fantabulous future that was somehow dangled in front of you when you were still in school. But here you are, none of that go out and conquer the world bit. You can try and conquer outer space, but damn, even somebody from a dumbass boy band has beaten you to it.

Life is tough.

Since I'm up early today, and since there's still no kuwento from the source herself, I bring you Astrid's article on the Asian Puppet Festival from Bangkok last month. As for me, I'll be gone most of the day for a workshop with school kids on journ writing, so as to forever discourage them from getting into it.

I found this paperback copy of Martin Rowson's "The Waste Land." It's a comic book, and the cover looks a lot like those noir movie posters. The blurb on the back page reads: "A Cunningly Contrived and Irreverent Parody inspired by T.S. Eliot and Raymond Chandler." I tried reading Eliot, but couldn't really get past several pages, so I thought I'd give this one a try. But then again, I'm comic book illiterate, so this is like a stab in the dark for me. Wish me luck.

Which reminds me, I still forgot to get some insect spray at the grocery this afternoon. Drat. I just hope the roaches aren't in the mood for flying.

Horrible traffic caused me to come in late (a few seconds) to this afternoon's screening at Greenbelt. I missed seeing the trailer to Two Towers and the extended trailer of In The Mood For Love. Drat.

Is this bad or what:

25 %

My weblog owns 25 % of me.
Does your weblog own you?

Every girl wants to be Joyce Jimenez, or my review of "Ang Galing Galing Mo Babes" over at peyups.com. I know, I know, I've been ranting about this dainty piece of cinema for like weeks now. I like science fiction, really.

It's nearly two o'clock in the morning and I am wide awake, playing cockroach tennis. I don't know if the sudden appearance of roaches have something to do with the earthquake last night or poor house keeping skills. The second reason seems highly unlikely since I have spent most of yesterday cleaning. But I have no other choice since I have apparently run out of insect spray, and them cockroaches are having a grand time in the kitchen area. They are slowly trying to invade the space where I sleep and where my computer is. If cockroach hunting were part of the Olympics, I should have a gold medal by now. I hit aces, and by god, do I hate them buggers. Probably laughing because I sprayed them with air freshener. I need insect spray. Badly. I want to sleep peacefully, without the threat of roaches crawling on me. Ew, shudder.

Ten seconds ago, there was an earthquake. I'm not joking.

update:This report confirms that there was indeed an earthquake at 12.34 a.m. and it registered at 4.0 on the Richter Scale. It was tectonic in origin and no damages have been reported.

Watched What time time is it there? Review to follow. I am still buzzed with caffeine and cannot think straight.

Potential reason on why you shouldn’t date a writer:

We're fascinated by exes. We know it's not going to make us feel any better about ourselves (or any more secure in the relationship) but we can't help making the comparisons: were they smarter, prettier, funnier, better in bed? Are they able to converse knowledgeably yet unpretentiously about the 19th-century novel or the films of Powell and Pressburger? Do they know all the lyrics to Hotel California? Do they look better in a bikini, goddammit?

[ article via the morning news]

Exes are a tricky matter. On one hand, you want to be grown up and unaffected and say that you don’t really care about what happened before because it doesn’t have anything to do with you. On another hand, of course you want to know whether you fare better [hah, I’m smarter than she is!] and you want to believe that you are a drastic improvement.

I think everyone goes through that. It’s a natural curiousity. You get involved with someone, then you break up, and that someone hooks up with somebody else and you hope that it’s the last you heard of that uhm, person. Then comes the very odd situation of reading about your current involvement in another another girl’s novel [or blog, or whatever]. Now that can be a trying experience. Call it fiction, call it a creative re-imagining of things past. You’ve call it quits, and your ex has the right what to do with his/her version of things. It could turn up in a poem, a story, a blog entry. But trust me, you wouldn’t want to read about how a little quirk of yours is suddenly a non-endearing trait, nay--psychopathic even.

Should I be grateful then, that it hasn’t happened to me? At least not just yet. Then again, I can always say I’ve changed my mind. This is still my blog after all.

Sanrio finally takes notice of what the world's been coming down to and introduces a divorced character in their lineup:

Batsu-Ichi frolics in his briny home of Water-Loo with all his associates and, on every other weekend, his two children, Porpy and Finn," the biography read. "Batsu-Ichi's favorite meal is tacos, and he likes to play tennis. His five-year marriage to Sharu-chi, also a dolphin, ended last year. Batsu-Ichi lives in a charming efficiency apartment on the outskirts of Water-Loo where he has a talking microwave named Yummy. His job is raking the ocean waves flat so the sun can shine through. He loves his job but may have to take another one to make his monthly child-support payments. Batsu-Ichi is an outgoing and highly eligible little dolphin, but he has yet to work up the courage to ask out his cute coworker, Misako The Cuttlefish. Always a game little fellow, Batsu-Ichi's motto is 'Take It One Day At A Time!'"

I want my own Batsu-Ichi taco maker. That'll be so much fun.

Hm. I'm just 70% dateable. Is that bad?

There's a 12% chance that I'll die of alien abduction on 2 March 2059, when I'm 79 years old. Still a long way to go. Haven't even spotted a single alien. But then again, they might take me by surprise. Hm. Take the death test.

“Whether in literature or cinema, the most important thing is the style. The story is often secondary.”

Isabelle Huppert in her New York Times interview. I don’t know if that works all the time.

National Artist Franz Arcellana, 85.

I'm not going to say anything more like how I really loved his stories or that he started me into writing. His stories gave me major headaches in Hum I and Phil Lit classes. My favorite Arcellana story is still "The Mats," which freaked me out so much when I was ten. Then I went to UP and learned the man is still around, literally. I found him browsing at the Booksale branch down at the shopping center. I never took a single class under him. Sometimes I ran into him at the accounting office. He never actually remembered my name, but would say hello every time. He'd ask where I was from, and he said his brother used to be the parish priest of Pandacan. That's all I know about him.

His wake is at the Delaney Hall in Diliman until 5 August, then they move him to the CCP. In pace requiescat, Franz.

How to correctly pronounce my name. Consult the Proper Name Synthesizer. Please.

[ via 50 cups of coffee ]

Seven conversations not necessarily about the same thing.

Amelie

[friend_x] Grabe! Mapapasarap ang tulog ko ngayong gabi dahil kay Amelie!
[kantogirl] Korek! Kaka-inspire ano? Lessens your jadedness kahit na konti.
[friend_x] Oo! Mukhang lukaret din pero cute! Mga french talaga mlalandi! Frst tme nila magmeet nung guy, sex agad! Parang gusto ko na rin mangolekta ng mga ID picture!
[kantogirl] Uhm, ok. Have it your way. Gudnyt.

The Third Wheel

[troy_dyer] I wanted to talk to you about something. But I couldn't.
[kantogirl] It's not like I have barb wires around me or anything.
[troy_dyer] I know.
[troy_dyer] Can't we go back to the way we were before? Like real friends?
[kantogirl] This is so awkward. But I really would like to have my friend back. Darn. We really shouldn't have watched an awkward date movie.

When Harry Met Sally

[troy_dyer] How was it? Should I get it?
[kantogirl] Actually, I'm just about to watch it. Should be witty though, and the only movie where Meg Ryan isn't as annoying.
[troy_dyer] So, there's nothing special about it huh?
[kantogirl] Hm. You know who this movie reminds me of? That guy from your college. He always screamed "Sex na lang kasi!" whenever two people were at odds with each other. Can't people just push the ignore button?
[troy_dyer] So it's gud that I didn't buy it. Got The End of the Affair instead.
[kantogirl] That's heavy viewing, man.

The End of the Affair

[troy_dyer] Just finished The End of the Affair. Twas a good movie. Leaves me to question though why most love affairs end tragically?
[kantogirl] Because passion sears and burns you. But I think everyone should have at least one grand passion in their lives.
It can be drain you though.
[troy_dyer] But passion should always be there, makes a person feel alive.
[kantogirl] Prepare to be consumed then. But most people are too scared to go into that, don't you think?

My Best Friend's Wedding

[kantogirl] It's my all time favorite cheer up movie.
[troy_dyer] So, you're still feeling sad ba? It's sunny outside it should lift your spirits up na. ü
[kantogirl] No, actually I'm not sad anymore. I just felt like I had to watch it again.

Utang Ni Tatang

[kantogirl] Pag dumating si Tado anong gagawin mo?
[yellow4] Sisigaw tayo ng "I love you, Tado!" saka...Uy, di ba si Robin Padilla yung andun sa likod?
[kantogirl] Hindi ah. Si friend_x lang yun eh.
[yellow4] Basta, sisigaw ka talaga ha?

Ang Galing Galing Mo Babes

[friend_y] Paano ba naman kasing di magkakanda-leche leche ang buhay niya. Eh naka-sex lang niya ng isang beses, pinakasalan na? Tapos ni hindi pa niya alam yung pangalan.
[kantogirl] It's a guy reflex. He can't help it. Di ba lahat naman ng guy character dun sa movie isa lang ang dialogue--
[friend_y] Ang galing galing mo, Babes! Actually dalawa naman yung dialogue nila.
[kantogirl] Ano yung isa?
[friend_y] I lab yu beybeh! And if it's kwayt olrayt. I lab yu beybeh--
[kantogirl] Uy, di ba si Lester Llansang yung nakasalubong natin? Bakit andito yun eh R-18 ito ah.
[friend_y] Pabayaan mo na. Para namang di niya nakita ng live yung nasa pelikula.